A Batter of Life and Death (26 page)

Linda brushed sprinkles from her bejeweled hands. “Sugar, that’s not what I hear. I hear you’re cozy with that dashing detective that y’all call ‘the Professor.’”

“You mean Doug?” Mom grabbed a pencil from a teal canister near the island and sketched something on Stephanie’s to-bake list.

“That’s the one.” Linda picked up her pie and examined it from every angle. “He’s so handsome and distinguished.”

Mom pinched my waist as she scooted past me toward the fridge. “He and I are old friends,” she said to Linda, not biting on Linda’s blatant attempt to fish for information.

I grimaced as Mom continued on to the fridge. Was I as bad as Linda? Oh, man, I hoped not. No wonder Thomas was irritated with me.

My caramel sauce had thickened. I poured it into a glass jar and secured the lid. Nina meanwhile had been working with her head down in the corner of the kitchen. I could tell she was listening to the conversation, but making a point to stay in the background.

I walked over to her. “Are you heading up the hill soon?”

She concentrated on zesting an orange. “What’s that?”

“I was hoping we could walk to the Black Swan together. I want to talk to you about something.”

Nina’s hand slipped on the grater. She sliced the tip of her finger. A bright red spot of blood appeared.

“Let me grab you a towel,” I said.

“It’s fine,” Nina said, sucking the blood from her finger. “I’m not usually that sloppy. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I must need more coffee.” She set the grater on the island and went to rinse her hand in the sink.

I suspected why she was jumpy, and I bet it had to do with butter. I kept quiet on that, and waited for her to return. “Are you ready to go?” I asked again.

Nina dusted the top of her pie with the grated orange rind. “Sure. What did you want to talk about it?”

I lowered my voice a bit. “Let’s talk outside.”

Her face turned as white as flour. “Okay.” She sounded unsure.

“Let me get my pie out the fridge. I’ll be right back.”

Nina agreed and began boxing up her pie.

On my way to the fridge I caught Mom by the arm and whispered, “I’m heading to the Black Swan a little early. I need to talk to Nina for a second.”

Mom frowned. “I thought we just went over this.”

“It’s not about Marco’s murder—well, at least I don’t think it is—it’s about
butter.
”

“Butter?” Mom looked confused.

“Shhh. I’ll tell you later.” I left Mom staring after me.

The icy air inside the fridge made me shiver. I retrieved my pie from the shelf and placed it in one of our Torte boxes. Then I headed to the front of the shop with a canvas grocery bag containing my caramel sauce and whipping cream. I’d assemble the pie on set.

Nina was nowhere in sight.

“Hey, have you seen Nina?” I asked Andy.

He sipped a cup of French press. “Yeah, she just left.”

“Left Torte?”

“Yeah. She went that way.” He pointed across the street. “She looked like she was in a hurry.”

“Seriously?” I didn’t wait for him to answer and hurried after Nina. She was obviously avoiding me. Why?

The moon sank behind me as the sun pushed its way through gathering clouds. Mom was smart to bring a raincoat. I probably should have done the same.

Crossing the plaza, I searched the empty side streets for any sign of Nina. She must have sprinted out of Torte. Where could she have gone? Not far.

A figure appeared in front of the Merry Windsor. I couldn’t make out who it was in the dusky morning light. “Nina, is that you?” I called.

She didn’t answer.

I tightened my grasp on my bag and headed in that direction.

Sebastian stood near the front entrance. He sneered at me. “Just who I was looking for.”

Instinctively I clutched my pie and looped my hand through the bag. If he attacked, I could thump him with the bag. “Why were you looking for me?”

He reached behind him.

Did he have a weapon? I let out a little yelp. “Stop right there.”

“What’s your problem?” He held a box of delicate glass vases in front of him. “Kind of jumpy, aren’t you? I was going to drop these by, but since you’re here…”

“Oh, thanks.” I felt like an idiot. “I can’t take them right now, though. I’m headed to the Black Swan. You haven’t seen Nina, by any chance?”

He looked at the vases. “What do you want me to do with these?”

“Can you walk them over to the shop?”

“I guess.” He sounded put out.

“Listen, you’re the one who broke them.” Irritation crept into my voice.

