by A. Gardner
"Can you believe that drunk guy?" I can't hold back anymore. I need answers. "Do you know him?"
"Arthur?" Tamsin doesn't look at me. She proceeds to run her fingers through her hair. "I've seen him around, but we've never spoken."
"Funny." I casually shrug. "He seemed to know you."
"I suppose I have one of those faces," Tamsin suggests.
"And what about the guy who died, Ethan Taylor," I continue. "Did you know him as well?"
"As well as what?" Tamsin huffs as she pulls out a tube of mascara. "Look, Poppy, it's been over ten years since I've lived in Woodbury. I know everybody—just not very well."
"So you hadn't spoken to Ethan Taylor before that night at Chutney Manor?"
"You sound like a copper, Poppy." Tamsin focuses on her eyelashes. "Did Lewis ask you to pump me for information or something?"
"Why would he ask me to do that?" I ask. "You already talked to him about that night, didn't you?"
"Of course I did, and I was with you and Marta the whole time." Tamsin grits her teeth as she stuffs her makeup back in its bag. "I have a lot going on, okay? I don't need this sort of negativity in my life. No offense, Poppy, but you know nothing about me."
"Neither does Marta," I blurt out. It's enough to send Tamsin over the edge.
"You think you know Marta?" Tamsin laughs. "Marta and I have been mates our whole lives. You can't compete with that. A couple of months at Le Croissant doesn't even compare. I'm still surprised she even asked you to be a bridesmaid."
"Did Marta tell you anything about what happened to the two of us?" The memories are impossible to forget. They've stained my thoughts as much as I know they have Marta's—especially the night a hitman broke into her flat when I happened to be crashing on her couch.
"Marta and I have no secrets, love." Tamsin rolls her eyes.
A fire sparks in my chest.
"So what did she say when you told her you were fired from your fancy job in London?" I wait, watching Tamsin's reaction very carefully.
"Who told you that?" Tamsin frowns, her cheeks turning rosy. "Was it Catherine? That little tart. She has no idea what she's doing."
"It doesn't matter who told me," I reply. "What matters is that you've been lying through your teeth since I met you." In the heat of the moment, it isn't too hard for me to be so bold. Tamsin stares at me blankly. "What's going on, Tamsin? What's with all the secrecy, the break-in, and that nasty gash on your forearm?"
Tamsin gulps before she composes herself. She glances at her reflection, putting on a harsh face, but it's all for show. Tamsin opens her mouth to reply, but she hesitates. I cross my arms to show her that I have no problem waiting for an explanation. Even if it takes all night.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Tamsin quietly responds.
"Wrong answer." I take a step toward her. She's slowly unraveling, and this is my last chance to figure out what she's been up to leading up to Marta's big day. "Tell me what's going on…before something else jeopardizes Marta's big day. You do care about Marta, don't you?"
"Yes," Tamsin blurts out.
"Are you working on a story? Some sort of exposé?" It's an obvious guess, and judging by the surprised look on Tamsin's face, I'm assuming that it's correct.
"Fine." Tamsin looks over her shoulder. "I'll tell you. But only if you swear to keep all of this to yourself. Marta doesn't need to know any of this and neither does her fiancé. Got it?"
"I think Lewis knows more than you think," I comment.
"Maybe." Tamsin bites her lip as she checks underneath every bathroom stall to make sure we are completely alone. "Yes, I was fired from my last job, though it wasn't my doing."
"What do you mean?"
"I was fired because of…" She checks the bathroom one more time. "I was fired because of Lord Chutney."
"I don't understand."
"I had a lead on something big," Tamsin says quietly. "Something Lord Chutney was involved in years ago. At first my editor was all for it. We gathered sources and everything. Then one day that was it. My editor walked into my office and said she was pulling the plug. The next day, I was fired." Tamsin hangs her head dejectedly.
"I'm sorry," I respond.
"There." A smug look crosses her face. "Now you know."
