Mocha, She Wrote

by Ellie Alexander

  Lance was in line for coffee. He spotted me and waved.

  I joined him.

  “Well, do tell. Obviously you had success.” He titled his head toward the Professor and Diaz.

  “Diaz admitted to sabotaging Andy’s drink,” I whispered, then proceeded to tell him about my conversation while we waited for coffee.

  “The plot thickens.” Lance rubbed his hands together. “He doesn’t exactly strike me as the killing type. Does he?”

  I scowled. “No. I don’t know. I don’t want to make any assumptions at this point, but I think I believe him. He seemed sincere. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s terrible that he ruined Andy’s drink and cheated, but he swore he didn’t kill Benson. Plus, what would his motive have been? Benson’s feedback had landed him in first place. How would killing him have helped his chances at winning the competition?”

  “Excellent point. Excellent point.”

  We made it to the front of the line. “Two iced mochas, please. Heavy on espresso, easy on the mocha,” Lance said to the barista.

  “Easy on the mocha? What does that mean?” I tried to wink but my face scrunched together.

  “She knows, right dear?” Lance addressed the barista. Not waiting for her answer, he pulled me to the side. “Here’s what you need to know—James was very cagey. As in squirming like an antsy toddler.”

  “How so?”

  “I asked him directly about his relationship with Benson, after I tried to butter him up with box seats and a backstage tour. He said, ‘Live theater isn’t my thing.’” Lance threw his hand on his forehead. “Imagine the horror. Who would utter such hurtful words?”

  Classic Lance. “I don’t know, but what did he say about Benson?”

  Lance took our light-on-the-mocha drinks from the barista and handed me one. “He said it was none of my business and to stay out of it. If that isn’t an admission of guilt, I don’t know what is.”

  We sipped our drinks on the way back to the ballroom. “I’m not sure about that theory. Maybe he’s private and doesn’t feel the need to talk about his personal relationships with a stranger.”

  Lance stopped mid-stride. “A stranger? Moi? I happen to be the artistic director of the most prestigious repertoire theater this side of the Mississippi. How dare he.”

  I was used to Lance’s antics. I knew he was kidding, but I did wonder about James. I had seen him arguing with Benson, and Diaz had witnessed a similar interaction. There had to be more to their relationship. He had specifically mentioned “not getting away with it again,” which led me to believe he and Benson had a past.

  “I’m telling you, you’ll have to try to work your charms on him,” Lance continued. “I have a feeling he’ll be more willing to spill his secrets to you.”

  When we returned to our seats, Mom, Marty, June, and Steph were waiting for us. “You missed lunch,” Mom said, offering me a croissant club sandwich with a side of fruit salad and kettle chips. “We brought a plate for you too, Lance.”

  Lance blew her a kiss. “Helen, you are a saint among women.”

  Piper and James were huddled with the other judges along with Detective Kerry near the head table.

  “Oooh, things are getting even more interesting.” Lance took a drink of his creamy mocha. “I can’t believe I almost missed this.”

  Kerry called the contestants over. I wondered if she was breaking the news that Diaz had cheated. She held them off for a moment while taking a call on her cell.

  “What do you think she’s saying?” Lance leaned forward.

  I took a bite of the light and airy croissant sandwich. “If Diaz confessed to the Professor, I’m guessing she’s telling them what happened. The question is, will the competition continue or are they going to call the whole thing off? Between a murder and sabotage, this is getting out of hand.”

  “Or better yet, something I should put on the stage. Shakespeare couldn’t have scripted this theatrical farce.” Lance raised his brows in quick succession before taking another drink.

  My thoughts drifted to Andy.

  Poor Andy. He had worked so hard preparing for the Barista Cup. Although at least he would be vindicated. Everyone would know that his drink had been tainted.

  “Something feels off,” Mom commented.

  “I agree.” I chomped on the crunchy kettle chips and polished off my sandwich and fruit salad. I had no idea I was hungry, but my empty plate said otherwise.

