“Thomas.” I kicked him under the table.
“What?”
“Now I’m going to think about a ghost every time I walk by the duck pond.”
“You don’t believe in ghosts, Jules.”
“I do now.” I scowled.
The Professor grinned. “Truce, you two.” He lifted his head. “Your mother is about to return. What do you think of the idea of surprising her?”
I nearly choked on my coffee. “What?”
He glanced in the direction of the kitchen and lowered his voice. “You know that summer solstice falls in June. What if we planned a surprise Midsummer Night’s Eve wedding in the park?”
Thomas eyes bulged. Had he said something to the Professor about Mom’s idea?
He caught my eye and shook his head.
I chose my words carefully. “I like the idea, but I think she has her heart set on finding a venue and planning the food and flowers and everything.”
“You don’t think she’d want a surprise?” He sounded disappointed.
“It’s not that. It’s just.” I tried to think about how to frame it. What were the odds that each of them wanted to surprise the other?
Thomas came to my rescue. “Jules is trying to say that it’s a woman’s domain.”
I twisted my ponytail. “Kind of?”
The Professor’s lips thinned. His gaze drifted toward the espresso bar where Mom balanced her chocolate crunch pie and a stack of plates. “You’re saying that maybe I should leave it to her.”
I hated making him feel bad. “Well, not exactly.”
He smiled. “Then I shall put on my thinking cap.”
Fortunately, Mom’s creamy dark chocolate pie with shaved chocolate, mounds of whipped cream, and crunchy cookie crust distracted us from the topic. We devoured the pie and the conversation shifted to the basement renovations, and whether or not the Professor was seriously considering bringing Detective Kerry on permanently.
I could see Thomas’s body stiffen at the mention of her name.
The Professor was noncommittal, which wasn’t like him. He was usually direct and straightforward. It made me wonder if he had already extended her an offer and if Thomas was about to get a new partner.
Chapter Thirty
The next morning there was a steady stream of customers waiting for Andy’s coffee special—the jelly doughnut—and for the gossip about Antony’s murder. I barely had a free moment to catch my breath, let alone catch up with the team. I gave them a brief update before we opened to customers, but otherwise they got the news along with the rest of town.
Once the lunch rush was complete and the dining room was basically empty we all gathered around the island. Andy offered us each one of his signature drinks while Sterling passed around bacon and cheddar biscuits.
“What do you think, boss?” Andy asked with an expectant grin. “I added a hint of raspberry syrup to go along with your filled doughnuts. It’s not too sweet, is it?”
I took a sip of the latte. The doughnut flavor definitely came through. I tasted notes of cinnamon and the sweet touch of bright raspberry. “It’s fantastic,” I said, taking another sip.
“You think?”
Bethany agreed. “It’s great. What else did you add? White chocolate?”
Andy nodded. “Yep. A teaspoon of white chocolate, cinnamon, vanilla, and raspberry syrup plus dark espresso and milk.”
Sterling placed the extra biscuits in the middle of the island and picked up his coffee. “This tastes like a doughnut, man. You are the master.” He reached across the workstation and gave Andy a fist bump.
Andy swelled with pride as we raved about his latest creation. Stephanie nibbled on a biscuit. For the first time in a week her skin had color and her eyes a healthy brightness.
“Did you finally sleep?” I asked.
She twisted a strand of purple hair around her finger. “Yeah, thanks.”
“How’s Oklahoma!?” Andy asked and then ducked away from the island as if anticipating Stephanie’s wrath.
“Well, there’s good news.” She unwound her hair. “Jules’s earplugs worked, but on top of that, my dormmate is on to a new soundtrack.”
“Really. What?” I asked.
Stephanie almost smiled. “Hamilton.”
“Dude, I love that soundtrack,” Andy said. “We should play it now. I have it on my phone.” He looked to me for approval.
“Go for it,” I said. “As long as it’s cool with you, Stephanie.”