My eyes dart to her wrist as I remember the night her hotel room was broken into. It didn't look like it was staged, and how could it have been? The realization hits me like a ten-pound bag of flour. Tamsin is still working on the story. That must be what she was arguing with Catherine about.
"But you haven't given up hope," I go on. "You're still working on this story, aren't you?" Tamsin stays silent. "Does this have anything to do with that state-of-the-art leisure center Lord Chutney was planning to build?"
"You know about that?" Tamsin asks.
"If that's the story that got you fired, that only means one thing." I shake my head.
"Is that so?" Tamsin tilts her head with interest.
"Yes," I insist. "Lord Chutney really did steal everyone's investments. If it truly was bad luck that he happened to purchase land he couldn't use, you wouldn't have lost your job over it. You have proof that he cheated the people of Woodbury, don't you?"
"Poppy." Tamsin lowers her voice. "Either someone has been running their mouth or you're an unusually good guesser. You cannot say anything about this to anyone. It is of the upmost importance."
"You should tell Detective Berry," I say.
"No." Tamsin grabs my shoulder. "No, Poppy. Do you have any idea what would happen if people around here knew what I know?"
"Lewis won't leak that kind of information. Give him more credit than that."
"Poppy, someone already knows what I've discovered and look what that person did to my hotel room," Tamsin replies. She takes a deep breath. "Look at what happened to Ethan Taylor." Tamsin's eyes turn glossy, and she blinks a few times to keep back the tears. "All I asked him to do was snoop around the manor for a bit. I should have never involved him."
Tamsin sniffles.
"You were at Chutney Manor the night you got that cut on your arm, weren't you?" I guess again.
"As a matter of fact, I was," she confesses. "And, luckily, I made it back alive."
"Tamsin—"
"I know what it looks like," she continues. "You must think I have a death wish or something, and maybe I do. But I'm going to finish this story and expose Lord Chutney for what he really is no matter what. The good people of Woodbury deserve the truth."
Tamsin dabs the corner of her eye with her sleeve. She quickly collects her makeup bag and gives me one last nod before leaving the restroom. I stand alone, listening to the echoes of chatter spilling through the walls.
I don't know what to do or say. Tamsin is walking around on thin ice, and that ice just might break on Sunday, the day of Marta's wedding. That's the one day we will all be back at Chutney Manor for an entire evening. My stomach ties itself in knots as I contemplate what to do. Lewis needs to know what's going on, but the news that Sandra is planning to marry a possible criminal will devastate Marta. Especially since her wedding reception is being held at his house.
I splash my face with water.
I have to make a decision.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"Still nothing?" The first thing Marta does when we walk through the front door is ask her mom if Peppercorn came home.
"Sorry, dearie." Sandra shakes her head as she sets her teacup in its usual spot above the sink and heads for bed. "Did you at least have a good time tonight? Lewis told me all about Chef Gautier, and I thought it was a splendid idea."
"Yes, Mum, we had a great time," Marta responds. "I can rest easy now."
My stomach starts to feel nauseous.
"Good night, you two." Sandra heads up the stairs, and Marta turns on the kettle to make her usual nightly cup of tea.
"Okay, Poppy." Marta folds her arms and leans against the counter. "Tell me what you know."
"I've
made one cup of tea since I've been here," I reply. "Please don't tell me it was that bad."
"I'm not talking about your tea-making skills." Marta raises her eyebrows the same way she used to when she inspected my pastry dough. "I'm talking about your penchant for snooping."
"There's nothing wrong with asking a question or two."
"Lewis told me everything," Marta confesses.
"What?" I narrow my eyes, wondering if this is her way of tricking me into telling her something. "Why would he do that?"
"I know. I know." Marta pours herself a cup and pours a second for me. She sits at the kitchen and mixes in a teaspoon of sugar before taking a sip. "He told you to help keep me relaxed this week. I've been trying hard not to stress, but my life has been a whirlwind ever since I announced my engagement."
"Your life is a whirlwind anyway." I sit down beside her. "You work at Le Croissant. That place is the busiest bakery I've ever been to. And I've eaten my way through New York City."
