A Batter of Life and Death (15 page)

He paused dramatically. “Before I announce our winner, I have to send someone to the kitchen for dish duty.”

Dish duty? This was news to me. No one mentioned anything about dish duty.

“That’s right, home bakers, whoever’s cake gets cut is on dreaded dish duty,” Elliot continued. “Someone is about to be in hot water.”

This must be a ploy for the show. Philip didn’t really expect the loser to go from kitchen to kitchen to do the dishes? Or did he? I hoped it was just an attempt to make the show more dramatic, because I certainly didn’t have time to go do everyone else’s dishes.

Elliot looked at each of us intently. Finally he landed on Richard Lord. I was pretty sure this is where they would add dramatic background music. I could almost hear the “Dun, dun, dun…” beat in my head. “Richard Lord, your cake was a recipe for disaster. It’s dish duty for you.” Elliot stabbed Richard’s cake with a sharp knife and pointed him out of the kitchen.

Watching him stab the cake sent a shiver down my spine.

“Nina and Linda, you’re both free to leave the kitchen. While both of your cakes were decent, they weren’t great. Nina, your cake was just off. The flavor just wasn’t there. We want to see stylized dessert—think seductive and spicy next time.”

Elliot acted like he was enjoying this part of the show. I knew that he was supposed to make viewers at home feel the pressure and intensity of someone being named the clear winner of
Take the Cake,
but he was obviously playing up the drama. He continued, waving a spatula in Linda’s face. “Linda, your cake was over-the-top sweet. Go easy on the sugar next time. Both of you hang your aprons on the hooks and get out of the kitchen.”

They both exited the set. Elliot fixed his hair, and then nodded for Philip to keep filming.

“That leaves us with Jules and Sebastian. Step forward.” Elliot motioned us closer to the stage with his spatula.

Sebastian and I moved closer to the judge’s table.

“We had some debate on this, but after much deliberation, we’ve decided on a winner. Jules, your cake impressed us with its simple design and rich chocolate flavor, nicely balanced with the tangy cream cheese frosting. Sebastian, you knocked it out of the park with your marzipan work.”

Sebastian wrapped his arms around his waist.

I just wanted Elliot to get it over with—tell us already. I wondered what I looked like on camera. Probably a nervous wreck.

Elliot held up a brown spatula with the
Take the Cake
logo. “Today’s winner is…”

A cameraman zoomed his camera on both Sebastian and me.

“Sebastian!” Elliot cheered. “Come take the spatula.”

Sebastian smirked and walked to the judge’s table to take the spatula from Elliot.

“Well done,” Elliot said as he leaned down and handed the spatula to Sebastian. “Congratulations.”

Off to the side of the set, Nina and Linda clapped along with the crew. I quickly joined in the applause. I didn’t want to look like a sore loser to my fellow contestants or when this aired on TV. Although I did have to admit that I felt a bit dejected that I hadn’t won. I’m used to people raving about my pastries, especially since my only competition in town was Richard Lord. Let’s face it, that’s not really competition. I could feel my competitive spirit starting to rise. I wanted to wow the judges on my next entry.

Philip called it a wrap for the day and reminded everyone to be prepared to be on camera later in the day. Nina asked if she could take the first shift at Torte. Linda would take the afternoon shift and I’d stay late. That was fine by me. I needed time to decide on what my “signature dessert” was going to be. Plus, I was hoping I’d have a chance to find Thomas this afternoon and finish our conversation about Marco’s murder.

Chapter Eighteen

By the time I made it back to Torte, the lunch rush was in full swing. I didn’t have time to dwell on Marco’s murder or think about what to make for tomorrow’s competition. Nina worked on her dessert, a fruit and nut compote that she planned to serve with a nondairy ice cream, while Mom and I made sandwiches and packed boxes to go.

The tension between Stephanie and Sterling was palpable. Whenever he came into the kitchen for a tray of fresh scones or to drop dirty dishes in the sink, she pounded the bread dough so hard, I thought she might do permanent damage to her knuckles. Mom and I were going to have to do an intervention with the two of them if they couldn’t figure things out—soon.

Nina finished her compote and set it aside to work on her ice cream. “How did you think that went?” she asked as I wrapped up the last boxed sandwich order.

