Chapter 5
Mash
Recipe Tip: Leave some lumps. Texture is honest.
By Friday morning, Tessa had learned three things.
First, grief made people strange.
Second, small towns made secrets impossible to keep.
And third, investigating a murder was considerably harder when you had to open the bakery at six.
She was halfway through mashing bananas when Dani walked in.
"You're going somewhere."
Tessa looked up.
"Good morning to you too."
"You have your serious face."
"I have one face."
"No. You have several."
Dani counted on her fingers.
"Bakery face. Customer face. Pretend-I-didn't-hear-that face. And the one you're wearing now."
"What does this one mean?"
"I'm-about-to-do-something-you'll-regret face."
Tessa looked down at the bowl.
"I have an appointment."
"With?"
"Renata Voss."
Dani stopped.
The name hung between them.
Renata Voss wasn't merely a chef.
She was Renata Voss.
Television personality.
Cookbook author.
Owner of three restaurants.
Judge on a streaming cooking competition where contestants cried almost as often as they flambéed.
She was also Garrick Thorne's favorite client.
Or, at least, she had been.
Dani slowly lowered her coffee.
"You're visiting Renata?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because her name is in Garrick's ledger."
Dani's eyes narrowed.
"And?"
"And I want to know why."
Dani pointed at the banana bowl.
"You are making banana bread while investigating a knife maker's murder."
"I run a bakery."
"You know what I mean."
Tessa mashed another banana.
"She had a reason to be angry with him."
"How do you know?"
"Because apparently Garrick cut her off."
Dani stared.
"Cut her off from what?"
"His knives."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
"You're going to ask her?"
"Yes."
Dani sighed.
"Try not to get murdered."
"I'll do my best."
Pretzel appeared beneath the counter.
Tessa looked down.
"You're staying here."
Pretzel blinked.
"No."
His tail flicked.
Tessa pointed.
"Don't even think about it."
Renata Voss was staying at the Larkspur Inn.
Of course she was.
The inn was the nicest place in town, which meant its lobby had fresh flowers, polished brass lamps, and a decorative bowl filled with apples nobody was allowed to eat.
Tessa stepped inside.
A woman at the front desk recognized her immediately.
"Ms. Bramwell?"
"Yes."
"Ms. Voss is expecting you."
Tessa stopped.
"She is?"
The woman smiled.
"She said you'd come."
That was not what Tessa wanted to hear.
She followed the receptionist upstairs.
Renata's suite was at the end of the hall.
Before Tessa could knock, the door opened.
Renata stood there in a cream silk robe.
Her hair was perfectly styled.
Her expression was not.
"You."
Tessa swallowed.
"Hello."
Renata looked her up and down.
"So you're Garrick's baker."
"That makes it sound like he ordered me."
"He didn't?"
"No."
Renata stepped aside.
"Come in."
The suite smelled like expensive perfume and coffee.
Tessa sat.
Renata remained standing.
"You have five minutes."
"That's generous."
"It isn't."
Tessa pulled out her notebook.
Renata's eyes dropped to it.
"Are you with the police?"
"No."
"Then why are you asking questions?"
"Because I found your name in Garrick's records."
Renata's expression hardened.
"Everyone's name was in Garrick's records."
"Not like yours."
"Meaning?"
Tessa looked at her.
"You bought a lot of knives."
Renata crossed her arms.
"I am a chef."
"You bought knives from Garrick and resold them."
Renata's eyes flashed.
"Who told you that?"
Tessa didn't answer.
Renata laughed once.
"Of course."
"You resold them at a markup."
"That's called business."
"Did Garrick know?"
"Obviously."
"And he stopped selling to you?"
Renata's jaw tightened.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"He became difficult."
"How?"
"He decided he didn't like what I did with his knives."
"Because you were making money from them?"
"Because he was a sanctimonious old man who believed his work belonged in museums instead of kitchens."
Tessa watched her carefully.
"Did you argue?"
"Yes."
"Did you threaten him?"
Renata laughed.
"Please."
