A Batter of Life and Death (18 page)

“Vandals? Kids?”

“But who, and why?”

“Yeah, good point. I don’t know. It looks like someone wanted to make it look like we’d been vandalized. Is anything missing?”

Mom shook her head. “Not that I can see. I checked the cash register. Everything’s intact. It looks worse than it really is. Mainly someone shattered our vases and threw some flour around.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Who breaks in and doesn’t steal anything?”

“I was wondering the same thing.”

“Did you call the Professor?”

Mom swept glass into a dust pan and then dumped it in the garbage. “Not yet. It’s so early.”

It was almost five
A.M.

“Thomas is meeting me here early. Do you think we should wait until he gets here to clean up? There could be evidence, fingerprints or something.”

Mom paused with the broom in her hand. “I didn’t even think about that. I was focused on trying to get it picked up before customers start arriving. Maybe you should call him.”

I agreed. Thomas sounded like he was still asleep when he answered. Once I explained that Torte had been vandalized, he perked up and promised to be over in a few minutes.

The way the flowers and our baking supplies had been tossed around didn’t make any sense to me. Someone must have been intentionally trying to make it look like kids. Could they have been after something else? But then why wouldn’t they have stolen cash out of the register, or any of our expensive bakery equipment?

“Is the door broken too?” I asked, craning my neck toward the front.

“No. It was unlocked when I got here,” Mom replied. “Did you give anyone a key?”

“No. I didn’t give anyone a key. The only people with keys are you and me. Well, and Andy, Stephanie, and Sterling.”

Mom frowned. She rested the broom on the pastry case. “You don’t think one of the kids could have been involved in this?”

“No way.”

She looked relieved. “Me neither.”

I walked to the counter, careful not to slip on the flour coating the floor. “Do you think this could have something to do with Marco’s murder?”

“We agreed that we’re going to leave that to the Professor and Thomas.” Mom gave me a stern look.

“I know, but it’s just really strange. What if someone broke in looking for something? I realized last night all of Marco’s things are still here. Maybe there was a clue in his supplies. Maybe someone broke in to steal that and tried to make it look like a break-in.”

Mom swatted me on the back with the broom. “Listen, young lady, I know that Doug doesn’t want either of us mixed up in this investigation.”

I pretended to be injured from the broom. “Child abuse.”

She laughed. Then her face turned serious. “Juliet, think about what happened this summer.” She pointed to my shoulder.

Without thinking I covered my scar with my hand. “I know. You’re right. It’s just once I get on a loop like this I can’t stop myself. I wish I hadn’t been the one to discover Marco’s body. Maybe then I could separate myself from it a little more.”

Mom reached out and squeezed my wrist. Her hands were warm and soft on my skin. She held my gaze. “Have you considered the idea that one of the reasons you’ve immersed yourself in this case is because of Carlos?” She ran her hands over my fingers. “I noticed you haven’t been wearing your wedding ring.”

I looked at my bare hand. It felt weird not to wear my ring. Sometimes I caught myself trying to twist it and would be taken aback when I only felt my own skin. I wasn’t even quite sure why I’d taken it off. I guess when Carlos and I agreed to take a break until next year, I figured my ring would be a constant reminder. Having it resting safely in the nightstand next to my bed felt symbolic of our relationship. He was often in the back of my mind, but not actually present.

She released my hand and stared at me. Her wise brown eyes seemed to know exactly what I was thinking. Thankfully she didn’t say more, she just gave me a nod and propped the broom near the window. If I was honest with myself, I did wonder if there was something more than symbolic behind my bare finger.

It had been surprisingly easy to push my longing and nagging worry about what was next for Carlos and me from my head. If I didn’t think about him, was I even missing him? Or had I manufactured a way to protect my heart? The truth was that I was no closer to figuring it out.

Thomas appeared outside the window—a welcome reprieve from having to dive any deeper into my thoughts, at least for the moment.

Mom opened the door for him and greeted him with a welcoming hug. She’s not someone who holds back when it comes to expressing her feelings. Whether someone has known her for five minutes or five decades, she makes everyone she meets feel welcome and at ease.