"That's a fair point," Marta agrees. "But do you remember that day I helped you with that special order Charlotte Royale that no one wanted to make?"
"Vividly." That day I was having a particularly tough time making crack-free Swiss rolls. "Remember that time I hit that guy in your bedroom over the head with a frying pan?"
"We swore we wouldn't talk about that night ever again," Marta mutters. "Well, at least the parts prior to Lewis arriving at my doorstep." Marta takes a sip of her tea and lets the warm liquid calm her. "The point is that the two of us work better as a team."
"I agree."
"Lewis told me about Tamsin," Marta continues. "Yes, I got it out of him. He's good at keeping secrets from everyone but me."
"Now I know who wears the pants in your relationship," I say quietly.
"I don't quite understand that saying, but I know that Tamsin was fired. I know that you've been suspicious of her for a while." Marta takes another sip of tea and brushes a strand of auburn hair from her face. "I also know that the two of you were alone in the loo for an awfully long time."
"I liked you better the night you were drunk," I tease her.
"What happened in there?" Marta waits for me to answer.
"Do you really want all the details?"
"Come on, Poppy. I saw Tamsin's face when she came out of the loo tonight." She purses her lips matter-of-factly. "Most importantly, I saw your face too. You're one of the only people on this planet who had the guts to confront Chef Gautier for ignoring you in the kitchen. I know you said something to Tamsin."
"Okay." I sigh. "But just so you know, I was going to talk to you about all of this eventually. My brain is on information overload, and sooner or later, something was going to slip out."
"So what is she hiding?"
"Tamsin is working on a tell-all story," I confess. "It's about Lord Chutney." Part of me is relieved to finally tell someone, but part of me is worried that spreading the news will only make things worse. Or make the two of us the killer's new target.
"Oh, for heaven's sake." Marta rolls her eyes.
"Apparently it's the same story she was working on when she got fired from that London newspaper," I continue. "She's been poking around for information on that big investment deal that went down the toilet, and apparently, she has proof that Lord Chutney scammed the entire village."
"That's why she was so eager to come early," Marta mentions. "When I first asked her to be my bridesmaid…well, she declined. Then she rang me later, apologized, and said she changed her mind. I didn't think much of it. Tamsin is like that sometimes. I figured she was going through a bad breakup or something and couldn't be bothered to leave her flat, let alone stay in Woodbury for a week. She hates it here."
"There's more." I gulp. "She asked Ethan Taylor to snoop around the manor for her the night he was killed."
"Oh, Tamsin," Marta mutters to herself. "I don't understand why she didn't go to the police that night. Surely Lewis could have helped her."
"Sounds like she's still planning on releasing the story once it's finished." I think back to my conversation with Tamsin at the pub. There is one more detail that can't be ignored.
"Where would she find proof?" Marta shakes her head. She stares at the kitchen cabinets as she tries to work it all out in her head. "I can't imagine too many of the villagers would be very helpful. Lord Chutney is a very touchy subject around here, as you saw tonight."
"She approached Catherine," I admit. "But Catherine told her to stop digging."
"Catherine?" Marta narrows her eyes. "What does Catherine have to do with any of this?"
"All I know is that Catherine told Tamsin to stop digging for information or she would end up like 'poor Monty.'" I shrug, hoping the information will mean more to Marta.
"Catherine's husband died in a car accident." Marta glances down at her tea.
"Was he one of Lord Chutney's investors?" I ask.
"No." Marta takes a deep breath.
"Strange," I comment. "Well, whatever Tamsin knows, she's not the only one." I twiddle my fingers, thinking about the night Ethan Taylor was found dead in the driver's seat of Lord Chutney's Rolls Royce.
"How do you mean?" Marta asks.
"I thought it was obvious." I gulp. I can't help it. "Tamsin's papers and laptop were stolen, remember? And let's not forget what happened to Ethan when he went snooping around Chutney Manor. Someone is trying to hush her up."
"You don't think…" Marta's eyes go wide.
"Someone's after Tamsin?" I finish. "She's clearly been warned to stay out of it."
