Till Death Do Us Tart

by Ellie Alexander

  He tossed the petal on the grass and fiddled with his collar. “Yes.”

  “That means that Jarvis or Sarah could have pulled the plug.”

  “Perhaps.” He stared toward the vineyard. I turned to see what he was looking at. Megan was talking to Leo, Sarah, and Jarvis.

  “I finally met her,” I said, nodding toward Megan. “She wasn’t what I expected.”

  “She’s a diamond in the rough.” Lance kept his gaze focused on his brother.

  “Has it been helpful her being here? Has she uncovered anything new?” I could tell that Lance wasn’t listening.

  “Huh?” He realized that I was talking. “Yes, yes, she’s been most helpful. But I don’t want to be left out of this conversation. I’ll see you soon. Ta-ta.” He tucked the rose into his breast pocket and strolled down the hill.

  I watched his long strides. His gait appeared relaxed, but I knew that he was consumed with his father’s death. I just wished there was something else I could do to help.

  “Not so fast, Juliet.” Richard Lord’s voice boomed to my left.

  Could I make a break for it? I glanced toward the deck where the waitstaff were setting up the buffet. No chance. Not in my strappy sandals and dress.

  “Hi, Richard.” I sighed and turned around. “Are you enjoying the wedding?”

  “Enjoying this? It’s a spectacle if you ask me. Everyone knows your mother can’t afford anything this lavish. Nor can Doug. What does he make on a police salary?” Richard reminded me of a fat British lord. I had to credit him for coming in costume, but thought that someone might want to suggest that he not accentuate his girth by wearing a purple cape that made him look like a giant blueberry.

  “I’m not sure how my mom’s or the Professor’s finances are any of your concern.”

  Richard flipped his cape, making it billow out behind him. “Your finances are of my concern. Stretched too thin, aren’t you? Like I told that slippery snake husband of yours, I’m willing to cut you a deal and buy you out tonight. You won’t see another offer as good, so if I were you I would take it.”

  “No, thanks.” I plastered on a fake smile. “Thank you so much for your concern though. I know it must be heartfelt. What I’m curious about is why the rush to buy us out? Let me guess. Do you have an investor waiting in the wings? Buildable property around Ashland is at a premium, isn’t it?” I paused and pointed to the grapevines. Lit up with twinkling lights they stretched as far as my eye could see. “Uva’s acreage would be very desirable for the right buyer, wouldn’t it?”

  Richard became visibly flustered. He tossed his cape from side to side. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, young lady. And trust me, you don’t want to make an enemy of me. I can make things very difficult for you and Torte.” With that he huffed away.

  I had obviously hit the mark. Richard didn’t care about Uva. He wanted our shares so that he could turn around and double—or triple—his profit by selling to a developer. No way. I didn’t care if I had to forgo sleep for the next year, my brief conversation with Richard had solidified my determination to do whatever it took to make the winery a success.

  Don’t let him ruin your night, Jules, I told myself as I made my way to the deck. Dinner service went without a single hiccup. Guests raved about the herb-encrusted steaks and rustic mashed potatoes. I couldn’t wipe the grin from my face. Mom and the Professor looked equally happy as they circulated among the tables, stopping to chat and thank each and every guest. I wondered if they were going to have a chance to taste the feast.

  I decided to pop into the kitchen and ask the staff to box up plates for them. They would be the envy of the plane later with savory leftovers to tide them over until they landed in Greece. On my way inside I bumped into Clarissa. She wore a striking evening gown and a piercing glare. She was surrounded by Leo and his “goons” as Lance called them—Sarah and Jarvis.

  “You all made it,” I said with a smile. I looked around for Roger, but didn’t see him.

  “If you’re looking for my husband, he’s off getting more wine—as always.” She scowled. Then she turned to Sarah and rolled her eyes. Roger didn’t strike me as a big drinker, but then again, I only knew him in the context of our expansion.

  “I didn’t know that you all knew each other.”

