Caught Bread Handed (19 page)

I stopped and peered in the window. As I stared through the window I noticed something else—the front door was open. Not again. My stomach dropped and I started to back away. A flash of movement caught my eye. I looked up to see Alan Matterson behind the front counter. What was Alan doing here?

Before I could decide what to do next, Alan sprinted to the front door and caught my arm.

“Juliet! What are you doing, man? Trying to give me a heart attack?” He sounded breathless. Sweat dripped from his forehead. His fingers dug into my arm.

“Alan, you're hurting me.” I yanked my arm free and almost dropped the delivery box.

Alan looked startled. “Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. You surprised me, that's all.”

“You surprised me. What are you doing here? This is a crime scene.” I pointed to the caution tape.

“No, no, you got this all wrong. This isn't what it looks like.” Alan's eyes widened. He glanced to both sides as if we were being watched.

Why was he being so jumpy? Had he lied about Rosalind getting into a fight with Mindy? Maybe he was back at the scene of the crime because he'd left a piece of evidence behind.

A chill ran up my spine. I had learned my lesson and there was no way I was staying here with Alan. I started to back away. He reached for my arm again. I was about to scream when the sound of a screen door slamming banged nearby. Richard Lord stepped out onto the porch of the Merry Windsor. He was talking on his cell phone and he didn't sound happy.

Richard Lord wasn't exactly my favorite person, but I knew that if I screamed he would do something.

“Stop trying to grab me,” I said to Alan. “You're not making yourself look very innocent right now, and Richard Lord is right there. I'll scream for help if you try to touch me again.”

Alan threw his hands in the air. He looked absolutely shocked. “Juliet, what you saying? I would never hurt you. I'm sorry. I didn't want you to book outta here without letting me explain, that's all, man, really.”

I wasn't sure that I believed him. “Try me. What are you doing snooping through a crime scene?”

“I wasn't snooping.”

“That's what it looked like to me. You're sneaking around in the dark.”

“I know.” Alan sighed. “It's not what you think, though. I didn't hurt Mindy and I'm not trying to hurt you.”

“How about if you tell me what you were doing then?”

“I'm digging around for my contract.”

“Contract?”

He nodded and looked around to make sure no one was nearby. Why was he so paranoid? “Mindy and I were going to hook up, partner together, you know.”

“What?” I shifted the box in my arms. “But I thought you hated Mindy. You yelled at her at the meeting for taking over your dream.”

“I know. She was one cool chick. That was her plan. I was supposed to wig out and make it look like I was totally pissed.”

“She asked you to yell at her? Alan, none of this makes sense.”

“Yeah. I know. It was part of her plan. She thought it would be cool if we kept things quiet—laid low, you know. At least at first.”

“Quiet about partnering?”

“Yeah. Mindy wasn't getting along with Reggie, the cook she hired. He was supposed to be some hotshot cook from Portland, but he didn't know his way around the kitchen at all. And his sanitary practices were terrible. Mindy and I met last week. She offered me a job as head chef and a small piece of the business.”

“But I thought you hated chain restaurants like ShakesBurgers.”

“I do, but I'm out of dough. I put everything I had into the Jester. I'm too old to start over again. Mindy told me that I could add some of my street food to the menu. She was going to let me create a daily Ashland special. They've done that in some of their other locations and I guess it's been a success. She was a smart businesswoman. She knew that the town was upset about them coming in and about me losing the restaurant. That wasn't her fault. It was mine. I was in over my head. I should have stayed with the food cart. Now I'm working for the man. Go figure.”

“Running a restaurant and food booth are two very different things, aren't they?”

Alan nodded. “Yeah. Totally. I didn't realize what I was getting into. I wish I had never bothered, but anyway, Mindy thought that Ashland would embrace ShakesBurgers if she hired me as the new chef and if I was a partial owner she thought that would help lend some credibility.”

“That is smart.”

