Chapter Eleven: The Woman Who Ate
Celia Wren finally returned Thomas’s call shortly before noon.
She was a freelance food writer who attended vendor previews because they often produced stories about regional producers.
“I heard your message,” she said.
“I was at the clinic this morning.”
Thomas’s stomach tightened.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m being evaluated for stomach pain,” she replied.
“I don’t know what caused it.”
He asked permission to connect her with the health authorities already investigating the ingredient concerns.
Celia agreed and said she had saved her tasting notes and photographs of the menu.
She had also brought home an unopened promotional packet containing a sealed sample that she had not used.
Thomas asked her not to handle or discard it until she received instructions from appropriate professionals.
Walter spoke briefly to her, making clear that symptoms alone could not establish the cause.
He encouraged her to follow her clinicians’ instructions and provide an accurate account of what she had eaten.
Celia thanked him.
Then she asked a question that startled everyone.
“Why did the promotional host tell us you’d inspected each harvest site personally?”
Walter stared at the speaker.
“I didn’t.”
“He described you walking through the woods with the foragers.”
“Who was speaking?” Simone asked.
“A man named Grant, I think.”
Celia explained that Grant had introduced himself as the restaurant’s events director.
He had described the supplier’s forest operation with convincing detail and presented the sample dishes as an expert-approved preview.
Walter had never heard the account before.
“There were no harvest sites for me to inspect,
” he told her.
“I received a limited sample at my office.”
Celia’s voice sharpened.
“I wrote down what he said.”
Thomas apologized and offered to help her connect the information to the official inquiry.
He did not offer money in exchange for silence or ask her to change her account.
After the call, Walter stared at the city street through the office window.
Lily approached him.
“Are you thinking about the woman at the clinic?”
“Yes.”
“You told her what you know.”
“I also wonder why I didn’t make my initial concern louder.”
“You warned Thomas about the sample.”
“I did.”
“They used your name after that warning.”
“Yes.”
Lily waited until he turned toward her.
“You can’t control what somebody claims you said.”
Walter gave a sad smile.
“No, but I can correct it where people are listening.”
Olivia entered with a new message from Helena Baird, the waterfront exhibition director.
North Quay had objected to the service hold and demanded access to its pavilion.
The exhibition’s health liaison had referred the issue to city officials, but the organizers expected Kroll to appear in person.
Thomas offered to go to the waterfront.
Walter agreed to join him.
Simone wanted to stay at the Bellwether to supervise the ingredient quarantine and contact other kitchens.
Lily considered returning home, then asked whether she could accompany the group.
Thomas looked surprised.
“This isn’t your responsibility.”
“It became relevant to me when my manager fired me for paying for a meal while he was selling unverified ingredients under somebody else’s name.”
“You shouldn’t feel compelled to prove anything,” Walter said.
“I don’t,” Lily answered.
“I want to hear what Grant says when someone asks him a question in public.”
Thomas agreed that she could attend as an observer, with transportation and paid time documented if she performed work for the restaurant.
Lily asked Priya to keep her informed about the staff meeting scheduled for the next morning.
She then stepped outside beside Walter.
The rain had finally ended.
A weak patch of sunlight glinted on the black car waiting at the curb.
Walter looked at his old flip phone and sighed.
“I’ve spent fifty years identifying mushrooms,” he said.
“I never expected I’d need so much practice identifying liars.”
“You don’t need to identify them from a glance,” Lily replied.
“You can ask them what they did.”
He laughed once.
“That is considerably more reliable.”
