A Batter of Life and Death (2 page)

I took the tray of pies and opened the oven door. We used to have two industrial ovens, but one had been on the fritz since July. We’d been getting by with one, but Mom and I were pinching pennies to upgrade. If we were going to take Torte to the next level, it was going to cost a chunk of cash.

Autumn aromas permeated the bakeshop. Mom chopped apples and pears for individual fruit crisps that we’d serve warm in ramekins with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Stephanie mixed snickerdoodle cookie dough.

“Hey, be sure to keep your hair tied back,” I cautioned as she twisted off the beater. “You don’t want to get hair in that dough.”

She nodded and readjusted the black headband that secured her ebony hair streaked with purple. “Do you wanna taste this before I scoop it?”

I have a strict rule that everything must be tasted before it gets baked. The same rule applies after baking, too, but it’s much easier to taste the product before it goes in the oven. I took a pinch of Stephanie’s cookie batter and popped it in my mouth. “Needs just a little more cream of tartar.”

Stephanie reached for the leavening agent. “Like what—a teaspoon?”

“Yeah, probably about that. I usually base it on flavor. Did you taste it?” I motioned toward the metal mixing bowl.

She shook her head.

“Try it. It’s too sweet. The cream of tartar will give it a nice bite.”

Stephanie followed my instructions and then began placing round balls of cookie dough onto trays with an ice-cream scoop.

I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, catching my reflection in the window. I’ve always worn it long, but I keep thinking maybe I’ll do something drastic, like chop it all off into a cute bob or something—a fresh start. Then I look in the mirror. I’m not sure short hair would work with my angled jawline and long neck. When I was growing up I used to think I looked like a giraffe. Mom promised me that being graced with a lean frame and ash-blond hair was a blessing, but sometimes it felt more like a curse.

“I’ll start on a soup,” I said, grabbing a handful of vegetables from a cardboard box on the counter. We get local produce delivered from nearby farms every morning. With the return of cool crisp mornings and the changing leaves outside, customers have been eager for soup and fresh bread at lunchtime.

Today I opted for a butternut squash and apple purée that I’d serve with a splash of olive oil and crème fraîche. I diced onions and sautéed them in butter. The smell momentarily overpowered the scent of baking pies and bread. Despite my late night, I quickly found my rhythm. The kitchen always energizes me somehow.

A little after eleven, things began to quiet down in the front. Andy restocked his espresso and Sterling wiped down the tables. In the summer, we rarely get any sort of lull, but now that the season was winding down things tended to ease before lunch.

I finished my soup and left it to simmer on the stove. “Can everyone come back here for a second? I’ve got some news to share.”

As the team gathered, I noticed that Stephanie stood on the opposite side of the island from Sterling. I couldn’t figure out what was going on between those two. It was evident from the way I’d catch them glancing at each other when they thought that no one was looking, that they had a mutual attraction. I wondered if they were trying to conceal their attraction, or if they’d had a fight.

“Stop stalling, young lady.” Mom interrupted my thought. “Tell us what happened last night.” The laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and lips creased as she looked at me with anticipation.

Andy balanced four mugs brimming with creamy coffee in his hands.

“Well.” I paused for effect.

She bumped my hip and pointed at Andy. “Don’t let her have one of those until she spills the beans about last night.”

“Good one, Mrs. C.” Andy passed out samples to everyone except me. “Try these, you guys. It’s a pumpkin-cream latte. Tell me if it’s too much. I tried to go real easy on the sugar.”

The coffee smelled divine, as usual, but even more compelling was its color. The combination of milk, espresso, and pumpkin gave it a warm amber color. I tried to reach for a mug, but Mom held out her hand to stop me.

“I said talk, young lady. It’s not every day we have a major television producer on our doorstep.”

“Okay, okay. Just let me have one sip and then I’ll dish.”

She handed me the mug.

I took a sip of Andy’s invention. It tasted even better than it looked. The spice mixed with the milky espresso paired nicely and the pumpkin purée gave it an interesting texture.

Mom tapped her fingernails on the butcher block. “Juliet.”

“Yes, I know.” I rested my mug on the island. “This is great, Andy. Add it to the menu.”

