“That changes everything,” he said.
“Yes.” She looked at him. The sun was behind his head, and she had to squint, and for a second all she could see was his outline against the bright water. Steady. Present. Real.
“It does.”
Neither of them looked away.
Chapter eighteen
Cinnamon Stars
Margotsmelledcinnamonbeforeshe found the kitchen.
The temporary setup behind the pavilion had once been a storage room. Now industrial fans rattled in the corners while a portable oven filled the cramped space with the scent of butter, sugar, and something that reminded her of Christmas morning. Country music drifted from a radio on the counter.
The heavyset baker, Lou, stood at the oven pulling out trays of cinnamon star cookies. Flour coated his forearms, and his apron carried three different shades of icing like battle scars. Evan stepped in behind her as Lou glanced up from the trays.
He held out the tray without being asked. “You want one? Best batch of the week.”
She took a cookie. Evan shook his head.
Lou looked at the two of them standing side by side in his kitchen and grinned. “You two working the case or working the clock?”
“The case,” Margot said deadpan.
Evan’s gaze flicked to her for half a second, then away.
She bit into the cookie to give her hands something to do. It was perfect. Warm, spiced, the sugar cracking between her teeth.
“Did you notice anything unusual last night?” she asked. “Before the blackout?”
“I went back for serving trays around eight thirty. Walked through the service corridor.” Lou slid another tray into the oven. “Didn’t see anyone. But I heard footsteps. Coming from the direction of the electrical room. Fast. Like someone in a hurry.”
“Did you see who it was?”
“By the time I looked, they were gone.”
Footsteps near the electrical room at eight thirty. Seventeen minutes before the keycard swiped in.
She glanced at Evan. He’d gone still.
They thanked Lou and stepped back out into the morning. The terrace was filling with the second-day crowd, and she was still mulling over the footsteps, fast, toward the electrical room, twenty minutes before the card, when Tessa came at them across the deck, phone clutched to her chest.
“Wow, Margot, this is insane.” Tessa appeared on the terrace, phone clutched to her chest, eyes wide. “My DMs are blowing up. Everyone wants to know about the ornaments. Three interview requests from local news.”
“Please don’t do interviews.”
“I won’t.” Tessa glanced at Evan, then back at Margot with an odd expression. “Is this your security consultant?”
“Marina maintenance,” Evan said.
“Sure.” Tessa smiled. “You two make a cute investigation team.”
“Tessa.” Margot’s voice carried a warning, but she could feel the flush climbing her neck. Beside her, he was studying the terrace railing.
“Okay, okay.” Tessa held up her hands. “But listen. I was going through my footage from last night, and I found this.” She held out her phone. A video clip, shaky, shot from near the bar. Timestamp: 8:49 PM. Three minutes before the blackout.
In the background, behind a cluster of guests, a figure was moving along the edge of the pavilion toward the service corridor. Carrying something dark and rectangular under one arm. Moving with purpose. Not rushing but not lingering.
