A Batter of Life and Death (7 page)

Sterling pretended not to notice her. He counted each pastry in the boxes he’d assembled on the top of the case—twice.

Stephanie cleared her throat. “A little help?” She nodded to the glass case.

He looked up from the boxes. “Huh?”

“Help,” she snapped.

I wondered what my role in their bickering was. I don’t get involved in the personal issues of my staff. Mom probably would know what to do, but not me. I learned early on from one of the head pastry chefs I apprenticed under on the cruise ship that personal issues have no place in the kitchen.

“Juliet, there’s no place for arguing in the kitchen. The tension comes out in the food.”

This same sentiment was repeated often, by Carlos. Of course his Spanish accent and less than perfect grasp of English made the idea seem much more romantic. “Julieta,
mi querida,
if you hold your shoulders so tight, like this, when you are baking, that tension it will come through in the pastry. You must relax.”

Relaxing wasn’t on my agenda at the moment. Stephanie thrust the tray of red velvet cakes at Sterling and turned and stormed back to the kitchen. He looked injured. “Women.” He rolled his eyes. “What is it with you guys?”

“Me?” I asked. “Don’t rope me into this.” The room felt like it was slightly spinning. Keep it together, Jules, I told myself, reaching for the countertop for support.

He placed the cakes in the display case. “Sorry. I just don’t get why she’s mad at
me
. She’s the one acting all into Elliot. The dude looks like he’s been dipped in Hollywood. I don’t get it. He’s not her type.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at his description of Elliot. That was better. Maybe I was feeling more normal after all. “She’s probably just a little star-struck. Don’t worry about it. She’ll come around.”

Sterling shrugged.

“Listen, I need to run home and change. Are you going to be okay without me for a few?”

Sterling studied my appearance again. “What happened?” He looked concerned.

“You’re not going to believe it.” I sighed. “Chef Marco is dead.”

“Let me guess, alcohol poisoning.” Sterling frowned. He’d spent some time on the streets before arriving in Ashland and did a stint in rehab. I was impressed that he’d been able to make positive changes at such a young age. It’s not the typical way stories like that usually end.

“No, he was murdered.” I felt my voice catch.

“Seriously? Oh, man, that’s insane.”

“It gets worse. I found him.”

“Jules, you’re going to get a reputation. That’s two murders in how many months?”

I picked up a cake from the tray and pinched off a piece. “Yeah, that’s pretty much exactly what Thomas said.”

“I thought Ashland was supposed to be a quaint town. I’ve seen more murder here than I did living on the streets in So Cal.”

The moist cake melted in my mouth. I’d have to tell Stephanie that she’d done a great job on these. The cream cheese glaze added just a touch of tang without being overly sweet. The sugar rushed straight to my head. I took another bite. It was exactly what I needed.

“Do you need anything?” Sterling asked as I popped another bite into my mouth.

“Nope. I’m good. I think this is doing the trick. You’re sure you’re good here?” My body gave an involuntary shudder. “I want out of these clothes.”

Sterling handed me a paper napkin. “We got this. Go.”

I hesitated.

“Jules, you’re always worrying about everyone else. Weren’t you just lecturing your mom about taking care of herself a few days ago?” He paused and gave me a hard look. “You should follow your own advice.”

I polished off the rest of the cake and wiped my hands on the napkin. “Okay. I’ll be quick. I promise,” I told him as I left. “If Thomas comes down, tell him I’ll be right back.”

Sterling pushed me out the door. “It’s cool. Go change. Like I said, we got this.”

I smiled as I walked to my apartment. Mom and I really had an amazing staff, especially given that all of them were in their early twenties.

The combination of chocolate and sugar from the cake gave my stride an extra little kick. Either that or it was the adrenaline rush from finding a dead body. I gave my head a quick shake. This couldn’t be happening again.

I took the stairs to my apartment two at a time. I wanted out of these clothes this instant. Not that a little flour on my jeans would usually bother me, but this morning it was a visual reminder that I’d just witnessed a murder. In addition to changing, I knew there was another important thing I needed to do—call Mom.

After a quick shower and change of clothes I hit Mom’s number on my phone. She picked up on the third ring. I almost hung up. This was the first vacation she’d taken in years, but we made a pact upon my return that we wouldn’t keep secrets from one another. I knew if I didn’t at least fill her on what had happened, she’d feel betrayed. Plus I figured Thomas had probably already called the Professor.

