Chapter 17
Wrap It Well
Recipe Tip: Wrap tight, keep fresh. A good baker protects what matters—but she also needs to know when it's time to unwrap the truth.
By eight Sunday morning, Tessa had assembled her evidence on the bakery counter.
It looked embarrassingly small.
One blue plastic cap.
One torn piece of paper.
One crumb.
One piece of twine tied two different ways.
That was it.
After everything she'd been through, everything she'd noticed, everything that had kept her awake at night—
this was what she had.
Tessa stared at the collection.
Pretzel sat beside it.
"Don't eat anything."
Pretzel looked offended.
"I mean it."
He slowly moved his nose away from the crumb.
"Thank you."
She put everything into separate paper envelopes.
The cap went into one.
The ledger corner into another.
The crumb into a third.
The two pieces of twine went into the last.
She labeled each one.
Then she stopped.
The handwriting looked oddly official.
She smiled bitterly.
"Look at me."
Pretzel blinked.
"I'm practically a detective."
Pretzel yawned.
"Fine."
She grabbed her coat.
"And you're the world's least supportive partner."
Wes Halloran opened the police station door himself.
He looked tired.
His tie was crooked.
His coffee was already half gone.
He looked at the envelopes in Tessa's hand.
"No."
She stopped.
"I haven't said anything."
"You have that look."
"What look?"
"The look that usually ends with paperwork."
Tessa held up the envelopes.
"I brought evidence."
Wes sighed.
"Of course you did."
He stepped aside.
"Come in."
Ten minutes later, the envelopes were arranged across Wes's desk.
He examined the blue cap first.
"Where did you get this?"
"At the festival."
"Where exactly?"
"The coatroom."
"Who was there?"
"Me. Pretzel. Fiona. Desmond."
Wes raised an eyebrow.
"Pretzel."
"He was the one who found it."
"Naturally."
Tessa ignored that.
She showed him the ledger corner.
"These numbers match knives Garrick sold. Some don't match anything."
Wes studied the paper.
"Where did you get this?"
"From Garrick's forge."
"Tessa."
"Before you say anything, Pretzel found it."
Wes closed his eyes briefly.
"Naturally."
"He brought it to me."
"And you kept it."
"Yes."
"Which you shouldn't have done."
"I know."
"But?"
"But it matters."
Wes looked at the ledger corner again.
"Maybe."
Tessa placed the crumb beside it.
"This came from the Copper Kettle."
Wes stared.
"That's a crumb."
"Yes."
"I can see that."
"It's the same type of crumb I found near Garrick."
"How do you know?"
"Because I'm a baker."
Wes gave her a look.
Tessa crossed her arms.
"I can identify flour."
"I'm sure you can."
"I can identify butter."
"I don't doubt it."
"I can tell when someone used brown sugar instead of white."
"I believe you."
"And I can tell when bread has maple and orange instead of cardamom."
Wes's expression changed.
Tessa pointed toward the crumb.
"The bread at the Copper Kettle tasted exactly like the bread at Garrick's forge."
Wes leaned back.
"Desmond owns the Copper Kettle."
"Yes."
"And you're saying the bread there is the same bread Garrick ate?"
"I'm saying it is the same recipe."
"That's not proof."
"I know."
She slid the twine toward him.
"This is."
Wes looked at it.
"The knot?"
"My knot."
He frowned.
"What?"
"I tied the loaf I delivered to Garrick with a double bow."
"And?"
"The loaf at the forge had a granny knot."
Wes picked up the twine.
"Could someone have untied it?"
"Yes."
"Could you have tied it differently without remembering?"
"No."
"You were under stress."
"I know."
"Tessa—"
"My grandmother taught me that knot when I was seven."
She held up the double bow.
"I've tied it thousands of times."
Wes looked at the two knots.
Then at her.
"You're saying someone opened your package."
"Yes."
"And replaced your bread."
"Yes."
"And then retied it."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"So everyone would assume Garrick ate my bread."
Wes was quiet.
Tessa leaned forward.
"And if they knew about his allergy, they could make the replacement bread with walnuts."
Wes's eyes narrowed.
"How did the killer know?"
"We don't know."
"Exactly."
"They knew something."
"Maybe."
Tessa stared at him.
"Wes."
"I said maybe."
She exhaled.
He wasn't dismissing her.
Not exactly.
But he wasn't convinced either.
Then he reached for the phone.
"I want to talk to Bertie."
Bertie looked worse than he had in his workshop.
He sat behind the glass with his arms folded.
When Wes entered, Bertie glanced at Tessa.
"You again."
"Hello."
"You still don't believe I killed him."
"No."
Bertie's shoulders dropped.
"Good."
Wes sat across from him.
"Tessa says you made knives for someone."
Bertie went still.
"I made knives."
"For who?"
"No one."
Tessa leaned forward.
"Bertie."
He looked at her.
She said quietly:
"You're already in trouble. Lying won't help."
Bertie stared at the table.
Then sighed.
"Desmond."
Tessa's stomach dropped.
Wes didn't move.
"Desmond Hale?"
Bertie nodded.
"Charity auctions."
"What kind of knives?"
"Homage pieces."
