A Batter of Life and Death (27 page)

Chapter Thirty-three

I decided I might as well wait for the crew to arrive. At least no one would accuse me of being late for makeup today. I took the opportunity to assemble my pie. I got out a container of whipped cream, a spatula, and the caramel sauce.

The caramel sauce would be served warm. I spread the whipped cream in soft peaks over the apple pie. It reminded me of the top of Mount Ashland in the middle of winter. It had been a long time since I’d seen snow. I couldn’t wait to break out my skis and hit the slopes.

Unlike Linda, I prefer my presentation to be simple. After I covered the pie with the whipped cream I wiped the spatula clean with a towel and returned everything to my bag. When it came time to serve the pie, I would drizzle each slice with the thick caramel sauce.

I kept looping the conversation I had with Nina through my brain. There was something important she’d said. What was it? I tasted the caramel sauce with my pinkie. It was beautifully balanced—sweet and salty.

That was it!
Beautiful
. Why hadn’t I realized it before?

Nina’s desperation to make her vegan bakery a success in health-conscious Hollywood reminded me of someone else who was obsessed with looking good and staying in the spotlight—Elliot.

Suddenly every interaction I’d had with Elliot flashed in my mind. Elliot had been fuming the night Marco was killed. Fuming enough to murder Marco? Maybe.

Elliot hadn’t been pleased when Philip showed interest in me. Actually, he had warned me to stay away from television. Could that be why he’d been hanging around the shop and Stephanie? Had he been trying to spy on me? Maybe he’d wanted access to Marco’s things.

It all made sense. Could Elliot be the killer?

I grabbed my phone and called Thomas. He didn’t answer.

“Thomas, I’m at the Black Swan. I think I know who killed Marco—Elliot. Call me back.”

At that moment the door swung open.

It caught me off guard. I jumped slightly and knocked over the jar of caramel sauce. Fortunately it didn’t break.

“Hello. Is someone here?” I called.

The door banged shut. I thought I heard the sound of someone locking it. I stepped around the counter to see who was there.

Elliot Cool had his eyes locked on me. “Good morning,” he sang in a mocking tone.

One look at his wild eyes confirmed that I was right. Elliot Cool had killed Marco. Why hadn’t I figured it out sooner?

“Oh, hey, Elliot. You’re here early,” I said as he came closer, keeping my voice even and taking a step back.

“Looks that way, doesn’t it.” He snarled.

“Sounds like you could use a cup of what I call the nectar of the gods.” I tried to laugh.

“You mean coffee? I don’t need coffee. I need a word with you.” He invaded my personal space. I could feel negative energy pouring out of him.

I inched back.

“That’s right, keep backing up.” He tapped my collarbone with his index finger. “Back it up. Back it up.”

I took another step back. I had to get out of here.

“You’ve been putting on a nice little performance all week. Show’s over, sweetheart.”

“Performance?”

“Please. Like I don’t know an actor when I see one.” He ran his fingers through his normally styled hair. It looked disheveled. He snapped his fingers together. “You’re trying to take my job, just like Marco. You saw what happened to Marco. You’re next.”

“Take your job? I don’t want your job.” I could feel my heart rate climbing.

“Right. I heard the whole thing. I was listening when Philip was giving you the full-court press to take the job.” Elliot searched the countertop.

What was he looking for? A knife?

I held my hands up in surrender. “Let’s cool down for a minute here, Elliot. I’m not hosting any show. You heard wrong. I told Philip no.”

Elliot spread his legs in a wide stance, trying to block my exit. He tugged on one of the drawers. It appeared that the drawers, like everything else on the set, were just for show.

“Freakin’ set,” Elliot said under his breath.

“Why did you kill Marco?” I asked, trying to distract him.

“He deserved to die.” Elliot’s eyes shot to the judge’s stage. “He was trying to boot me from the show. Fattie. Not sexy. Like he’d ever be able to replace me.”

If that was the case, I wondered why Elliot had killed him. Elliot answered my question for me before I could decide whether asking would antagonize him more.

