by Erin Johnson
Peter shifted on his feet, clearly uncomfortable. “I know this is a difficult time, but I’m sure you want to see justice done for your mother as much as we do. We need to ask you a few questions.”
The shorter brunette lifted her quivering chin and nodded, while the tall blond lowered her hands, then dropped her arms limp at her sides, though she continued to whimper and sniffle.
Peter glanced at his notes, the scroll hovering magically at his shoulder. “Now, which of you is which?”
The plump brunette lifted her hand. “I’m Tonya.”
The thin blond sniffled. “I’m Elin.”
Peter nodded. “Thank you. And I understand that you’re twins?”
Elin glanced down her slightly upturned nose at her sister and sneered. “Not identical, clearly.”
Tonya’s gaze hardened, but she otherwise didn’t react. I sucked on my lips. Wow. Quite the dig—and while their mother’s body wasn’t even cold yet. Clearly there was some animosity between the girls, but was this just normal sister stuff?
I had no frame of reference, as I’d grown up in the orphanage. I glanced to Peter at my right—he was an only child, so I doubted he’d be of much help either. Maybe I’d ask Heidi later. She had a big family, plus about a hundred cousins who seemed like sisters to her.
I flashed my eyes at Peter, and he gave me a slight shake of the head back. Quite the pair, these two. He turned back to the twins.
“Can you walk me through where you were when your mother collapsed?”
Tonya blew out a shaky breath and dragged a hand down the back of her neck. She wore her hair short, like her mother’s, but any resemblance to Polly or Elin ended there.
While the other two were both tall, statuesque, and fair, Tonya was short, round, and dark-haired. While she didn’t have the elegance of her lithe mom and sister, she was curvy and cute. Her dark hair was in finger waves, and she wore dark purple lipstick that accentuated her coloring. Her floral, frilly dress and apron showed off her curves.
“I was in the garden, out back.” She half turned and gestured with her thumb at the lush and orderly royal garden behind the tent. I’d seen a few bakers rooting around out there. “I was gathering herbs—rosemary and thyme—for our bread.” She gulped. “It’s bread day for the competition.” Her gaze grew faraway. “That’s when I heard the screams.”
Daisy whined. True.
Elin, her eyes glazed with tears, sniffled. “And I was in the pantry, gathering ingredients.” She looked toward the opposite end of the tent with the racks of jars, baskets of eggs, and bunches of fresh fruits and vegetables.
I’d spotted a bunch of bakers over there during the competition, too. Surely there’d be many witnesses who could corroborate where the sisters were. Besides, Daisy whined and confirmed she was telling the truth.
Tonya nodded. “Our mother stayed behind to work with the bread starter.”
Peter gave a solemn nod. “Do you remember your mother eating or drinking anything else this morning? Anything anyone else might have been able to tamper with?”
Tonya shook her head. “No. I was with Mom all morning.”
Her tall sister cut in. “Tonya still lives with Mom.” She tossed her long blond locks over her shoulder and looked smug. “I live with my fiancé.”
Tonya shot her a dark look—was that jealousy in that glare? Tonya huffed and addressed Peter again. “Mom was really nervous this morning. She’s been nervous every morning of the competition. She said she couldn’t eat or drink.” She looked down. “She said she might vomit if she did.”
There was a moment of quiet, and I couldn’t help but think of the foam pouring from the woman’s mouth. I shuddered.
After Daisy again confirmed that Tonya had told the truth, Peter leaned close to me, his voice low. “If Polly didn’t have anything else to eat or drink this morning, it’s almost certain to be the tea that was poisoned.”
I nodded my agreement. “Which means someone in this tent killed her.”
The crease between Peter’s brows deepened. “The twins have told the truth so far, and if they were nowhere near their mother or the tea, I don’t see how they could have killed her.”
“Besides, this is a baking competition. I don’t see what motive they’d have for killing off their head baker.” I shrugged. “And despite whatever rivalry they clearly have with each other, Daisy seems to think the girls are experiencing real grief over losing their mom.”
