On Thin Icing (25 page)

Mercury rested her elbows on the island. “I think he was stealing from us.”

“Really? Why?”

“I was going over the books last night and they don’t add up. I told my husband that I didn’t trust Tony months ago. Things have been disappearing in the bar. Like Lance’s order. We’re barely scraping by, even this summer when every cabin in the resort was in use.”

Last summer I had a similar fear about Torte. Our cash flow was in the red, and I was worried that one of Mom’s employees had been skimming the profits. It turned out that Mom had been lending a helping hand to everyone in town. When the recession struck, she refused to let some of her loyal customers, who had lost their businesses, pay. It was a kind thing to do, but meant that we’d been saving every penny to get the bakeshop back in the black.

Mercury finished her coffee and poured herself a second cup. “I confronted him about it. Claiming that he lost Lance’s order made me snap. I’d had enough. Did you hear what he tried to do?”

“No, what?”

“He tried to sell Whitney our stock for double the price.” Mercury walked to the fridge, and took out the cream.

I had heard that, but I let her talk.

“That’s when I finally figured out what he’d been doing. He was pocketing the difference, plus who knows what else. I think he’s been scamming us for months.”

“How did he react when you confronted him?”

“He flipped out. It didn’t surprise me. I expected him to. He got defensive, said it wasn’t him. I asked him if it wasn’t him, then who was doing it. He wouldn’t say. I know he was lying. I planned to fire him yesterday. I just needed to talk to my husband first and make sure there wasn’t anything that I needed to do from a legal perspective before I let him go.” She swirled the cream in her coffee, turning it into a gorgeous beige color. My hands were still covered in flour, but as soon as I finished rolling the dough I could go for another cup.

“Now he’s dead.” Mercury rubbed her forehead. “Everything is a mess. News of a murder at the resort isn’t going to be good for business, and with Tony dead there’s no way we’re going to get back any of the money he stole from us.”

“Have you told Thomas and the Professor this?”

Mercury sipped the coffee. “Most of it. Not everything. I told them that I thought he was stealing from me. I didn’t tell them I was planning to fire him. I probably should have, but I was worried that they would think I had something to do with his death.”

They probably would, I thought to myself. Learning that an employee had been stealing from her was a potential motive for murder. Especially because it was evident that Mercury was desperate to make Lake of the Woods a success. I knew that feeling, and I respected her drive. At the same time I wondered if that drive could have led her to murder Tony.

Chapter Twenty-eight

“You should tell the Professor and Thomas everything. They’re both intelligent and reasonable, and they’ll understand, but if you don’t tell them and it comes out later, it won’t look good for you.” I didn’t tell her that at the moment I thought Thomas wasn’t being reasonable about Carlos.

Mercury hung her head. “I know. I don’t know why I didn’t. I know it was wrong. It’s been a stressful few days, what with the storm, losing power, Tony—the whole thing.”

“Stress has a tendency to make us do crazy things sometimes.”

“Thanks for listening. I appreciate it. You’re right. I’ll tell the police everything this morning.” She finished her coffee and put her cup in the sink. “It looks like the storm has cleared. A crew should be here sometime today. I can’t wait to have the phone lines up and running again. I have so much to tell my husband. He’ll never believe it.”

Pausing at the kitchen doors, she glanced around the room. “Is there anything else you need?”

“Nope. I’m all set.” I waved as she walked away. Mercury seemed sincere, but I was more confused than ever. I wasn’t going to take any chances. As soon as the Professor or Thomas showed up I was going to tell them what I’d learned.

I didn’t have to wait long. The Professor came in as I slid the first batch of sweet rolls into the oven.

“Good morning, Juliet.” He stared longingly at the coffeepot. “I see my nose did not deceive me. I thought I smelled a refreshing brew. Might I bother you for a cup?”

“No bother.” I wiped my hands and reached for a mug. “It’s been sitting for about a half hour. Would you like me to make you a fresh pot?”

The Professor scoffed. “You are so like your mother. She won’t touch coffee that’s been sitting for more than fifteen minutes. I say coffee is coffee.”

“I promise you coffee is not coffee.” I poured the remaining coffee into the mug and handed it to him. “Drink this. I’ll brew another pot, and you tell me the difference.”