Mom cleared her throat.

“As you all know, I met with Philip Higgins, a producer for the Pastry Channel, last night. They want to film the show
Take the Cake
here in Ashland. Have any of you guys seen it?”

Stephanie twisted a strand of purple hair around her finger. “That’s the one where pastry chefs compete against each other, right?”

Sterling looked surprised. “You watch the Pastry Channel?”

She shrugged. “Research.”

Impressive. Stephanie acted aloof most of the time. She must be taking her apprenticeship seriously if she was watching the Pastry Channel in her free time.

“Stephanie’s right.” I took another sip of the pumpkin-cream latte. “According to Philip,
Take the Cake
is one of the network’s top shows. Five pastry chefs from all over the country will be competing against each other. The winner takes home twenty-five thousand dollars and a contract for their own show. I guess it’s a pretty big deal.”

“Why are they coming to Ashland?” Andy asked. He’d obviously had his fair share of summer sun. His cheeks had erupted with freckles and matched the color of the pumpkin coffee.

“Good question. I asked Philip the same thing. He said this is the third season of the show. They filmed the first season in New York and last year in Austin, Texas. His goal is to rotate it all around the country.”

“How did we make the list?” Mom asked.

“Philip is friends with Lance. I guess they worked together in the theater years ago, before Lance became the artistic director for OSF. Philip is planning to feature the theater complex and actors in the show. He thinks that the richness of Shakespeare and OSF’s stages will add a layer of drama to the show. In fact, they’re planning to film the entire show at the Black Swan Theater.”

“Cool.” Andy elbowed Sterling. “Maybe we’ll get a shot at being on TV.”

I warmed my hands on the mug. “Actually, that’s part of my news. They also want to use Torte.”

Mom let out a little yelp of delight and clapped her hands together. “They want to film here?”

“Don’t get too excited,” I cautioned. “They want to
pay
us to use Torte’s kitchen for one of the contestants. They might film some little clips of the contestant prepping here, but it’s not like they’ll film the whole show here or anything like that.”

“It doesn’t matter. What great exposure for the shop! And they want to pay us?” Mom’s cheeks turned pink with excitement.

“Yeah. Like a couple thousand bucks.”

Mom raced around the island and threw her arms around me. “Good work. You know what this means? One step closer to new ovens!”

I didn’t want to burst her bubble. New ovens were still a bit out of reach for us, but a payment from the Pastry Channel, especially during our slow season, would definitely put us closer.

“This is the best news all week!” Mom beamed. “When do they come?”

“Two weeks.” I pointed at Andy and Sterling. “We’re going to need to do some rearranging before they arrive. Things are going to get tight. Philip plans to have the competitors using our space after hours for the most part, but depending on their filming schedule we might have ‘guests’ in the kitchen during regular hours.”

Mom straightened her apron. “That should be fine. Things are already slowing down, and by November they’ll be dead.”

“That’s pretty much what I said to Philip. He’s going to be using the kitchen at the Merry Windsor and OSF too.”

“Richard Lord will eat that up.” Andy rolled his eyes.

Richard Lord, owner of the Merry Windsor Inn across the plaza from Torte, is the town’s self-proclaimed king. The Merry Windsor lacks quality in their offerings both in food and customer service, but that hasn’t stopped Richard from touting his newly remodeled restaurant and coffee counter as the “Best Shakespearean Pastry Palace in Town.” That’s literally what the sign hanging on his forest-green awning says. He might fool out-of-towners with his marketing gimmicks, but locals know that Torte is the
only
bakeshop in town where they can find authentic hand-crafted pastries.

“Don’t worry about Richard,” I said to Andy. “We have bigger and better things to concentrate on.”

Never could I have imagined that bigger things were indeed coming, and most of them weren’t better.

Chapter Two

The next two weeks passed quickly, despite the fact that downtown Ashland looked like a ghost town just in time for Halloween. OSF “goes dark” as they say in the theater business the first weekend in November, which means our little village does too. Things pick up a bit when the ski runs open on Mount Ashland, but otherwise Main Street would be quiet until February, when the actors in the company return to the stage.

