Meet Your Baker (28 page)

“Well, I can tell you one thing. Richard Lord is
not
getting his hands on Torte. I know a way out.”

Chapter Forty-two

“How?” Mom picked up the contract.

“I have some money saved.”

“Oh no, don’t even think about it. I won’t accept it.”

“It’s not a choice, Mom. Plus, I’m investing. I want to be an official partner. Don’t you think I’m a better match for Torte than Richard Lord?” I puffed out my cheeks and stuck out my belly.

Mom laughed.

“From here on out I proclaim we’ll serve Costco muffins and frozen cream puffs. Watch the bottom line soar.” I did my best imitation of Richard’s voice.

“Enough.” Mom stopped me, still smiling. “All kidding aside, I want you to think about this, Juliet. This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want you to feel guilted into staying.”

I didn’t have to think about my decision. I knew exactly what I wanted in this moment—Torte.

“There’s nothing to think about.” I held Mom’s gaze. “I swear, this is what I want. I’m surer now than I have been about anything lately. Torte is staying in the family.”

“Why don’t you take some time to think about it?” Mom folded the contract in half and tucked it in her purse.

“That’s fine, but my answer’s going to be the same.”

What I didn’t tell Mom was that I had enough to pay off Richard and probably come close to evening the balance with our vendors. Doing so would deplete everything I’d saved for the restaurant Carlos and I were dreaming of opening, but I didn’t care. That dream was dead.

Mom started to busy herself with measuring flour and I returned to my peaches.

A sense of relief washed over me as I scored the puff pastry dough and filled it with the fruit. Yes, this is where I’m supposed to be. Investing in Torte would also mean that I could take on more responsibility and help Mom get the bakeshop back in the black.

I have to admit, I spent a good chunk of the next hour playing out telling Carlos in my head. Would he be angry? Would he understand? Did it even matter?

By the time Andy and Stephanie got in, I had shifted my focus to the future and mapped out the things I wanted to change in my head. First, we needed new ovens. That was going to take more cash than I had, but with Mom and me as a team, with some careful planning, and maybe a few extras, we could get there by next year. Maybe we could open for dinner every Friday night in the off season and pull in some extra money that way. Or, now that there were two of us we could expand our catering contracts—hosting local parties and events. The options were endless and my adrenaline was pumping with excitement.

I could see Stephanie trying to catch my eye. “Stephanie, I’m so sorry,” I said, bringing a tray of peach pastries to the front. “You’re probably going to be mad at me, but I went looking for Sterling last night.”

“You did?” She smacked on a wad of gum.

I handed her the tray. “Guess what? I found him.”

“Is he okay? Why didn’t he call me?”

“Deputy Adams took him in for questioning last night. He probably hasn’t had a chance to call you yet.”

She almost dropped the tray. I caught the edge seconds before my pastries would have hit the floor.

“It’s going to be okay.” I grabbed her arm and we set the tray on the counter together. “I believe him. I think Deputy Adams will too.”

“I can’t believe you did that! He’s totally freaked about the police.”

“He told me all about it. He’ll be fine.”

“How can you be so sure? The police aren’t chill, you know.”

“Deputy Adams is.”

She scrubbed the glass on the pastry case with a rag. “Whatever. I thought you were going to help.”

“Stephanie, look at me. I know Deputy Adams. He’s a good guy. Sterling’s going to be fine.”

Ignoring me, she placed the peach pastry in the case and huffed to the kitchen for another tray. That didn’t go as I planned. Hopefully I was right about Thomas. If he booked Sterling for murder, Stephanie might murder me.

The first customers arrived and I ran out of time to worry about Stephanie or Sterling. We were slammed. This was exactly what we needed. If we could keep a steady stream of customers for the remainder of the season, Torte would be back in good shape in no time.

Mom kept catching my eye as we baked across the island from each other all morning. A few stern looks weren’t going to change my mind. Once I make a decision, I stick with it. Mom knew that. She was playing tough, but I noticed a tiny shift in her shoulders as if she was absorbing the idea and a weight was lifting.

“Got a minute?” Thomas poked his head in the kitchen. He looked weary. I wondered if he’d slept at all last night.