“Sorry. I’ll take them. About Nina. I saw her running up the hill a minute ago.”

Running up the hill. Why was she running from me? I left Sebastian and the vases and followed Nina up Pioneer Street. I caught the eye of a couple of shop owners as I sprinted up the sidewalk. By the time I made it to the Black Swan, I was huffing and my forehead was damp with sweat. Running uphill isn’t exactly my speed.

“Hello?” I called, pushing open the front doors. “Nina—are you here?” The lights were on, but there was no sign of motion inside the theater.

I was surprised the crew hadn’t arrived, but then again I wasn’t sure how long it took them to prepare.

“Nina?” I called again, stepping farther inside. “It’s Jules.”

The sound of a muffled cry came from the kitchen. I froze.

“Nina? Is that you?”

Another soft cry sounded.

I probably should have considered my choices, but instinct kicked in. I walked to the kitchen, leaving my pie and bag on the counter. Sure enough, Nina was crouched there on the floor, hugging her knees and sobbing.

Chapter Thirty-two

“Nina, what’s wrong?” I dropped onto the floor next to her and put my hand on her shoulder.

She said something I couldn’t understand through her sobs.

“Take a breath,” I said, waiting for her to regain her composure.

Her body convulsed as she tried to suck air into her lungs. “I knew this would happen,” she said between sobs.

I stood and grabbed a napkin from the counter. Sitting down next to her again, I offered it to her. “You knew what would happen?”

She dabbed her eyes with the napkin. “I’d do something stupid.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know! I know you know. You’re a great chef. Of course you know.” She buried her face in the napkin.

I waited for a minute. The napkin stayed in front her face. Finally, I broke the silence. “You mean about the butter?”

She sobbed again. “Yes.”

I couldn’t help it. I’m not exactly sure what came over me, but I broke into the giggles. Once I started laughing I couldn’t stop.

Nina peeled the napkin from in front of her face. She looked up at me with bloodshot eyes. “It’s not funny. I’m an idiot. I don’t know how I thought I was going to pull this off on a nationally televised cooking show.”

“We are talking about butter though, right?” My fit of giggles continued. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you, but the whole thing is a bit over the top. You’re crying about
butter.
I wish that’s all I had to cry about.”

She ran the napkin under her nose and stared at me for a second. Then she broke into laughter too. We sat on the floor laughing until neither of us could catch our breath. I knew this was a needed relief for both of us.

Nina released her knees and drew out a long breath. “I guess it is a little ridiculous.”

“A little?” I raised my brow.

“Well, maybe a lot.” She folded the napkin on her lap.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I do—obviously I’ve been a bit wound up.”

“Me too.” I pushed to standing and offered her my hand. “Why don’t we go sit over there?” I pointed to the bar stools lining the counter.

She let me help her up. I moved the stools, wishing I had something else to offer her. At Torte, Mom always serves up a slice of warm pie and a cup of coffee when people come in for her wise counsel.

The only thing in the fake kitchen was my apple pie. I couldn’t cut into it before the competition. I’d just have to wing it by asking lots of questions. I was good at that. I’d learned over the years that asking questions deflects attention away from myself.

Nina sniffed a bit. “You’ve been so nice to me. I feel terrible for lying to you.”

I wanted to console her by telling her that she wasn’t the only one who’d been lying, but I’d made a promise to Sebastian. “It’s okay. I’m not angry.”

She gave me a small smile and launched into an explanation. “My shop wasn’t vegan until a few years ago. I’d been known for my cupcakes. People came from all around for my cupcakes. I was doing a good business. In fact, I’d been thinking of expanding. Doing a second shop on the other side of town. Rent isn’t cheap in L.A., so I spent some time researching the market. Thank goodness I did, because it was about that time that the vegan craze really took off.”

That made sense. Trends on the West Coast tend to hit in southern California first and then slowly work their way north. We’re usually a few years behind in Ashland.

Nina bit her nonexistent fingernails. “My cupcakes took a major hit. All of a sudden everyone was terrified of butter. Saying you used butter was like saying you were injecting your products with MSG.”

I chuckled.

