A Batter of Life and Death (8 page)

“Ladies, how goes it?”

Stephanie visibly blushed. That was a first.

“So this is where the magic happens?” He reached into the mixing bowl and snagged a taste of the cookie batter. Working the batter around in his mouth, he nodded. “Hmm. Interesting flavor combination. I taste amaretto, right?”

Stephanie wrapped a strand of hair around her finger. “Yeah. How’d you know?”

“Years in the biz.” He turned to me. “This isn’t extract, though; I’m thinking you used the real thing, right?”

I had to admit even I was a little impressed. I mean, I guess I’ve always been under the impression that most television hosts are hired for their looks and personality and less so for their culinary prowess. I had to give Elliot credit for having a good palate to accompany his good looks.

Before I could answer, Stephanie handed him the bottle of liqueur. He appraised it and placed it on the counter. “Good stuff. Nice. That’s the way we do things at my pop-up pastry shops. Nothing but the best. Baking should be sexy, you know.”

I thought Stephanie might actually swoon. Not that I’ve ever seen anyone swoon, but she fit the description. Elliot responded by layering on the charm. I understood why Sterling was irritated, and I was more than a little surprised that Stephanie of all people was gaga for the food star. There was something about his blinding smile that I didn’t trust.

“Not that I’m surprised to see such sexy baking from such lovely ladies. My money’s on your chocolate cake,” he said to me. “It was the star of the show last night for sure.”

“But you didn’t even taste it.”

Elliot caught Stephanie’s eye. “She doesn’t get sexy, does she?”

Stephanie twirled her hair and shook her head in agreement.

“Your cake looked the best.” Elliot spoke to me like he was addressing a child. “That’s baking sexy and all that matters when it comes to the show.”

He scooped another taste of the cookie dough. “You heard the news, right? About Chef Marco? Dude, total bummer. Now Philip has me running all around. Not in my contract, but hey, I’m the kind of guy who jumps in wherever I’m needed.” He snapped his fingers together. “I gotta run, but let’s hang later. I want to see more of your little town.”

Stephanie nodded. I figured this was because she didn’t trust herself to speak. Elliot left, completely aware that all eyes followed him out the door. One set of those eyes belonged to Linda Belle, who maintained her window seat. Her Southern smile had evaporated from her face, replaced by pursed lips. She hardened her eyes and watched Elliot leave.

Our eyes met across the room. She looked frazzled for a moment, but quickly returned to her usual demeanor, waved with her fingers and shot me a sugary grin. Then she picked up her handkerchief and hurried off in the same direction as Elliot.

I wasn’t sure what was going on with her and Elliot, but I couldn’t help but wonder if it had something to do with Marco’s murder.

Chapter Ten

The scent of my amaretto dream cookies baking in the oven filled the space. It was almost time for the lunch crowd to start funneling in, and I hadn’t started on specialty sandwiches yet. In the fall and winter locals flock to Torte and all the other restaurants in town during the lunch hour. When OSF is in full swing most locals avoid being anywhere near the theater between eleven and two, as it’s usually a mob of tourists trying to grab a bite to eat before catching the matinee.

I’d enjoyed reconnecting with people from town the last few weeks. Torte’s a great spot to linger over a cup of coffee and a croissant sandwich when it’s not buzzing with tourists. We make all of our soups and sandwiches fresh every day. Our standard menu includes an old-fashioned PBJ with homemade jams. I love mine grilled on the panini maker with our rustic French bread. We offer a cranberry-walnut chicken salad and basil egg salad. Our deli case is stocked with locally sourced meats and cheeses so that our customers can create their own sandwich. To finish off any order, we box up sandwiches with a cookie and drink for a quick lunch on the go.

With fall on my mind, I thought I’d try an apple-inspired sandwich for today’s special. I chopped organic Rogue Valley apples and shredded a pork loin that I had chilling in the fridge. I tossed them in apple cider vinegar, salt and pepper, and a splash of olive oil. Pork and apples tend to pair well together. I’d serve it in a baguette with arugula and Fontina cheese.

Thomas beat the lunch crowd in. He waited for me to finish assembling the sandwiches, taking a cup of coffee that Sterling offered him while standing at the counter. I still hadn’t gotten quite used to seeing him in his uniform. In high school he’d been a goofy football player who liked to make us all laugh. I’d witnessed his serious side and dedication to following leads without jumping to conclusions when we worked together on Ashland’s last murder, yet watching him size up Torte in his blue police uniform made me stifle a giggle.

