Till Death Do Us Tart

by Ellie Alexander

  Should I be worried? I backed closer to the countertop. Which drawer had I put the knives in?

  “About what?” I decided for the moment it would be best to pretend like I didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “About Clarissa.”

  “No, what?”

  He stepped closer. I ran my hand along the cold, smooth countertop. How could I open the drawers without calling attention to myself? Maybe Thomas had been right. Maybe I was in danger. I should have woken Carlos and brought him with me.

  I started doing math in my head. How long had he and Ramiro been asleep? When he woke up and discovered that I wasn’t there, he would surely come looking for me, right? Is this how Megan had felt?

  “Clarissa was arrested an hour ago,” Roger said. His voice was flat and lifeless.

  “For what?” Did he know that I knew? I wondered what Thomas and Detective Kerry had told him.

  “For attempting to poison you.”

  I gulped. Roger’s eyes were wild. “I can’t believe it.”

  Should I respond? I scooted farther away toward the sink, fumbling around for the scoring knife. It wasn’t that big, but it would do in a pinch.

  “She’s not well, Clarissa. I know that she didn’t really want to hurt you. She’s always had terrible jealousy issues. Her father left her mother for a much younger woman when Clarissa was in high school and she’s never been able to let it go. We’ve had the same argument for years. I’ve told her time and time again that she’s the only woman for me, but anytime I work with a female client, especially one who’s younger like you.” He paused and tried to smile. “Her jealousy flares up.”

  I wasn’t sure that I was out of the woods yet, but Roger sounded dumbfounded and dejected, not like he was about to hurt me too. However, I continued to move toward the scoring knife.

  “That’s why she kept stopping by. She wanted to keep an eye on you. I told her that not only could you be our daughter, but you were obviously deeply in love with your husband.”

  Was it obvious that I still had feelings for Carlos?

  “I thought I had convinced her that she had nothing to worry about. I showed her plans, I gave her a tour of the bakeshop, I invited her to come by as often as she wanted, but apparently that wasn’t enough. The police say that she hired a private detective and that she put poison in your drink. I’m so sorry, Juliet.”

  My fear dissipated. Roger was clearly distraught.

  “It’s not your fault,” I said, taking my hand off the drawer handle. My fingers shook a bit as I released my grip.

  “It is. I should have gotten her help sooner.” He placed his hands on his head. “I’ve suggested counseling to help her heal her past wounds, but I never insisted. I thought we could work through it together. I never imagined that she would do something so drastic.”

  “Roger, do you think that she had anything to do with Megan’s death?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so, but I would have told you a day ago that there was no possibility that she would have tried to hurt you. She swore to the police that she wasn’t trying to kill you. She just wanted to make you sick and send you a warning.” He rubbed his temples. “My God, even saying that sounds terrible. But, honestly, I don’t think she wanted you dead. I think she went a bit nuts, and thought if you were sick you wouldn’t be at the bakeshop and I could finish the job and be done with Torte.”

  That made logical sense.

  “And you don’t know anything about her connection with the Brown Family Group?”

  He bit his bottom lip. “No. Nothing. I talked to her about that after we saw you. Honestly, the arts council is her thing. I try to stay out of it, but I’m not a huge fan of the Brown Group. Personally, I’d like her to find other funding sources.”

  “Did she do any fund-raising with them?”

  “Not that I know of. She claims that she was simply putting some feelers out, but I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  “What about Megan? Could Megan have seen Clarissa put the poison in my drink? Maybe Clarissa got scared and went to confront Megan about it?”

  Roger covered his mouth with his hand. “Do you think that could have happened? Is that why the police took her in?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just thinking out loud.” On second thought, that didn’t make any sense. Why would Megan have taken a drink from the poisoned glass?

  The intoxicating smell of bread baking in the ovens was a strange juxtaposition to our conversation.

  “I need to get to Medford right away, but I had a feeling you might be here early and I wanted to apologize. I can’t believe that she could have wanted to hurt you and I refuse to believe that she could have killed Megan, but I guess we’re going to have to wait and see what the police say.”