  After about fifteen minutes James addressed the crowd. “Folks, sorry for the delay. Thank you for your patience. There’s been a development that is going to change the outcome of today. We’re going to need you to sit tight for a while longer as we talk through some different options. Again, please accept our apologies for this unexpected delay. The café is open and there are complimentary snacks and pastries along with our delicious coffee cart available for you in the lobby. If you want to get up and stretch again this might be the time to do that. I’m hoping we’ll have an update for you in about thirty minutes.”

  “Thirty minutes,” Lance scoffed. “That’s longer than intermission.” He had finished his lunch as well.

  “Yeah, but they probably have to talk through whether they allow one of the contestants who got eliminated yesterday back into the competition, or maybe the Professor wants them to cancel the entire thing?”

  Lance glanced at his watch. “Alas, I have an afternoon meeting with a group of high-end donors in town from Southern California that I absolutely cannot cancel.” He sighed. “I’m going to miss the fun. You must promise to fill me in on every detail later.”

  “Deal.” I nodded.

  “And, we’re on for happy hour, right? Bring that devastatingly handsome husband of yours and we’ll see what we can get out of Piper. Puck’s, five o’clock sharp.”

  He waved with his fingers, said goodbye to everyone, and made his exit.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. Mom excused herself to go check in with Doug. Marty and June went off together in search of dessert, and Steph had put in a pair of earbuds and was watching a baking show on her phone.

  I didn’t want to sit in the ballroom for a half hour, but there wasn’t enough time to head back to Torte. I decided to take a walk around the property. Stretching my legs would feel good and maybe it would clear my head too.

  The Hills’ extensive grounds included tennis courts, a pool, multiple patios with lounge chairs, and their signature collection of bright orange bikes to tool around the hotel or pedal into town on. I wandered along a small pathway bursting with yellow primroses and fragrant jasmine. The path led past a turquoise pool with burnt orange lounge chairs and tan umbrellas to the backside of the property. I drank in the afternoon sun and the smell of the warm grasses mingled with a hint of chlorine wafting from the pool.

  I continued on until I came to a collection of lounge chairs with views of the bluff.

  This is just what you need, Jules, I told myself.

  A few minutes relaxing under the sun would be good for my soul and a way to gather my thoughts. I sat down and adjusted the chair so that I was facing the sun. The glow quickly warmed my cheeks, but relaxing was a challenge. I couldn’t stop my mind from churning over every potential possibility. Diaz, James, Sammy, maybe even Piper and the other contestants. Everyone in the ballroom had the potential to be a killer. The question was who?

  Chapter Fifteen

  I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew a text message buzzed on my phone. I sat up and pulled my phone from my shorts pocket. The text was from Andy.

  WHERE R U?

  OUTSIDE. I texted back. Then I stood up. Bad idea. Spots burst like fireworks in my field of vision. Dizziness assaulted my body.

  I took a minute to refocus. My arms had turned a light shade of pink under the heat of the mid-afternoon sun. It was a good thing Andy had texted. If I had slept much longer I would likely look like a lobster. Having fair, pale skin meant that I needed to be extra careful not to burn.

&
nbsp; My phone buzzed again: YOU SHOULD GET IN HERE.

  I retraced my steps to the ballroom. Before I had even entered, I heard the buzz of the crowd.

  James stood near the competitors, mic in hand. “As promised, folks, I have an update for you. I think you’re going to want to sit down for this one.” He waited for a few spectators to take their seats. Then his tone turned solemn. “It has come to our attention that one of the contestants in yesterday’s rounds cheated. For those of you who were with us yesterday, Ashland’s own, Andy with Torte, had a rough time in the third round. Benson gave him the lowest score possible, which we now understand was due to another contestant.”

  Murmurs erupted from the crowd.

  “I regret to inform you that Diaz Mendez, our top contender and first-place finisher yesterday, has been disqualified from the West Coast Barista Cup.”

  Everyone gasped.