  Sarah steadied her wineglass. She looked younger than I remembered from our first meeting at Torte. Maybe it was her outfit. Her dress looked more like something I would imagine a high school student wearing to the prom. It was hot pink with silver rhinestones. “Clarissa has asked Leo to be a new sponsor for the arts council,” Sarah offered.

  “Oh.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. Given Leo’s apparent disdain for Lance’s profession I was surprised to hear that he would fund any kind of art program.

  As if reading my mind, Leo snarled, “What, you don’t think the Brown Group is good enough for the art council or something?”

  “Me?” I pointed to my chest. I couldn’t tell if he was talking to me or Clarissa. He swayed slightly. Sarah reached to steady him and spilled her wine down the front of her dress.

  “Oh no!” Her wineglass landed on the grass without breaking.

  Jarvis reached into his suit jacket and removed a pristine white handkerchief. He bent over and picked up the glass with the handkerchief.

  Quirky, I thought. “We have some club soda and water in the kitchen,” I said to Sarah. “If you want to come inside, I can help you with the stain.”

  “Thanks.” She gave me a look of relief.

  Leo yanked Jarvis’s arm. “Come on, I want to go find my brother.”

  Clarissa snapped her fingers at me. “While you’re inside, please bring me a glass of wine. The waitstaff has been dismal. I haven’t seen a waiter in an hour, or my husband.”

  I ignored her dig and led Sarah inside.

  “Uh-oh. Party casualty,” Chef Garrison said, when he spotted Sarah’s stained dress.

  “There’s always one. I’m going to find some club soda. It should do the trick.” I took Sarah to the opposite side of the kitchen and found a towel and the soda water. “Are you good? Do you need anything else?”

  “No, this is great. Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.”

  Since it was just the two of us, I used the opportunity to see if she would spill anything about Leo. “How do you like working for the Brown Group?”

  She poured soda onto the towel and started dabbing her dress. “It’s fine. I don’t love having to deal with snooty types like Clarissa.”

  “I’m surprised that Leo’s thinking of sponsoring the arts council. It doesn’t seem like…” I trailed off, trying to find the right words so as not to offend her. She did work for the guy after all.

  “His cup of tea?” Sarah offered. “The truth is Leo wants to work with Clarissa’s husband, Roger. I guess he’s a highly sought after architect and he turned Leo down on a new building project. Clarissa told Leo that if he supports the council, she’ll make sure her husband takes the project.”

  “Ah.” I nodded.

  Sarah continued to sponge her dress. The wine stain had turned the hot pink an even more garish color. “It’s a lot of deals like that, but I have free rein. Leo isn’t book smart. He likes being in the field, so it’s a good job for me. The entire Brown family has been good to me.”

  “I was so sorry to hear about Leo’s father,” I said, wondering how she would respond.

  She dipped the burgundy-stained towel into a pitcher of water. “It was a sad day for the Brown Family Group. Mr. Brown will be sorely missed, but in many ways it was a relief. He was in a lot of pain at the end. He was barely cognizant. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t eat. It’s probably better that he went quickly.”

  “Right.” I gave her a solemn nod. Hadn’t Lance said that his father had been alert and eating pudding right before he died?

  “This is a lost cause.” Sarah stared at her dress. “Is there a bathroom I can use? I might take it off and give it a good scrub
.”

  “Sure.” I pointed her to the bathroom and went to get a glass of wine for Clarissa. The kitchen was a display of organized chaos. Food trays had been devoured and piled in the sink. The staff was getting ready to set up the dessert bar. Servers steadied loaded trays on their arms and the wedding cake had been placed on a cart and was about to be wheeled outside. It was a good thing I had thought of packing up dinner for Mom and the Professor because the very last of the dinner trays was being sent out. Relieved that things were running so smoothly, I poured a few glasses of white wine, placed them and the bottle on a tray, and returned to the party.

  Clarissa was waiting where I had left her, but she had been joined by Lance and Megan, the PI.

  “How are you enjoying the reception?” I asked the group, holding the tray with both hands.

  Clarissa stared at her perfectly manicured nails. “I thought the steak was overdone and the potatoes lacked flavor. Don’t say anything to your sweet mother, but I would not recommend the caterer she used.”

