Chilled to the Cone

by Ellie Alexander

  If things progressed at this rate we’d be ready to open sooner than expected. Of course, there was still the matter of getting our permits approved by the city, finalizing a menu, and doing a bunch of test runs with our new equipment. To generate buzz, we had decided that we would give away free coffee and custards to anyone passing by during the renovation process. There was no point in wasting product. Plus a little free advertising never hurt.

  “Not bad, boss,” Andy said, standing back to appraise our work. “It’s starting to look like Torte, only different.”

  I chuckled. “That’s what we were going for, right?”

  “Absolutely.” His jeans and hands were splotched with red-and-teal paint. “Anything else we should do before we call it a day?”

  “No. Thanks for your help today, with everything.”

  “Cool. I’ll take this stuff back to Torte.” Andy picked up a box with a coffee carafe and extra cups and plates.

  “Thanks. Tell everyone I’ll be by later this evening to order supplies for this location and to check in.”

  Andy turned to Sterling. “You coming, man?”

  Sterling tucked his longboard under his arm. “Nah, I think I’m going to skate over to the high school and meet a friend.”

  “Okay. See you guys tomorrow.” Andy left with a wave.

  “Are you going to check out the townhouses?” I asked Sterling.

  “Yeah, but do you want a hand with that other project before I go?” He motioned to the dumpster across the street.

  I shot a look at the corner of the bike shop. Two police cars were parked on the street. Caution tape was stretched from Addie’s yoga studio to the alleyway. As tempting as it sounded to take a peek at what Hunter had thrown in the trash, the police were on the case and I was probably overreacting. “No, go ahead.”

  “You sure?” He stacked empty buckets of the stain next to the kitchen.

  “Yes, don’t tempt me.” I plunged our brushes into a bucket of paint thinner.

  “Okay. If you’re sure.” Sterling hesitated. “I’ll swing by the skate park after I walk through the condos and ask around about the Wizard.”

  “Good idea, and take it easy tonight. I know it’s been horrible, and I know that you’ve been through loss before, but this is different, so please let me know if you need to talk more, okay?”

  Sterling gave me a one-finger salute and skated away.

  I dug through my bags and found my notebook. Then I sat at one of two booths built into the side of the fence and began making a list of everything we needed to outfit the new outdoor kitchen. That included coffee cups, glassware for milkshakes and affagatos, small plates and bowls, serving spoons, a small espresso machine, industrial blenders, and more. The list grew rapidly as I walked myself through a typical day at Scoops. We intended to open at the noon hour and stay open until dusk—potentially later during the height of summer. Our small menu would focus on our concretes, but we needed to prepare for grab-and-go items like sandwiches and pasta salads. That meant adding Earth-friendly recycled boxes to my list.

  I had started on a second page when I heard a familiar voice calling my name, “Juliet, darling!”

  I looked up to see Lance standing at the gate. He wore a pair of slim gray slacks, a matching jacket, and a skinny pale pink tie. “Well, don’t be rude. Are you going to invite me in?”

  “Come in, please, please.” I swept my hands in front of me.

  “What kind of greeting is that, for yours truly?” He strolled over to the booth. His lanky frame moved with an elegant confidence. He smoothed a stray strand of his dark hair and blew me air kisses before sitting across from me.

  “I wasn’t aware I had to roll out the red carpet.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “A red carpet is always a good idea. Always.”

  “Noted.” I pretended to make a note.

  Lance leaned back and surveyed the garden. “So the rumors are true. I’m last to know. Painful, darling. Painful.”

  “You’re not the last to know. The space came up for lease and I jumped on it.”

  “Smart move.” He gave me a nod of approval. “This is taking shape nicely. Color me impressed. It’s so quaint and quite charming, I must say.”

  If Lance wasn’t a dear friend, I might have thought he was being condescending, but I knew he was sincere.

  “Thanks.” I smiled. “It’s nuts that I’m doing this, but I agree that it’s starting to feel like Torte.”

  “You’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge, Juliet. Why start now?”