Wes's voice sharpened.
"Meaning?"
"Knives inspired by Garrick's designs."
"With Garrick's name?"
"No."
Bertie hesitated.
"Sometimes."
Tessa stared at him.
"How sometimes?"
"Desmond wanted them to look like Garrick's work."
"Why?"
"Because people paid more."
Wes exchanged a look with Tessa.
"Did Garrick know?"
Bertie shook his head.
"I don't think so."
"How much did Desmond pay you?"
Bertie named a figure.
Tessa swallowed.
"Why did you keep doing it?"
Bertie looked ashamed.
"Because I needed the money."
Wes stood.
"Did you make any knives for the upcoming gala?"
Bertie hesitated.
"One."
Tessa's stomach tightened.
"Where is it?"
"I don't know."
"Desmond has it?"
"Probably."
Wes nodded slowly.
"Thank you."
As he turned away, Bertie called after him.
"Detective?"
Wes stopped.
Bertie looked at Tessa.
"I didn't kill Garrick."
"I know," she said.
Bertie swallowed.
"Garrick was a bastard sometimes."
A sad smile crossed his face.
"But he was my bastard."
Tessa looked down.
She understood.
Back at the station, Wes closed the interview room door.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
Then Wes said:
"Bertie confirms Desmond commissioned the knives."
"Yes."
"That connects Desmond to the forged auction pieces."
"And the ledger."
"And the festival."
"And my delivery."
"And possibly the injector."
"And the bread."
Wes raised a finger.
"Possibly."
Tessa sighed.
"You really like that word."
"It's an important word."
He gathered the evidence.
"Here's what we know."
He counted on his fingers.
"Garrick was killed by an allergen."
"The specific allergen hasn't been released."
"Someone replaced your bread."
"The replacement contained walnuts."
"Someone removed Garrick's injector."
"Someone is selling knives under Garrick's name."
"Desmond commissioned those knives."
"And Desmond knew you were delivering bread to Garrick."
Tessa nodded.
Wes looked at her.
"But we don't have enough to arrest him."
"I know."
"We need him to reveal something."
Tessa's eyes narrowed.
"The gala."
Wes nodded.
"The gala."
The idea formed between them.
Slowly.
Carefully.
They would put Desmond in a room full of people.
Tessa would bring a fresh banana bread.
She would make it clear that Garrick loved her recipe.
She would talk about the allergy.
She would mention the replacement loaf.
And then—
wait.
Let Desmond talk.
Let him correct her.
Let him reveal something he shouldn't know.
Tessa looked at Wes.
"What if he doesn't say anything?"
"Then we learn nothing."
"And if he does?"
"We listen."
Tessa smiled faintly.
"I can do that."
Wes looked unconvinced.
"You?"
"What?"
"Listen."
Tessa frowned.
"I'm very good at listening."
"You once spent twenty minutes arguing with a customer about whether a scone could be described as emotionally dry."
"That was a valid debate."
"It was a scone."
"It had emotional problems."
Wes laughed.
It was brief.
But real.
Then his expression became serious again.
"There's another problem."
"What?"
"If Desmond realizes we're watching him, he may run."
Tessa looked toward the window.
The festival was already filling the streets.
The gala would be crowded.
Perfect for someone who wanted to disappear.
"So we don't let him know."
Wes studied her.
"You understand what you're asking?"
"Yes."
"You'll be putting yourself in front of a man who may have killed Garrick."
Tessa swallowed.
"Yes."
"And you want to bait him."
"Yes."
"With banana bread."
Tessa nodded.
Wes rubbed his forehead.
"I can't believe I'm considering this."
Tessa smiled.
"You don't have to."
"I know."
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then sighed.
"All right."
Tessa blinked.
"All right?"
"We'll run the trap."
Her smile grew.
"But you follow my instructions."
"Of course."
"And you don't confront Desmond."
"Okay."
"You don't accuse him."
"Okay."
"You don't chase him."
"Okay."
"You don't improvise."
Tessa paused.
"That's a difficult one."
"Tessa."
"Fine."
Wes pointed at her.
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
He picked up the blue cap.
"We'll have officers nearby."
"Undercover?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
"You don't need to know."
"That's very reassuring."
"It isn't supposed to be."
Tessa laughed quietly.
Wes placed the cap back into the envelope.
"Tomorrow night, you bake the bread."
"I can do that."
"You bring it to the gala."
"I can do that."
"And you let Desmond talk."
Tessa nodded.
For the first time since Garrick's death, she felt something other than fear.
Purpose.
She gathered the evidence.
As she reached the door, Wes called her name.
"Tessa."
She turned.
"If you're wrong..."
She waited.
He softened.
"You're still not alone."
Tessa smiled.
"Neither are you."
She left the station.
Outside, the morning sun had climbed higher.
The gala was hours away.
And somewhere in Larkspur Falls, Desmond Hale was preparing to attend a celebration.
He thought he was going to walk into a room full of people who trusted him.
He didn't know Tessa was bringing something else.
A loaf of banana bread.
A question.
And a trap.
Wes had agreed.
Reluctantly.
But he had agreed.
Now there was only one thing left to do. Catch the man who had been pretending to protect her.