She shrugged. “Whatever. I only heard it last night. I’m sure I’m going to be sick of it soon, but anything is better than Oklahoma! and Hamilton is actually pretty cool.”
Andy ran to plug his phone into the speaker. Soon music pulsed in the kitchen as we chatted about the case, next steps for the basement project, and made plans for the next few weeks. With the new season of OSF officially under way there wouldn’t be much downtime for months to come. I knew that my team could handle it, but I also knew with Mom’s wedding right around the corner we were going to have to stay on task and organized.
I looped them in on Mom’s idea to throw a surprise wedding. They were excited about the idea and Steph and Bethany began sketching out table displays and summer flavors of macarons. “We could stencil each macaron with a monogram and their initials,” Bethany suggested, showing me a rough sketch they’d done on paper.
“I love it.” Now if we could only figure out a venue the wedding would come together without a hitch.
I lost myself in baking for the remainder of the afternoon. I had my own surprise in store—the wedding cake.
A cake is the centerpiece of the entire wedding and I wanted Mom’s to be spectacular. She had always loved strawberry shortcake, so I wanted to test a variety of recipes over the next few weeks to find the perfect one for her wedding cake. Once the team left for the afternoon, I got to work on my first test. Strawberry shortcake is almost more like a shortbread meets cornbread. I didn’t want something too dry for the wedding cake, but I also wanted a cake that would have enough structure to hold up with multiple layers, especially because I planned to layer it with tons of vanilla whipped cream and fresh strawberries.
To start I creamed butter and sugar together in the mixer until they were a lovely pale yellow. Next, I incorporated eggs, vanilla, and a splash of buttermilk. In a separate bowl, I sifted flour, salt, baking soda, and two tablespoons of cornmeal. Hopefully, the addition of the cornmeal would give the vanilla cake the flavor profile of shortcake without making it crumbly or too dense.
Once I added the dry ingredients and folded them into the batter, I coated two nonstick pans with butter and more cornmeal. Then I spread the batter evenly and put them in a hot oven. While the cakes baked, I sliced strawberries and whipped cream. I thought about what a wild week it had been. Despite the drama, things were good at the bakeshop. Really good.
I couldn’t believe how lucky I was and how happy I was for Mom. I could almost hear my dad’s hearty laugh as I sliced the cakes in thin layers and piled on strawberries and fluffy whipped cream.
Now, if only I had someone to taste this with, I thought, cutting a slice. As if on cue, I heard a rap on the front door. Lance!
I hurried to open the door for him.
He breezed in wearing a pale blue suit and carrying a bundle of spring daisies. “For you, darling.” He thrust the bouquet into my hands.
“Thanks, but what are these for?”
“For saving my life, of course.”
“I didn’t save your life. You saved your own.”
He waved me off. “Details. Details.”
“You’re just in time,” I said, shutting the door behind him. “I’m testing wedding cakes.”
“Oh.” He clapped. “You know how much I adore weddings.”
I stopped at the sink to fill a vase with water and added the daisies. “These remind me of spring.”
“Good. We could all use a little spring around here.”
“Ho
w are you doing?” I set the bright yellow vase of flowers in the center of the island and sliced him a piece of cake.
“The shock has worn off, and now the real battle begins.”
“What do you mean?”
He studied the cake. “This is dainty and sweet. Like a slice of summer on a plate. Or better yet, like your mother. She’ll adore this.”
“Right, but don’t tell. I want to surprise her with the cake.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
I knew that was true. “What’s your plan with the board now?” I asked, taking a bite of the cake. The flavor was just as I had hoped. The cornmeal gave it a hint of grit, but the cake itself was light and moist. Strawberries weren’t quite in season yet. These had been shipped from California. Even so the delicate berry and vanilla cream paired perfectly with the cake. Maybe I wasn’t going to have to do weeks of testing after all.