“Marco came to me last summer and wanted to partner together. I think he was getting nervous that my pastry party shops were a hit. I didn’t care, but he wanted to give me a big chunk of cash to partner and expand into other markets. That was fine by me. Then he shows up here and suddenly says the whole thing was his idea. I overheard him pitching it to Philip. Philip ate it up—loved the idea. Said Marco could host a whole series about rolling out the pastry parties across the country. When I confronted him about it, he was so trashed he didn’t even know what I was talking about.”

Elliot’s eyes glazed over as he spoke. I could tell he wasn’t even registering the fact that he was speaking to me. He was in some sort of trancelike state.

That’s good, Jules, let him talk, I thought. Hopefully Thomas would check his phone.

“I’m the youngest chef in the history of the Pastry Channel to have a chain of restaurants, my own show, and a hosting gig. I wasn’t about to let that old drunk fatso come in and steal everything I’ve worked hard for from me.”

“What was Marco going to steal?” I should have kept my mouth shut. What was I thinking?

Elliot’s face twitched. His eyes refocused on me. “Don’t you listen? I already told you. He and Philip had devised a plan to take me out. Philip was going to let him take over as host of
Take the Cake
and give him his own miniseries. My miniseries! To the drunk idiot. I don’t know what Philip was thinking. I overheard the whole conversation that night. I was backstage.”

I had a feeling I knew why—blackmail. Philip had already confessed to me that Marco had found out about his affair with Linda. In order to keep him silent, Philip agreed to Marco’s demands. Who knew if he was just trying to pacify the chef or whether he would have actually followed through on his promise? I had a feeling that Philip hoped that Marco wouldn’t remember their conversation the next morning. Only, he never had a chance to find out. Elliot killed him first.

And if you don’t get out of here, he’s going to kill you too, Jules.

“I also heard all of Philip’s little chats with you. He may think you’re a beauty, but you don’t have the killer instinct it takes to make it in Hollywood. But no, no, Philip had found his muse. He didn’t even care when you showed up late. Do you know how much crap he’s given me about wasting money and time?”

“No.” I shook my head. That’s why I was late yesterday. Elliot must have told the camera crew to have me arrive at nine. He wanted me to be late. He wanted me to look like a flake.

Elliot’s hand fumbled on the countertop and landed on a marble rolling pin. “Right. Too bad it has to go down this way. You do have a gorgeous face, but not as gorgeous as mine.” He flashed me his camera-ready grin.

I shuddered in response. He lunged for the rolling pin. This was my chance. I ducked under him and made a break for it.

Run, Jules!

Chapter Thirty-four

I sprinted out of the kitchen.

Elliot was right behind me. I didn’t dare look back.

My foot slipped. I flailed my arms to try and regain my balance. It didn’t work. I landed on the floor—hard.

Pain seared up my right arm. I thought I might vomit.

This isn’t good, Jules. I crawled toward the exit.

Elliot jumped in front of me. He wound up the rolling pin. There was no escape. I thought about Mom, Thomas, Carlos, Torte, my years at sea. Time slowed in rhythm with Elliot’s arm motion.

I watched him raise the pin, and start to lower it toward my head. This must have been how Marco felt in his final moments.

The doors rattled. Maybe Elliot hadn’t locked them after all.

“Freeze!” the Professor commanded.

Elliot dropped the rolling pin. It landed on the floor near my feet, making a loud thud that reverberated on the floor. He ran back to the kitchen and leaped onto the stage as the sound of voices and heavy footsteps echoed.

The Professor and Thomas both ran to me. I signaled that I was okay and pointed them in Elliot’s direction.

I didn’t move from the floor, but listened intently to the sound of their feet hitting the stage, shouts for Elliot to stop and surrender, and ultimately what sounded like Thomas tackling him somewhere backstage.

They returned a few minutes later with Elliot in handcuffs. His face was covered in sweat and blotched with color. He certainly didn’t look the part of a polished TV star at the moment. The Professor led him outside, while Thomas came to help me.

He fell to his knees. “Juliet, are you okay?” His voice caught as he said my name.

“I think my arm is broken.”

Thomas gently covered my injured arm. His hand was warm to the touch. “It’s already swelling, and that’s one nasty bruise. Can you squeeze my hand?”

I tried to squeeze his hand. My fingers refused. A new wave of pain shot up my arm.

“Okay, stop. Stop.” Thomas kept his hand over mine. “It’s definitely broken. I’ll call an ambulance.”