“What’s the latest?” I asked, bringing him an apple and pork baguette on a plate with two amaretto dream cookies.

“Is this for me?” He ran his fingers through his sandy hair.

“I figured you might want lunch.”

“You are a mind reader, Jules.” He took the plate and directed me toward a table in the far corner. “Let’s go sit.”

Andy should be back from his morning class soon. I checked with Sterling to make sure he had the front under control before joining Thomas.

“You’re not going to eat?” He ripped off a chunk of the sandwich with his teeth.

“Not if you’re going to devour my food like that.” I feigned disgust.

That only encouraged him. He yanked another bite and chewed from one side of his mouth. “This is so good; you can’t expect me to eat it like a civilized gentleman. This sandwich was made to be eaten like a man.” He thumped his chest.

I rolled my eyes. “It does make me happy to know that some things—
or people
—never change.”

“What? How can you say that, Jules? I’ve changed. Look at me.” He patted his taut stomach.

“Right.” I smirked. “Can we talk about Chef Marco?”

Thomas rested the remaining portion of his sandwich on his plate and glanced around the room. “What do you want to talk about? I thought I made it clear that I don’t want you messed up in this.”

I folded my hands on the table. “I already am, Thomas. I found him.”

He sighed. “I know. Are you doing okay?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” I snapped.

“Maybe because we care about you.” He looked at his sandwich.

“Sorry. I guess I’m a little on edge.”

“Jules, it’s okay. Someone was murdered. Even in this line of work it’s not exactly something you ever get used to, you know.”

“Did the coroner confirm that?”

“He as much as did. Said he’d have more info this afternoon, but that it looked like blunt force trauma to the head.”

I swallowed hard. “Have you talked to the Professor?”

Thomas plucked a piece of arugula from his sandwich and nodded. “He should be back later. I think we have everything under control, but I know the Professor won’t be able to rest until he sees the scene. Speaking of the crime scene, are any of Chef Marco’s personal items here? I’m going to need to go through them.”

“His workstation is full of his stuff.” I nodded. “I’ll take you back there after you finish your lunch. Did you talk to Philip? The rest of the contestants seem to think that the show is going to keep filming.”

“I don’t know about that.” Thomas polished off his sandwich and bit into an amaretto dream. “I made it clear that he can’t use the space today. We’ll have to see how things progress. The guy is really demanding, though. I think he’s used to getting his way.” He munched the cookie. “Man, this is awesome. What is it?”

“Amaretto.”

Thomas laughed. “Now I know your secret. You keep your customers coming back by hopping them up on booze. Juliet, you little sneak. Who knew?”

I kicked him in the shin.

“Ouch.” He keeled over. “I forgot what a wicked kick you have. Mercy, mercy.”

“You want to go see Marco’s stuff?”

He popped the last half of cookie in his mouth, grabbed the empty plate and stood. I’m used to being one of the tallest people in a room. When I was younger it made me self-conscious. I used to intentionally slump my shoulders, especially when cute guys were around. Thomas is a couple inches taller than me. I liked having to look up slightly to meet his eyes.

As we walked to the kitchen the chime on the door rang. Andy, Nina, and a handful of locals on lunch break filed in. Without missing a beat, Andy dropped his backpack by the office, washed his hands, tied on a clean apron, and was pulling espresso shots before Thomas even had time to rest his plate in the sink.

Nina floated over to us. Her toes stuck out from underneath her long peasant skirt. They were painted green. I’m a stickler for safety. It’s probably due to my training in culinary school and working in the rigorous environment of a ship’s kitchen. Nina’s open-toed sandals were a no-go at Torte. Not only do open-toed shoes give customers the wrong perception on cleanliness, but they’re not safe. Kitchen accidents happen all the time. A rolling pin could drop and break a toe, or she could scald them with any of the hot sauces we usually have reducing on the stove.

She fluffed her skirt and stood with arms at her sides, almost like in some sort of strange yoga pose. “Jules, is this the police officer I need to speak to?”

