Meet Your Baker (21 page)

“You’re sure?”

“Mom, go. I’m fine.”

“Don’t stay too late.” She blew me a kiss and left.

Torte fell into silence for the first time all day. This is how I like to work.

I blared the Gypsy Kings and opened a bottle of local pinot noir. A glass of wine might take the edge off. The delicate fruit-forward nectar slid down my throat.

Nice.
If only I had someone to share it with.

As if through some sort of divine intervention, a soft rap at the front door answered my wish. Thomas grinned and held up a box of flowers.

I let him in, holding the door as he coughed and told me to shut it.

“Man, it’s bad out there. Some of the worst I can remember in years. It’s like a fog of smoke hanging over town.”

His uniform looked as if it had been dusted with flakes of ash.

“Have you been out in this all day?”

“Yep. I smell like a campfire, don’t I?” His eyes were bloodshot. “Where do you want these?”

“I’ll take them. Do you want a glass of wine or something? I just poured myself one.”

“Can’t, I’m on duty, but a glass of water would be great. Try to wash down all the smoke.”

“Do you know how it’s going?”

“What, the fires?” Thomas followed me to the kitchen.

I handed him a cup of ice water.

“It doesn’t sound good. They called in teams from Montana and Idaho. There are already crews from Washington, Oregon, and California. I heard chatter on the radio today about some concern that if the fire jumps it could put the reservoir in danger.”

“Reeder Reservoir, up on the hill?”

“It supplies the whole town. If the fire gets in, Ashland won’t have any water.”

“Yikes.”

Thomas chugged down the water and helped himself to more. “I feel bad for the fire crews. They’re working around the clock.”

“Do they need food? I could bake a bunch of cookies and muffins.”

“Yeah, that’d be great. I’m sure they’d take anything. If you want to let me know when they’re ready, I’ll make sure to get it to the fire chief. When do you want me to come by? Tomorrow?”

“No, I’ll do it now. I don’t have anything better to do this evening. I was going to go home and watch a cheesy movie, but I’d rather feel like I was doing something productive. Give me a couple hours. When does your shift end?”

Thomas checked his watch. “Not until late, but I’ve got some paperwork to do at the station. I’ll swing by when I’m done and see where you’re at.” He set his empty glass on the counter. “Thanks for the drink and for offering to help. Holler if you need me.”

“After everything negative that’s happened the last couple days, doing something—anything—will help.”

“So, you still watch bad movies, huh?” Thomas elbowed me. “How many of those terrible teen flicks did you make me sit through with you?”

“Are you calling
Titanic
terrible? Leave. Leave now.”

Thomas stretched his arms wide and leaned forward, mimicking the famous scene from the movie. In a deep baritone he sang, “‘My heart will go on and on.’”

“Knock it off. You may remember that movie won best picture at the Oscars that year.”

“One of the worst Oscar nods in history, if you ask me.”

I punched him in the arm. “You liked that movie, admit it.”

“Maybe the first time I saw it, but after the—what?—twenty-fifth viewing you made me sit through, it got a little predictable.”

“I did
not
make you sit through anything. You wanted to watch it with me again.”

“Hey, I was sixteen. I was hoping I could make my move.”

“You need to leave now, before I decide to really harm you.” I laughed, putting my arms up like a boxer.

Thomas backed away. “Okay, okay, easy there, Tyson. I’m leaving.”

I grinned as he strolled out the door singing Celine Dion’s famous lyrics from the movie. Had I really made him sit through twenty-five viewings of the epic romance? Probably. Had he really done it? Yeah, I think he did. What a good guy.

Would Carlos sit through endless screenings of my favorite movie? I wondered as I piled butter and eggs in my arms. Maybe. I guess I never asked. I took a long sip of wine.

Firefighters needed hearty food to sustain them. I’d skip the fancy desserts and focus on dense cookies, muffins, and biscuits.

I fried bacon on the stove while mixing cookie batter. Bacon and cheddar biscuits would offer the protein and carbs necessary to sustain the firefighters’ efforts. I snatched a piece of bacon cooling on paper towels and washed it down with my wine.
Dinner of champions, Jules.

For the cookies I folded chocolate, butterscotch, and peanut butter chips into the batter along with coconut and chopped peanuts. Hopefully the packed cookies would give the firefighters a sugar kick. I hoped none of them were allergic to nuts.

I turned my back to the front door as I pushed cookie trays into the ovens. The unexpected jingle of the bell made me almost drop them on the floor.

How had I not locked it after Thomas left?

“Juliet, I thought I’d find you here.” Richard Lord’s voice boomed through the quiet bakeshop.

I shut the oven and grabbed a butcher knife from the block, just in case. I hid it behind me as I slowly turned around. “We’re closed.”

“Then why am I standing here?”

“I don’t know, but we’re closed. Feel free to come back in the morning.”

Richard strolled to the kitchen. I clutched the knife.

When did Thomas say he’d return? Not soon enough. Damn, why hadn’t I locked the door?

“You and I need to talk, young lady.” Richard flipped a silver money clip in his hand. He wore yet another outrageous golf outfit, this time red and black plaid. The red matched his burning cheeks.

I backed up toward the oven. I could feel the heat radiating behind me.

“If you want to talk, come in tomorrow when we’re
open
.” I impressed myself with my tone. I sounded like I meant it.

“We’ll talk now.” Richard shoved the money clip into his bulging plaid pockets.

I brought the knife out from behind my back and pointed it at him. “Stop right there. I’m not afraid to use this.” My hand shook a little. “Thomas is going to be back any minute. I wouldn’t do anything stupid if I were you.”