  “I can’t go into any further details as this is a pending investigation. We have discussed options with the judges and remaining contestants and decided to postpone this afternoon’s finale until tomorrow. That will allow us time to invite yesterday’s last-place finisher back into the competition. We will repeat this morning’s events and finish with a finale tomorrow afternoon. I know that it’s a workday for some of you, and I apologize for that. I also know that many of you are here on vacation and had intended to stay on to see plays and experience the bounty of our beautiful Rogue Valley. We decided that since the theater is dark tomorrow night it is our best timeframe for moving forward. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause you, but we’re excited for the competition to resume tomorrow when we’ll officially be able to crown a new West Coast barista champion.”

  There was more talk amongst the crowd.

  James turned to the baristas. “Contestants, I need you to stick around for a mandatory meeting. For the rest of you folks, thanks for your support and understanding. I promised you a doozy of a show from the start, and we’ve certainly had that! We’ll see you back here tomorrow. Doors will open at three o’clock. I’ve tasked my staff here at The Hills with creating some special bonus treats for you. The competition will kick off an hour later at four. Looking forward to seeing you all then.”

  No one moved. People talked in hushed tones and their eyes darted around the room, as if expecting that James would say, “Never mind, you’ve been punked.”

  One of the You Mocha Me Crazy T-shirt women who had been sitting next to me yesterday, tapped my shoulder. She and her friends were in the row behind us. Today they had matching hats that read Better Latte Than Never.

  She slowly began to gather her things. “I can’t believe it. Can you? Diaz was so good. And so sexy. He was destined to win. Why throw all of that away? What a waste.”

  I wondered where Diaz was now. He hadn’t returned to the ballroom since the announcement. Was that due to embarrassment or had the Professor made an arrest?

  Andy came to talk to us before his meeting with the judges. “Nice cutouts, guys.” He pointed to Marty, who twisted the cardboard version of Andy.

  “We thought it might lighten the mood,” Marty said. He held the fake Andy next to the real one. “I have to say you two look alike.”

  “Ha!” Andy laughed and pointed to his chest. “Except this guy is much hotter, right?”

  Steph rolled her eyes.

  June pinched his cheek. “You were great today. Don’t worry, you’ll be even better tomorrow. Consider today your practice round.”

  Mom wrapped him in a hug. “Your grandmother is right. I’m so sorry about the competition. You’ve gotten more than I’m sure you expected out of this experience, but now that Diaz has confessed, you can focus on winning.”

  “That’s for sure.” Andy gaze went distant. He gave his head a slight shake. “It’s weird. I thought I would feel more relieved. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am glad that the judges know that Diaz ruined my latte yesterday, but at the same time the whole thing feels just gross.”

  “That’s understandable.” Marty clapped him on the shoulder.

  Steph clasped and unclasped one hand into a tight fist, revealing her black-and-purple-striped nails that matched her eye shadow and lipstick. “You want us to rough someone up? I can put my pastry posse together.”

  That made Andy laugh harder. He knelt over and clutched his stomach. “Steph, I would love to see your pastry posse.”

  “Okay. I’ll go get them.” Her deadpan expression didn’t waiver.

  Marty checked his watch. “Yeah, we should probably head back to the bakeshop. There’s work to be done and an angry mob to incite.”

  Mom chuckled. “I see a friend, I’m going to go say hello. One request before I go, though. I never heard this plot for pastry shenanigans.” She stuffed her fingers in her ears and walked away.

  “Can I give you a lift back to Torte?” Marty offered.

  “Thanks, I think I’ll walk.”

  He and Steph left together.

  “I’m going to head out as well dear.” June squeezed Andy’s hand. “See you later tonight. Go have some fun.”

  Andy hugged her tight. Seeing his tenderness with June the past couple days had made him even more adorable.

  “Jules this is crazy, huh?” Andy looked at the competitor’s area. “I need to start packing up.”

  “I’ll help.”

  We walked to his station and began pulling boxes and tubs from beneath the draped table. “Can you believe that Diaz spiked my drink with salt?”