  I wanted to mention the fact that Carlos was here to give our relationship one last shot, but decided otherwise.

  “Enough of the small talk, darling. Let’s cut to the chase. I think you know why I’m here.” He raised one eyebrow.

  “To give me a pep talk?” I asked hopefully.

  He fumed. “You are the last person I know in need of a pep talk. No, my dearest. To discuss our latest case.”

  “Case?” I wrinkled my brow.

  “The murder.” He directed a bony finger over his shoulder to the railroad tracks.

  “How did you hear?” News spread fast in Ashland.

  “Please.” He rolled his eyes. Then he scooted forward and pressed his fingertips together. “Dish. Tell me everything you know.”

  I gave him a brief recap of the morning and then told him about my conversation with Laney Lee and the Professor.

  “There must be more. I can tell by the way you’re sucking in those glorious cheekbones that you’re holding something back.” He tilted his head to one side.

  “Well, there is one thing, but you have to promise that if I tell you this, you’ll keep your derrière on the bench.”

  “Me? Darling, you know that I’m a vault. Whatever you tell me will never leave these lips.” He threw a hand over his mouth with a flourish.

  “I’m not worried about you blabbing. I’m worried that you’ll race out of here and try to find the item I’m going to tell you about, and you cannot do that. Understood?”

  “Oh ye of little faith. Understood.” He clapped twice. “Out with it!”

  I sighed. Then I proceeded to tell him about seeing Hunter sneaking around the dumpster and disposing of something. “The police already searched the dumpster. I can’t help but wonder if Hunter waited until after they were done to dispose of whatever he threw away.”

  Lance gasped. “Darling, you know what this means, don’t you?”

  I was afraid to ask.

  “It means that we must investigate.” He cracked his knuckles. “It’s obviously too light at the moment, but tonight we will rendezvous here and figure out what nefarious acts that psycho—sorry, slip of the tongue—Cyclepath is up to.”

  I hesitated. “I don’t know. What about Carlos? We’re supposed to have dinner later.”

  “What about him? Bring him along if you want. He’s easy on the eyes and that accent, swoon.” Lance fanned his face.

  “If we do this, and I’m not saying that I am…” I paused and waited for a group of yoga students to pass by.

  “Uh-huh.” Lance mocked me.

  “As I was saying, if I participate in sleuthing through the trash with you, I’m not looping Carlos into this.”

  “Fine. Suit yourself. Leave the dreamy Spanish specimen at home. I’ll meet you at my office at sunset. Wear black. All black.”

  “Lance, you are incorrigible.”

  “And that’s why you love me, darling. You know you want to go dumpster diving. I’m simply your accessory to crime.” He stood. “Now that it’s settled, let’s sync our watches. See you tonight. Ta-ta!”

  He danced away before I could protest.

  The truth was that he was right. I did want to rifle through the trash to find out what Hunter had tossed out. Was the Wizard’s murder yet another sign that I didn’t have space for Carlos in Ashland? I had been telling myself that I was worried that Carlos wasn’t right for our small town, but the more I pondered
it, to the more I wondered if the problem was me. Carlos likely wouldn’t approve of Lance and me sneaking around at sunset, digging through dumpsters. Then again, why would he?

  Chapter Nine

  I didn’t stay long after Lance left. I returned to Torte to find Marty and Bethany closing up the bakeshop for the evening. Everyone else had gone home.

  “How was the day?” I asked Marty, who was folding a set of dish towels.

  “Good. We had a nice steady crowd, but it was manageable. Word has already gotten out about your day. I’m so sorry to hear what happened.”

  “About the murder?” I asked without thinking.

  Marty’s eyes widened. “Murder? I hadn’t heard it was murder.”

  “Technically, I don’t know that it’s official, but the Professor is convinced it wasn’t an accident.”

  Bethany wiped down the marble countertop at our decorating station. “Yeah, every time I went upstairs to refill the pastry case, Sequoia and Rosa were fielding questions about the Wizard. They were fine because they didn’t know anything, but it was definitely the topic of the afternoon. It’s so sad. I can’t believe he’s dead. He was such a sweet man. He would hand me a heart balloon anytime I rode by him in Railroad Park.”

