Bakeshop Mystery 13 - Mocha, She Wrote

by Ellie Alexander

  Lance changed his tone. “Chin up. Consider this car your sacred space. No fear or worry shall consume us. We have a job to do. A duty to our beloved community and barista. Worry will only set us on a dark path. Today we shall shine a light on a killer. Understood?”

  I couldn’t not smile. “Understood. You’re right, and I also know that arresting Andy is the last thing the Professor wants to have happen. I just wish it wasn’t Andy’s coffee that ended up spiked with sedatives.”

  “Exactly.” Lance veered left to give wide berth to a family of deer nibbling on a dew-drenched grassy field. One of the many things I loved about living in the Rogue Valley was being entirely surrounded by nature. Within minutes of leaving the plaza, the landscape shifted from Elizabethan buildings and family neighborhoods to open pastures and organic farms to the east and dense evergreen mountain ranges to the west. “That will be our singular mission. Let’s make a pact that we will discover who slipped something deadly into Andy’s drink.” He kept one hand on the steering wheel and held up his pinky on his free hand. “Pinky swear.”

  I did the same. “Swear. Do you know anything about benzodiazepines?”

  Lance kept his eyes on the winding road. “No, why?”

  “The Professor said that’s what killed Benson. The class of drugs is used to treat sleeping issues and anxiety. I was thinking that if we could figure out if any of the other contestants or judges were taking sleeping pills or anxiety medication, we might have a lead on who killed Benson.”

  “I like the way you think.” Lance made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Yes, let’s do it. Let’s see if we can figure out a subtle way to work some questions about medication into our queries. You know me, I’m the master of subtly so it shouldn’t be difficult.”

  I couldn’t contain my laughter. “Yep, that’s we all say about you—the master of subtly.”

  “I think you jest,” Lance sounded injured. “Just for that, I might not share any juicy discoveries with you.”

  “That, I highly doubt.” I chuckled.

  He scoffed as we pulled into The Hills parking lot. News vans and police vehicles lined the front entrance.

  “Word has gotten out, I’ll say,” Lance noted as he parked the car.

  “I wonder if that’s going to make it more difficult for us to ask around?”

  He turned to me and rolled his eyes. “Please. Remember who you’re with, okay? I’ll flash my pearly whites and we’ll have every suspect eating out of the palms of our hands.”

  That sounded like a stretch, but I got out of the car and followed Lance inside. The hotel had a very different vibe from yesterday. Instead of high-energy pitches from the vendors in the lobby, many of the booths weren’t open yet. The handful of vendors who had set up greeted us with restrained smiles and nods.

  “Word has definitely gotten out about the murder,” Lance whispered.

  There was a palpable anxiety in the air. We walked past two uniformed officers stationed in the lobby and two more outside the ballroom.

  “You’d think the queen was in town with all of this security,” Lance commented.

  After we showed our tickets to staff at the door, we went inside the ballroom and scored the same front-row seats. Most of the crowd had yet to arrive, but the competitors were already prepping their stations under the watchful eyes of the judges.

  “Okay, give me the scoop.” Lance crossed his lanky legs, revealing black and gray polka-dot socks.

  “That’s Diaz.” I pointed to the station to Andy’s left. Diaz wore his dark hair in another tight bun and moved to the beat of the music from his oversize headphones. “He came in first yesterday. That was a bit unexpected as Sammy was predicted to win. She’s won the last three years.” I nodded to Sammy who was prepping her workstation. Sammy rehearsed her speech under her breath as she arranged her high-end coffee gear.

  “Got it.” Lance focused his gaze on Piper. “Who’s that?”

  “She’s the head technical judge. Apparently, she and Benson have been judging the Barista Cup for years.” I gave him a brief rundown of the difference between sensory and technical judges.

  “Interesting. What’s your impression of her?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t really have one. She came to Andy’s defense yesterday. She seemed to be able to appease Benson at least in terms of the rules. They had a huge blowout too, though. He threatened that this was going to be the end of her. We need to confirm this today, but I’m pretty sure they were running the Barista Cup together. It’s kind of murky. I’m not entirely clear on the business side of things.”