“A challenge. I like it.” The Professor savored the stale coffee. “Tastes good to me.”

“Just wait.” I ground beans and added cold water to the coffeepot. “Once you taste this, you won’t be able to go back.”

“That could be true, but I’m afraid we don’t have the luxury of brewing fresh coffee in my line of work.”

“Good point. Well, at least you can experience it here.” I pressed start on the coffeepot and returned to the island. “It looks like the snow finally stopped.”

“Indeed. I’m expecting the coroner to arrive anytime this morning.”

“Any new leads in the case?” I wanted to see if the Professor said anything about Mercury first.

“It’s a messy business, murder.” The Professor ran his fingers along his beard.

“Did you talk to Mercury?”

“Not recently, why?”

I shared what I had learned from Mercury.

The Professor nursed his coffee and listened intently. Twice he stopped me and jotted something down in his notebook. “I think that money is at the root of this murder. You know what the Bard said?”

I shook my head.

“He said, ‘How quickly nature falls into revolt when gold becomes her object.’”

“So does this mean Carlos is no longer a suspect?” The coffeepot beeped. I poured the Professor a new cup. “Here.” I placed it in front of him. “See if you can taste the difference.”

Before he answered my question, the Professor carefully drank from each cup. He swished the coffee in his mouth like he was tasting wine. Finally, he placed his mug on the island. “You are correct, this one is better.” He pointed at the new cup of coffee. “However, this one is cold, so it might not be that we are comparing apples to apples here.”

“I can warm it in the microwave for you.”

“That won’t be necessary. You’ve convinced me.”

“Have I convinced you about Carlos?”

“Perhaps.” The Professor studied my face. “You know what the Bard said about love?”

“He said a lot about love, didn’t he? I mean isn’t most of his work about love?”

“Indeed. He is one of the most prolific writers on love of all time. Regardless, a quote keeps running through my mind, but I can’t remember if it’s from the Bard. I think this particular quote often sums up love and angst so eloquently.”

“What?”

“‘Expectation is the root of all heartache.’”

“Does that have something to do with Tony’s murder?” I wasn’t sure how we had moved from the subject of murder to love, or how the professor memorized so many quotes.

“Expectation always has something to do with murder.” He drained his coffee cup, leaving the first stale cup half empty. Then he stood and gave me a little bow. “As always, thank you for the stimulating conversation and my morning stimulant.”

“Happy to help.”

“Juliet, I want to caution you to be careful. We are closing in on the killer. I’ve found that desperation often leads to danger. I know that people tend to open up to you. You get that from your mother too, but remember, whoever killed Tony might still be dangerous. If you hear any other news, please come find me or Thomas right away.”

“Of course.” The Professor didn’t need to worry. There was no way I was going to try to take down a killer in the snowy woods. I was quite content to stay put in the lodge’s cozy kitchen.

“Before you go, can I ask you one more question?” I asked as the Professor started toward the door.

“Ask away.”

“It’s about our conversation yesterday.”

“You’re wondering about my intentions with your mother,” he answered before I could even form what I wanted to say.

“No, not exactly.”

“I assure you, Juliet, I have nothing but your mother’s best interest in mind.”

“I believe that. Definitely. But I guess I’m confused about what you want from
me
? Are you wanting me to say something to her?”

“Juliet, I trust your excellent judgment. Proceed however you feel most comfortable.” He gave me a half-smile and walked away.

What did he mean by that? Was he hinting that he wanted me to scope out the situation with Mom? I wasn’t sure I wanted to be in the middle. In fact, I knew I didn’t, but I had to admit that I was more than a little curious to find out how Mom felt about marriage in general. We’d never talked about it. There wasn’t a need. After Dad died Torte became Mom’s life. I had a new appreciation for Mom’s dedication to the bakeshop for all these years. The question was, was she ready to let go a little and focus on herself for a change? When I got home I was going to have to figure out a way to broach the subject.

For the next hour, I was a one-woman baking machine. I refused to let the altitude or the murder investigation rattle me. Sterling arrived a little after six. His dark hair, which he normally styled with gel to make it look intentionally messy, was tucked under a knit cap. His eyes were dull and his walk was sluggish.