“Well, darling, as you know, Antony tried to ruin me, but he did not succeed. The board sent me this.” He reached into his sport jacket and removed a handwritten letter.
It was a formal apology.
“That’s nice.” I slid the letter back to Lance.
He stabbed his cake. “Ha! Nice. We’re well past nice.”
“What?”
“I intend to use the board’s lapse in judgment as a negotiating tool.”
“How so?”
He tasted the cake and inhaled deeply. “Divine, darling. Absolutely divine.”
“It’s pretty good, don’t you think?”
“It reminds me of strawberry shortcake. The quintessential summer dessert.”
I smiled. “That’s exactly what I was going for.”
“Why do you sound surprised? You’re a revered pastry chef.”
“I don’t know about revered, but even professional chefs have plenty of flubs. Trust me. There have been many cakes that have ended up straight in the trash.”
Lance took another bite. “Never. I refuse to believe it.”
I appreciated his praise. “What are you going to negotiate?”
“The better question is what am I not going to negotiate?” Lance’s eye danced with wicked delight. “My salary, a new car, who knows.”
“What?” I wondered again about his finances.
“For starters, I’m taking you up on your advice.”
“Really?” What advice? I had given Lance a number of suggestions over the last few weeks.
“I’ve booked myself for a three-week vacation. I leave tomorrow.”
“What?”
He grinned so wide it made my cheeks hurt. “You told me a little time away might give me a new perspective, and I’ve decided you’re right. I asked the board to grant me a temporary sabbatical.”
“But what about the new season? What is OSF going to do without you?”
“Won’t it be fun watching them deal with that?” Lance winked and folded his arms across his chest.
“What kind of vacation?”
He linked his long fingers together. “Let’s just say it’s an adventure.”
I couldn’t believe Lance was really going through with it. Something had shifted. Usually, Lance was all talk, but he was taking off and heading to another continent. I was proud of my friend, even if his motive might have been based on some subtle revenge. I could tell that he hoped that OSF would fall apart in his absence.
“What kind of adventure?”
“One I’ve been dreaming about for many years. You know what they say, ‘no time like the present.’” He finished his cake. “Don’t you agree?”
“Absolutely.”
Lance looked at his watch. “Darling, I must run. So much to do. Bags to pack. You know the drill.”
I gathered our dishes, placed them in the sink, and covered the cake. “I’ll follow you out. I’m beat.”
He waited for me to close up the bakeshop and linked his arm through mine. “You’ll keep me abreast of everything going on while I’m away?”
“Of course.” I stopped in mid-stride. “You’ll come back? You aren’t thinking of leaving for good, are you? What about the wedding?”
Lance patted my hand. “What’s that they say about absence making the heart grow fonder? I think it will do the board some good to miss me, but I assure you I will be back with time to spare for Helen’s nuptials. I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Promise.”
He dropped his affected voice and met my eyes. “Promise.”
“I’m going miss you.” I realized it was true as I said the words.
“Now you know how I felt when you darted off to the Caribbean with that delicious hunk of a husband.”
“For a week.”
“Darling, I’ll be home before you know it. When is the wedding?”
We stopped at Elevation and I filled him in on the fact that both the Professor and Mom wanted to surprise each other on Midsummer Night’s Eve.
“Brilliant! But I have an even better idea. Let’s twist it up a bit. What if the entire town is in on the surprise? We’ll let both of them think that we’re collaborating in secret when in reality everyone will know except for the two of them. What do you think?”
I laughed. “I love it! That’s pretty perfect and would be so much fun. But there’s one looming, giant problem—the venue. We don’t have one.”
“What do you mean?”
I had forgotten that Lance hadn’t heard any of the news about the wedding festivities. We had been so focused on the case and trying to clear his name that I hadn’t told him about our dilemma of not being able to find a venue. When I finished explaining how the wineries were already booked and how it was looking more and more likely that Mom and the Professor would have to host the wedding in Lithia Park, he drummed his fingers on his chin and stared at me.