“Good, I guess. It was a bit more intense than I expected it to be.”

“Exactly. I can’t believe they picked Richard to take Marco’s place. He doesn’t even bake, does he?”

“Nope. His idea of baking is prepackaged pastry that comes in the freezer. Don’t worry though, he’s all bark. No bite.”

Nina mixed together the ingredients for her ice cream. The camera crew arrived to film her at work. Mom and I gave them space in the kitchen, and used the opportunity to grab a bite to eat ourselves. Finding time to eat is always a challenge. It seems like the minute one of us sits down, the door will jingle and a new rush of customers will flood in.

Mom and I split a baguette with Havarti cheese and rosemary and sun-dried-tomato-encrusted ham.

“How did it go this morning?” Mom asked, pouring us each a glass of soda water. Carlos always called it “gas water.” It used to make me laugh when he’d order “gas” when we went to a late-night dinner at port.

“Good. I didn’t win.”

Mom looked injured. “What? That’s impossible. Let me go have a word with those judges. Obviously someone made a mistake.” Her brown eyes sparkled as she teased. “Who won?”

“Sebastian. He’s a French chef from Portland.”

“That sounds about right.” Mom tore a hunk of bread from the baguette. “Were you nervous?”

“A little.” I nodded through clenched teeth.

“Do you remember how nervous you were when you did your first performance of
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
? Your dad and I thought we were going to have to call the director and tell him that you couldn’t do it. You were green for days before the show, and then when opening night came you walked out on stage like a pro. I think it was the anticipation. Once you actually did it you were fine.”

“Some things never change.” I took a sip of the fizzy water. The bubbles hit my nose. I coughed. “I thought about bailing this morning.”

The door jingled. So much for the lunch break, I thought as I looked up from my drink.

Thomas and the Professor were heading our way. Mom sat a little taller and pinched her cheeks when she noticed the Professor had arrived.

“Stop. You look perfect.” I batted her hand from her face. I wasn’t lying. She did look perfect. Her bronze skin glowed against her sunflower-colored linen shirt. Her shoulder-length bob appeared unfazed by the heat and humidity of the kitchen.

The Professor strolled to our table. He had an easy yet commanding presence. It was clear he was comfortable in his own skin. Thomas turned and headed to the kitchen. I couldn’t help but watch as he leaned on the counter, waiting for Nina to finish filming her segment for the show.

“Juliet, nice to see you.” The Professor greeted me with a slight bow. He slid into the booth next to Mom and kissed her on the cheek. “Helen, you look like a vision as always.” Both of them beamed at one another. I felt like I was intruding on something, and started to excuse myself.

The Professor held out his arm as I inched out of the booth. “Many apologies. I didn’t mean to interrupt your lunch.”

“No, no, it’s fine. I should go check in with the team anyway. You two chat.”

“Actually, I was hoping you might have a moment to spare.” The Professor reached into the breast pocket of his tweed jacket and removed a Moleskin notebook and pencil. His auburn beard, streaked with gray, matched his jacket. I smiled as I read the inscription on the front of the notebook: “A Fool Thinks Himself to Be Wise, but a Wise Man Knows Himself to Be a Fool.”

“Is that Shakespeare?” I asked, pointing to the quote.

“None other than the bard himself could have such wise words, don’t you agree?”

The Professor moonlights as Ashland’s resident Shakespearean scholar. It would be hard to debate whether or not he was more well-versed in Shakespearean sonnets or police procedures. Thomas had confided that even with taking extensive notes on his iPad, he sometimes couldn’t follow the Professor’s cerebral musings.

Mom, on the other hand, blushed like a schoolgirl whenever the Professor was around. I loved seeing her like this, but it also made me hyperaware of how neglected my love life was at the moment.

“What did you want to ask me?” I gathered my plate and glass together.

“I was hoping you might be able to go over what you remember from the night before the murder and the morning that you discovered the deceased.”

“Sure, but I already went over all this with Thomas.”

The Professor flipped through his notebook. “Yes, I know, but Thomas and I have a few more questions that have arisen as we’ve explored some leads. Do you have a free moment?”

Mom nudged him. “Scoot out. I’ll let you two talk. I need to go check on a batch of cookies anyway.” She gave me a quick smile. The Professor stood so she could exit the booth. He kissed her hand and their eyes lingered on each other for a moment before she hurried to the kitchen.