I wiped flour on my apron. “You good?” I asked Mom.

“Go, go.” She shooed me on and offered Thomas cookies, coffee, and a breakfast croissant sandwich. All of which he turned down. Mom frowned as I followed him out of the kitchen. She caught my arm and lowered her voice, “Be nice to him, he looks out of sorts.”

I snarled. “I’m always nice, what are you talking about?”

She swiped me with a dish towel.

“Okay, okay, I’ll be nice.”

Thomas found a booth and motioned for me to sit.

“What’s up?”

He rubbed his temples. “I’m ready for this case to be done.”

“What happened with Sterling last night?”

“Not much. Sounds like he told you everything he told me.”

“Poor kid. You don’t think he did it, do you?”

Thomas laced his fingers together and stretched his arms out. “I don’t know.” He sounded dejected. “Honestly, at this point I’m at a loss.”

“I know the feeling.”

Thomas shook his head and laughed. “Right, Detective Capshaw.”

“Hey, I’m just as invested in this case as you are. Plus, you have to admit I’ve been quite helpful, if I do say so myself.”

“No doubt you will say so and won’t let me forget it for years to come, right?”

“Right.”

“I’ve missed you, Juliet.” Thomas smiled. His face lightened. What was Mom talking about? I’m nice.

“If only the lab would get moving,” Thomas continued. “The fires are backing everything up. We’re short staffed and having a hard time getting stuff in and out of Medford.”

The nearest “big” city is Medford, thirteen miles to the north. Of course “big” equates to a population of seventy-six thousand. It’s the opposite of Ashland—it has big box retail outlets and chain restaurants. However, if you need a flight, or a lab in Thomas’s case, there was no escaping a trip to the big city.

“When are you supposed to hear?”

“Yesterday, two days ago. It’s never taken this long. I want to see the DNA results. DNA doesn’t lie. Unlike people.”

“Who do you think is lying?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Everyone?”

“Hey, that reminds me.” I scooted forward and dropped my voice. “I got a call from Caroline in the middle of the night last night. She sounded pretty out of it, but said something about Lance. She thinks she remembers Lance having something to do with her accident.”

Thomas scratched the stubble on his cheeks. “Lance, huh.”

“Does that mean anything to you?”

“Nope, but I’ll follow up again.”

“I can too. I have another bakery order to deliver to the theater later this afternoon.”

“You’re on the bench again. No more meddling for you, my friend.”

“Come on, how’s a girl supposed to have any fun around here?”

“I seem to remember you used to be up for all kinds of fun.” Thomas’s voice changed.

Uh-oh, not the serious shift again. I quickly changed topics.

“Did you have something you wanted to talk to me about? I should probably get back to the kitchen in a minute here.”

“What?” Thomas looked distracted.

“You asked if I had a minute…”

“Right.” He glanced out the window. “No, I gotta go. I’ll let you get back to work.”

He hurried outside. I lost sight of him in the smoke.

Returning to the kitchen, I washed my hands and read through Lance’s order. He wanted six dozen assorted pastries delivered by four o’clock.

“Want me to work on this?” I asked Mom, holding up the order form.

“That would be great. I’ll keep plugging away on our regular lineup.” Mom cracked eggs into the mixer. “What did Thomas want?”

“I’m not sure. He didn’t say.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Mom murmured.

“What?”

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything.” She tossed eggshells into the compost bin.

“I know you didn’t say anything, but you
implied
something.”

“Me? Never.” She flipped the mixer on high.

I knew her tricks. I also suspected that in Mom’s dream world, I’d get back together with Thomas. Highly unlikely. But, for the moment, I’d let her think she’d won.

Chapter Forty-three

I ignored Thomas’s warning and delivered Lance’s order myself. Mom and Andy stayed at Torte to finish closing for the afternoon. Stephanie left early for a class. More likely she wanted to go find Sterling.

Juggling two rectangular pastry boxes, I climbed the steps that led up to the theater. Usually I can breeze up the steps, but I had to rest halfway up. The smoke stuck in my lungs, making me wheeze.

“I’m here for Lance,” I told the box office attendant.

“Oh, it’s you. Did you hear from Caroline?”

