He didn't answer me.
"Are you the one that leaked the rumors to the press that Justin was the one who did it?"
Adam's attention was fixed back firmly on the cake display. "Maybe."
"Adam!"
"Well, I had to get revenge on him somehow! He ruined my one big chance to make it."
I threw my head back in frustration. I had Justin holed up in a hotel room, constantly texting me asking whether I had found the killer yet so that he was off the hook, and the entire rumor was down to a lover's spat.
Adam kept trying to defend himself. "If Justin is kicked off the show then I will get a fair chance. It's only fair. He deserves it if he’s going to tamper with the outcome of the show!"
I rolled me eyes a little. "That's a producer's job, Adam. To tamper with the outcome of a show." I stopped and stared at him.
I had to ask it.
But Pippa jumped in ahead of me.
"So it looks like Pierre's murder worked out pretty well for you," Pippa started to say slowly, inching her way toward a squirming Adam.
"Well, maybe, but only accidentally." Adam straightened up and cleared his throat. "What are you trying to suggest?"
"Did you kill Pierre so that you could take revenge on Justin? Or Pierre, for that matter. For spitting your cake out."
"No!" Adam squealed. "I might have been angry about losing my chance, but I would never do something like that. That's insane."
He held his hand up to his neck to mimic a pearl-clutching motion. Pippa and I looked at each other. I knew we were both thinking the same thing. How can we trust a word this guy is saying?
Adam looked at me. "Anyway, I'm not the only person making up rumors and selling them to the press," he said pointedly.
"What are you talking about, Adam?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Don't you want to know how the rumor about you and Pierre got leaked to the press?"
I sighed. I did want to know, but I didn't really want to give Adam the satisfaction that he was clearly deriving from being the holder of this information.
Pippa nodded at me. A signal to me to drop my pride.
"Fine, Adam. Tell me who told the press about that."
He shrugged. "I don't know her too well. Just met her at the audition. Some single mother with five kids. When you got through ahead of her, she kind of lost it. Said she was sure that you must have used more than just your baking skills to impress Pierre. And when Pierre died, she told me she was going straight to the press." He shrugged. "Said she thought it would make you look guilty."
Chapter 8
"Are you ready?" Pippa asked me as I took a deep breath.
"Yes. It's time I finally faced up to this."
Pippa stepped back and looked over my shoulder as I finally brought up the news headlines that had been running constantly since Pierre's death.
"And I've got an actual real life paper here for you as well, if you need it," Pippa said.
I could feel the waft of air on the back of my neck as she waved the newspaper behind me. "That's super helpful."
"Ohhh." I could hear Pippa whispering behind me. I could hear the wince in her voice. "It's pretty bad."
The gossip sites were plastered with garish photos of Pierre and me, badly photoshopped into them with headlines like "Baking Warriors Love Scandal - Contestant Cheats Her Way In."
"This is insane, Pippa. We never even had a photo taken together. We never even met except for that one time at my disastrous audition."
When Pippa didn't say anything, I swung around in my chair to find her making a confused face that she quickly tried to straighten before I saw it. "What?"
"Well, I thought you said your audition went really well. Isn't that why you were going through to the next round?"
"Well," I said, a little unsure. "I thought my audition went badly. Pierre didn't seem to like my cake, but Justin assured me that he did really like me."
"Oh."
"Pippa! It's not like that!"
She glanced over my shoulder back at the gossip sites. "No, I'm sure it's not."
"It's not, Pippa!" But I had to cross my arms over my chest as I thought about it all. "Justin just said that Pierre had to pretend not to like my cake for TV. It's all fake, you know. Just like these news stories," I said pointedly.
Pippa nodded firmly. "I know. Sorry, Rach. It's just that they can be pretty convincing."
I spun back around to face the computer. "Yeah, well, Renee did a pretty good job of spinning a good tale for them. She's mixed enough true details from the audition process in with the lies so that it seems more convincing." I dropped my face into my hands.