  “It’s okay, Roger. I’m sorry about this too. You’ve been wonderful to work with, and if it matters, I won’t press charges. I’ll tell Thomas and Detective Kerry that. I want Clarissa to get help too.”

  “Thank you. That’s very gracious and generous of you.” He looked toward the door. “I should go. Please accept my apology.”

  “Of course.”

  He left and I took the first batch of golden bread from the oven. I wasn’t sure what to believe, but I had a nagging feeling that I was missing something. Were there two separate cases at play? Instead of assuming that the poisoning and murder were connected, maybe it was time to consider that they weren’t. And maybe it was also time to throw Lance’s dad’s murder into the mix. There were too many points of connection.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  I didn’t have time to stew on anything other than Torte. The crew arrived early for a morning debrief.

  “You’ve got us locked in this dreary dungeon,” Sterling teased. To my surprise, he had shed his usual gray hoodie and wore a tight black T-shirt and skinny jeans.

  “Speak for yourself,” Andy bantered. “We know who the boss loves best. I’m upstairs in front of those huge windows, while you’ll be stuck here with cobwebs and spiders.” He flipped his baseball hat backward.

  I swiped a wooden spoon from a canister on the counter. “Show me one cobweb or spider.”

  Everyone laughed.

  “The space is amazing, Jules.” Sterling gave an appreciative nod to the new workstation.

  “OMG! I agree,” Bethany said, snapping pictures on her phone. “Our Instagram followers are going to eat this up.”

  “Eat this up, nice.” Andy nudged her shoulder.

  Bethany’s cheeks flamed with color. She fluffed her bouncy curls. “I didn’t even mean to say that, but I’ve been doing live stories every day of Torte’s progress. I can’t wait to show everyone the final reveal.”

  “And don’t forget that you and Steph get to organize the decorating station however you see fit.”

  Stephanie nursed a coffee. “What’s the plan? Where are we all going to be working? It’s going to be kind of weird to be in two different spaces.”

  “I know. I think it’s going to feel a little clunky for the short term until we put in the new stairs. Once those are in, it will be different but I don’t think we’ll feel quite as disconnected. You and Sterling will both be stationed in the dungeon.” I made a goofy face. “Andy, you’ll be upstairs at the coffee bar, of course. And Bethany, I’m hoping that you and I can kind of be floaters.”

  “Sure.” She motioned for the four of us to squeeze together. “Let me get a shot of everyone before the madness begins.”

  We posed for the picture. “Before we start to divide and conquer I need everyone’s help cleaning upstairs. There’s a pretty thick layer of dust that needs to be wiped down. Oh, and I’m putting a HELP WANTED sign on the front door today,” I continued. “If any of you have a friend or someone you would recommend, let me know. We’re going to need coffee help for you, Andy, and more bakery help down here.”

  “I might know someone,” Andy said. “I’ll ask around.”

  We finished our
walk-through, cleaned the upstairs, and then everyone headed to their stations. Stephanie was right. Having the two spaces disconnected felt strange. A wave of regret passed over me. I hoped I hadn’t made a mistake. One of the things that I loved most about Torte was the cozy, welcoming feeling I got each time I walked through the front doors. That, and the lively energy among us. It was temporary, right? I thought as I sifted flour for a batch of Swedish tea cookies.

  Connections, disconnections—that seemed to be the theme of my life of late. Megan’s murder, the poisoning, Mom’s marriage, my relationship with Carlos and Ramiro. It was as if invisible strings stretched between each of us, creating an intricate and complicated web.

  My worry faded slightly once the kitchen was alive with the scent of chili verde soup, gooey grilled cheese on black bread, and boysenberry scones. I loaded a tray with tea cookies, scones, chocolate mint wafers, and mini cupcakes to take upstairs. Sterling was adding diced cilantro to the soup. “Hey, how solid is the plan for upstairs?” he asked, stirring the giant vat of bubbling soup.

  “How solid?”