  “Hmm. We will have to get to the bottom of that, won’t we? I think Piper is definitely someone we want to have a little tête-à-tête with.”

  James entered the ballroom. His shirt was untucked. His hair was messy like he had just woken up. “And, that I presume is our MC?” Lance asked. “Looks as if he might have tied on one too many last night. He could use a morning refresher—or two, don’t you think?”

  “Yep. He’s top of my list.” I told him about the fight I’d witnessed in the hallway.

  “That gives us four suspects. I propose that we divide and conquer.” Lance formed a plan. “I’ll cozy up to the judge and our hungover MC, you take the baristas. You can go chat them up under the guise of seeing how Andy’s doing.”

  “Now?” I glanced at the clock. The competition was due to start in less than thirty minutes.

  “No time like the present.” Lance tapped his wrist. “Let’s get to them first. Make haste.”

  He turned on the charm as he approached Piper with a casual stroll and chummy three-fingered wave.

  I knew that he would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t do my part, so with reservations I went over to Andy’s station.

  “How’s it going?” I asked. Andy’s setup reminded me of a chemistry lab. There were dozens of glass bottles with simple syrups and herb infusions, thermometers, scales, and an assortment of ceramic espresso cups.

  Sweat poured from his forehead. His cheeks were stained with color. “It’s okay, boss. I’m working on a few new techniques that I saw on YouTube last night.”

  Sammy, who had her back to us, made a grunting sound at the station next to us.

  I had no idea she was listening to our conversation.

  “You want some advice?” She set down a container of finely ground nuts and turned to Andy. “Look, this isn’t the time to try something new. This is the West Coast Barista Cup. This is hallowed ground we’re standing on. You don’t mess around with YouTube demos. You come to compete. You come to win. Don’t stray from what you know. Trust me on this.” Her tone was condescending to say the least.

  “Thanks.” Andy tried to smile. His typical infectious grin was absent. “Yeah, you’re right. I guess yesterday got in my head.”

  I moved slightly closer to Sammy’s station. “I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Jules. I own Torte, the bakeshop where Andy works his coffee magic.”

  She removed a pair of disposable gloves and extended a hand. Despite the fact that she oozed external confidence I noticed that her hands had the slightest tremble. “Sammy. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard good things about your bakeshop. I’ve been wanting to bring more artisan baked goods into my coffeehouse, Fluid. Everyone here seems to think that Torte is the place to go for pastries. Maybe I’ll stop by and get some inspiration.”

  “We’d love to have you. Stop by anytime. Fluid is in the Spokane area, is that right?”

  “Yep.” She tossed the gloves into a waste bin and yanked on another pair. “Spokane now, but soon we’re going be everywhere on the West Coast.”

  “That sounds like a big expansion.” I watched as she tugged the gloves tighter and then measured dried chilies. “Smart move on gloves when you’re dealing with chilies.”

  “I use gloves for everything. You never want to contaminate your coffee, not when even the tiniest adjustments can be tasted by the judges.” She set the
chilies on a cutting board and lifted a container of nuts. “My coffees are pristine. The slightest dusting of nut residue or chili powder that might linger on my fingers could stick to the rim of the mug and completely throw off the flavor.”

  Wow. And I thought Andy took coffee seriously.

  “I’ll go through more gloves than a surgeon in the process of crafting my lineup of coffees this morning.” Her brown eyes gleamed with superior arrogance. “What people don’t understand is that the Barista Cup is a mental game too. We are being judged on our every movement. Every single second counts. The judges are watching. Doubt and hesitation have no room here. It’ll cost you dearly. You have to think like a winner and act like a winner.”

  Sammy’s statement made Andy sweat more.

  It sounded like overkill to me.

  Then another thought hit me. Sammy’s stockpile of gloves could have been used to spike Benson’s drink. If she had slipped the sedatives into his coffee with a pair of gloves on, she wouldn’t have left fingerprints on the cup.