This was all so embarrassing. I was only glad that my nana wasn't around to see my public humiliation. Even the thought of her reading these gossip articles made me want the earth to swallow me.
"So, what are you thinking?" Pippa asked. She settled down, perched up on the desk next to me.
"If Renee killed Pierre, it makes sense that she would try to frame someone else as a suspect. It's a pretty good plan. Maybe not the most original, but a solid plan nonetheless."
Pippa clucked her tongue a few times, in deep concentration. "To be fair, though, or maybe her plan just backfired, but people don't really seem to be blaming you for his death if you actually read the articles. They are more focused on the scandal of it. Of the fact that you cheated your way through."
"Hmm," I murmured. She was right. Not that I'd cheated my way through, but that no one was really pointing the finger at me. They thought I had a crush on Pierre, not that I was trying to kill him. "Either way though, it takes the attention off the actual crime. That could have been a smart move on her part. She was desperate to get on the show, Pippa. Just like Adam was. She might have been just as upset as Adam was when she missed out. Pierre's death benefits her as much as it did Adam."
I slumped back on the sofa. "Just about the only person his death doesn't benefit is me."
"Exactly. Maybe Renee didn't fully think that angle through before she leaked the story to the press. Her plan failed."
I sat up. "But why would she even do it in the first place? Was she really that angry at me for making it to the next round over her? Unless she did kill Pierre, I can't see why she would do such a thing."
Pippa checked the time. "It's late. Almost 9:00. Do you think we should go over there tonight?"
"She has young children, Pippa. They might be sleeping. Besides, if she was really a dangerous menace to society, surely the Belldale Police would be on to her by now."
We each looked at each other before we burst out laughing. "Well, maybe not." Pippa reached over for her tea and took a big slurp. "Speaking of the police, have you heard from Jackson lately?"
I shook my head and pursed my lips. "Nope. Ever since I turned him down—I mean as an investigator, Pippa, don't let your imagination run wild—he seems to be avoiding me."
"Sulking?"
I sighed. "I don't know. I can't presume to know what goes on in his head."
"And he's still living with that skinny detective, right?"
"As far as I know." I was eager to change the subject. "Speaking of living with partners. Have you and Marcello had any luck finding a place to live yet?" I asked hopefully.
"Ooh!" Pippa jumped up and pushed me off the seat so that she could get to the computer. She quickly brought up a real estate site and excitedly showed me the listing for a two-bedroom apartment at a rock bottom price.
I leaned forward. "That's half what I pay and it’s double the space."
"Yep." Pippa nodded as she flicked through the photos. "There's a proper bath as well. And there’s a big yard, if we want to get a dog. The landlord allows pets, apparently."
"Pippa, what’s the catch?" I suddenly caught the address of the property. "Pippa, this is over the other side of the highway! It's in downtown Belldale," I said, really trying to hide the look of horror on my face. I don't like to be a snob, but Belldale is definitely a tow
n of two halves. I'd only been to this area once before in my life, when Pippa had dragged me to a meeting of her paranormal club.
"I know," she said cheerfully. "The area is about to blow up big time."
"It is?"
She nodded. "So we should grab this place now before rent prices go up."
I sat in silence for a moment. There was another reason I wasn't that keen on Pippa's new zip code. Well, technically, that side of town shared the same zip code, but it may as well have been on a different continent as far as I was concerned. "But, Pippa, it's so far away."
"Don't worry," she replied. "I'll still make it to work on time every day."
"It's not that, Pips. It's that you won't be able to just pop over for a coffee or a chat whenever you want." I stared at the empty sofa. It suddenly hit me that Pippa wouldn't be living on my couch anymore.
It suddenly hit me that she was married.
And it didn't seem to be one of her crazy schemes, or something she got sick of and gave up on after a few weeks.
She really loved Marcello. She was serious about him.
And she was really going to move in with him.
