“Morning,” I called to the crew.
Andy steamed foamy milk behind the espresso machine. “Hey, boss. You need a morning fix?”
I smiled. “I’m fine for the moment, thanks.”
He shrugged. “Okay, but if you change your mind you better let me know soon because the smell of fried doughnuts is thick in here and I think we’re going to run out of coffee the minute we open the doors.”
I stopped in front of the pastry case and breathed in the scent again. “It’s true. Deep-frying sends little droplets of oil into the air. We’re going to smell like a doughnut shop all day.”
“You know what pairs well with doughnuts?” Andy shifted the stainless-steel pitcher of milk into his left hand and held up a shot of espresso with the other. “Coffee.”
“Also true.” I glanced at the pastry case, which held two trays of my raspberry-filled doughnuts on the top shelf.
“You know what I need to create next?” Andy said almost to himself. “A doughnut latte. I wonder how I can make that without it being too sweet?”
I continued past the espresso bar and turned toward the kitchen. “That sounds like the perfect challenge for you.”
Andy poured the shot into a ceramic mug and swirled hot milk over the top. “I’m on it. Don’t you worry.”
Bethany and Steph were huddled around the island with an assortment of plates, platters, and cake stands along with stacks of rainbow-colored macarons. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but Stephanie’s hair was pulled into two tight braids and the bags under her eyes looked lighter.
“Hey, Jules,” Bethany said, looking up from the display she was working on. “We’re trying to figure out how to get the best shot. We want to hashtag this #TasteTheRainbow, but we can’t decide if we should line them in a row on a plate or stack them on a cake stand. What do you think?”
I picked up a pink macaron and examined it. They had followed my instructions to the letter. The round airy cookies were symmetrical and crispy. I bit into it and was immediately transported to a summer strawberry patch. The macaron was chewy and the texture smooth. The strawberry cream filling was light, silky, and tasted like the strawberries had been picked fresh this morning. The ratio of cookie to filling was just right. If you spread the filling on too thin you miss the balance of the creamy center and crunchy cookie, but no one wants a blob of filling that oozes out the sides, either.
“These are amazing,” I said as I finished off the sandwich cookie. “The strawberry cream is some of the best I’ve ever had.”
Bethany’s face swelled with pride.
“How are you feeling?” I asked Stephanie quietly.
“Better. The earplugs helped.” She didn’t meet my eyes.
“What did the health center say?” I licked strawberry cream from my finger.
She shrugged. “Nothing. Said I have sleep exhaustion. Gave me a couple sleeping pills.”
“Did you take one?”
“Yeah, but the doctor said that sleep loss is cumulative. She said it’s going to take a few days to feel normal.” Her hand shook as she spread a layer of peanut butter between two grape macarons.
“Take it easy. Let me know if you want a break or need to leave early, okay?”
She nodded. I changed the subject. “What other flavors did you bake?”
“Blackberry, banana, key lime, orange, cherry, peanut butter and jelly, and Fruity Pebbles.” Bethany pointed to each colorful macaron, ending her tour of the rainbow cookies with one that looked like a sprinkle-covered Easter egg.
Stephanie tucked her violet braids behind her ears and held the entire stack in one hand. Her black nails served as end caps for the festive cookies. “Can you get a shot like this with depth effect? Focus on the macarons and have the kitchen fuzzy in the background?”
Bethany grabbed her phone. “Yes! That’s it.” She snapped a few pictures, stopping to have Stephanie reposition the stack and move her hand to the left and right. When they finished Bethany quickly tweaked the photos with editing tools built into her phone and showed us the results. The photo looked like a professional shot and showcased the macarons and Torte’s cheery kitchen.
“Should we go with this?” Bethany scrolled through each picture and landed on the last one.
“I love it,” I said. It was true. I was beyond impressed with the initiative the two of them had taken and their creativity.
Stephanie went back and forth between the photos. “I think I like the first one the best. See how the stove almost has a halo effect?”