  “I know. It’s heartbreaking.”

  Marty finished stacking the towels. “Andy mentioned that you saw it happen. That must have been terrible.”

  “It was disturbing.” The thought of lifting the Wizard’s lifeless body from the tracks made my throat swell.

  “Sorry to bring it up.” Marty must have noticed the shift in my face. “We’re here for you if you need to talk. I’ll tell Sterling and Andy the same tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.” I gave him a genuine smile. “I know they’ll appreciate that.”

  Bethany snapped the lid shut on a tub of buttercream. “We told Andy earlier that Team Torte is ready to rally.”

  I chuckled. “You guys are the best. We’re all fine, I promise. It was a shock and I know it’s something that is going to stick with us, but I have a feeling getting back to a normal routine is going to be the most helpful.”

  They finished prepping the kitchen so it was ready for another marathon day of baking tomorrow. Once they were done, I followed them to the basement door and locked it behind them.

  A sense of calm washed over me, knowing that I had the kitchen to myself. I knew what I had to do—bake.

  Carlos and I had planned to meet at Torte in about an hour. He closed the tasting room at Uva at five, but then liked to wander through the vines and check on their progress. Grapevines reconnect in the spring. The swelling buds surge to life after a winter of dormancy. Carlos had been completely captivated by the vine’s transformation, giving me daily progress updates.

  I decided to make dinner while I waited for him. The morning’s event had left me with a hankering for comfort food, so I opted to make chicken curry pasties. The savory meat-filled pies were one of Carlos’s favorites.

  I started by making a buttery pastry crust. I grated cold butter into a large glass bowl, then added hot milk, flour, and a touch of salt. I worked the dough by hand. There was nothing as cathartic as kneading dough. The pastry formed into a smooth round ball. I covered it with a dish towel and started on the filling.

  I went to the walk-in fridge and returned with an armful of chicken breasts, onions, cilantro, and peppers. I lit one of the burners on the gas stove and added a healthy glug of olive oil to a cast-iron skillet. Then I finely chopped the onion and cilantro stalks, saving the leaves for later. Tossing them into the skillet sent an aromatic fragrance through the kitchen. I breathed it in as I blanched them and incorporated chopped peppers. After chopping the chicken, I browned it with the veggies and stirred in coconut milk, curry paste, and chicken stock. I let the mixture simmer on low and returned to my pastry dough.

  One of my tricks when it came to making pasties was to roll the crust out in cornmeal instead of flour. It would give the hand pies a lovely crunchy exterior, which should blend seamlessly with the butter pastry. I sprinkled cornmeal on a cutting board and rolled the dough into a large circle. Then I used a six-inch round biscuit cutter to make the individual pies.

  Once the filling had thickened I tossed in sliced almonds, cilantro leaves, and a splash of cream. I scooped a heaping cupful of curry in the center of the first circle, then I folded the edges together to make a half-moon. I crimped them with my fingers, brushed the top with an egg wash, and set it on a parchment-lined baking sheet. I repeated the process until I’d made a dozen curry pasties.

  The oven had come up to temp, so I slid the baking tray inside and set a timer for thirty minutes. While the pasties baked, I tossed together a simple green salad with toasted almonds, shredded carrots, and shallots, with a cilantro dressing.

  My thoughts veered back to the Wizard. Who was he? If I could figure out more about him—his name, his past—maybe I’d be able to make sense of his death.

  The other thing that kept bugging me was what Hunter had tossed in the garbage. What could it be? Hopefully, he wasn’t planning on returning to the dumpster to retrieve whatever he’d thrown away before Lance and I had a chance to check it out later tonight.

  Could Laney know more about the Wizard then she was letting on? Her reaction had been so visceral. And what about Addie? She had been so cold and callous when I had asked her for help this morning. Dean had been equally apathetic. Granted, if the Wizard had been stealing from him, especially if he’d been giving away his product, he had a reason to be frustrated. But that still didn’t dismiss his behavior. Lastly there was Sky. Where had he disappeared to? He and the Wizard seemed to be connected, but could Sky have killed him and taken off?

