Tonya turned partially away from the lovebirds and grumbled to herself. “Yeah, and you can’t stop shoving your ring in everyone’s face.”
I raised my brows. Oh, the sisterly love was just rolling off these two.
“Sorry it took me so long to get down here, babe; the cops wanted to ask me some questions.”
I had a few questions of my own, but not for him. As Peter interviewed Lorenzo, and Elin was entirely engulfed in her fiancé’s pecs, I pulled Tonya aside. I jerked my head for Daisy to follow. The dog rolled her eyes but trotted over. I needed that lie-detecting sniffer.
Tonya’s eyes widened. “What’s up?”
How to put this… I squinted one eye. “I’m going to take a wild guess that you’re not a huge fan of your sister’s fiancé?”
Tonya paled, her eyes wide, then her cheeks flushed bright pink and she looked down. “I’m sure you’ve picked up on the fact that my sister and I don’t always get along.”
You don’t say.
She blew out a heavy breath and looked at Daisy, then up at me. “But Lorenzo is known around town as a player.” She glanced at the gushing couple, then leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I’m sure he’s cheating on Elin.” Her eyes hardened. “And yet, she still parades him around like it makes her better than me.”
I glanced down at Daisy, who whined. Yes, she’s telling the truth. The dog yawned, showing all her pointy white teeth. I need a nap.
I blinked my burning eyes. Yeah, you and me both, Days. I thanked Tonya, and we rejoined Peter and the others as he finished his questions for Lorenzo.
As we moved off to interview some of the other bakers, I filled Peter in on Tonya’s opinion of the fiancé.
“Guess he’s a player.” I smirked.
Peter chuckled. “Yeah, I could’ve guessed by the number of buttons he missed on his shirt.”
“Ooh.” I elbowed him. “Nice burn.”
He grinned. “I’m learning from the best.”
I counted our suspects off on my fingers. “So we’ve got Polly’s two daughters, who were nowhere near her when she collapsed and had no motive to kill their mother—in fact, without her, they’re unlikely to win the competition.”
Peter nodded. “Plus, a player fiancé.”
I grinned at him. “Who, again, was present in the bleachers, but nowhere near Polly or her tea, and appears to have no motive.”
Peter kept his voice low as we threaded through the baking stations. “At first glance, it seems much more likely that a rival baker is behind this. They’d have the clearest motive and opportunity. Polly’s daughters pointed out Frank Hemlock, who’s bent on winning, and Mimi Moulin, who has a personal history with their mother.”
I nodded. “I agree. But don’t forget the shady ex-boyfriend, Vince. It could’ve been him.”
Peter nodded. “The problem is, none of these people were close enough to Polly to kill her—and we had hundreds of witnesses with their eyes glued to the tent. Someone would’ve seen something if any of them had approached her station.”
I bit my lip. Hopefully, talking to Frank and Mimi, the rival bakers, would shed some light on the murder.
FRANK
Frank Hemlock and his two teammates stood apart from the rest of the bakers. They huddled with their heads close together, and one of them looked up as Peter, Daisy, and I approached. Frank said something, his eyes hard on us, and all three smirked. We hadn’t even talked to him yet, and already I didn’t like him. Off to a good start.
They broke apart, and Frank, whose bald head came about to my shoulder, stared Peter and me down, his arms crossed, feet in a wide stance.
“Frank Hemlock?”
The guy nodded at Peter. “That’s me.” He raised an eyebrow.
I shot him a flat look. “We need to ask you some questions about Polly Pierre.”
He smirked wider, as did the two young men standing beside him. “Ask away.”
I frowned. “Is something funny?” I suddenly felt like my old headmistress at the orphanage.
He chuckled. “Look, it’s tragic that Polly died, but to be blunt, it just means some of our competition is gone. We’re that much closer to winning.”
Wow. So sensitive. The two young men beside him nodded enthusiastically at each other. I was surprised they weren’t high-fiving and chest bumping.
I raised a brow. “Is winning that important to you, then?”
Frank scoffed and lifted a thick palm. “Look, baking hasn’t been my thing that long. I retired about five years ago after I sold my business, and as I’m relatively young and rich and driven—”
I fought not to roll my eyes.
“—I got bored, so I took up baking as a hobby. I find it relaxing. Drop that!”
I jumped as he turned to the guy on his right, who’d started fiddling with the towel draped over a bowl. The other baker startled too and backed away. I shot Frank a flat look. This was him relaxed?
“I can’t help it. I’m competitive at whatever I do. I’m a winner, period.” He raised his brows in challenge.
I glanced down at Daisy, and she whined. He’s telling the truth.
Or at least what he believed to be the truth. Someone had a high opinion of themselves. But was that drive of his enough to make him murder a competitor?
Peter leveled Frank with a stern look. “How well did you know Polly Pierre and her daughters?”
Frank shrugged, his hands shoved in his pits, just the thumbs out. “Not well. We’d never met before a few days ago. She was good, but even alive, she was never going to beat us.”
Annoyed by the cocky attitude, I decided to cut through the waves. “Did you kill her, just to make sure you won?”
Frank’s smirk faltered. “W-What?” He scoffed and shifted on his feet. “I didn’t kill her.”
Peter and I looked at Daisy. Unfortunately, she wagged her tail. Truth.
I would’ve loved seeing Peter handcuff this guy.
We asked the same question of his team, and Peter gathered some more information
