“Brewer is here,” Theo said quietly, drawing Sylvie’s attention past the glass display to the kitchen tucked in the back. Sure enough, Desmond was icing what appeared to be an elaborate wedding cake. Her gaze lingered on three tiers of white fondant adorned with yellow buttercream roses. The color choice struck her as notable given their investigation. “I’ll grab a table.”
They had decided on the drive from the cabins to town that they would attempt to question Desmond in the comfort of his own bakery. Doing so anywhere else would immediately have him on the defensive. He was probably going to take that stance anyway, but it was best to try and alleviate his concerns about what they believed his role to be in the Heather Moore investigation.
Theo veered to an empty table toward the back. While they preferred Desmond to be at ease, they also needed some form of privacy. The interior of the bakery was deceptively spacious, with exposed brick walls and worn wooden flooring that spoke of the building's history. The only table that could afford them any type of seclusion was the one near the restroom.
Sylvie made her way to the counter, where the scent of yeast and vanilla became stronger. She glanced toward Desmond, who had yet to notice her presence. He was too busy concentrating on the yellow buttercream roses.
“…town hall meeting is Sunday. Make sure you’re there,” Kim said almost in warning to the customer in front of Sylvie. “We can use those jobs.”
“We don’t need some corporation coming into town, Kim,” one of the patrons yelled out in frustration.
“You don’t have grandchildren, Sam. I don’t want to hear it.” Kim met Sylvie’s gaze. “Chai tea?”
“Yes, please,” Sylvie responded as she stepped up to the counter. She noticed right away that the exchange between Kim and the customers had drawn Desmond’s attention. He slowly set down the cornet next to the cake after spotting her at the counter. “And a strawberry and banana protein smoothie.”
Sylvie had already pulled out her credit card before placing her order. She tapped it against the screen. The long hiss from the espresso machine gave her a few more seconds to contemplate how she wanted to handle the situation.
“Kim, would you please let Desmond know that my colleague and I need to speak with him?” Sylvie figured discretion was the way to go this morning. “We know he was friends with Heather, and we’re hoping that maybe she inadvertently said something that could help us with the investigation. We won’t take up much of his time.”
“Des?” Kim called out loudly. “These folks want to talk to you about Heather.”
So much for discretion.
For a brief moment, a steady hush settled over the bakery. Sylvie internally grimaced while shifting so that she had a better view of the kitchen. She caught the momentary freeze in his posture that suggested flight might have crossed his mind. But instead of retreating, Desmond wiped his hands methodically on his apron as he began to navigate around the display case. He avoided eye contact with the other patrons, who were all monitoring his progress.
“Desmond, can I grab you a coffee?” Sylvie asked, allowing her voice to carry so that the others would recognize that the upcoming conversation was casual. “Tea? Smoothie?”
“No, thank you.”
Sylvie waited until he’d joined Theo at the table before turning back for her receipt. Taking the small piece of paper, Sylvie waited patiently for the beverages. Little by little, everyone else seemed to go back to their own conversations. By the time she had the drinks in hand, she intentionally strolled over to the back countertop to grab some napkins. The additional stop gave the impression she wasn’t in a hurry.
“Desmond, that cake you are working on is beautiful,” Sylvie said as she approached the table.
Theo pulled out the chair next to him as she set his smoothie down in front of him. Once she had done the same with her tea, she removed her jacket, hung it on the back of her chair, and settled into the seat.
“Thank you. It’s for Valerie and Jerry’s wedding tomorrow,” Desmond replied, his posture ramrod straight. It didn’t even appear that his spine touched the back of the chair. His hands were resting on his thighs, palms down, fingers spread slightly as if preparing to push himself up at a moment's notice. “I’m not sure what you want to speak with me about. I don’t know who killed Heather.”
“We’ve interviewed Heather’s friends.” Sylvie wrapped her hands around the warm to-go cup. She wanted her body language to remain unthreatening. “I’m sure you spotted me having breakfast with Lindsay and Steph at the diner on Wednesday morning. I think you stopped in to pick up an order.”
“Heather and I were friends, but not like that. We didn’t socialize on a daily basis.” Desmond’s gaze was fixed somewhere between Sylvie and Theo rather than meeting either of their eyes directly. “The police pretty much talked to everyone back then, anyway.”
“Sometimes distance provides perspective,” Sylvie countered gently.
“I wish I could help you.”
“Heather’s mother mentioned that you baked her a cake every year. Is that right?”
“Yes, but I do the same for a lot of people in Harrowick. Heather and I grew up in the same town, attended the same schools. I think people read more into such gestures than was there.”
Sylvie noted that Desmond revealed almost nothing with his response.
“Did Rachel Sharpe read too much into it?”
The abrupt question from Theo certainly had an impact.
Desmond’s quick inhalation was audible, and his nostrils flared at the implication.
“What does Rachel have to do with anything?”