“Yes, she’s doing better. Thanks for all your help yesterday.” A thought popped into my head. “Hey, do you know if Lance usually attends the performances? I mean, this far into the season I was surprised to see him at the show the other night.”

“Why do you ask?”

I tried to keep my body language loose. “No reason, really. I just wondered if I should go to his office or if he’s over at the Bowmer for the matinee?”

She didn’t look convinced, but answered anyway. “I don’t think he normally goes to the performances. I mean, the stage manager runs the show. Do you want me to call and see if he’s in his office?”

“Nah, that’s okay. I know the way. If he’s not there I’ll head over to the theater. Thanks again.” I waved and scurried off before she could stop me.

Why had Lance been backstage the night of Caroline’s accident? I felt like a complete dunce for missing this critical clue.

Lance would have been in the way backstage. There was no reason for him to be there, unless he knew it was his chance to silence Caroline.

I stopped in mid-stride.
Am I en route to deliver pastries to a killer?

“Forgot something, darling?” Lance’s voice behind me made the boxes tip in my arms.

“Easy, easy.” Lance caught up to me and took the boxes from my arms. “I take it these are for me?”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded and took a step back.

“What’s with you? Jumpy much?”

I laughed nervously.

“A timid Juliet. My, my, how intriguing.”

I took another step back.

“Darling, I don’t bite. Well, maybe into one of these delish little goodies, but what’s with the shirking? Are you trying to dazzle me with your acting prowess?”

“No, it’s just been a long day. I better get back to the shop.”

Lance grabbed my arm with his free hand. “Ta, ta, ta. Not so fast. I owe you for these.”

I tried to pull away from his grasp. “It’s okay, you can drop payment by Torte another time.”

“And miss a chance for a private tête-à-tête with the lovely Juliet? I think not.” He tugged me in the direction of the stairs leading to the basement. “Follow me.”

You’re an idiot,
I scolded myself as Lance forced me downstairs. No cell phone. I didn’t tell Mom I was coming back to Torte. No one would miss me until tomorrow morning. Was I being led to my death?

A group of actors sat huddled on black leather couches in the green room as we entered the basement. They read scripts and watched the stage crew dismantle the matinee sets and rebuild the evening stage on television screens.

I waved animatedly as we passed. “Hi, everyone, break a leg tonight.” This was good. Someone would remember seeing me here.

Lance turned around and glared at me. “Feeling friendly, are we? Let my actors work.”

He handed one of the pastry boxes to an actor in green tights. “Sustenance.”

The actor thanked Lance and immediately opened the box and devoured an Italian cream puff in one bite.

“Hey, man, share.” Another actor jumped from the couch and grabbed the box.

Lance ignored their bickering. “Let them fight it out. I believe we have a matter of payment to settle?”

“You look like you’re busy. I’ll come back.” I started to back up toward the stairs.

“Nonsense.” Lance passed the other treat box to a costume designer who poked her head out of the wig shop. “Come with me.”

I counted eight actors, three costume designers, and a lighting tech who had all seen me. Lance wouldn’t risk hurting me after all those people had seen us together, right? I followed him down a narrow, windowless hallway, around a bend, and up another flight of stairs.

He held the door open and shut it behind us after I stepped inside. His office matched his theater persona. Awards lined the far wall—trophies and plaques touting accolades for his artistic vision. His desk was strategically placed in front of bay windows with a view of Lithia Park below. Every spare inch of space held stacks of scripts, some marked with red pen and notes in the margins, others in manila envelopes waiting eagerly to be read. It made me wonder about anxious playwrights pacing, hoping, and praying that their work would make it out of the slush pile.

“Sit, sit,” Lance ordered, pointing at the plush couch tucked in the corner. “I know I have a checkbook around here somewhere.” He riffled through his desk drawers.

“Impressive collection of awards.” I moved to the far wall and scanned the shiny gold statues.

“That’s not even half of them.” Lance removed his thick-framed glasses. He blew on them and cleaned them on his sleeve.

Seriously, how could the man wear a suit in this weather?

“Jules, you positively intrigue me. Why are you so jumpy?”

“I’m not jumpy.”

“You’re shifting like an actor with stage fright.”