  “Yeah. I mean is it set in stone?” He diced green chilis and added them to the soup, which was bubbling with white beans, chicken stock, shredded chicken, onions, garlic, and cumin. We would serve it with a dollop of sour cream, shredded jack cheese, and tortilla chips. I had a feeling it would sell out before the lunch rush was finished.

  I leaned to breathe in a whiff of the fresh, summery soup. “It’s done. They’re going to get started on the stairs this week, maybe even today.” I paused. Given that Roger’s wife had been arrested I wondered if construction would stall. “Why? Do you have an idea or something?”

  He dipped his pinkie into the soup to taste. “Kind of. The four of us were talking at the wedding about our favorite summer memories and one of mine was going to this bakery down on the beach in Santa Cruz. It reminds me of Torte, only more surfer, less Shakespeare.” His grin made his brilliant blue eyes light up. “They made a bunch of traditional baked goods—cinnamon rolls, sticky buns—you know. But they also made their own ice cream. I’ve been seeing concretes—a frozen custard—around lately, and I don’t know if there’s space up there, but I thought it could be cool to add in ice cream. I’d love to learn how to make it with our spin. Carlos mentioned that he could teach me.”

  “Oh, he did, did he?” I gave Sterling a fake scowl. “What else has he told you?”

  Sterling laughed. “Hey, what happens in the kitchen, stays in the kitchen.”

  If Mom were here she would have swatted him with a dish towel.

  “What do you think?” Sterling set the spoon on the side of the stove. “Really fresh flavors like Meyer lemon and blueberry, strawberry rhubarb, honey lavender. You know, like Torte-style.”

  “That’s a great idea. Let me check with Roger later to see if we can tweak the plan. I can’t imagine that it would be that hard to make space for a cooler.”

  “Right, and we were all saying that it wouldn’t have to be big. Maybe enough to hold five or six daily flavors at most. I bet it would sell really well, especially with the theater crowd.”

  “I’m sure it would.” I picked up the tray to deliver upstairs. Ashland summers were hot, with average temperatures in the nineties. Offering customers a cold dish of hand-churned ice cream or custard was a slam dunk. I loved the fact that Sterling and the rest of the team were brainstorming ways to improve Torte. I was so lucky.

  Carrying heavy trays of pastries, soup, and sandwiches was going to give my legs and arms a workout. I had to balance the tray and make sure I had solid footing. At least once we had an internal staircase we wouldn’t have to navigate the busy sidewalk and the line out the front door. I had to heave the tray up over my shoulder to get it past customers waiting to order drinks and pastries. Inside it was business as usual, despite the plastic barrier and construction signs. A small line stretched from the temporary coffee bar toward the door. I squeezed between customers with the tray of pastries.

  “What do you have there, Jules?” The owner of the chocolate shop around the corner eyed a boysenberry scone. I had gone to high school with her and she stopped by at least once a week with her decadent chocolate for us to use in baking. That was yet another thing I loved about living in my hometown. Not a day went by that I didn’t bump into someone I knew from my childhood.

  “Hot out of the oven.” I offered up the tray. Everyone in line ooohed and aaahed.

  Andy managed the line with ease. He moved to the beat of the music playing overhead as he scooped ice into glasses and poured thick, creamy espresso shots.

  “How’s it going so far?” I slid the tray of pastries into the case.

  “Awesome.” He handed a customer an iced coconut cold brew. “Everyone’s happy that we’re caffeinating them again.”

  “Excellent. I’ll be up to check in soon.”

  “If I need anything I’ll just pound on the floor.” Andy stomped his feet twice.

  “Good plan.” I ducked under the plastic to get to the office. I wanted to make some HELP WANTED signs. It was time to move forward and if our expansion was going to be a success we needed more hands on deck, so to speak. I posted the sign on the front door. Bethany had suggested posting to our social media as well. Hopefully, we’d find a perfect mix—a hard worker who was eager to learn and someone who blended in with the team.

  As I left to go back downstairs, I spotted Lance sitting on a bench in the middle of the plaza. He was talking to his brother, Leo. Was Lance confronting Leo? Was he telling him that his lawyer was corrupt? I wanted to eavesdrop but there was no way of listening in on their conversation without being seen. So I opted for the next best solution—pastry.