“No, I’m serious. I thought I was going to lose the shop. Baking has been my life. I couldn’t let that happen, so I decided to give the whole vegan movement a shot. You know how people are in L.A. They’re desperately seeking beauty and youth and will do almost
anything
for the promise of wrinkle-free skin. So, I poured myself into researching new recipes. I ate at every vegan restaurant in town to compare what the competition was doing. It turned out that I was pretty good with creating vegan treats. Business has been slowly picking back up since I made the switch.”

“I don’t understand. Why sneak butter into your products then?”

Nina shook her head. “I don’t. I mean not in my products at the shop. Never. I wouldn’t do that to my customers.”

“But I found butter in your bowl at Torte last night. Isn’t that what you were just so upset about?”

“Yeah.” Nina’s shoulders slumped. “I got intimidated by all of you. Everyone is so skilled. I mean even Linda. Her stuff is gaudy, but the taste and design are there. The only way I got invited to compete was because one of my good friends works for the network. She convinced Philip that I was the best vegan chef in all of L.A. I’m not. Not yet anyway. I still have so much to learn, but I really wanted—no, I really need—the prize money, so I figured it was worth a shot. I would play up the whole vegan-chef angle for the show and hopefully walk away with enough money to keep my doors open for another year.”

“I know something about that,” I said.

Nina’s eyes widened. “You do? But Torte is thriving, and you’re the best baker here.”

“Thanks.” I smiled. “I appreciate it, but Mom and I are barely squeaking by. Running a bakeshop, well, any business, in a tourist town is a struggle. We really need to update our equipment. We’ve been scrimping and saving every penny. That’s the only reason I agreed to do the show.”

“I never would have guessed that.” Nina looked me over. “You’re so put together and in control.”

“Ha!” I chuckled. “I promise I’m not.”

Nina bit her nails again. “Anyway, like I said I got intimidated and worried that I wouldn’t have a chance competing against chefs like you and Marco with my new vegan recipes. I know I shouldn’t have cheated, but I thought using butter would give me an edge, and no one would be the wiser. It’s not like the judges are vegan.” She looked me in the eye. “I promise I would never serve someone something with butter if they were.”

“It’s cool. I’m not judging you.”

She sighed. “I’m judging myself. It was stupid. I guess I just thought no one was getting hurt, and if I won all my recipes really would be vegan.”

“But they wouldn’t be if they contained butter.”

“No, I mean, yes, the judges would be tasting products with butter, but none of my actual recipes call for butter. The recipes I serve at the Garden of Vegan are all free of animal byproducts.” She shook her head. “This is why I never should have even considered using butter. Now I’ve messed everything up.”

“What are you going to do?”

She rubbed her temples. “I don’t know. We only have one more day left. I hate to ask this, but if I run back to Torte and make a new pie this morning, would you be willing to keep my secret?”

I was becoming the town secret-keeper. Is this how Mom felt all the time?

“Nina, I won’t say anything.” I reached out and squeezed her hand. “But you have to promise you won’t use any more butter. It’s not fair to the competition, to viewers, but more than anything, to yourself. Look how upset this has made you.”

“Thank you.” She squeezed my hand back. “No wonder Thomas talks so much about you. You really are wonderful, Jules.” She glanced at her bare wrist. “Do you know what time it is? I should probably fly if I’m going to have time to make something that’s actually vegan before we start filming.”

I don’t wear a watch, or any jewelry for that matter, when I’m baking. It gets in the way, especially when I’m up to my elbows mixing dough. I stood and dug through the canvas bag I’d left on the counter. I pulled out my phone. “It’s almost seven,” I said, sticking the phone in my back pocket.

Nina jumped off her stool. “I gotta run. Thank you again.”

She hurried toward the front door. I wondered if I’d do the same thing in her position. I understood the desperate desire to want to save a business, or a relationship, but would I lie to make it happen? I didn’t think so.

The door closed behind her, and I was alone in the empty theater. If Nina could lie about being vegan was there a chance she could have lied about killing Marco? She seemed sincere, but if he’d discovered that she’d been secretly using butter, could she have snapped?

I didn’t want to think so, but I couldn’t rule it out either. I also couldn’t stop thinking about Nina’s parting words. What had she meant about Thomas always talking about me?