Bethany leaned over and studied the photo with Steph. “You’re right. Let’s do this one. Is it too cheesy to use the hashtag #TasteTheRainbow?”
I shrugged. “I’m leaving that to you two. You are the social media experts.”
Sterling, who had been gathering soup ingredients in the walk-in, came into the kitchen with a basket full of fresh veggies.
“Is #TasteTheRainbow super cheesy?” Bethany asked him.
“What?” He looked at Stephanie. They shared a stolen glance.
“For our macarons, is it stupid?”
Sterling placed the basket on the edge of island and helped himself to one of the Fruity Pebbles cookies. “No, it’s funny.”
Bethany smiled and started typing at a lightning pace with her thumbs. “Awesome. I’m posting this right now. Anyone who uses the hashtag in the next hour gets a free Fruity Pebbles, cool?”
“Cool,” Sterling agreed. I caught him nodding at Steph. They were both alternative and, one might even say, cooler than Bethany, which made me all the more appreciative that they embraced Bethany’s enthusiasm. It proved that appearances can be deceiving. When I’d first met Steph, I had wrongfully assumed that her goth style and reserved attitude meant that she thought she was superior. The same was true for my first impression of Sterling. His skater look and pensive stare had made me consider him a suspect for a murder that took place in the bakeshop. Little did I know at the time that nothing could be further from the truth. Sterling was one of the kindest and most self-aware men that I had ever met. He had become like a younger brother to me, and Stephanie like a younger, albeit much edgier, sister.
I was more like Bethany. I had always admired classmates who were free spirits and able to express themselves artistically, but it wasn’t until I went to culinary school that I really found my place and calling—in the kitchen.
Steph stocked the pastry case while Bethany boxed up the rainbow macarons.
“You want me to get a soup on?” Sterling asked.
“That would be great.” I noticed that he already had the recipe I had left on the counter. I joined him at the stove and dropped my voice. Sterling had become a confidant and I appreciated his perspective. He’d only been in Ashland for the past year, which gave him different insight than the rest of the team. “I talked to Lance,” I said, pouring olive oil into the stockpot.
“What did he say?” Sterling reviewed the recipe.
“He wants me to talk to Thad.”
“Really?” He tapped the index card with the recipe written in Mom’s beautiful cursive on the counter.
“Yeah, but he was very Lance-like about it.” I opened a nearby cupboard and retrieved a big mixing bowl. “Want me to peel the onions for you?”
Sterling placed the recipe in a holder next to the stove. “You bet. So, how was he?”
“To be honest, I was worried when I saw him. He was not his usual self. He even turned down my jelly doughnuts at first.”
“Oh, that’s bad.” Sterling ran cold water in the sink. “One day he polished off three of those in about ten minutes.”
I told him about what I had learned last night and my conversation with Lance while he scrubbed veggies and I peeled onions. “What do you think?” I asked, tossing the last of the peel into our compost bin. “If Thad killed Antony to keep Tracy’s pregnancy secret that would give him a motive, and he has the physical strength to have dragged the body into the pond. He had the oppo
rtunity, too. As one of OSF’s most senior set designers he would have access to every building in the complex. Maybe he hid somewhere and waited for Antony.”
“But didn’t you say that Lance found Antony’s body at the bottom of the stairs?”
“Yes. The Elizabethan theater has two entrances. He could have camped out and waited until Antony passed by and then followed him down the stairs with the dagger.”
“That sounds like something out of a Shakespeare play.” Sterling gave the veggies a final rinse and placed them on a cutting board.
“True. Lance hinted that he’d spotted Tracy and Thad making out in the theater before. What if Antony caught them?” I paused as a thought formed in my mind. “Maybe that’s what is on the DVD. What if they were making out on the side stage when dress rehearsal was being filmed?”
