Imove toward Autumn Harrington with the determination of someone who’s just found the last piece of a particularly tricky jigsaw puzzle—and I have.
The elegant crowd parts before me, sensing drama in the air like sharks detecting blood in the water.
Autumn looks up as I approach and her honey-blonde ponytail swings as she turns. A tray of tiny pumpkin tarts balanced on her palm freezes mid-offer to the mayor.
“Hattie!” Her smile is warm, but her eyes flick briefly to my phone, still clutched in my hand.Why is she looking at me like that?“These tarts are a hit,” she sings a touch too loud. “I should have made a double batch.” She excuses herself from the people around her and steers me to the left where there’s nary a soul in sight, at least not within six feet.
“I’m sure they’re delicious,” I say, keeping my voice even. “You always did have a knack for knowing just the right ingredients to use. Especially the more unconventional ones.”
Something flickers across her face and I feel as if I’ve hit a nerve.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” she says with a laugh that sounds only slightly forced.
“I think you do.” I take a step closer. “The Harvest Moon Maple Pumpkin Spice Cake. You created it, didn’t you? The recipe Vivian claimed was hers.”
“What is this about?” Autumn asks, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m sorry, Hattie, but this isn’t the time or place for?—”
“For talking about how you poisoned Vivian Maple? I disagree. I think the timing is perfect.”
Ooh, someone’s bringing out the big accusations!Cricket hops our way as she bounces somewhere near my ankles.I knew the blonde one was trouble. Her food was too good to be trustworthy.
Should I start growling now or wait until she tries to escape?Rookie wonders with a woof as his golden head peeks out from behind my legs. He’s so sweet—he’s brave until he isn’t.I’ve been practicing my intimidating bark all week.
Autumn sets down her tray with deliberate care on the table next to her, the fine china hardly making a sound as it meets the tablecloth. “What exactly are you accusing me of, Hattie?”
“Let’s see.” I tick off points on my fingers. “You have a background in botanical science. You have deep knowledge of plant compounds, including toxic ones. You had a motive—Vivian was threatening to sue you over the Harvest Moon Cake recipe that you created but she somehow claimed was hers. And you had the opportunity—you were at the festival, near the judges’ tent where Vivian was last seen before she collapsed. You were also drinking a pumpkin spice latte that Meredith offered us all. You certainly could have slipped anything into it and then switched with Vivian.”
I garnered that whole background in botanical science thing from a simple Google search.
Honestly? Why do I waste my time shaking down suspects when all I have to do is type a few things into my phone? And it’sclear Killion is far too busy with Venetta to conduct an internet search of his own.
Autumn’s amber eyes narrow. “That’s quite a theory. Creative, but entirely circumstantial.”
“Is it? Then explain why you were thinking about that specific sweet treat when we were discussing stolen recipes.”
Autumn’s face pales, the color draining from her cheeks so rapidly it’s like watching sand through an hourglass.
Did she say thinking? Of course, I was thinking about it, but I must have let it slip. It’s not like she can read my mind.
I nod her way as if to confirm that indeed I can.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Tipper appears next to me like an apparition, her brow furrowed with concern. Chevy materializes on my other side, as if her novelist’s instinct for mystery and drama kicked in, drawing her like a moth to flame.
I nod to the suspect at hand. “Autumn here was just about to explain why she poisoned Vivian Maple with yew extract,” I say, never taking my eyes off Autumn’s increasingly panicked face. “It turns out, she has a history in botany—or at least a degree in it.”
“What?” Chevy’s eyes widen. “A chef with a degree in botany is the killer? That’s so obvious it’s brilliant.”
“I didn’t—” Autumn begins, then stops herself. Her hands clench and unclench at her sides. “You have no proof.”
“Don’t I?” I choke on a laugh. “You had knowledge of toxic plant compounds. You had motive. You had opportunity. And now I have confirmation that the Harvest Moon Maple Pumpkin Spice Cake was your creation, not Vivian’s. What happened? Did she somehow get hold of your recipe? Claim it as her own? Threaten to sue you when you protested?”
But I took it off the menu well over a year ago.Autumn shakes her head with the thought.As soon as that witch took what was mine, she left me no choice.
Tipper glances between us, confusion etched on her face. “Wait, I’m lost. Who stole what from whom?”
“That’s what I’d like to know,” I press. “The truth, Autumn. Now.”
Something breaks in Autumn’s carefully composed expression. The polished, professional facade cracks like ice under pressure, revealing something raw and wounded beneath.