  Why would anyone want to kill a homeless man?

  And what about Lars? Images of Hunter’s son flashed through my mind. Could he and his group of skater friends have taken their taunting too far?

  I shuddered at the thought.

  There had to be something more at play. Could the Wizard have seen something that put him in danger? Or was his outward appearance a sham? Maybe he’d been involved with shady things going down on the railroad tracks.

  Ashland was a very safe place to live, aside from occasional cougar sightings in Lithia Park and run-ins with black bears scavenging through neighborhood trash cans. The Railroad District, however, had been notorious for minor criminal activity—petty theft and graffiti. Thomas had told me the police station received more calls to break up fights in the Railroad District than anywhere else in Ashland.

  The sound of the basement door unlocking brought me into the moment. “Julieta, what smells so wonderful?” Carlos came inside. The sight of his dark hair, bronzed skin, and dazzling smile still made my knees quiver. He had a bottle of wine tucked under one arm and a stack of papers under the other.

  “Curry pasties. Your favorite.” I pointed to the oven.

  Carlos shifted the bottle of wine into one hand so he could hang his vest on the coatrack near the door.

  “How was Uva?” I flipped the oven light on to check the pasties. They were a pale yellow. A few more minutes and they should turn golden brown.

  He set the paperwork on the counter then walked straight to a drawer near the pantry and retrieved a bottle opener. It hadn’t taken him long to get aquatinted with Torte’s kitchen, which was especially impressive given that he spent the majority of his time at the vineyard. I chalked it up to his training as a professional chef. We tend to geek out over kitchens. Organization is critical in a commercial kitchen. Over the years Carlos and I had learned many of the same tricks: never storing food in cabinets that get hot, like above the stove; or having a safe place for sharp objects, like a knife dock or a magnetic strip; or reserving different cutting boards for sweets and savories.

  In culinary school I had learned the term “mise en place,” meaning everything in its place. That motto rang out in every kitchen I’d ever worked in, especially at Torte. Having a place for everything
meant that we could bake more efficiently, effortlessly, and enjoyably.

  Carlos uncorked the deep burgundy Cab Franc and poured us two glasses. There was an unfamiliar strain on his face. Carlos tended to sway upbeat. His way of dealing with the stress of managing a massive kitchen on the ship was to pull pranks on his staff and crack jokes.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked when he handed me a glass and gave me a long, lingering kiss.

  “Si, it was a long day. Nothing eventful.” He released me.

  “Are you sure? Usually you love spending long days at Uva.” Or was I mistaken? Had Carlos been putting on an act? What if I was reading the situation wrong? Was he really miserable?

  “It’s true, mi querida, I do love the vineyard. It is so beautiful now. Every day the vines they teach me something new. It is like watching Mother Nature’s miracle in action. The budding grapes, the deepening color of the leaves, and the views of the valley feed my soul. This morning as I was walking through the vines I saw a bobcat, a hawk, and a fox. It is so surprising. It is like nothing I ever experienced on the ship.”

  This sounded more like Carlos.

  My timer dinged. He waited for me to remove the pasties from the oven. As expected, the cornmeal crust had crisped into an inviting butterscotch yellow. I slid them off the baking tray and onto cooling racks. “Why was today long, then?”

  Carlos swirled the wine in his glass, holding it above his head to catch the light. He didn’t answer right away. “It is nothing. I do not want to burden you.”

  “What?”

  He tilted the glass and made a circular motion with his hand. “Richard Lord came by this afternoon. He is not happy about how things are working at the vineyard and is threatening to sue us.”

  I started to respond, but Carlos put a finger to lips. “Shhhh. It is okay. I will fix it. I do not want you to worry about this, Julieta. You have much going on with Torte and the new shop, and the staff. Uva was my decision. Not yours. I must fix this, okay?”

  “Carlos, you don’t understand what Richard can be like. I don’t know that this is a battle we want to fight.”