Her voice sounded light when she answered. “Juliet, I’m so glad it’s you. I was just planning to call you.”

“How’s the wine tasting, Mom?”

“Wonderful. We’ve had the best time, and I have some great new wines that we can add to our line at Torte. You should see how many cases we’re bringing back. Doug’s truck is packed.”

“I’m so glad you’ve had a good time, Mom.”

“What’s wrong? I can hear it in your voice. Is it the shop?”

“Has the Professor talked to Thomas yet?”

She paused. “I don’t think so, why? What’s going on? Honey, are you okay? Is it Thomas?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Juliet, stop stalling. What’s going on?”

“There’s been another murder, Mom.”

“What? At Torte? Who?”

“One of the contestants on
Take the Cake
. Not here, up at the Black Swan.”

“Oh, thank goodness.” She let out a sigh. “I mean, of course it’s terrible that someone’s been killed, but I’m so relieved you’re not in the middle of it this time.”

“Well.”

“Juliet?”

“I kind of found the body.”

“Oh, no.” I could hear the concern in her voice.

“Yeah. Thomas should be calling the Professor. I just wanted to make sure you heard it from me first.”

“We’ll leave now.”

“Mom, no. Don’t cut your trip short on my account. Everything’s under control.”

It sounded like she covered up the mouthpiece. I could hear her talking to someone—probably the Professor.

“Mom, please don’t leave early because of me. I promise I’m fine. Thomas is watching out for me and the crew at Torte is helping out a ton. Really, I just wanted you to know.”

She sounded unsure. “We were planning to be home tonight anyway. You take care of yourself. I’ll be there soon.”

Chapter Nine

I returned to Torte to find Nina, Sebastian, and Linda huddled together in a booth. They caught sight of me. Linda waved me over.

“Sugar, we heard the news. Can you believe it?” She dabbed her eyes with a monogramed peach handkerchief.

Sebastian scoffed and peered out the window. “He was an idiot.”

Linda frowned. “Where I come from, we don’t speak ill of the dead.”

Sebastian ignored her attempt to chastise him.

Nina scooted over in the booth to make room for me. “Can I ask you a favor?” she asked as I took a seat.

“What’s that?”

“Now that Marco is—well—you know, not going to be part of the show. I was hoping I could use his workspace here? I can’t stand Richard Lord. He’s about as far from vegan as it gets.”

I was with her on that. “Do we even know that the show’s going to continue?”

Linda sniffed and neatly folded her handkerchief on the table. “Philip says it will.”

“Doesn’t it seem a little morbid to go on under the circumstances?” I asked.

Sebastian huffed. He tapped a package of cigarettes on the table. “Non. Chef Marco destroyed my marzipan. He drank my special imported absinthe. I think he deserved what comes to him.”

I raised my eyes. “You can’t mean that. He’s
dead
.”

Sebastian scowled and looked out the window. His black attire matched his attitude.

Nina twisted a hemp bracelet on her wrist and nodded in agreement. “I agree with both of you. It’s horrible that he’s dead, but he did destroy everyone’s cakes. I think he actually put
butter
in my vegan batter.”

Linda leaned across the table and patted Nina’s hand. Her nails, painted in pink, each had a diamond stud glued on the tips. How did she bake with those?

“Sugar, I wouldn’t put it past him. He was desperate to win. Imagine destroying our beautiful creations. I think he stole my great-grandma’s secret banana cream pudding recipe. I can’t find it anywhere.”

I wasn’t sure their assessment of Marco matched mine. While I agreed he most likely ruined our cakes, I wasn’t sure it was intentional or sabotage. More like a drunken stupor.

“So is it okay if I move in here?” Nina asked again.

“Sure, it’s fine by me, but I’m really not convinced this show is going to continue. We only have four contestants now.”

Linda offered me a syrupy smile. “Sugar, we are in very capable hands. Philip is a pro. He’ll whisk this little problem right under the rug, and we’ll be back on camera in no time.”

Being back on camera wasn’t my top priority at the moment, but I met her smile and excused myself to the kitchen. Baking might help take my mind off the morning’s gruesome event. Nina followed after me, her long flowing skirt skimming the floor.