"Rach? You okay?" Pippa said with concern, leaning back to look at me.
"Yeah," I said quickly, trying to hide the sniffling sound in my voice. "It's just been kind of an emotional day for me, that's all."
I stood up. "Let me know if you need me for a reference," I said with a big smile. "For when you apply."
Pippa made an apologetic face. "We kind of already did apply. Fingers crossed, we'll hear by tomorrow."
"Oh." I sucked in a deep breath. "That's great, Pips," I said before I gave her a big hug. "I'll cross all my fingers. And toes as well."
I heard Pippa make a sort of inhuman cry that I couldn't tell if it was a squeal of joy or disappointment.
I ran into the front of the bakery from the kitchen, my hands still covered with flour and held up daintily with my elbows bent, as I ran over to Pippa, who ended the call on her cell phone.
"Well?" I asked, assuming it had been her real estate agent on the phone. In the split second before she answered, I wasn't sure whether I wanted her to get the apartment or not.
We can all squeeze in together. It hasn't been THAT chaotic. We can make it work!
Hang on. What about Marcello? It HAS been that chaotic. It's been very chaotic.
Pippa grinned at me. "You're going to be happy!"
Was I?
"We got the apartment!" She started jumping up and down and raced over to hug me. I joined her in jumping up and down but tried to keep my floury hands away from her. We must have looked a strange sight to the people walking past.
"I am happy," I said. "Happy for you. I have to admit, Pippa, that when I first met Marcello..."
"Yes?"
"Well, I wondered if you had really thought it through. You have to admit the marriage was a bit of a rush, and Marcello is a bit eccentric to live with."
"And now?" she asked expectantly.
"Well, now I think that Marcello is a complete and utter disaster. But, Pippa, he's your complete and utter disaster. And that's all that matters."
"Thanks, Rach."
"Well, I guess we may as well start packing when we get home." I accidentally clapped my hands together sending a puff of flour bursting into the air. "I'll help you, don't worry."
"We'll have three pairs of hands then," Pippa said.
"Won't Marcello be at his dishwashing job?"
She made a face. "He kind of already got fired from that. He broke twenty-five plates on his first night."
"Of course he did."
"Umm," I said cautiously, as I watched Marcello pick up a knife to slice through the packing tape. "I'm just a little concerned," I whispered to Pippa. "First, I thought we were putting stuff into boxes, not taking stuff out. Second, should Marcello really be holding a knife?"
"We need to open some of the boxes we've already packed. Marcello says he accidentally packed the keys for the new apartment and we can't find them anywhere."
"Right. And the other point I brought up?"
"He'll be fine, Rach. Marcello isn't a child. He's a fully-grown man. He can be trusted with a knife."
"Okay. You're right. Of course." I slowly turned my attention to the box I myself was packing. Marcello's bags had only arrived a few days earlier, but he'd somehow managed to unpack every last one of them so they all needed to be re-packed. Then there was Pippa's stuff. "I think we're going to be here all night," I murmured. "Especially if you want to move into the new apartment in the morning."
Suddenly I heard a scream followed by what I could only assume were expletives in Italian. I spun around to see blood spurting out of Marcello's hand as he lifted it up in the air.
"Oh, sweetheart!" Pippa said, racing over to him. "Oh my gosh, the knife has gone right through."
"Oh my," I exclaimed, taking a step back as my head began to grow foggy. I could feel it happening, could feel the strength draining from my legs. If I didn't sit down, I was going to faint.
I almost made it to the sofa before I collapsed. My legs were against the sofa while I was laying flat on my back.
"Rach!" I heard Pippa scream. She ran over to me and tapped me on the cheek.
I was groggy, but conscious. "I'm fine," I said, swatting her hand away. "Just give me a second. Go focus on Marcello."
She ran back over to a still-bleeding Marcello. "Here, use this shirt to stop the blood." I had my eyes open a peek and could just make out the image of Pippa wrapping a white shirt around Marcello's index finger.
