I pictured the shorter brunette sister and could see it fitting her retro style. Russo, hands gloved, reached inside. “Remember, we confiscated all the contestants’ personal belongings? It’s taken us some time to catalogue it all, but this evening, I found this.” He withdrew a square of parchment and unfolded it, then slid it across the table for us to read.
Peter and I bent forward, our temples nearly touching.
YOU NEED to tell your sister the truth about what you did, today, or I will. Love you, darling—we all make mistakes, but it’s time to come clean. —Mom
PETER and I exchanged wide-eyed glances. Peter pointed at the letter. “Tonya’s mother, Polly Pierre, gave this to her? I’d say that gives her daughter motive. She could’ve killed Polly to keep her secret—whatever it was.”
I quirked my lips to the side. “I’m guessing it wasn’t borrowing her sister’s favorite shoes and ruining them.”
Peter leaned forward and peered inside the purse. “Find anything else that looked interesting?”
Russo shook his head but gently shook out the rest of the purse’s contents. “Just this.”
I looked over the tortoiseshell compact, a silk coin purse, and a black tube of lipstick. I pictured Tonya’s dark purple lips—and then the light coral lipstick mark left on the teacup Polly had drunk from.
I glanced up at Russo. “Are the girls—Tonya and Elin—still competing without their mother?”
Russo nodded. “From what I understand, they were given a pass on today’s bake, given the circumstances, but will be back at it tomorrow.”
“Alright.” Peter nodded. “Let’s go have a chat with Tonya Pierre—ask her about this letter.” He sighed. “We still need to track down Polly’s ex, Vince Dupont.”
Russo’s scroll of parchment magically appeared beside his head. “I’ve got his address for you.”
I nodded, grinning. “And while we’re at it, we might as well go check out Mimi Moulin a little more… and her famous bakery. Maybe sample some of the goods.” I winked, but Peter’s eyes widened.
“She’s a suspect in a murder investigation.”
I shrugged, grinning wider. “I hear her pan dulces are to die for. Get it?”
Russo chuckled, but Peter just groaned.
Russo held up a gloved finger. “We also confiscated the Pierres’ sourdough starter like you asked, Flint.”
I turned to my boyfriend. “Aw—I didn’t know you did that.”
He grinned and shrugged. “Well, I’m trying to start righting some wrongs that have been done against shifters.”
I lifted my chin, smiling. “Good—about time.”
Russo nodded. “If you can get a sample of Mimi Moulin’s sourdough starter, we can have the lab test them.”
I licked my lips. “Just another good reason to go visit Mimi’s bakery.” My mouth was watering already.
23
TONYA
Peter, Daisy, and I headed to go see Tonya Pierre first. She (and her mother before her death) lived in the flat above their bakery, which we quickly found on a busy section of Main Street. The middle tier of the island bustled with magical shoppers and diners.
Like the Darkmoon District, Main Street came alive at night, after all the human tourists had gone back to the mainland. Unlike the Darkmoon, you didn’t have to watch your step around broken bottles or puddles of mysterious liquids.
Peter and I stood under the pink-and-white-striped awning as we waited for Tonya to answer the door. I felt like Daisy, nose in the air as I sniffed. The heavenly scent of caffeine in the form of cappuccinos wafted my way from the bistro across the street. Warm light spilled from its windows, matching the brightly lit clothing shop and pet store next to the bakery.
Gold lettering on the bakery’s front window proclaimed it the Pierre Bakery, but the cake stands all stood empty and the lights dark. I bit my lip. I’d wondered if the twins would be able to win the competition now that their mother was gone, but now I questioned whether the business would stay open. Even if Tonya and her mother hadn’t had a good relationship, would Tonya really have jeopardized her livelihood and home to keep a secret from her twin sister?
Footsteps scuffled behind the door, and the locks clicked. Tonya peered out at us, a blue silk kerchief wound round her dark, curly head of hair and tied at the top. She sported pink flannel pajamas with cupcakes and magic swirls printed all over them. She rubbed her eyes and yawned as if we’d awoken her. I lifted a brow—guess someone wasn’t losing sleep over their mother’s murder.
Peter tipped his policeman’s cap. “Is it alright if we come in?”
She stood aside and waved us in. “Have you found out who killed my mom?”
We stepped into the shop, the floor tiled in black-and-white honeycomb, a white marble countertop across the back and pale pink shelves displaying cake boxes and delicacies. Daisy and I lifted our noses and inhaled deeply. Butter and sugar—yum.
Tonya pointed to the narrow stairs to the left of the counter. “Would you like to come up to the flat?”
We nodded, and she led the way, Daisy bounding up behind her. The space above the bakery was just as pink and frilly as the downstairs. Lacy white curtains hung over the front window, which overlooked Main Street, and a pink wooden table and chairs and floral couch took up most of the cozy space.
Three doors opened off the central room. I caught sight of a porcelain sink and shower curtain in one, and a vanity laden with makeup and lipsticks in the other—that must be Tonya’s room. The third door stood closed, the space underneath dark. And that, I guessed, had to have been Polly’s room.
Peter and I settled on the flowery couch—soft and comfy—while Tonya pulled a chair over from the table and sat facing us. She laced her hands together, then squeezed them between her knees. She leaned forward, her eyes big and eager. “So—did you catch Mom’s killer?”
Peter cleared his throat. “Not yet.”
Her face fell.
“But we’re following some promising
