Chapter 18
Serve
Recipe Tip: Present it like you mean it. Food tells a story, but sometimes the most important ingredient is confidence.
By six-thirty Sunday evening, Tessa stood in the kitchen of Second Rise Bakery staring at a loaf of banana bread.
It was perfect.
At least, as perfect as anything could be when you knew you were about to use it as bait for a suspected murderer.
The crust was deep golden brown.
The center had risen beautifully.
The edges were slightly crisp.
And the smell—
Brown butter.
Banana.
Cardamom.
Vanilla.
A hint of orange zest.
Tessa closed her eyes and breathed it in.
This was her bread.
Her grandmother's recipe.
Her bakery.
Her life.
Not Garrick's.
Not Desmond's.
Hers.
Pretzel sat beneath the worktable.
"You don't get any."
Pretzel stared at the loaf.
"I know."
He stared harder.
"No."
He sighed dramatically and lay down.
Tessa smiled.
"You've become very patient."
Pretzel closed his eyes.
"Suspiciously patient."
She wrapped the loaf carefully.
Then tied the string.
Two loops.
Cross.
Pull.
Another loop.
A perfect double bow.
She looked at it.
The knot mattered.
Everything mattered now.
The ingredients.
The smell.
The texture.
The wrapping.
The smallest detail could tell the truth if she paid attention.
Tessa placed the loaf into a wooden basket.
Then she looked at Pretzel.
"Ready?"
Pretzel opened one eye.
"I'll take that as a yes."
The gala filled the Larkspur Falls Community Hall with gold light and expensive clothing.
White tablecloths covered the long tables.
Flowers spilled from glass vases.
Candles flickered beside silver serving trays.
The charity auction display occupied the center of the room.
Tessa's stomach tightened when she saw the knives.
Six of them.
Beautiful.
Polished.
Deadly-looking despite being completely harmless behind their display cases.
Each had a certificate beside it.
And each certificate claimed to be a Garrick Thorne original.
Tessa knew better now.
She glanced toward Wes.
He stood near the far wall in a dark suit.
He didn't look at her.
That was deliberate.
They had agreed not to make it obvious.
Tessa carried her basket toward the auction table.
Desmond saw her immediately.
His smile appeared.
Warm.
Friendly.
Perfect.
"Tessa."
"Desmond."
"You made it."
"I did."
He looked at the basket.
"What's that?"
"Banana bread."
His smile widened.
"For the auction?"
"For Garrick."
Desmond's expression changed.
Only slightly.
Tessa noticed.
"His favorite," she said.
Desmond looked at the loaf.
"Garrick's favorite?"
"Apparently."
She smiled.
"I thought people should know."
A few nearby guests turned.
Tessa lifted the loaf onto the display table.
"I'm putting it up for auction."
Desmond chuckled.
"That's certainly fitting."
"Why?"
"Garrick would have appreciated the gesture."
Tessa nodded.
"I'm sure he would."
She untied the basket.
The scent drifted through the room.
People nearby turned.
One woman smiled.
"That smells incredible."
Tessa smiled.
"Brown butter banana bread."
Desmond leaned closer.
"Beautiful."
Tessa watched him.
He inhaled.
His expression softened.
For just a second, he looked almost nostalgic.
Then he smiled.
"You've outdone yourself."
"Thank you."
He glanced at the loaf again.
"Although..."
Tessa waited.
Desmond laughed lightly.
"It would never do to use walnuts."
The room seemed to disappear.
Tessa heard nothing.
Not the music.
Not the conversations.
Not the clink of glasses.
Nothing.
Only those four words.
Use walnuts.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
She slowly turned.
Wes stood across the room.
His eyes were fixed on Desmond.
He had heard.
Tessa knew it.
Desmond continued smiling.
"What?"
Tessa couldn't speak.
Desmond frowned.
"Did I say something?"
Wes began walking toward them.
Slowly.
Not hurried.
Not dramatic.
Just walking.
Tessa's fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
Desmond looked at Wes.
Then back at her.
"Everything okay?"
Tessa finally found her voice.
"How did you know?"
Desmond blinked.
"Know what?"
"Walnuts."
His smile disappeared.
Only for a fraction of a second.
But Tessa saw it.
Wes saw it too.
Desmond recovered.
"I—"
Pretzel appeared beneath the table.
He grabbed the cuff of Desmond's trouser leg.
And pulled.
Desmond looked down.
The cat tugged again.
Harder.
"What is that cat doing?"
Tessa almost laughed.
Even now, Pretzel had terrible timing.
Or perfect timing.
Desmond tried to step away.
Pretzel followed.
His claws hooked into the fabric.
"Get him off me."
Tessa stared at him.
The man who had carried soup to her bakery.
The man who had defended her.
The man who had encouraged her to apologize to Garrick.
The man who had told her to trust the police.
The man who had known exactly where she would leave the bread.
He had just said the one thing he couldn't possibly know.
Unless—
he was the person who had put walnuts in the loaf.
Wes stopped beside the table.
"Desmond."
Desmond looked at him.
"Yes?"
"Where did you hear about the walnuts?"
Desmond's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
The music continued playing.
People nearby had begun looking over.
Someone whispered.
Another person stopped talking.
Desmond's face tightened.
"I heard it from someone."
"Who?"
"I don't remember."
Wes's expression remained calm.
"You don't remember?"
"No."
Tessa looked at him.
"Nobody was told."
Desmond turned toward her.
"What?"
"The police didn't release the allergen."
He stared.
Tessa's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Nobody knew it was walnuts."
Desmond looked around.
For the first time, his calm expression cracked.
Pretzel gave his trouser leg another determined tug.
Desmond stepped backward.
Wes stepped forward.
"Don't."
Desmond stopped.
The room had gone almost completely silent.
Tessa looked at the banana bread.
Her fresh loaf sat untouched on the table.
Cardamom.
Brown butter.
Pepitas.
No walnuts.
Exactly as it should be.
She looked at Desmond.
He knew about walnuts.
He knew about her delivery.
He had commissioned forged knives.
He had been near the coatroom.
And now—
he had made the mistake they needed.
Tessa felt the fear inside her change.
It wasn't gone.
But it had become something stronger.
Certainty.
Wes glanced at her.
He didn't say anything.
He didn't need to.
They both understood.
Desmond had just told them something he could not have known.
Something only the killer should have known.
Pretzel released his trouser leg.
For once, he didn't steal anything.
He simply sat beside Tessa.
Watching.
Waiting.
And Tessa finally understood the terrible simplicity of it.
The killer hadn't been hiding the truth very well.
They had been hiding it behind kindness.
Behind charity.
Behind smiles.
Behind a helping hand.
Until one careless sentence had torn the glaze away.
Tessa looked at Wes.
Wes looked at Desmond.
And the room held its breath.
Nobody but the killer knew about the walnuts.