"Poppy, what if the killer is…" She pauses and takes a sip of her tea. "I mean, what if the culprit is sitting in plain sight? What if it's Lord Chutney?"
"Why would Lord Chutney murder someone at his own dinner party?"
"To make himself look like a victim," Marta replies.
"He did say that men like Ethan needed to be taught a lesson," I admit.
"Oh, this is horrible." Marta rubs her forehead. "My mum cannot keep seeing him. I knew Lord Chutney would be trouble, but Mum refuses to believe he's guilty for some reason."
"What if you—"
"No," Marta interrupts. "I can't say anything to her unless it's true. She'll be heartbroken as it is." She takes a minute to compose herself. "I have an idea."
"Here we go," I say quietly. A chill runs down my spine.
"Tomorrow morning I'll be taking Chef Gautier to the kitchen at Chutney Manor." Marta nods. "Lord Chutney is supposed to be away until Saturday evening. That's when I'll do it."
"Do what?"
"Look for evidence," Marta informs me. "I can't have my mum dating a killer, Poppy."
"I agree with that, but it isn't that simple. Ethan Taylor went poking around, and he's dead. Tamsin has been asking too many questions, and her hotel room was ransacked. I don't think you know what you're signing up for."
"That hasn't stopped you," Marta adds, crossing her arms and glaring at me.
"It's like you said," I respond. "Snooping is in my nature. Besides, I kept everything quiet for this very reason. Marta, you don't want to put a target on your back the weekend of your wedding."
"So I'm just supposed to brush all of this off? My mum could be dating a murderer, my friend is caught up in the scandal of the century, my cat is still missing, and I'm just supposed to sit back and enjoy my wedding. Is that what you would do?"
"I get your point," I sigh.
"Good, because you're coming with me," Marta instructs.
"Me?" I repeat.
"You didn't think I was going to snoop around Chutney Manor by myself, did you?"
"Why not let Lewis handle it?"
"Lord Chutney isn't a suspect apparently," Marta answers. "His hands are tied."
"How convenient." I drop another teaspoon of sugar into my tea.
"One look around," Marta continues. "I need the peace of mind."
"And if we find something?"
"Then we go straight to Lewis," she promises.
"I will not have what happened at the dinner party happen at my wedding. I don't want to remember my special day like that."
"Okay," I agree. "One look around and then you and I need to convince Tamsin to talk to the police. I'm afraid that something might happen to her."
"Agreed." Marta takes one last sip of her tea. "Tamsin won't be able to bear the thought of giving up her story. It won't be easy."
"It'll be easier once she knows that you know," I say.
"I told her not to give me anything cheeky at my bridal shower, and you saw how well that played out. Tamsin is stubborn."
"Then tomorrow is going to be a long day," I reply.
* * *
"So this is where you learned to bake?" Destin grins as he walks into the Woodbury bakery.
"Your obsession with my childhood is getting exhausting," Marta replies. "No, this is where I used to work."
"Wait a minute." Destin pauses at the front counter. "I need to picture it."
I stand with Marta and Destin in front of Catherine's usual display of morning pastries. The earlier it is in the morning, the greater selection she offers. I watch as Marta's eyes wander to the back. She's looking for a fresh batch of scones.
"Who is ordering Jean Pierre's coffee?" Marta asks.
Catherine emerges from the kitchen with a smile on her face.
"You know how he likes it," Destin replies.
"Did you explain to him that the coffee here is not like a café au lait back in Paris?" Marta insists.
"I am sure he will understand." Destin shoves his hands into his pockets as Marta rolls her eyes.
"Relax," I chime in. "I'll take the fall on this one. If he doesn't like it, he can fire me."
Destin chuckles as Catherine approaches the register.
"Good morning." Catherine sounds overly friendly—her customer service voice. She cheerily grabs a box, assuming that we're here for a large selection of morning pastries.
"Good morning to you," Destin replies, dialing up his French accent the way he usually does when he speaks to English women.
"Oh my." Catherine laughs politely. "I see that you're definitely not from around here."