News that the Pastry Channel production crew was arriving had locals buzzing with excitement. Not only would our little town gain national recognition, but the production crew and contestants would spend money in our shops and restaurants.
Take the Cake
was exactly what Ashland needed.

I reminded Andy, Sterling, and Stephanie as much while we put the finishing touches on Torte’s quick revamp.

Stephanie climbed down from a ladder and wiped paint from her fingers. “What do you think?” she asked me as she stepped back to admire her work.

I studied Stephanie’s design. She’d suggested that we stencil Torte’s logo on the kitchen wall. That way when viewers watched at home, Torte would be prominently displayed. Since she’d actually watched every episode of
Take the Cake,
I gladly welcomed her input.

“It’s perfect.” I said to Stephanie. Then I turned and took in all of our hard work. “Everything looks great, guys.” We’d managed to rotate the island in order to make room for a temporary cutting block on casters that would serve as a workspace for the contestant who would be baking with us for the next few weeks. Sterling had reorganized the hooks on the far wall to make room for the contestant’s utensils and pot holders. The ovens and walk-in fridge were stationary, but Andy had cleared a section in the fridge so that our guest chef could have a reserved spot.

Things were definitely going to be tight, but I was used to working in cramped quarters. After I’d spent ten years in a cruise-ship kitchen, Torte seemed expansive, even with our makeshift remodel. At least we didn’t have to stock extra supplies this time of year.

“I think this is going to work.” I frowned. “It better work.”

“It’ll work, boss.” Andy elbowed Sterling in the rib. “If it doesn’t, blame him, though.”

“Right.” I laughed as Sterling captured Andy in a headlock and rubbed his red hair, which had naturally lightened in the sun over the summer. “Philip, the contestants, and film crew should be here soon.” I glanced at the clock on the far wall. “Sterling, once you release Andy, will you go change the sign on the front door to
CLOSED
?”

Sterling released Andy from his grasp. “On it.”

“Stephanie, can you help arrange the pastries? Andy, you can start prepping coffees, okay? I want everyone to feel welcome when they arrive.”

As they finished setting up the bakeshop for the arrival of our special guests, I took one last look over the contract that Mom and I had signed with the Pastry Channel. Everything seemed straightforward, but I hoped I wasn’t missing something important.

I
was
missing Mom. She and the Professor, as we call him, were on a wine-tasting tour of the Willamette Valley. The Professor’s real name is Doug, but he looks a lot like a professor with his tweed jackets and wire-framed glasses. He’s the town’s official chief of police and our unofficial Shakespeare aficionado. Mom and the Professor have a budding romance. When she told me he was taking her on three-day tour of wine country, I wondered if things were starting to get serious.

She deserves happiness—and a break—more than anyone I know. Until I’d returned to Ashland, she’d been managing Torte by herself for nearly two decades. Normally, running the busy bakeshop without her for a few days wouldn’t be a problem, but I had to admit that managing the details of a production contract had me a little nervous. I knew baking and how to run a kitchen, but when it came to television, I was clueless. I didn’t even own a TV.

Part of me wondered if the timing of her getaway was intentional. She’d been encouraging me to take a more active role in the shop, which I had. I took over doing the books, and mapping out a plan for Torte’s expansion, but with Mom gone the responsibility of prepping the bakeshop to look good on TV fell to me.

I hope we’re ready, I thought as I flipped through the paperwork one last time. Philip had sent over the contestant bios and an outline of the schedule. Everything seemed self-explanatory, at least to my untrained eyes.

We’d be hosting Chef Marco from New York. I was familiar with the name. Chef Marco owned two high-end patisseries in Manhattan where he worked as executive chef. The waiting list to get into one of his eateries was months long, thanks in part to the fact that he was a pastry chef to the stars. Hollywood celebs and Broadway stars graced magazine covers as they walked the red carpet in front of his restaurants to nosh on delicate sweets. His client list read like a who’s who of Hollywood.

The list of requirements Marco sent over for his workstation was the size of a small book. I knew we couldn’t accommodate most of his requests due to space, so I’d just have to keep my fingers crossed that the chef would be okay with only getting a chunk of our kitchen.