“I know, but we never had a chance to finalize the contracts. I was supposed to meet her here the morning that she was killed. We were going to sign the paperwork and she was going to cut Reggie loose.”

My mind raced to keep up. Alan and Mindy were going to partner together and Alan was going to be her head chef. That changed everything. Why would Alan kill Mindy if she was helping to get him out of debt and giving him a job?

“What are you doing here then?”

“I have to find the paperwork. I'm not sure that the Professor believes me. I told him all of this, of course, but I don't have any proof. Mindy did. Without proof, it's just my word, man, that's all. For all the Professor knows, I'm making it up to protect myself. He said they looked for the contracts, but couldn't find them. I know it's stupid but I couldn't sleep this morning. Mindy gave me a key.” Alan reached into his pocket and held up a silver key. “I thought I would come by before everyone was up and have a quick look myself. Maybe Mindy hid the paperwork. She was worried that Reggie was going to be upset—even violent—when she fired him. She wanted me here with her as backup when she did it. I figured she made sure to keep the contracts somewhere out of sight so that he didn't see them.”

“Why did she think that Reggie might get violent?”

Alan shrugged. “She didn't say. She just asked me if I would be willing to be here when she let him go. I said I would, although I wasn't sure what help a potbellied old hippie would be to her. She didn't care. She just made me promise that I would be here.”

“What about Mathew? Why don't you talk to him? He and Mindy were partners. I'm sure he has copies of all the contracts.”

“Nah. Mindy said this was a deal just between her and me. I got the vibe that she and Mathew were on the outs.”

“And you haven't seen Reggie since? Do you think there's any way that he could have known that Mindy was going to fire him?”

“He might have split. I haven't seen him.” Alan frowned. “I don't think he knows, unless he found the contracts. Do you think he could have? Maybe that's why they're missing. If he found them he could have ripped them up and no one would have ever known what Mindy was planning.”

“Maybe, but there must be digital versions somewhere even if he destroyed the paper copies,” I said. My arms were getting tired. I shifted the box. “You've told the Professor and Thomas all of this, right?”

Alan nodded. “Everything. I told them everything.”

“Even about Reggie?”

“Yeah.”

“That's good.” The sky was turning brighter. I needed to get to OSF, figure out what Lance had learned last night and get back to Torte. “Alan, I believe you but I don't think it's a good idea for you to be sneaking around inside whether you have a key or not. Hey, speaking of a key, did you tell the Professor that you have a key?”

“No. I didn't.”

“I think you should call him and tell him that Mindy gave you a key. That might be the proof you're looking for, and make sure you explain that Mindy was scared about being alone with Reggie. That might be important.”

“I will, and sorry again if I scared you. I really didn't mean to, man.”

At that moment Richard Lord shouted, “I'm done” into his phone and slammed it on the porch railing. He caught me staring at him, glared, turned on his heels, and stormed back inside.

“It's okay,” I said, returning my attention to Alan. Alan may have just cleared himself and given me a new suspect to focus on—Reggie. After I met with Lance I intended to find out everything I could about Mindy's cook.

 

Chapter Twenty

I repositioned the box and headed for OSF. The theater complex was a short walk up the hill from downtown. In the summer “the bricks,” as locals call the courtyard in front of the Elizabethan and Bowmer theaters, would be packed with tourists milling around before a show. The green stage outside hosts a variety of musicians and artists who entertain theatergoers while they wait for the featured performance.

Not surprisingly the bricks were deserted this morning. I couldn't believe that Lance was in his office this early. He claimed that he used the off season to catch up on his beauty sleep, so he must have something particularly juicy to share if he was willing to drag himself out of bed before the sun.

I wondered if the theater would be locked. When I made it to the front door there was a note taped to the window. It was written in Lance's dramatic scroll:
Come around back.

