by Erin Johnson
Russo ducked his head and pushed his square glasses up his nose. A scroll of parchment magically appeared in his hands, and he read over his notes. “The victim is Polly Pierre. Her team in the competition included her two twin daughters, Elin and Tonya.” He glanced behind him at the two women I’d noticed before. They stood a little apart from the other teams.
The sober young woman, who seemed shell-shocked, was short, plump, and brunette, while her sister, who sobbed so hard her eyes had nearly swollen shut, was tall, lithe, and blond. I raised a brow—didn’t think I’d seen two people who looked less like twins. I guessed they were both in their midtwenties, and neither looked at the other one or spoke.
Peter observed the sisters a moment, then turned back to Russo. “Do we have a cause of death?”
Russo edged closer, and I was forced to approach the dead woman to hear his quiet words. “Waitstaff brought around tea to the contestants. We suspect hers was poisoned.” He barely breathed the last word. “She collapsed shortly after taking a sip.”
Russo’s eyes darted to a robin-egg-blue teacup on the butcher block counter. I stepped closer, and Peter and I looked it over. Steam still curled from the clear brown surface, the cup nearly full. Coral-pink lipstick stained the rim, where Polly had presumably taken her last drink.
Peter gave a grim nod, then turned and crouched down beside Polly Pierre’s remains. I took a sharp breath through my nose, then blew it out slowly and chanced another glance at the body. Daisy circled around her, her black nose twitching altogether too close to the victim’s pale skin. Peter crouched near the victim’s head. His enchanted quill and scroll appeared beside his shoulder and began to scribble down notes.
Polly Pierre was tall, especially for a woman. She lay on her side, her short hair dyed a bright red that highlighted her pale skin and blue eyes. I shuddered, hoping someone would close those unseeing eyes soon. She looked to be in her seventies, was fully made up, and wore a sparkly necklace, matching earrings, and a bright, floral, frilly apron. Her colorful, vivacious look contrasted sharply with her deathly pallor.
Peter pointed with his wand at the greenish foam on Polly’s purple lips. The dark color only made her look more pale. “If it was indeed the tea, the timing suggests a fast-acting poison. One that would cause her to foam at the mouth.” He let out a sigh. “It’s something that would likely be absorbed into the skin of her mouth, versus a poison that would wait to be absorbed through the stomach.”
“The tea was poisoned?!”
We all looked up. A middle-aged woman, her hair wrapped up in a scarf, clutched at her necklace. She’d drifted closer, clearly trying to get a look at what we were doing. She now staggered back, her chest heaving, and her two teammates helped lower her down onto a stool behind one of the butcher block work stations.
The woman’s wide eyes darted around. “But—but I drank the tea!” She looked like she might be sick. “Oh, sea goddess.”
Alarmed cries sounded throughout the tent.
“I drank some, too!”
“Me, too!”
“Oh, keep it down, all of you.” A bald man with small glasses crossed his arms over his chest and huffed. He and his team stared the others down. “Be professionals.” He rolled his eyes, and I narrowed mine. Interesting that only this man and his team didn’t seem concerned about the tea. Was it because they hadn’t had any themselves… or because one of them had killed the competition and knew they weren’t targets?
My boyfriend rose to his feet and slowly circled to address everyone in the tent. He held his palms up, trying to placate the panicking bakers. “We don’t even know for certain that the tea was poisoned.”
The woman with the headscarf whimpered and fanned herself, her cheeks flushed.
Peter raised his brows. “Besides, our evidence suggests that whatever killed the victim was extremely fast-acting. If you’d been poisoned, it would have affected you already.”
The woman with the scarf blinked. “Oh.” Her shoulders relaxed.
Peter gave the group an encouraging nod, then huddled together with Russo and me.
I bit my lip. “Okay. So if just about everyone here drank the tea, why was Polly the only one who died?”
Russo pushed his glasses up his nose. “Maybe the killer poisoned the cup itself, versus the tea?”
Peter nodded, a little crease between his brows as he thought it over. “It’s a good thought, but how would the killer know she’d get that cup?”
That last question stumped all of us. After a few moments of quiet, Peter turned to Russo. “Bag up the teacup as evidence, as well as everyone’s personal effects.” He pointed at the shelves under the butcher block countertop.
Besides some cabinets and a stone oven, a square cubby held several purses all crammed in together. I figured they must be Polly’s, as well as her twin girls’.
Peter gestured at the rest of the baking stations. “We’ll go through them all back at the station to see if someone snuck the poison in.”
An enchanted baking fire burned in the stone oven beside the cubby with all the purses, nervously munching on a stick.
Peter and I crouched down in front of it. He gave a little wave. “Hi—how are you?”
She shook her fiery head and spoke in a high voice. “Oof. Poor Polly.”
I edged a little closer, the warmth of the flames comforting in the chilly fall air. “Did you see anyone come over here?”
She nibbled at the stick with her fiery mouth. “Nope.”
Peter cleared his throat. “Did you see anything unusual at all?”
“No. I could really only see Polly’s legs, but I just saw her after the competition started and her girls ran off. I heard her talk to the tea guy—but nothing seemed out of the ordinary otherwise.”
I lifted a brow. “Tea guy?”
“The guy who gave her tea.”
Ah. Duh.
“Thank you.” Peter and I rose again, and he turned to Russo. “Make sure the fire stays fed—don’t let it go out.”
Russo nodded and moved off to confer with a couple other officers, who got to work collecting evidence. Peter slid close to me. “I think it’s time we interviewed Polly’s daughters.”
Daisy’s pointy ears pricked up.
I winked at Peter. “Let’s do it.”
He grinned back, and we started toward the young ladies.
4
Twins
While the rest of the bakers had edged toward the pantry side of the tent, an officer stood beside Polly’s twin daughters at the opposite end. Peter nodded at him, and he moved away as we approached. The shorter one stared straight ahead, though from the vacant, glazed eyes I guessed she wasn’t actually seeing me. The taller one continued to bawl, her face buried in her hands.
Peter frowned, then cleared his throat. When he got no reaction, he tried again, louder. The shorter gal startled and blinked at us, as though she wasn’t quite sure where she was. The other choked on a sob and lowered her hands enough to peek at us over the tips of her fingers.
I gave Peter an encouraging nod, and he laced his hands behind his back. “Elin and Tonya Pierre?”
The shorter one nodded. “That’s us.” Her voice came out hoarse.
Peter pressed his lips together. “I’m Officer Peter Flint. My associate, Jolene Hartgrave—”
I gave a little wave.
“—and my canine partner, Daisy.” Peter patted her furry head.
The girls’ eyes widened as they stared at the enormous German shepherd at Peter’s side.
“Daisy is enchanted to smell lies, so I urge you to be truthful with us.”
The girls nodded, their eyes growing even wider. Enchanted canine partners were hardly the standard, even on our magical island.
Peter gave them a sympathetic look. “I understand Polly was your mother. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
The shorter one swayed slightly on her feet, while the taller girl wailed again, her thin shoulders hunched a
nd shaking.
I glanced down at Daisy, who stood between Peter and me. She cocked her head, looking first at one girl, then the other. She whined. Their reactions are both honest.
I raised my brows. Guess everyone grieves differently. I’d have guessed the hysterics from blondie were an act.
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.
5
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 se
cret. “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 never 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.”