“Morning, Mrs. Capshaw.” Thomas towered over Mom. I inherited my height from my dad’s side of the family. Thomas whistled as he looked around the bakeshop. “You weren’t kidding, someone really messed this place up.”

“I started to sweep the floor.” Mom motioned to the broom. “But I haven’t touched anything else yet.”

“Good thinking.” Thomas pulled out his iPad. “When did you arrive this morning?”

“A little after four-thirty.”

“No sign of forced entry?” Thomas surveyed the door and front windows.

“It was unlocked when I arrived,” Mom replied.

Thomas typed something onto his iPad. “Anything missing?”

“Nothing.” Mom shook her head.

“Really?” Thomas looked up from his notes. “Did you check the register?”

“Yep.”

“What about the office? Do you keep any cash in there?”

“No. I checked everywhere. There’s nothing missing. It’s just one big mess. Like someone was mad.”

Thomas scowled. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Exactly!” I jumped in. “This has to be related to Marco’s murder. Who would do something like this to Torte?”

“Uh-oh.” Thomas gave Mom a knowing look. “Here we go again.”

“You tell her, Thomas.” Mom waved her finger at me. “I don’t want her involved in this at all. We both know what a close call she had.”

“I’ve already told her that.” Thomas addressed Mom like I wasn’t even in the room.

“Knock it off, you guys. I’m right here, and for the record I’m not inserting myself into the investigation, I’m simply sharing my thoughts as a witness to this vandalism.”

“Right.” Thomas scowled and looked at Mom. “She’s not going to stay out of this, is she?”

Mom sighed. “Doesn’t look like it.”

Thomas placed his iPad on the counter. He reached behind him and held a pair of handcuffs up. “I thought so. I came prepared.” He turned to Mom. “Where should we keep her?”

“That front booth might be nice.” Mom grinned. “She’ll have a good view from there.”

Thomas stepped toward me, dangling the cuffs. “Let’s go, Jules. Get moving.”

“You are not cuffing me.” I took a step back.

He was quicker than me. Within a flash he grabbed my hands and slapped a cuff on my wrist. He smelled like he just stepped out of the shower, like Ivory soap. I could feel heat radiating from his trim body, and feel the warmth of his breath on my cheek.

My heart skipped a beat.

He looked down at me and gave me a sly grin. His eyes lingered on mine for a moment. They reminded me of the sea in Capri. His breath sounded shallow. He caressed my free hand. I could feel the heat of his touch like a pulsing beat up my entire arm. He must have felt it too.

The moment vanished. He dropped my hand and grabbed the cuffs. “Let’s go, trouble. You’re coming with me.” Thomas started to drag me toward the front of the bakeshop.

“All right. You’ve made your point.” I threw my free hand in the air as a sign of surrender. “I promise. I’ll stay out of the case. Just let me go. We have so much cleaning to do and customers are going to be here soon.”

Thomas scrunched his face and looked at Mom. “What do you think, Mrs. Capshaw? Should we trust her?”

“Well, she did promise.” Mom caught my eye and winked.

Thomas unlocked the cuff, but before he loosened it, he gave me one final warning. “You heard your mother, you promised. It’s just baking for you, no more murder. Got it?”

“You two are ridiculous.” I shook my hand free.

Thomas scanned the dining room. “Let me do a walk-through. I need to call the Professor. I’m pretty sure he’s going to want to dust for prints.”

Mom rubbed her temples. “Does this mean we can’t bake?”

“I’m afraid not. I’ll try to be as quick as I can, but you’re probably going to need to tell customers that it’s going to be a little wait for their morning fix.”

Mom sighed and looked at me. “What about the guest chefs? When are they coming in this morning?”

“Not this early,” I said. “We’re not filming until later this morning. I don’t think either of them has anything major to do. Linda is going to whip some cream, and I think Nina’s basically finished with her dessert.”

Thomas walked through the front of the shop and the kitchen in a grid, stopping every once in a while to examine a spot on the floor or to inspect something on the counter. When he finished his initial survey he returned to Mom and me. “I’m calling the Professor. I don’t like the looks of this.”

“Why?” Mom bit her fingernails.