Peter half turned and glanced around the tent. “We’ll have to question the servant who brought the tea around, of course, but to me it seems much more likely that we’re looking at a rival baker as our prime suspect.”
I nodded and raised a brow. “The plot thickens… or should I say, the dough?”
Peter fought a grin and gave a little shake of his head. Yeah, not my best work, but then again, it was the middle of the day and I hadn’t slept. We turned back to the sisters, and Peter addressed them both.
“Do you know of anyone in this tent who might have wanted to harm your mother?”
Tonya blew out a heavy breath, and Elin snorted. She flipped her blond hair over her shoulder and pointed a trembling hand at the bald guy with small, rectangular glasses who’d snapped at everyone earlier. She sniffled, then devolved into tears, so her sister took over.
“That’s Frank Hemlock and his team.” Tonya raised her dark brows significantly. “They’re probably our biggest competition. He’s made it clear he’s not playing around.”
I leaned into one hip. “Your biggest competition? As in, you expected to win this thing?”
Tonya’s face fell, and she hugged her arms around herself. “We did.” She looked down at her feet. “Probably don’t have a chance now that Mom’s gone.”
Peter and I exchanged looks. Taking out your biggest competition for a sweet royal baking gig made for pretty good motive. We’d be talking to this Frank Hemlock dude soon.
Elin sniffled, her face red and wet. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, then reached over and tugged a flowery kerchief out of Tonya’s pocket.
“Hey!” The shorter sister swiped at it, but Elin held it over her head. “That’s for my hair.”
Elin rolled her eyes and said in her stuffed-up voice, “Well, I need it.” She put it to her face and blew her nose with a dainty squeak.
Tonya snapped her mouth shut, but a dark look clouded her face. My gaze darted between the sisters. Wow. If Elin wasn’t careful, she might be the next casualty. I frowned—not that I thought Tonya had murdered their mother. Again—I couldn’t see any motive, and she hadn’t been anywhere near the tent or the tea when it happened.
“Here.” Elin lowered the now soiled kerchief from her face and handed it back to her twin.
Tonya curled her lip and recoiled. “Ew. You keep it.”
Elin rolled her eyes again and shoved it in her own apron pocket. “Whatever.” She turned to Peter. “Frank’s not the only one who had it out for us.” She jerked her chin toward a group of bakers near the pantry shelves across the tent.
SUSPECTS
An older woman who, judging by the copious wrinkles on her dark skin, looked to be in her eighties, stood sandwiched between two young people, their arms hugged around her. Despite her age, she sported a lavender fauxhawk, a muumuu embroidered with flowers, and polka dot cat glasses. I grinned in spite of myself at her colorful look. Made my uniform of jeans, vintage band tees, and dark jackets seem downright drab.
“That’s Mimi Moulin.”
Peter followed Elin’s gaze. “The older lady with the purple hair?”
The sisters nodded, and Elin went on in hushed tones, as though sharing a big secret. “Mom worked for her at her bakery when she was a teenager, and Mimi claims Mom stole her famous sourdough bread starter.”
I glanced at the old lady and back to Elin. “Did she?”
The blond placed a hand on her chest and scoffed. “Of course not. But whatever, it was like decades ago, but Mimi’s n
ever forgiven her.”
Peter and I exchanged significant looks again. I turned to the sisters.
“And today was bread day, right? Were you using the starter Mimi thought was hers?”
Tonya nodded. “It’s our signature loaf.”
“Uh-huh.” I ran my tongue over my teeth and turned to Peter. Yeah, as cute as the old lady was, that made her another prime suspect.
Peter perused his notes. “Anyone else you can think of who might have wanted to harm your mother?”
The sisters exchanged a look, then both pointed straight behind us at the golden bleachers where the audience sat. Peter and I both turned.
“See that man in the navy suit, with the beard?”
I scanned the crowd for a moment. Many people were gathered in little groups, being interviewed by police officers, but quite a few people still sat on the metal benches. I spotted him and nodded.
Elin huffed. “Greasy-looking, with way too much jewelry on? Tacky.”