  Great. I thought about mentioning the fact that I was the caterer, but instead ignored her snide comment. Part of me wondered if she knew that Torte had catered the event and was intentionally trying to slight me.

  Lance coughed and then cleared his throat. “Let me take that from you, darling.” He took the tray from my hands, picked up a glass of wine, and passed the tray around. “Honestly, you’ve outdone yourself, Juliet. This is an absolute show stunner.”

  “Show stunner?” I said, as Megan offered me the last glass of wine on the tray. I declined. “No, thanks. Go ahead, help yourself.”

  She took the glass and handed me the empty tray. They looked like an odd pair. Lance in his Shakespearean costume and Megan in her biker bar dress.

  Lance drummed his fingers on his chin. “How much have I had to drink tonight, ladies? Show stunner. Hmm. Maybe I’ve coined a new phrase. Or perhaps I’m slightly tipsy.” He pretended to stumble.

  Megan sipped her wine.

  “I believe you know Clarissa and Megan, right, Juliet?” Lance asked me in the way of an introduction.

  I nodded. “Yes, we’ve had the pleasure.”

  A group of teenagers trying to get a conga line started danced past us. Ramiro was in the middle of the line, grinning and cheering.

  “Do tell, darling. Could that be the offspring of your dark and debonair—or maybe devilish—husband?”

  “Yep, that’s Ramiro,” I said to Lance, watching Ramiro dash off with the teens.

  “Just as delicious as his father, isn’t he?”

  Lance started to say more, but was cut off by the sight of Megan clutching her throat and gasping for air. She dropped her wineglass, which rolled away from her feet.

  “Are you okay?” I tossed the empty tray on the grass.

  Her face turned beet red. She waved her hand in front of her face. “Something in the drink,” she managed to cough out.

  I stared at Lance. He sprinted off to find help.

  Clarissa stared at us.

  “Go get the Professor. See if there’s a doctor here,” I commanded.

  She stood there frozen.

  “Go get help!” I yelled.

  Megan continued to cough. I helped her over to the base of the deck and had her sit on the bottom of the stairs. “We need water,” I called to one of the servers, before realizing it was Adam. He raced away.

  “Did you choke on something?” I asked.

  She clutched her throat and shook her head. “No, the drink. The drink.”

  “Are you allergic?” I racked my brain to think about the ingredients that went into making white wine. Usually if people had a reaction to anything in wine it was the sulfites. Could Megan have had an extreme reaction to the sulfites?

  Adam came back with a glass of water. His hands shook so violently that water spilled from the glass.

  I placed the cold cup to Megan’s lips. “Do you think you can try to take a sip?”

  She nodded, still struggling for breath.

  After getting a couple of sips of water down, her wheezing sounded slightly less intense. I could hear an ambulance siren in the distance. Lance was running toward us with one of Ashland’s pediatricians.

  Megan dug her nails into her wrist. Her voice was raspy. “Something in my drink.”

  I tried to make sense of what she was saying. “Are you choking? You swallowed something?”

  She shook her head and heaved her shoulders. “No.”

  Her eyes bulged. She dug her nails into her neck, drawing blood. “Poison.”

  “What?” I started to stand. She grabbed my arm. “For you,” she managed to whisper.

  The pediatrician pushed me aside. My heart pounded. Megan thought that her wine had been poisoned and it was intended for me?

  Chapter Twelve

  The happy vibe at the reception took on a somber tone as the ambulance sped off with Megan. The paramedics seemed to think that she would be okay, but it was too soon to know. Clarissa and Adam had both disappeared.

  Lance promised that he would meet her at the hospital. I wanted to go with him. What had Megan meant about her wine being intended for me? Had she simply had a reaction to something she had eaten?

  Mom and the Professor came over to confer.

  “What happened?” Mom’s brow crinkled.

  “I don’t know. We were talking—Megan, Clarissa, Lance, and I—and all of sudden she started clutching her throat and coughing.” I shivered at the memory. There was no chance that I was mentioning Megan’s parting warning.

  The Professor’s face hardened. “Perhaps it would be best if we delayed our trip, Helen?”