  “That’s cringey, bruh!” Diaz hollered from the other side of Andy. “Who wears freaking gloves to make a latte?” He tucked a loose stand of hair into his bun.

  I could tell from the way he looked to me and then Andy that he was hoping for a reaction. I wasn’t about to get in the middle of it. Instead, I used it as an opportunity to introduce myself.

  I moved to his station and extended my hand. “Congratulations on your first-place finish yesterday. I try to stay in the loop on coffee trends, but I’ve never seen a latte served in an avocado before.”

  Diaz flashed me a cocky smile. “I get that a lot.”

  His workstation was the opposite of Sammy’s. There were Tupperware, coffee beans, and splotches of spilled syrup everywhere. How had he scored high in the technical category when his workstation looked like a fraternity kitchen?

  “I was telling your guy, Andy, that he can’t be basic.” Diaz ripped open a sealed bag of coffee beans and dumped them into the grinder. The scent of the intoxicating spicy roast made me crave another cup. “The judges have seen everything. You can’t show up at the Barista Cup serving a vanilla latte. Boring. The judges are looking for innovation. They want to taste coffee like they’ve never experienced it before. You can’t play it safe.”

  Was Diaz suggesting that Andy had played it safe? I would argue that his hot honey latte wasn’t a typical offering on any traditional coffee-shop menu.

  Diaz held up a large canister of coarse sea salt. “Like I told you yesterday, bruh, salt can be a game changer. If you do it right.”

  I didn’t like the emphasis Diaz put on the last sentence or the darting glance he shot at Andy.

  “Tough break yesterday, man.” Diaz attempted to console Andy. His sarcastic tone suggested to me that he wasn’t being authentic. “Salt can be tricky. Real tricky.”

  Andy didn’t reply. It didn’t help that Diaz appeared to be enjoying reminding Andy about yesterday’s mishap.

  “Are you making a drink with salt today?” I asked, noting the large container of flaked sea salt in Diaz’s hands.

  He almost dropped the canister, but caught it at the last minute and returned it to his messy countertop. “No. I’m not going with anything mundane. I have a new surprise in store, but you’ll have to wait and see like everyone else. Can’t give anything away in the final round.” He pressed his index finger to his lips.

  James announced that the competition would begin in ten minutes. I returned to my seat armed with two pieces of what could be critical information. Sammy had access to gloves, and Diaz had a large canister of salt that he wasn’t using in his drinks. Why would he have salt that he didn’t intend to use? I couldn’t be sure, but I had a pretty solid suspicion I knew the reason. Could Diaz have sabotaged Andy’s drink?

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Do tell, what did you discover?” Lance asked when we both returned to our seats. I told him about Diaz and the salt, and Sammy’s gloves.

  He strummed his fingers together. “See, this is why we are an unstoppable team. Beautifully done. I too have uncovered some nefarious information.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I do believe that there’s more to Benson and Piper’s relationship than first meets the eye.” He lifted one trimmed brow and cocked his head in Piper’s direction.

  She stood at Sammy’s station, making notes on her clipboard.

  “How so?”

  “Her explanation of the business side of the Cup was thin to say the least, and as for her and Benson, I can’t put it into words, but I’m quite confident there’s more afoot than she’s willing to say.” He shrugged. “Call it a hunch.”

  “Speculation and hunches aren’t going to clear Andy.”

  “Patience. Patience.” Lance furrowed his brow and shook his index finger. “O ye of little faith. I have a plan. There’s only so much that can be said in a crowded ballroom. I invited Piper to meet us for cocktails later this afternoon. It’s the least I could offer since it sounds like she and everyone connected to the event will be extending their stay in our hamlet until the Professor gives them the all clear.”

  That was news.

  “You mean he’s told her not to leave?”

  A relaxed smile crossed Lance’s angular face. “It appears that way, which must mean that our dearest Professor believes there are multiple suspects in this case.” He tilted his head and sighed with satisfaction. “What do you say to drinks later? We can loosen her up with one of Puck’s Pub’s strong martinis and get her talking.”