"Oh shoot! This isn't my shirt! Sorry, Rachael!"
I closed my eyes again and waved my hand. That was the least of my worries right then. I reached up to my forehead and tried to take a few deep breaths. I didn't like being so hopeless while someone clearly needed my help.
I wobbled onto my feet and made my way over to where Marcello was hopelessly flailing about. "I think you should tie that shirt a little tighter around the wound."
Pippa turned to me.
"I'm so sorry, Rachael! I've got to get Marcello to the emergency room."
I waved my hand, still a little uneasy on my feet. "No, it's fine. Of course you do." I ushered them out of the room, Marcello clutching my white shirt around his finger. The blood slowly seeping into it was turning the whole thing various shades of red and pink like an extra bloody sunset.
I swallowed. Just accept that it's a write off, Rachael. It's not worth getting upset over. At least it wasn't anything more serious. At least Marcello only stabbed himself.
"I'll keep packing while you're gone," I assured them as I followed them out to the car.
"Rach, you don't have to do that."
"Trust me, if I know the Belldale Hospital Emergency Room, you won't be getting out of there for six or seven hours."
I caught Marcello wince. "Well, maybe five if you're really lucky," I tried unsuccessfully to reassure him.
I closed the driver’s side door for Pippa and she sped off into the night.
"I guess it's just you and me now," I said to my glass of wine as I took several gulps, hoping it would calm my nerves a little after the sight of all that blood. I thought back to my earlier conversation with Dawn, thinking how funny it was that she thought I would purposely pursue crime solving when I would faint at the first sign of blood.
With my disposition returning to normal, I sighed a little as I looked around at all the carnage strewn across the floor. "How did he manage to make this much mess when his bags only arrived a few days ago?"
I stopped myself. I knew perfectly well how he had managed to do it. He was Marcello.
Trouble followed him.
I supposed I could relate to that, so maybe I should be a little more understanding of his trials and tribulations. Pippa sure seemed to have infinite patience for him. But they were newlyweds. What was going to happen when the sheen wore off and Pippa was stuck living with a walking disaster?
I was still a little shaky, so when I scooped up the first handful of books and photographs, they slid out onto the floor. I slumped down on the sofa and placed my head between my knees for a second.
Come on, Rachael. Pull it together. You've got a long night of packing ahead of you.
I lifted my head and forced myself to keep going. But as I scooped the pile up again, another photo slid out and fluttered to the floor before it landed face down. Once I'd stuffed the rest of the items into a box, I reached down and picked up the photo, turning it over absentmindedly, expecting, I suppose, to find a photo of Marcello as a child in Italy or maybe a more recent photo, perhaps one taken at his and Pippa's shotgun wedding.
But that's not what I found.
Staring back at me was a smiling Marcello with his arm wrapped around Pierre Hamilton.
What the?
No. It can't be.
I turned the photo over again. As though the back of it might give me some clue as to whether it was real or not. To be honest, it had been some time since I'd held a real photo in my hands. But as far as I could tell, it wasn't doctored in any way.
How on earth did Marcello know Pierre Hamilton?
And why had he arrived in Belldale the day before Pierre was killed?
Suddenly the weariness returned to my legs, and this time it wasn't caused by the blood stains in the carpet.
Chapter 9
My head was still spinning the following morning when Marcello and Pippa finally returned home from the emergency room at 5:00 AM. Even when I closed my eyes, the dizziness remained, my bed becoming a life raft that I tried to cling onto. Trying to sleep was fruitless.
Pippa poked her head in my room to whisper that Marcello was all stitched up and ready to survive another day. "Well, maybe," she whispered.
I was lying with my back to her, facing the wall. I pretended to be asleep, trying not to breath or make a single movement.
"Well, goodnight then," Pippa said before tiptoeing away. She flicked the hall light off and I finally breathed a little.
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