“How late were you here last night?” He looked like he could use more sleep.

“Not too late. I don’t know, maybe eleven or so. Carlos really put on a show. Everyone loved him, and the wine helped, I’m sure. I left right after Lance.”

“You look like you’re still tired.”

“I didn’t sleep at all. My cabin was freezing. Was yours?”

“It was okay until the fire went out, and then yeah—it was like a freezer.”

“Exactly.” Sterling tied on an apron and waited for instructions. “Mine went out twice last night. I gave up the last time. I think I had every single blanket over me and I was still cold. Makes you appreciate the small things like heat, doesn’t it?”

“That’s for sure.” I grinned. “If it helps, I just made a fresh pot of coffee.”

“Now you’re speaking my language.” Sterling helped himself to coffee. “What do you want me to do?”

I went over the menu. “I’ve pretty much got breakfast under control. The sausages can be grilled right before we serve everything, so maybe you can start lunch prep.”

Sterling agreed. We brainstormed pizza flavor combinations over coffee. We decided to do a traditional red sauce with salami, black olives, and peppers, a white sauce with marinated chicken, sundried tomatoes, Kalamata olives, and artichoke hearts, and an olive oil base with pears, prosciutto, and gorgonzola.

He marinated chicken breasts in balsamic vinegar, olive oil, garlic, red onion, and a healthy dose of salt and pepper. I continued to rotate rolls in the oven. Once they cooled I frosted, and drizzled them with chocolate, marmalade, and jam.

Lance stopped in for coffee. “Did anyone else barely make it through the night?” He wore a new turtleneck sweater that covered his chin, a cashmere scarf, and tight black leather gloves. “I thought I might actually freeze to death.”

“Stop being so dramatic.” I handed him coffee.

“Darling, drama is what I do. I am drama.”

“Touché.” I raised my mug in a toast.

Lance blew me a kiss. “Did I miss out on any juicy details while I was trying to avoid hypothermia last night? I sent Thomas up to check on you, and Carlos was hot on your trail right after that. How does it feel to be pursued by two heavenly male specimens?”

“You sent Thomas to my cabin?”

“Darling, I was only trying to help you out. Plus, I can’t resist a good love triangle.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Don’t be pouty. It’s not a good look on you.” Lance tapped the bottom of his chin. “Chin up. And do tell, how did it go with your dueling leading men?”

“First of all, I don’t have dueling leading men.”

Lance looked to Sterling for support. “Don’t put me in the middle of this,” Sterling replied. The coffee perked him up. His eyes were as bright as the sky outside. He massaged a juicy chicken breast and winked at Lance. “I’m working on my chicken.”

“Or you are a chicken.” Lance flapped his arms. “Come play along, Sterling. I’m just having a bit of fun with Juliet.”

“She’s not your boss. A little fun could get me fired.”

“Ha! Like that would happen. Everyone in town knows that Torte’s become a gathering spot for teenage girls since Juliet had the brilliant idea to hire you.”

Sterling doused the chicken with olive oil. “Still, I’m not getting involved with this one.”

“You’re no fun.” Lance tossed his scarf over his shoulder.

“Hey, speaking of firing staff members, what do you know about Whitney?” I asked, trying to change the subject. If there was anything Lance liked more than a love triangle, I knew it would be murder.

He bit. “What do I know about her?”

“Yeah. How long have you known her? Did she come recommended by someone, or did you hire her sight unseen?”

Lance put his hand to his heart. “Ouch. How could you even consider that I’d hire anyone for the company sight unseen? That’s absurd. I happen to run one of the biggest and most famed festivals in the world, do you think I would really leave hiring a personal assistant up to fate? No, no, darling, Whitney was personally recommended and then vetted by the board.”

“Who recommended her?”

“Dean Barnes, of course. He’s her uncle.”

“Dean Barnes is Whitney’s uncle?”

“Didn’t I just say that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“What’s to tell, darling? I was in need of a personal assistant. I happened to mention it at our last board meeting, and Dean recommended his niece Whitney. We flew her up to Ashland for a series of interviews. She passed with flying colors. She might be young but she’s very mature for her age. Quite an eye for detail, too.”