  “Okay.” I watched as James tested the mic. “What about James? Did you get anything out of him?”

  “He’s a tougher nut to crack.” Lance flexed his fingers. “I didn’t get far. Perhaps you’ll have better luck with him as the fairer sex.”

  “The fairer sex?” I frowned. “Lance, please, this is the twenty-first century.”

  “And, I am your biggest champion. I’m simply saying that James might be more inclined to spill his secrets to the ever-elegant Juliet than to yours truly. Why? Who can say? Obviously, the man lacks character and taste.”

  “Are you suggesting that I flirt with him?” I flared my nostrils.

  “Never!” Lance gasped. “Banish the thought. More like bat those lovely lashes and stick out the chest.”

  “You’re the worst.” I punched him in the shoulder.

  “Hardly. I’m merely attempting to get to the bottom of this case. After all, it’s your boy barista who we’re doing this for.”

  James began making announcements. Lance and I would have to table our conversation for later.

  The lineup for the day’s events was similar to yesterday, with a few exceptions. The first was the police presence. The officers who had been at the front doors now flanked the competitors. Thomas, Kerry, and the Professor circled the ballroom. An average attendee would likely have no idea that a crew of detectives were on site, excepting Thomas, who wore his standard blue uniform and shorts. Kerry and the Professor blended in with the crowd in their street clothes. The second difference was that no one would be eliminated. The final five contestants would compete in three challenges. At the end of the last challenge their scores from each round would be tallied, and the first-, second-, and third-place winners would be named.

  Before James officially kicked off the competition, he tapped the mic with his finger. “Folks, if I could get your attention. As I’m sure you’re aware, tragedy struck our family of coffee lovers last night. I’d like us to take a moment of silence to honor the late, great Benson Vargas and his enduring contribution to the coffee culture. Benson was a controversial figure, but no one can dispute his coffee legacy. He’s responsible for us being together here today in celebration of those wonderful roasted beans, so let’s take a moment to remember him.”

  Everyone held the space for Benson. I couldn’t tell if James’s words were heartfelt, but I appreciated the gesture. It would have been weird to move on without ackn
owledging Benson’s death.

  The rest of the morning was relatively uneventful. A replacement judge had been called in to fill Benson’s spot. He was much kinder and more effusive with his praise for the baristas’ drinks than Benson had been.

  Mom, Marty, and Steph came to lend their support to Andy. Marty had made cardboard cutouts of Andy’s head and attached sticks to use as handles.

  “Take one and pass them around,” Marty said, handing me a giant prop of Andy’s face. “I figured these should give him a good laugh and help ease some of the tension.”

  “These are hilarious.” Mom hid her face behind the mask. “Team Andy!” she shouted.

  We all did the same, waving Andy’s face high. He turned in our direction and cracked up.

  “Well done. Well done.” Lance leaned down to catch Marty’s eye. “I need the name of your vendor for these.”

  “Why?” I asked, and then immediately regretted it.

  Lance offered me a conspiratorial wink. “I have my reasons.”

  “I don’t want to know, do I?”

  He patted my knee. “No, darling. No, you don’t.”

  Despite Marty’s attempt to cheer him up, Andy was off his game. He fumbled his way through the first round, spilling his first latte down the front of his apron, running twenty seconds over his allotted time, and forgetting to turn off the machine, causing extra espresso to flood over the top of his ceramic cups.

  Mixing coffee and water seems simple, but there are so many variables that can drastically alter a shot. Andy often educated our customers while they waited at the coffee counter for their drinks. He would explain that the most relevant and understandable variable was that water dissolves the flavors within the coffee. The final product, these dissolved flavors, account for everything a guest tastes. Even running the machine for a second longer than intended could affect the flavor profile.

  I couldn’t blame Andy for being shaky. It had to be nerve racking to be surrounded by law enforcement, knowing that he was a suspect in a murder case all while competing for the title of the West Coast’s best barista and a ten-thousand-dollar check. I knew that the money would go straight into Andy’s savings account for his long-term goal—to open his own coffee roasting company.