“Where do you want me?” she asked. I wondered why she was so eager.

Stephanie whisked egg whites in the industrial mixer. She caught my eye and stared at Nina.

“I’ll need to clear off Marco’s workstation.” I motioned to the messy space. “But I don’t think I should do anything until the police have a look.”

Nina took a step back. “The police? Why would the police need to look here?”

“Because he was
murdered
.” I was starting to wonder why all my fellow contestants seemed so unfazed by Chef Marco’s death.

Stephanie laughed. I shot her a look.

“Sorry, I know. But you think that they’ll look here?” Nina repeated.

“I’m sure they will.”

“Oh, oh well, yeah, that’s fine. I need to go get my things together at the Merry Windsor anyway. I’ll check back later.” She backed out of the kitchen and scooted to the front door.

“What’s with the hippie?” Stephanie asked, testing the firmness of the egg-white peaks with her finger.

“She wants Marco’s spot.”

“That’s cold.” Stephanie began folding the airy egg whites into her cake batter.

“I agree.” I watched Nina scurry across the plaza. “But she is stuck with Richard Lord so I can’t exactly blame her.” I grabbed an apron from a hook and wrapped it around my waist. I needed to bake.

I opted for one of my favorite fall cookies—I call them amaretto dreams. I discovered them while at port in a tiny bakeshop in London, and I craved them so much that I re-created the recipe. It took me a couple tries to perfect, but when I succeeded I felt quite proud of myself. Their flavor and texture is the perfect accompaniment for fall.

Stephanie and I worked in silence. I creamed together butter and sugar for the dough base while she poured cake batter into eight-inch round pans. After the butter and sugar had blended together in a creamy consistency I added eggs, almond extract, amaretto liqueur, and a tiny splash of anise. It smelled divine.

“What are you making?” Stephanie asked as she slid cake tins into the oven. “That smells really good.”

“Amaretto dreams.” I smiled, wishing this was some terrible dream that I could wake up from.

She picked up the bottle of anise and twisted it open. “Whoa.” She waved her hand in front of her nose. “That’s wicked.”

“I know.” I twisted the cap back on. “A little goes a long, long way with this.”

“Got it.” She watched as I chopped chunks of dark chocolate and sliced almonds. Her alternative look and aloof attitude sometimes made me forget she was just a kid. She leaned on her elbows as I stirred the chocolate and almonds into my dough. “Why aren’t you using the mixer for that?”

“I like the arm workout.” I flexed my arm with the wooden spoon in my hand. “When I’m incorporating chocolate and nuts like this into the dough I like to do it by hand, especially since I’m not making a huge batch. If we were in the middle of summer rush and going through a few dozen of these every hour it would be different.” I scooped a spoonful of dough and handed it to her. “See how the chocolate is really chunky? That’s what I want for this cookie. Sometimes the mixer chops it up too much.”

She studied the dough.

“Taste it.” I nudged her.

I smiled as she used her pinky finger to scoop a taste off the spoon. She was a quick study.

“It’s good. I like the flavor. It’s unusual.”

“Exactly. That’s what sets us apart here at Torte.”

The bell on the front door jingled and Elliot Cool breezed in. Stephanie handed back the spoon and brushed a strand of purple hair from her face. She ran her tongue over her teeth. “Do I have anything on my teeth?”

“You’re fine,” I assured her.

She pulled a cookie sheet from the rack. “I’ll help with these.” She tried to look intent on scooping perfectly round balls of dough onto the sheet, but she kept trying to catch Elliot’s eye.

If he noticed Stephanie in the back, he didn’t give anything away. He made a beeline to the booth where Linda sat nursing a cup of iced coffee. Sebastian had followed Nina out, leaving Linda alone.

I couldn’t tell what they were talking about, but Elliot didn’t look happy. Linda kept reaching out with her jeweled arms, trying to pacify him. He brushed her off and pointed his index finger at her.

She glanced around the room and leaned closer to him, like she was trying to say something that she didn’t want anyone else to hear.

Elliot threw his head back in a half laugh and shot her a nasty look. He pushed to his feet and left Linda looking slightly stunned.

On his way out the door he took notice of Stephanie and me in the kitchen. His posture shifted, as he strolled to us and gave us both a toothy smile.