  “No.” I didn’t tell him about my conversation with Diaz or that Diaz had also intended to ruin Sammy’s drink. I knew that he was stressed and didn’t want to burden him more with undue worry now that Diaz had been removed from the competition. “How are you feeling?”

  “Good. I mean, I guess. It’s still weird that Benson is dead. The reality of the Barista Cup is not at all what I had built it up to be in my head. I never thought I would have to worry about another barista trying to mess with my drink, but I’m glad he admitted it. I told you I didn’t put that much salt in my coffee.”

  “I know.” I thought for a minute as I stacked wooden stir sticks in a box. “Hey, has being here today triggered anything?”

  “What do you mean?” Andy dumped used spoons and steaming stainless steel pitchers into a tub.

  “I just wondered if being back in the ballroom might have made you remember something—anything else that happened.” I stared at the lighting overhead. Large industrial spots and floodlights were positioned to feature the barista arena. Heat poured down on us. No wonder Andy had been sweating, it was baking underneath the studio lights.

  He sighed. “No, nothing.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” I felt bad for pushing my agenda.

  “Um, what about tomorrow?” He asked, packing up tins of spices.

  “What about it?”

  “I’m supposed to work the afternoon shift at Scoops.”

  “Oh Andy, don’t give it a thought. I’ll rework the schedule and get someone to take your hours. Trust me, that won’t be a problem and should be the least of your worries.” I handed him a box of napkins and another with a variety of crystallized sugars.

  “You’re the best, boss.” He winked.

  That was the Andy I knew and loved.

  “You’re the best, and I can’t wait to watch you tomorrow. In fact, maybe we’ll close Torte early and bring the entire team over to cheer you on?”

  “Really?” Andy perked up.

  “Yeah, why not?” As I said it out loud, I liked the idea even more. After the insanity of the weekend, Andy could use all the encouragement possible.

  “That would be so cool.”

  “Consider it done.” I saw that the other baristas had begun to congregate. “You should get back to the meeting. Don’t come in tomorrow. We’ll all see you here—and try to get some sleep tonight.”

  He saluted with two fingers. “You got it, boss.”

  I left the ballroom and began
to walk back to Torte. It was only about two miles to town and I could use the exercise. Not to mention the late June weather was near perfection. Come mid-July, afternoon temps tended to swell into the nineties. Our proximity to the Siskiyou Mountains meant that even if temps climbed in the afternoon, they tended to cool off quickly in the evening. We typically had three or four weeks of hot summer days before the first touches of fall would begin to show.

  There was no sign of the Professor or Diaz in the lobby or parking lot as I left The Hills. I had no idea if that meant he had taken Diaz into custody.

  To return to town, I had to cross the overpass that stretched above Interstate 5. The densely forested Siskiyou Mountains with their varied shades of green stretched as far as I could see. I traveled past the YMCA, where young kids squealed with delight as they chased soccer balls through the grass. Farther down the street was the cemetery with ancient gravestones and deer nestled in the grass, taking siestas under the shade of madrones. The native trees had begun to shed their yellow leaves. Tourists often asked whether the exotic trees were eucalyptus imported from Australia, due to their red bark, which was as smooth as a baby’s skin. The long-lived trees flourished in Ashland’s rocky soil and wooded slopes.

  As I walked toward the plaza, I reviewed everything that had happened thus far. Diaz was definitely at the top of my list. He had sabotaged Andy’s coffee to get ahead in the competition and had intended to do the same to Sammy, but that still didn’t explain why he would want Benson dead.

  I really wanted to see if I could learn anything more from James. He had been tight-lipped about his argument with Benson and had claimed they’d never met. Something told me he was lying.

  Hopefully, drinks with Piper later this evening would be revealing. She had worked with Benson the longest and their exchange yesterday had been painful to watch. What had Benson meant when he had said that she was finished? Did he have the power to fire her? And if so, could that give her a motive for murder? If nothing else, she would hopefully be able to provide insight into who might have wanted to harm him.