“Hold on a sec.” Thomas stepped outside and made a call. I assumed he must be calling the Professor. When he returned his face was solemn. “What about the office? Did you check in there?”

“No.” Mom swallowed. “What are you worried about?”

Thomas went straight to the office. Mom and I followed him, giving each other quizzical looks. What was he so fired up about?

The office was untouched, except for one major thing. All of Marco’s supplies, recipes—everything was missing.

Chapter Twenty-two

Thomas shook his head. “I should have taken all this to the police station.” He blew out a long gasp of air. “I take it someone unlocked this door.”

“It was locked.” I looked at Mom. She agreed.

Thomas scowled.

“So the Professor thinks this
is
related to Marco’s murder?” I asked.

“Looks that way. I should have come by last night.”

Mom patted his shoulder. “It’s not your fault. Doug will understand.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Capshaw.” Thomas gave her a glum smile. “I knew better, but I thought it could wait.”

“Thomas, Mom’s right. Don’t sweat it. I should have called you earlier. I’ve just been so busy with the competition. Here’s the thing though, Linda Belle said that Marco stole her recipe for banana pudding. I found it in with his recipes last night. Do you think Linda could have done this? Maybe she came back looking for her recipe?”

“Why would she damage the rest of the bakeshop?” Mom asked.

“Good point.” Thomas let out another long breath. “No, I should have come by last night. This is my fault.”

Mom snapped into counseling mode. “Thomas, whoever did this is to blame, not you. Now what do we need to do to help you and get this place cleaned up?” Her voice was calm and commanding.

Thomas responded by shaking his head and squaring his shoulders. “Let me run over to headquarters and grab some supplies. The Professor’s on his way.”

“Is there anything we can do in the meantime?” Mom asked.

“No, thank you. I’ll be right back.” He hurried away.

Mom shook her head. “He’s always been too hard on himself.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t you remember back when you two were in high school? If the football team suffered a loss he took it on his shoulders. When your dad died, he took such responsibility with you, like it was his duty to help heal you.”

“He did?” I remember Thomas always being around to drive me to the bakeshop or OSF for rehearsal after school and how he used to plan thoughtful dates—hikes on Mount Ashland, rafting on the Rogue River, and late-night picnics in Lithia Park. I didn’t remember him seeming consumed with my dad’s death. More with me. He was just always there, like another member of our family.

Mom raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you remember how you complained about how he didn’t give you any space?”

“Yeah, but how was that about Dad?”

“It was.” Mom fiddled with a button on her linen shirt. “He was trying to watch out for you.”

The Professor rapped on the door. Mom fluffed her bob and scooted to the front to let him in.

I thought about what she said. Had Thomas really been trying to help me get over losing my dad? I never considered that. We were so young, and by the time we graduated all I wanted was to get out of town. I wanted freedom. I got it too. Maybe more than I intended.

That was food for thought. Had I been drawn to Carlos because he was the opposite of Thomas? Why couldn’t self-reflection be easy? It all felt like too much work right now.

The Professor stepped cautiously over the broken glass as Mom led him to the office.

“Juliet, good morning. Or is it even morning? Not in my book.”

I grinned. “What are you talking about? Mom and I have been up for hours.”

“What can I say, beauty does dawn with the rising light.”

“Shakespeare again?” I asked.

“No, that’s me.” The Professor bowed.

Mom fanned herself. “So romantic, isn’t he?” She pretended to faint.

The Professor scooped her in his arms. “My lady. Doth jest.”

Thomas sprinted in, out of breath. He held a box of supplies in his arms. “I’m really sorry about this, Professor. I know I should have followed protocol. This one is all on me.”

The Professor released Mom. He took the box from Thomas. “Not to worry. Let’s proceed with the investigation, shall we?”

Mom and I tried to stay out of their way as they dusted the countertops, filing cabinet, and doorknobs for fingerprints. The Professor knelt by the broken vases in the front. He removed his moleskin notebook from his jacket and jotted something down.

“What are you looking for?” Mom asked.

“Shoe prints.” The Professor pointed to a set of prints leading to the front door. “I think we can safely assume that our perpetrator wasn’t book smart. He broke vases filled with water and then stepped through it to make his getaway.”