"Did you kill him?"
The room went silent.
Renata stared at her.
Then she walked to the window.
"You really think I killed Garrick?"
"I think someone did."
"And because I was angry with him—"
"You had a motive."
"So did half the town."
Tessa didn't disagree.
Renata turned.
"I didn't kill him."
"Where were you Wednesday morning?"
"Here."
"At the inn?"
"Yes."
"All morning?"
"Yes."
"Anyone see you?"
Renata's eyes narrowed.
"Are you interrogating me?"
"I'm asking."
"Then ask the police."
"They already are."
That made Renata pause.
Tessa noticed.
"You've spoken to Detective Halloran?"
"Of course."
"What did you tell him?"
"That I was here."
"And he believed you?"
"I assume so."
Tessa closed her notebook.
"Thank you."
Renata looked surprised.
"That's it?"
"For now."
Tessa stood.
Renata followed her toward the door.
Then, just before Tessa reached it, Renata said:
"Garrick cut me off."
Tessa turned.
"You said that already."
"No."
Renata's voice had softened.
"You don't understand."
"What?"
"He didn't just stop selling me knives."
She looked toward the window.
"He stopped speaking to me."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
Tessa waited.
Renata's expression tightened.
"Not everything has to be about murder."
"No."
"But sometimes people die because of things that started long before the day they died."
Tessa studied her.
"Did Garrick know something about you?"
Renata's eyes flicked away.
"Goodbye, Ms. Bramwell."
The door closed.
Tessa stood in the hallway.
She wasn't satisfied.
But she had learned something.
Renata wasn't afraid of being accused.
She was afraid of what Garrick had known.
Tessa reached the lobby.
She stopped.
Pretzel was sitting on the carpet.
Tessa stared.
The cat stared back.
"No."
Pretzel's ears twitched.
"You were supposed to stay at the bakery."
Pretzel stood.
A hotel employee walked past.
Pretzel slipped behind him.
Tessa followed.
"How did you even get here?"
No answer.
"Did you follow me?"
Pretzel stopped beside a leather handbag.
A woman's handbag.
Renata's handbag.
Tessa froze.
"Don't."
Pretzel looked at her.
Then he reached out one paw.
The bag shifted.
A paper slipped out.
Pretzel grabbed it.
"PRETZEL."
He bolted.
Tessa chased him across the lobby.
"Come back!"
The cat disappeared behind a sofa.
Tessa crouched.
"Give it to me."
Pretzel emerged slowly.
A rectangular piece of paper hung from his mouth.
Tessa recognized it.
A hotel receipt.
She glanced around.
Nobody seemed to be watching.
She took it.
"Bad cat."
Pretzel purred.
Tessa looked at the receipt.
Her eyes moved over the details.
Larkspur Inn
Check-in: Tuesday, 8:42 p.m.
Room: 307
Her brow furrowed.
Renata had said she'd been here Wednesday morning.
That wasn't strange.
But then Tessa saw the date beneath the receipt number.
Tuesday.
She checked the room charges.
Breakfast.
Parking.
Room service.
All Tuesday night.
Renata hadn't arrived Wednesday morning.
She'd been in Larkspur Falls the night before.
Tessa's pulse quickened.
She read the receipt again.
Then again.
The hotel had recorded a dinner charge at 9:17 p.m.
Tuesday.
The night before Garrick died.
Tessa folded the receipt.
Pretzel watched her.
"You stole this."
The cat blinked.
"You know that, don't you?"
He licked his paw.
Tessa looked toward the staircase.
Renata had lied by omission.
Maybe more than that.
And if she had been in town Tuesday night, there was another question Tessa couldn't ignore.
Why had she come early?
Tessa slipped the receipt into her pocket.
Pretzel jumped onto the sofa beside her.
"You are a terrible cat."
He purred.
Tessa stood.
"And apparently a very useful one."
She glanced toward the elevator.
Renata Voss had just become much more interesting.
And Tessa had a feeling Garrick's last twenty-four hours had begun long before Wednesday morning.