“Why don’t you host it at your winery, darling?”
“That would be great, except for one minor detail. I don’t own a winery, Lance.”
He threw his hand over his mouth and gasped. Then he stood back and stared at me. “You don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?”
He gave me a look of bewilderment, then he put the back of his hand on his forehead and sighed. “For such a talented chef and sleuth, you can be quite dense sometimes.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean no offense, but I am surprised you haven’t put it together.”
“Put what together?”
“The winery. The winery that Carlos bought for you.”
“What?” I stepped backward. I felt like he had slugged me in the gut.
“Uva? You know your family friend Jose’s winery?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, trying to connect the dots.
“Carlos invested in the winery. He knew how much you loved it and Jose needed to sell.”
I thought about the key he had given me. It wasn’t a metaphor. It was to the winery? “Wait,” I said, remembering something terrible. “I thought Richard Lord invested in Uva?”
Lance gave me a pained smile. “He did. You and Mr. Lord are now business partners.”
Now I did feel like I had been punched. Hard.
“Don’t fret. There’s a third partner, and let’s just say that he’ll have your back.” Lance kissed both of my cheeks. “Ta-ta, darling! I’m off.”
He continued down the sidewalk leaving me standing with my mouth wide open once again. Carlos had invested in Uva. I was a one-third partner in a winery with Richard Lord. Things were about to get interesting.
Read on for an excerpt of the next installment in the Bakeshop Mysteries
Till Death Do Us Tart
Available in July 2018
from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
They say that love makes the world go round. Given the contagious feeling of love in the air in my warmhearted town of Ashland, Oregon, I suspected that the saying might be true. Ashland’s amorous tendencies were heightened with preparations for what locals were calling “the wedding of the century.” My
mom and her longtime beau, the Professor, had finally decided to tie the knot and everyone was humming with eager excitement. Torte, our family bakeshop, was no exception. For the past few weeks, we had been hand-pressing dainty lemon tarts with mounds of fluffy whipping cream, testing new recipes for strawberry sponge cake, and finalizing the menu for the wedding feast. Mom and the Professor had agreed on an inclusive guest list. That meant that anyone in our little hamlet who wanted to come to the wedding was invited. That also meant that my team and I were going to be baking around the clock to ensure that we had enough food to feed the masses.
To complicate matters, Mom and the Professor had a trick up their sleeve. They were each planning to surprise one another with a Midsummer Night’s Dream wedding on the summer solstice. But the trick was on them. The entire town was in on the secret—we were surprising them. Keeping the festivities a secret from Ashland’s lead detective and my very astute mom was going to be no small feat. After tossing around several white lies, we decided our best cover story was to say we were hosting a party. I’d recently learned that I was a third owner in Uva, a gorgeous hillside vineyard on the outskirts of town. We had sent invitations for a re-opening bash, asking guests to come in Elizabethan attire for a celebratory feast under the stars. At last count, we had over two hundred and fifty RSVPs.
Time to get baking, Jules, I thought as I unwrapped sheets of filo dough. The sun had yet to rise. There was something calming and almost magical about baking in the quiet predawn hours. I loved the idea that while I was kneading bread dough my friends and neighbors were fast asleep. It was as if mornings were exclusively mine. Not many people ever witnessed the sun’s slow ascent, the way the sky shifted from deep purple to pink and how light drifted across the tree tops. Every sunrise was slightly different. Some days the bricks on the plaza across the street glowed a burning orange, like the sun was begging villagers out of their beds. Other days it lagged behind wispy clouds, encouraging a lazy lie-in. Sunrises were like pastry. No two scones or turnovers ever came out exactly the same. Sure, the average connoisseur might not notice a nuisance of slightly thinner crust or browning of crystalized sugar, but each sweet and savory treat that I pulled from our ovens had its own unique signature.
Another One Bites the Crust Page 23