Lance's office is on the east side of the building. He has a corner office with windows that look out onto the courtyard and down into Lithia Park. To reach the back entrance I passed the ivy-covered walls of the Elizabethan theater. The theater is modeled in Shakespearean fashion with balconies and open-air seating. It's truly one of the most spectacular places to watch a production. There's nothing like the scent of honeysuckle and the glimmer of stars above while taking in a world-class show.

The back door had been propped open with a rock. I let myself in and headed to Lance's office. I knew my way around the theater complex. When I was younger I had participated in a number of productions. The company often hires child actors from town as extras or background singers in some of the musicals. I loved getting to dress up as a kid. The props and costume department were like a playground. The other kid actors and I would fence with fake swords and dress up in ornate powdered wigs and billowing skirts.

As I entered my teenage years the lure of being on stage dissipated for me. I preferred to watch the action on stage from the comfort of the seats. Since I'd been home Lance had been trying to convince me to give it another go. I'd been successful thus far in holding him at bay, but he was persistent.

“Delivery!” I called from the hallway.

“It's open, come in,” Lance replied from his office.

I walked inside. His office was a testament to OSF's world-renowned reputation. Playbills and awards lined the walls. Plaques and statues were displayed on shelves above his desk. Lance had a vision for OSF and had been successful in seeing it through to fruition.

“Darling, you're right on time.” He sat behind a mahogany desk. Black reading glasses were pressed to the tip of his nose and he had a script in his hand. “Have a seat.”

I sat in the chair in front of his desk and handed him the box of mini muffins. “Your special order, sir.”

“Feisty this morning, aren't we? I like it, Juliet. I like it a lot. This is why you need to be on the stage. Harness that energy into something spicy.”

“Lance, you know that is never going to happen.”

He removed his reading glasses and opened the pastry box. “One can always dream.”

I waited for him to peel off the wrapper from a bran muffin. He broke the tiny muffin in half and took a bite.

“Delicious, as always. But brining me healthy treats, darling. What is that all about? Are you trying to send me a not-so-subtle message?”

“I thought you might want something with a little fiber after last night's feast.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Healthy? Please.”

“Noted. No bran in the future. Now, tell me what you learned from Rosalind last night. You two looked pretty chummy.”

“Patience, darling. Patience. You're so eager.”

“Lance.” I pursed my lips.

He threw his head back. “Please.” Then he ate the second half of the muffin piece by piece. He could have easily consumed the entire half in one bite. When he finished he brushed his hands in the air and looked at me expectantly. “No coffee?”

“Did you want coffee?”

“I believe that goes without saying. Of course I want coffee.”

“Guess you'll have to make it yourself or have your assistant do it. We're not in the coffee delivery business at Torte.”

“Not even for your dearest pal?” He made a pathetic face.

“I know what you're trying to do, Lance. Get on with it. Do you have news from last night? Because if you don't I have to get back to the bakeshop.”

“And to your dreamy husband. I can't blame you for that.”

“To work, Lance. Some of us aren't on hiatus.”

He gasped and tapped a pile of scripts on his desk. “Hiatus. Do you want to read all these dreadful scripts?”

“No, thanks.” I smiled. “Are they all bad?”

“You do not even want to know. I'm considering poking my eyes out soon. I'm dying for an original script. Is that too much to ask?”

I shrugged.

“If I have to read one more fangs-in-the-neck horror script, I'm going to absolutely scream.”

“Everyone is submitting vampire stories?”

“That or the most pretentious dialogue. I'm going to have to widen my reach. This year's submission pile is about to go straight into the recycling bin.” He pointed to an overflowing basket of paper near his desk. “You don't want to write by chance, do you?”

“No, thanks. I'll stick with pastry.”

Lance took a strawberry crumb muffin from the box and ate it in one bite this time. “A wise idea. You do know pastry. And I do like this sweet delight.”

“Okay. We've covered pastry and that you have a stack of scripts to read. Can we get back to Mindy's murder? Did you learn anything from Rosalind last night?”

He ran his fingers over his goatee. “I did, indeed.”