Peter and I both nodded at the girls, then turned back to look at the guy. He stared down at his hands, playing with the many gold rings on his fingers. He looked about Polly’s age, in his early seventies, and though he was sitting, I’d guess he was quite a bit shorter than our victim. Also a lot tanner in an unnaturally orange sort of way, which made his slicked-back white hair look even whiter.
He looked up, frowning, and scanned the crowd until he spotted me, Peter, and the girls all staring at him. He startled, jerked his head up, then rose and slid down the row and scuttled down the bleachers and out of sight.
I smirked at Peter. “Totally innocent behavior there.”
He fought a grin and turned back to the twins. “Who is that?”
Tonya sighed. “Vince Dupont. Mom’s ex-boyfriend.”
Elin shot us a flat look. “He’s got a bit of money—runs some laundromats and small businesses—but he acts like he’s some big shot.” Her expression darkened. “Plus, he’s a cheater. Mom dumped him after she caught him. They were together about a year before that.”
I frowned. “What happened after that?” And why was he in the audience at a baking competition?
Tonya hugged herself tighter. “He went and did his own thing for a while. Mom didn’t hear from him for months.”
Elin smirked. “We think he ran off with the other woman but probably got dumped recently.”
Tonya nodded. “A few weeks ago he showed up at the bakery, out of nowhere, and tried to get her back. She said no, but he’s been trying ever since. Mom just kept rejecting him.”
Elin’s mouth grew pinched. “You’d think he’d get the point.”
Peter nodded. “We’ll make sure to question him.”
I bit my lip, thinking this over. Had Polly’s ex come here to show support? Or did he have murderous intent?
I looked to Tonya, who seemed the more level-headed one. “Did your mother have any interest in Vince?” I shrugged as I remembered the victim’s impeccable makeup, hair, and dress. “She looked dressed to impress.” Which seemed a bit odd for a baking competition where she’d be likely to get covered in flour and dough bits. Then again, my idea of dressing up was wearing my least-wrinkled tee, so that could just be me.
Tonya shook her head. “Mom didn’t want anything to do with Vince. She generally dressed nicely.”
Elin shot her sister a pointed look. “You finally seem to be taking notes from her.”
Tonya’s shoulders tensed, but she just raised her chin, her tone tense. “In any case, Mom was a little extra fancy since she knew royalty would be attending.” Her shoulders slumped back down, and the corners of her mouth sagged with sadness. “Mom wanted to look her best for the royalty.”
“Babe! Babe!” We all turned to see a tall, good-looking guy striding toward us, waving a muscular arm. His broad shoulders seemed to barely fit in his shirt, which had been unbuttoned low enough to glimpse his toned chest. A diamond stud glinted in his ear, and his jeans looked so tight, I wondered if it took a spell to get in and out of them.
He headed straight for Elin, and she collapsed, sobbing, into his arms. As they embraced, he looked at Tonya, who glared back and turned pointedly away. I pressed my lips together—alrighty. There was a story there.
Elin, teary, leaned away and pressed her hands to the dude’s chiseled chest. “Oh, it’s so awful.” She sniffled, and he rubbed her back.
Peter lifted a thick brow. “And you are…?”
“Oh.” He chuckled, a low, good natured sound. “I’m Lorenzo Cass.”
Elin fawned over him. “My fiancé. We got engaged earlier this week.” She held her hand out to me, presumably so I could gush over her ring. I just looked down at Daisy. Was this for real?
Tonya turned partially away from the lovebirds and grumbled to herself. “Yeah, and you can’t stop shoving your ring in everyone’s face.”
I raised my brows. Oh, the sisterly love was just rolling off these two.
“Sorry it took me so long to get down here, babe; the cops wanted to ask me some questions.”
I had a few questions of my own, but not for him. As Peter interviewed Lorenzo, and Elin was entirely engulfed in her fiancé’s pecs, I pulled Tonya aside. I jerked my head for Daisy to follow. The dog rolled her eyes but trotted over. I needed that lie-detecting sniffer.
Tonya’s eyes widened. “What’s up?”
How to put this… I squinted one eye. “I’m going to take a wild guess that you’re not a huge fan of your sister’s fiancé?”