“Lovely woman, your mother, Juliet.” The Professor’s eyes looked glassy as he watched her.

I turned and followed his gaze. “I know. She’s the best.”

“That’s what she says about you.” He stroked his beard.

“You wanted to ask me about Marco’s murder?” I nodded toward his notebook.

He chuckled. “Thanks for keeping me on task.” He removed his tweed jacket and rested it on the back of the booth.

“It’s what I do.”

Flipping through the notebook, he paused on a page and studied it for a moment. His face was slightly weathered, but I could understand why Mom got giddy around him. He was distinguished and quite handsome for someone his age. “Could you humor me and walk me through what you remember from that night again?”

I told the Professor exactly what I’d said to Thomas. He stopped me when I got to the part about Marco and Philip’s fight.

“What time was this?”

I shrugged. “I’m not exactly sure. Sometime after nine. We all left shortly after.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Everyone left?”

“Uh. I think so.”

“Can you remember? Was anyone still in the theater when you left?”

My mind churned over the images of that night. Nina and I left together. Where was Linda? Had she stayed behind? And Sebastian and Marco? I couldn’t remember if either of them left before us or not. I’d been so distracted by Marco’s drunken rage that I wasn’t sure my observations were worth noting. I told the Professor as much.

He stroked his beard. “Hmm.”

“Is it important?”

“Perhaps.”

The Professor didn’t offer any more. He scratched something in his notebook and continued with his line of questions. Once he was done, he folded the notebook and returned it to his breast pocket. “Thank you for your time, Juliet. You’ve been most helpful.” He stood to leave.

I didn’t feel helpful. I hadn’t told him anything new. However, now my head was humming about the possibility that either Linda or Sebastian could have been at the Black Swan with Marco.

Thomas came to the front of the shop to check in with the Professor. “Hey, Jules.” He held a handful of vegan cookies that Nina had baked. “Want one?” He popped one in his mouth and offered one to the Professor.

The Professor declined. “Shall we continue on our quest?”

Thomas glanced to the kitchen where Nina was being interviewed by the television crew. “Sure. Catch ya later, Jules,” he said, shoving another cookie in his mouth and following after the Professor.

He didn’t even give me a chance to follow up on our discussion earlier this morning. Not to mention that he seemed more than a little distracted when Nina was around. I couldn’t decide if her vegan sweets really were that tasty, or if Thomas was really sweet on her.

Linda Belle breezed in with a new outrageous outfit before I let myself stew on Thomas. She’d changed into a teal pantsuit since earlier in the morning. Her arms and neck were adorned in gold jewelry. I could never pull off such a gaudy look, but somehow it worked on her.

“Sugar, you are just who I was looking for.”

“What can I do for you, Linda?” I asked, glancing at the clock. Linda wasn’t due for her turn in the kitchen for another hour.

“I can’t find my recipe for Southern banana cream pudding anywhere. I know that Chef Marco stole it. I’ve searched my hotel room. It’s not there. I swear I had it in my special file that I keep on me. You can’t trust anyone in a competition like this.”

My eyes must have widened.

“Well, excepting
you.
Is it okay if I go check through my things here? I see Nina is filming. I’ll stay out of her way.”

“It’s fine by me.”

She fanned her hand in front of her face. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t find it. It was my great-great-grandma’s recipe. Been in the family for years now. I bet you that nasty Marco stole it.”

“Can’t you re-create it?” I asked. Most chefs tend to use recipes like a rough outline. I’ll use a recipe as my base and tweak it to fit my mood, or whatever ingredients I have on hand. Recipes we bake daily, I know by heart. It surprised me that Linda would need a recipe to bake a dessert that had been in her family for years.

“I don’t know if I can.” She fanned her face again. Her cheeks were splotched with color. “I don’t know what I’m going to do if I can’t find that recipe.”

“Let me help you look,” I said, waving her toward the kitchen. “I’m sure it’ll turn up.”

The camera crew was finishing with Nina when Linda and I entered the kitchen. “You ready to roll?” one of the camera guys asked Linda.

She looked flustered. “No, not yet. I still need to do all my prep work.” Her smile was broad, but her voice sounded tight.