I introduced them. Nina clutched Thomas’s arm, and spoke in an affected voice. “I don’t know if Jules has mentioned this yet, but I really need to move my workstation here. They placed me at the Merry Windsor, and I’m a vegan chef.”

“Okay?” Thomas waited for her to continue.

“Are you familiar with the vegan lifestyle?”

Lifestyle?
I moved away from them and flipped through Mom’s recipe book until I found what I was looking for—a butter pound cake.

Nina touted the benefits of living the vegan lifestyle. I chopped butter by the pound. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

Thomas listened politely, with Nina hanging on his arm the entire time. Once she finished her dissertation on veganism he removed himself from her clutches. “I’ll have to try one of your pastries. They sound interesting.”

They walked into the kitchen. “Jules, is this Marco’s workstation?” Thomas asked.

Nina started and gasped as Thomas picked up a spatula from Marco’s mess.

“Are you okay?” He put the spatula down and came closer to Nina.

She regained her composure and pointed to me. “It’s all that butter. I’m not used to being around this much butter.”

I held the butter up. “
This
is making you jumpy?”

She grabbed Thomas’s arm again.

I gave him an incredulous look. He gave me a warning for my face.

Nina giggled. “No. I think I’m just jumpy from Marco’s murder.”

Her reaction was strange to say the very least.

She fluffed her skirt again. “I’d love to make this work. Even though I’m not a fan of butter, I’m glad to see you’re using natural products here. Everything at the Merry Windsor is processed.” She shuddered. “We’ve got to be sure that that butter doesn’t contaminate any of my baking, though.”

“Not a problem.” I plopped the butter in my hand into the mixing bowl and tried to catch Thomas’s eye.

Thomas stepped toward Marco’s things and Nina scurried away. Calling over her shoulder, she said, “I’ll be back with my things, and I’ll be ready to bake something special just for you.”

“What was that about?” I said as I attached the bowl to the mixer and clicked it on low.

“What?”

I could feel my top lip curl. “Uh, Nina. Her weird reaction to butter.”

“She’s just upset about the murder. Trust me, everyone reacts differently to stress. I’ve seen it again and again. You never know how it’s going to affect someone. Like with you this morning, I was mentally going through my ‘what to do if someone goes into shock’ checklist.”

“I wasn’t going into shock.”

Thomas scowled, reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair of gloves. He stretched them on his hands and began to sort through Marco’s things.

“Don’t you think that it’s a bit strange that Nina freaked out, though?”

He didn’t seem to be listening. “What’s that?” He held a bottle of vanilla extract in the air and sniffed it.

“Nina. She jumped at the sight of
butter
?”

“Jules, you’re funny.” He set the bottle back on the counter, ignoring my comment. “Can I store all this in your office? I need to keep everything secure until the Professor gets back.”

“Fine.”

“Is that going to be a problem? You sound mad.”

“No, it’s no problem. But are you seriously going to blow off how weird that just was with Nina?”

“Am I blowing it off?”

“She freaked out, about
butter
.” I raised my eyebrow.

Thomas wheeled the cart toward the office. “I think she’s really passionate about being vegan. That’s all.”

I squeezed between him and the counter to open the office door. “Maybe.”

Thomas parked the cart next to the filing cabinet in our tiny office. Not that it mattered. Mom and I mainly use it to do the books and place vendor orders. “This isn’t going to give you much room in here, are you sure it’s not a problem?”

“Positive. Don’t sweat it. Let me tell you what the problem is going to be.”

Thomas held the door for me as we exited. “Butter?”

“Exactly.” I punched him in the shoulder. “Nina is really not going to like it when she realizes she has to share our workspace. She thought she was getting Chef Marco’s. We might taint her vegan products with deadly items like butter or eggs.”

Thomas gave me a thoughtful look. “If it would help, I can bag everything up and take it into the evidence room. The Professor likes to examine evidence ‘in the real world.’ That’s the only reason for keeping Chef Marco’s things here. If it would make things easier for you and Nina, I can bag it, tag it, and take it with me.”

He emphasized “Nina.” I assured him that she and I would work something out. He left to check in with the coroner. I returned to my butter pound cake. What was wrong with me? Thomas was a friend, nothing more. I’d made it clear that I wasn’t in the space to think about anything other than a friendship right now. Then why was I so irritated that he was showing interest in Nina?