Tonya paled, her eyes wide, then her cheeks flushed bright pink and she looked down. “I’m sure you’ve picked up on the fact that my sister and I don’t always get along.”
You don’t say.
She blew out a heavy breath and looked at Daisy, then up at me. “But Lorenzo is known around town as a player.” She glanced at the gushing couple, then leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I’m sure he’s cheating on Elin.” Her eyes hardened. “And yet, she still parades him around like it makes her better than me.”
I glanced down at Daisy, who whined. Yes, she’s telling the truth. The dog yawned, showing all her pointy white teeth. I need a nap.
I blinked my burning eyes. Yeah, you and me both, Days. I thanked Tonya, and we rejoined Peter and the others as he finished his questions for Lorenzo.
As we moved off to interview some of the other bakers, I filled Peter in on Tonya’s opinion of the fiancé.
“Guess he’s a player.” I smirked.
Peter chuckled. “Yeah, I could’ve guessed by the number of buttons he missed on his shirt.”
“Ooh.” I elbowed him. “Nice burn.”
He grinned. “I’m learning from the best.”
I counted our suspects off on my fingers. “So we’ve got Polly’s two daughters, who were nowhere near her when she collapsed and had no motive to kill their mother—in fact, without her, they’re unlikely to win the competition.”
Peter nodded. “Plus, a player fiancé.”
I grinned at him. “Who, again, was present in the bleachers, but nowhere near Polly or her tea, and appears to have no motive.”
Peter kept his voice low as we threaded through the baking stations. “At first glance, it seems much more likely that a rival baker is behind this. They’d have the clearest motive and opportunity. Polly’s daughters pointed out Frank Hemlock, who’s bent on winning, and Mimi Moulin, who has a personal history with their mother.”
I nodded. “I agree. But don’t forget the shady ex-boyfriend, Vince. It could’ve been him.”
Peter nodded. “The problem is, none of these people were close enough to Polly to kill her—and we had hundreds of witnesses with their eyes glued to the tent. Someone would’ve seen something if any of them had approached her station.”
I bit my lip. Hopefully, talking to Frank and Mimi, the rival bakers, would shed some light on the murder.
FRANK
Frank Hemlock and his two teammates stood apart from the rest of the bakers. They
huddled with their heads close together, and one of them looked up as Peter, Daisy, and I approached. Frank said something, his eyes hard on us, and all three smirked. We hadn’t even talked to him yet, and already I didn’t like him. Off to a good start.
They broke apart, and Frank, whose bald head came about to my shoulder, stared Peter and me down, his arms crossed, feet in a wide stance.
“Frank Hemlock?”
The guy nodded at Peter. “That’s me.” He raised an eyebrow.
I shot him a flat look. “We need to ask you some questions about Polly Pierre.”
He smirked wider, as did the two young men standing beside him. “Ask away.”
I frowned. “Is something funny?” I suddenly felt like my old headmistress at the orphanage.
He chuckled. “Look, it’s tragic that Polly died, but to be blunt, it just means some of our competition is gone. We’re that much closer to winning.”
Wow. So sensitive. The two young men beside him nodded enthusiastically at each other. I was surprised they weren’t high-fiving and chest bumping.
I raised a brow. “Is winning that important to you, then?”
Frank scoffed and lifted a thick palm. “Look, baking hasn’t been my thing that long. I retired about five years ago after I sold my business, and as I’m relatively young and rich and driven—”
I fought not to roll my eyes.
“—I got bored, so I took up baking as a hobby. I find it relaxing. Drop that!”
I jumped as he turned to the guy on his right, who’d started fiddling with the towel draped over a bowl. The other baker startled too and backed away. I shot Frank a flat look. This was him relaxed?
“I can’t help it. I’m competitive at whatever I do. I’m a winner, period.” He raised his brows in challenge.
I glanced down at Daisy, and she whined. He’s telling the truth.
Or at least what he believed to be the truth. Someone had a high opinion of themselves. But was that drive of his enough to make him murder a competitor?
Peter leveled Frank with a stern look. “How well did you know Polly Pierre and her daughters?”