Sterling pushed up the sleeves of his charcoal hoodie. “Antony realized it when he watched the footage.” He lined up a row of carrots and began to chop them. “Maybe Thad was trying to get the DVD back from Antony when he killed him.”
“Right. So that means he’s probably in possession of the DVD. Lance said something about the props department. We got cut off, but do you think he could know about the DVD? Maybe Thad hid it somewhere among the props.”
I watched as Sterling cut the carrots lengthwise and then in half. His knife skills had dramatically improved, thanks in part to Carlos. Carlos had showed him how to protect his thumb while holding the knife and educated him on how every knife had its own purpose and should be used accordingly.
“Could be. Why would Tracy’s pregnancy be such a huge secret, though?” Sterling asked, sliding the chopped carrots into the soup pan on the stove. “It’s hardly like this is the 1950s or something. It’s Ashland, and as long as they were both consenting adults why would it matter?”
“Good question. I thought about that, too. Lance would never fire her. I guess she would potentially lose her lead once she starts to show. But Vera and the costume department would be able to find a way to adjust her costume at least for a while.”
Sterling stirred the carrots in the olive oil and then began to quarter the onions I had peeled. “Would a pregnancy make her contract vulnerable?”
“I don’t know. I’d have to ask Lance.” For this soup, we would rough-chop the veggies and let them simmer for twenty minutes to marry the flavors. “I must be missing something. What other motives could there be for killing Antony?”
“Lance’s motive is pretty clear.” Sterling tossed the quartered onions into the pot.
“Exactly, but he’s the one suspect who can’t have done it.”
Sterling brushed a strand of jet-black hair from his eye. “Probably, but you can’t rule him out just because he’s your friend.”
“You sound like Thomas.”
“Geez, Jules, are you trying to kill me? Don’t say that.” He winked.
“Sorry, but you’re right. I know there’s an outside possibility that Lance could have snapped. I’m choosing to believe him, though. What about Vera?”
“The costume designer?”
I handed Sterling a bunch of celery. “Yeah. She had the opportunity. She was the last person to see him alive. Judy admitted that she was basically blackmailing him. I haven’t figured out who John Duncan is, and what motive Brock could have had.” I sighed. “There are just so many options to consider.”
“Whoa, slow down.” Sterling motioned for a time-out. “You’re really wrapped up in this one.”
“I know. I guess it’s never been this personal before.”
“Sure. I get that, but you’re not going to help Lance by running around in circles. How much sleep have you had?”
“Not a lot,” I admitted.
“Maybe you should take a break this morning. I know you have a lot on your plate with the renovations and your mom’s wedding.”
“Those are good stresses.”
Sterling set the knife on the cutting board and placed his hand on my wrist. His voice was thick with emotion. “You don’t have to try to hold it all together for me. I know about loss, too. Remember?”
“What do you mean?” I bit the inside of my cheek.
The tenderness in his tone struck a nerve. “Your mom. The wedding. I know that you’re happy for her, but it has to be a little bittersweet, right?”
Tears welled. I fought them back. Sterling gripped me tighter. “It’s cool. It’s normal, and I think she feels it, too. Your dad was her first and longest love. That doesn’t go away.”
Salty tears pooled in my eyes. Until this very moment, I had never considered that I was anything but happy for Mom. Then I thought about how many memories of my dad had been surfacing lately. I hadn’t made the connection to the wedding. I thought it was because of the expansion and the fact that I had finally made a decision to stay in Ashland for good. Sterling’s words hit me.
I wiped a tear from beneath my eye. “Is it that obvious?”
He gave my arm a final squeeze and shook his head. “Only to me. Remember, I’ve been where you are. The thought of my dad remarrying sent me into a really dark place.”
“Right.” I saw the pain in his clenched jaw and rigid posture.
