Cinnamon Stars
Chapter eighteen
Margot smelled cinnamon before she found the kitchen.
The temporary setup behind the pavilion had once been a storage room. Now industrial fans rattled in the corners while a portable oven filled the cramped space with the scent of butter, sugar, and something that reminded her of Christmas morning. Country music drifted from a radio on the counter.
The heavyset baker, Lou, stood at the oven pulling out trays of cinnamon star cookies. Flour coated his forearms, and his apron carried three different shades of icing like battle scars. Evan stepped in behind her as Lou glanced up from the trays.
He held out the tray without being asked. “You want one? Best batch of the week.”
She took a cookie. Evan shook his head.
Lou looked at the two of them standing side by side in his kitchen and grinned. “You two working the case or working the clock?”
“The case,” Margot said deadpan.
Evan’s gaze flicked to her for half a second, then away.
She bit into the cookie to give her hands something to do. It was perfect. Warm, spiced, the sugar cracking between her teeth.
“Did you notice anything unusual last night?” she asked. “Before the blackout?”
“I went back for serving trays around eight thirty. Walked through the service corridor.” Lou slid another tray into the oven. “Didn’t see anyone. But I heard footsteps. Coming from the direction of the electrical room. Fast. Like someone in a hurry.”
“Did you see who it was?”
“By the time I looked, they were gone.”
Footsteps near the electrical room at eight thirty. Seventeen minutes before the keycard swiped in.
She glanced at Evan. He’d gone still.
They thanked Lou and stepped back out into the morning. The terrace was filling with the second-day crowd, and she was still mulling over the footsteps, fast, toward the electrical room, twenty minutes before the card, when Tessa came at them across the deck, phone clutched to her chest.
“Wow, Margot, this is insane.” Tessa appeared on the terrace, phone clutched to her chest, eyes wide. “My DMs are blowing up. Everyone wants to know about the ornaments. Three interview requests from local news.”
“Please don’t do interviews.”
“I won’t.” Tessa glanced at Evan, then back at Margot with an odd expression. “Is this your security consultant?”
“Marina maintenance,” Evan said.
“Sure.” Tessa smiled. “You two make a cute investigation team.”
“Tessa.” Margot’s voice carried a warning, but she could feel the flush climbing her neck. Beside her, he was studying the terrace railing.
“Okay, okay.” Tessa held up her hands. “But listen. I was going through my footage from last night, and I found this.” She held out her phone. A video clip, shaky, shot from near the bar. Timestamp: 8:49 PM. Three minutes before the blackout.
In the background, behind a cluster of guests, a figure was moving along the edge of the pavilion toward the service corridor. Carrying something dark and rectangular under one arm. Moving with purpose. Not rushing but not lingering.
“Can you zoom in?” Margot asked.
Tessa pinched the screen. The image blurred, then resolved. Dark polo. Khaki pants. Vendor uniform. The face was turned away, but the build was familiar. Broad shoulders. Confident stride.
“Send it to me,” Margot said. “Don’t post it. Don’t share it. Don’t mention it to anyone.”
“Not even for content?”
“Especially not for content.”
Tessa nodded, serious for once, and walked away.
Margot and Evan stood at the terrace railing and watched the clip together.
She held the phone between them, tilted so they could both see, and he leaned in.
His shoulder pressed against hers. His jaw was inches from her temple.
She could feel the warmth of him through her sleeve, could smell the salt and motor oil that she’d started associating with steadiness.
She was focused on the screen. She was also aware of every point of contact between his body and hers, which was exactly one shoulder and approximately four square inches of fabric, and it was taking up roughly half her brain.
He watched it twice without speaking. She watched him take it in. The way his jaw set. The way his thumb stopped moving against the phone case where he’d been turning it.
“Dark polo. Khakis. Vendor uniform,” he said. “Could be anyone on the crew.”
“How many on the vendor crew know the service corridor leads to the breaker panel?”
“One who’s been doing events here for years.”
They looked at each other over the phone screen. The morning sun was warm on their faces, and for a moment the investigation and the expo and the hundred and seventy thousand dollars of missing glass all receded to the edges, and there was just this.
Two people looking at each other and seeing the same thing.
“We still need more,” he muttered.
“I know.” She pocketed the phone. Their shoulders were still touching. Neither of them moved. “The bartender from the showcase. Mick. He might have seen something.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
“Alone?” The word was out before she could edit it, and it carried something that had nothing to do with protocol.
He looked at her for a second longer than the question needed. “I’ll come find you after.”
She nodded, and didn’t say the rest of it, that she’d started counting on the after.