“No. I don’t need an ambulance.”

Thomas reached out and covered my cheek with his free hand. I could feel the heat rise in my face with his touch. “Jules, you look like a sack of flour. I’m calling an ambulance before you pass out on me. You’re probably in shock.”

“Shock? I’m not in shock.”

“It’s not up for debate. I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Can’t you just take me?” I asked, looking into his eyes.

“Me?”

“Yeah, it’s not far. I mean, I’m sure you have other important things to do. Forget about it.”

Thomas sighed. “Jules, I have nothing more important to do than to be with you, but I don’t want you to go limp on me on the way there.”

“I won’t. I’m better now that you’re here.” I was. What did that mean? I tried to stand a little. Thomas caught my free arm and helped me to my feet.

“You’re sure?” He gave me a hard look.

“I’m sure.” I looped my healthy arm through his and let him walk me to the front door. For the first time in the last week I felt safe and secure. I wasn’t sure if it was because of having Thomas’s strong arm keeping me upright or because I knew that Marco’s murderer was on his way to police headquarters.

Thomas walked me outside. Three squad cars surrounded the theater with their lights flashing and their sirens blaring. Thomas showed the backup team where to go, and helped me into his squad car. The sun was shrouded by thick, gray clouds and rain leaked from the sky.

“It’s going to be a wild afternoon. They’re calling for thunderstorms.”

On the ship I used to sneak up to the observation deck whenever storms rolled in. I loved the sound of the rumbling sky and watching lightning strike out in the middle of the sea. The air felt heavy, like I could reach out and touch each individual particle.

This morning the rain felt refreshing as it spattered on my shoulders, like it was washing away all the events of this past week.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Thomas asked, clicking my seat belt on.

“I’m fine.” I braced my arm to my stomach.

Thomas drove well below the speed limit to the hospital, but even so every tiny bump or pothole in the road sent shooting pain through my arm. I clenched my jaw and held my wrist tighter.

“Can you believe it was Elliot?” I asked.

Thomas turned partway to meet my eye, keeping one hand on the wheel. “I can. But I can’t believe you stood me up, and went after a killer on your own.”

“Huh? Stood you up?” My head must have been woozy from the pain. Nothing was making sense.

“We had an appointment this morning, remember?”

“Uh, no.”

Thomas chuckled. “Remember that suspicious note shoved under your door? You left me a message last night. We were supposed to meet at Torte.”

“Oh, that.” I nodded.

“Yeah, that.” Thomas frowned. “So quickly you forget. Anyway, when I showed up and you weren’t there, your mom said you went to the theater early. And then I got your call.”

We hit a bump. I winced.

“Sorry. See, I knew I should have called an ambulance.”

“No, keep going. I’m fine.”

He kept his gaze on the road in front of us. “You are so stubborn, you know.”

I didn’t know. “It’s not like you haven’t told me that a thousand times.” I almost reached over to sock him in the arm out of habit, but then I thought about my throbbing arm and decided against it.

“I called the Professor. He said that you may be in danger and to use any force necessary to get inside the theater.” Thomas let his gaze veer from the road and looked straight at me. “You can’t keep doing this to me, Juliet. When I heard you were in danger, I—I…”

“I’m sorry,” I said, really meaning it. “I called you the minute I realized it was Elliot. I didn’t go there to confront him. I went to the theater to talk to Nina, and Elliot found me there.” I didn’t tell him about Nina and the butter. I made a promise to her, and I intended to keep it.

Thomas shook his head. “I was confident we had the case wrapped up with Sebastian. The Professor was too. Or at least I thought he was. He told me to keep an eye on Elliot. He thought Elliot was acting suspicious.”

I thought back to Stephanie and Elliot coming to Torte last night. Stephanie had seemed uncomfortable. Elliot cut her off when she tried to tell me why they were there. Had Elliot been using her to get inside the bakeshop?

“He was afraid I was trying to take his job,” I said to Thomas. “That’s why he killed Marco too. For a stupid show.”

“What?” Thomas maneuvered the car into the hospital parking lot.

“I know. Don’t ask.”

He pulled in front of the emergency entrance. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” He returned a couple minutes later with a wheelchair and a friendly nurse.