  I poured two cups of coffee and tucked a few tea cookies into a bag. Bribery in the form of sweets never hurt.

  “Morning,” I called, crossing the street. I offered them steaming cups of coffee. “I thought you might want your usual,” I said to Lance.

  He shot me a narrow stare. “Darling, how thoughtful of you.”

  Leo took the coffee.

  “Tea cookie?” I held out the bag.

  He snatched that too.

  “Manners, dear brother, manners. We have a famed pastry chef in our presence and ripping a bag from her dainty and valuable hands is simply uncivilized.”

  “Whatever.” Leo rolled his eyes. He stuffed a cookie in his mouth. “Thanks,” he mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs.

  They looked like the odd couple. The resemblance between them was undeniable, with their angular jawbones and tall, thin frames. But that’s where their similarities ended. Leo wore a pair of heavy work boots, baggy jeans, and another flannel shirt. Lance had returned to his standard daily suit. Today’s was deep gray with a lemon-yellow tie and polished shoes.

  “Juliet, I was just discussing with my dear brother what you and I have unearthed.”

  “You were?” What was Lance doing?

  “Indeed. I explained that the police have discovered that Jarvis O. Sandberg is a hack.”

  Leo stuffed another cookie in his mouth. He didn’t appear bothered by this news.

  “I’m advising my brother to rethink his position on the family trust. Otherwise, I shall have to take matters into my own hands and proceed with a lawsuit.” Lance held his coffee under his nose. “Your new stepfather is the head of police; what were you saying the jail term is for elder abuse?”

  I had no idea. “Uh…”

  “Didn’t you say twenty years? Or was it more?”

  “I think,” I started to reply, but Lance cut me off.

  “More, yes, you’re right. It was thirty, wasn’t it?”

  Leo’s face was covered in powdered sugar and cookie crumbs. Lance sighed audibly. “Clean up,” he said, removing a pressed handkerchief from his breast pocket and handing it to his brother.

  “Let’s drop it, okay?” Leo smeared the crumbs around his face with the silky cloth.

  “Drop what?” Lance replied
in a cheerful tone.

  “Everything. It’s over.”

  “What’s over, dearest brother?”

  Leo crumpled the handkerchief in his palm. “You win. You keep your portion of the trust, I keep mine, and we don’t ever need to talk again as far as I’m concerned.”

  I couldn’t tell if his words had actually hurt or if Lance was tapping into his acting reserves.

  “Never speak again, when we’ve just rekindled our relationship? How tragic.”

  Leo looked to me. I threw my hands up. I didn’t want any part of being in the middle of their family feud. “Look, you can drop the act. I know you don’t care about me. Like I said, it’s over. I’ve already fired Jarvis.”

  “A likely story.” The sarcasm in Lance’s voice cut deep.

  “I did,” he insisted. “I didn’t want to hire him anyway. Sarah was the one who said he was the best. She knew him from before. I guess they used to work together or something. She said that he could get me the maximum amount of money. I know you don’t believe me, but I want the Brown Family Group to live on into the next generation. We need cash flow.”

  “Sarah recommended Jarvis?” Lance said. I could tell that the same thought that was forming in my head was forming in his.

  “Yeah.” Leo munched another cookie. “She does all that stuff. I’m not a numbers guy. I know the business, but Sarah manages the money and tax and legal stuff.”

  “How long has she been with the company?”

  Leo shrugged. “A couple years, I guess. Believe it or not, I hired her as a personal nurse for Dad.”

  “She’s a nurse?” Lance shared a look with me.

  “Not exactly. I think she’s a medical assistant or something like that. I was looking for a caregiver and she was the first person to respond to the ad. She and Dad hit it off right away.”

  I made a mental note not to hire the first person to respond to our ad at Torte—at least not without checking references.

  Leo dabbed the wrinkled handkerchief on his chin. “She told me that for other clients she would help manage their accounts and do basic stuff like taking checks to the bank, mailings, and organization. She was there anyway so it all worked out.”