  Mom nodded. “I know. I was thinking the same thing.”

  “No way. You two are going. The paramedics said that they think she’s going to be fine. They took her to the hospital as a precaution. There’s nothing you can do. Lance and I will go check in on her later, I promise.” I pointed to the barn where the band had resumed and guests had begun to dance. “Go enjoy the rest of the night. Your flight leaves in four hours. You should dance and cut the cake. Think of the incident as a little blip on the radar and nothing more.”

  Mom forced a smile. “I don’t know, what do you think, Doug?”

  The Professor sighed. “Juliet makes a fair point. One of my favorite sayings is, ‘Sadness is but a wall between two gardens.’ Perhaps we should plant our garden on the dance floor?”

  “Is that Shakespeare?” Mom asked. “I don’t recognize it.”

  “No. That piece of wisdom comes from Kahlil Gibran.”

  “It’s lovely,” I said.

  Mom frowned. “Speaking of not recognizing something. Who’s Megan? I don’t think that I know her.”

  The Professor’s eyes felt like they were burning into my forehead. Obviously, he knew who Megan really was.

  “Lance’s date,” I replied, trying to keep my face as passive as possible.

  “What? Lance’s date? The woman in the black leather dress?” Mom’s face scrunched up in disbelief. “Her and Lance? There must be more to that story.”

  The Professor cleared his throat. “My dearest Helen, I see them waving to us. I believe our guests are eager for cake, and everyone is familiar with the Bard’s most famous sentiment when it comes to cake.”

  “Let them eat cake,” Mom and I said in unison.

  We laughed, which broke the pall hanging over us. “Your cake is calling.” I nudged them toward the barn. The Professor shot me a look of thanks. It was unnecessary. This was their wedding night. Nothing but joy should surround them.

  The mood lightened when Mom and the Professor cut into the cake. Guests oohed and aahed when we wheeled the elegant tiered cake onto the center of the dance floor. They linked hands and sliced into the bottom layer. I helped plate slices dense with buttercream and fresh strawberries. There’s an art and a system to cake cutting. One of the services that we offer our bridal customers at Torte is cake cutting. Hiring a professional baker to
cut and serve the wedding cake ensures that each slice will be uniform and that the cake will feed everyone in attendance.

  In culinary school, we studied cake-cutting charts and watched endless demonstrations. There are a variety of methods that bakers use, from the “Circular Method” to disassembling the cake to cut the bottom layer first. I prefer this option because it allows me to cut and serve a cake for two hundred people in less than fifteen minutes. Plus, if there’s any cake leftover, it will be the top smaller layers that can easily be stored in the freezer.

  Guests love watching the bride and groom slice into silky layers of buttercream, but the mechanics of dissecting a cake into individual pieces takes away the romance of the occasion. I cheered with everyone as Mom and the Professor fed each other carefully and polished off their dainty bites with a kiss. Once they had been swept into the crowd, I waved Bethany over to help.

  She wiggled her fingers that were now a warm shade of pink. “Show me how it’s done.”

  I began by cutting a two-inch strip down the side of the bottom tier. I used a cake cutting comb and a knife to gently lay the strip on its side. This is the part of the process that makes most novices nervous because they worry that the cake will fall apart. It won’t. Once the strip was on its side I simply used a ruler to cut even one-inch slices.

  “That looks easy enough,” Bethany said, picking up a pastry knife. “Should I start on the next tier?”

  “Go for it. Just go easy when you slice the first strip. If you cut too quickly you’ll smash the layers together and the filling will squish out.”

  “Wish me luck.” She snapped a picture of the growing row of plated cake.

  Guests lined up while Bethany and I carefully sliced piece after piece. Mom’s mantra has always been, “Never underestimate the power of pastry.” That certainly rang true as guests noshed on our strawberry-shortcake cake and lemon cream. Mom and the Professor took a turn on the dance floor. Tears returned as I watched the Professor whisper in her ear.

  A deep voice interrupted my thoughts. “They are very much in love, no?” Carlos massaged the small of my back. “Julieta, shall we join them?”