“Except she turned out to be a raging nightmare who was only out for his money.” He laughed, but it wasn’t a happy laugh. “You don’t have to worry about that with the Professor. He adores your mom. She’s going to be in good hands, you’re not going to lose her, and you are going to be fine. It might be kind of tender for a while. It’s weird how it sneaks up on you, grief. I think it’s because the people who leave us leave pieces of themselves behind.” He ran his hand along the hummingbird tattoo on his forearm, a dedication to his mom.
“Seriously, how did you get this wise, and how did I get so lucky to have you stumble into the bakeshop?”
“Maybe your dad and my mom recognized that we’re kindred spirits and needed to meet. Don’t underestimate the power of divine intervention.”
I leaned on his shoulder and gave him a side hug. “Thanks, Sterling. I needed to hear that.” His words had had a calming effect on me. Was that part of the reason I’d been so consumed by the investigation into Antony’s death? Had I been worried at some level that I was losing Mom to the Professor? She had been gone more often and I hadn’t realized that I missed her.
“That’s what I’m here for. Well, that and soup.” He picked up the knife and returned to chopping.
“I’m going to take you up on your offer and take a break. I don’t think I can sleep but I’ll take a quick walk through Lithia Park and clear my head.”
“Take your time,” Sterling said.
I left with a small smile. Once I stepped outside I power walked to Lithia Park, found a secluded bench, and let the tears spill.
Chapter Twenty-three
The revelation that Mom’s wedding had triggered memories and a longing for my dad was strangely comforting. When he died, the grief felt unsurmountable, like it would be with me forever. Now it felt like an old friend. In a way, missing him made me feel closer to him than I had in years. The crisp morning air, scent of blossoming lilacs, and the sound of chirping birds flitting between the deciduous trees enveloped me as I sobbed on the bench. Lithia Park had been a touchpoint and one of my favorite escapes after my dad died. It felt familiar to let go of my other worries and sink into sadness. I lost my sense of time as tears flowed and I opened myself up to memories of my dad twirling me in the grassy area nearby. I could almost feel his firm grip on my wrists and the feeling of freedom as we spun in a circle faster and faster until my feet hit the air. We were a happy and carefree threesome, Dad, Mom, and me. They invited me into their love, encouraging me to ask questions and pursue my passions. I’m sure they must have had stresses with starting a bakeshop and raising a young daughter, but they never let it show. Torte and my childhood were idyllic and filled with affection and plenty of comforting treats.
In the first few years without him the bakeshop felt
empty, but not anymore. Mom had kneaded, rolled, pressed, and baked her way through loss. She had created a space of comfort and warmth and now it was my turn to carry on our family legacy.
I exhaled and brushed away tears. Thank goodness for friends like Sterling. His insight had given me a fresh perspective that I didn’t even know I needed. Releasing the sadness I had been holding deep in my heart made me feel lighter. I stood, craned my neck, and drank in the gently bowing branches of the redwoods above me. These trees had stood, rooted into the ground, for decades. I was ready to do the same.
The plaza was showing the first signs of life as I walked by the Green Goblin, one of the businesses on our morning bread delivery route. The owner of the magic shop swept the sidewalk and gave me a hearty wave. “Morning! It’s going to be a magical day!”
I waved in return and continued. Hopefully, it would be a magical day and hopefully some of the magic would wear off on Lance. I wondered if the Professor had received the forensics report and whether Lance had been released yet. The minute I looked down the street I knew that the team had already opened for the day because a line, six people deep, had formed in front of Torte. Time to get moving, Jules. I picked up my pace and scooted past the small crowd waiting at the front door.
“Doughnuts do it every time, boss,” Andy said with a nod to the pastry case where Sterling was packaging up boxes of the raspberry-filled delights.
“Can you blame them?” Doughnuts were one of my weaknesses. Maybe it was because they weren’t in our daily rotation of pastries. For the moment, I had to get downstairs. Andy handed me a coffee. “Here you go, boss. You look like you could use a latte.”
Another One Bites the Crust (A Bakeshop Mystery) Page 19