“What are you talking about? Put the knife down. I’m not going to hurt you.” His outfit made him look like an oversized Scotty dog.

“I know you killed Nancy. I’m not an idiot. Get out, or I will use this.”

Richard put his hands on his rotund belly and laughed. “I’d like to see you try.”

The fluorescent lights above caught the silver blade and shimmered. Could I use it if Richard came closer? I’d never been in a physical fight. Richard’s a big guy. What did I know about using a knife? I needed a new plan. I had to get to a phone.

I took a step to the side.

“Where are you going?” Richard bellowed. “I told you I’m not going to hurt you. I want to talk.”

I waved the knife in front of him. “Stay right there. Don’t come any closer. If you want to talk to me you can do it from right there.”

Richard threw his hands in the air in defeat. “You’re as loony as your mother. She should have taken me up on my offer years ago.” He slicked back a single hair on his glossy head. “I’m not here to hurt you. I want to know why you’re spreading rumors about me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Word around town is that you’re telling everyone I killed Nancy.”

I kept the knife in front of me. “Did you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“If you didn’t why are you barging in here at”—I glanced at the clock—“at nine o’clock threatening me?”

“I’m not threatening you. Who’s holding the knife, my dear? You’re spreading lies about me. I want it to stop, or I’ll sue you for defamation.”

“I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but I’m not spreading any lies about you.”

Richard put his hands on his hips. “The cops say they found one of my gloves in here. Why are you and your mom scheming to get me arrested? Worried I’m going to take too much business away from you when my new coffee stand opens?”

“You’re kidding, right?” I dropped the knife a little, but kept it in my grasp.

“No, your mom has been trying to put me out of business for years.”

“I think it’s the other way around.”

“Who called the health inspector on me, then?”

“I don’t know, a concerned customer, one of your underpaid employees?”

“It was your mom and now you two are conspiring to pin Nancy’s murder on me, but here’s the thing, dearie, I didn’t do it. I have proof.”

“If that’s the case, why are you here talking to me? If you didn’t do it, shouldn’t you be telling that to the police?”

“I will, but first I want to stop this rumor at the source.”

“Richard, I haven’t spread a single lie. I found your glove over there.” I pointed the knife in the direction of the table where I’d found his glove. “I turned it over to the police. End of story.”

“I didn’t leave it here—you’re trying to set me up.”

“We could go round and round about this, but I didn’t. What’s this proof that you have anyway?”

The timer on the convection oven buzzed. It startled both of us.

“I’ve got to take these out. Stay where you are.” I held the knife in my left hand and made sure to keep one eye on Richard as I removed the cookies from the oven.

“You’re baking now? No wonder this place is in such bad shape. Serving day-old cookies.”

“For your information, these aren’t for Torte. I’m making them for the firefighters.”

Richard’s beady eyes lit up. He plucked a hot cookie from the cooling rack. I hoped he’d burn his tongue on it. “Not a bad idea. I bet I can get some free press coverage out of that. I can see it now.” He swept a chubby arm in the air. “
MERRY WINDSOR DONATES TO WEARY FIREFIGHTERS
.”

I rolled my eyes. “Do whatever you want, as long as it helps the firefighters.”

Richard grabbed three more cookies and left me with a warning. “Stop spreading lies about me, or you’ll have bigger problems on your hands than you do now.”

What did he mean by that?

I sighed with relief as he strutted away. I locked the door and sank into a chair by the window. What was this proof that Richard referred to? Could he be telling the truth? Or had he accomplished what he intended—to warn me to stay away?

Chapter Thirty-two

I packaged boxes of cookies, muffins, and cheesy biscuits and tied them with twine. My adrenaline surged once Richard left.

Thomas strolled in a little after ten. “Whoa, you made all this in two hours?”

“That’s nothing. Kid stuff. Cookies and muffins? Please, I can do that in my sleep.”

“Don’t be so humble.”

“You know I’m kidding. It felt good to bake.” I handed him boxes.

He stacked them in his arms.

“Richard came by.”

“Yeah?” He sounded like he was trying to be casual.

I helped him steady the boxes. “An hour ago, maybe. He threatened me.”

Thomas took the stack of boxes and set them on the counter. “Hold up. You throw that out there and expect me to leave? Tell me exactly what happened.

“Jules, your hands are shaking. What happened?”

I explained how Richard stormed in and accused me of spreading rumors.

Thomas tapped his fingers on his chin. “Sounds like Lord is spooked. I need to call the Professor.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Maybe. We’ll see. I don’t think it was an accident that the Professor let it slip to Richard that you found his glove.”

“Wait, he told Richard on purpose?”

“It’s an old trick, try to see if you can rattle a suspect, get them talking—get them moving.”

“But you told me to stay out of it.”

“That’s right.” Thomas slid on his phone and held it to his ear. “You weren’t in any danger.”

Talk about mixed signals. Thomas and the Professor were using me like a pawn. How did they know I wasn’t in danger?

I stalked to the kitchen while Thomas called the Professor to tell him that their plan had progressed. Taking my anger out on the dishes, I scrubbed the stainless-steel mixers and baking sheets.

“Wouldn’t want to be on the other end of that sponge,” Thomas said, hovering by the sink. “You’re mad?”

“Yes, I’m mad! First you tell me to keep my eyes and ears open, be an insider for you. Then you tell me to stop, that I’m not allowed to be involved in this investigation at all.” Water sprayed from the faucet. My hands polished the cookie trays. “Now suddenly I’m part of some elaborate plan to trap Richard into confessing—is that it? What are you not telling me?”

Thomas tried to keep his face serious, but I could see the smile tugging on his cheekbones. “Ah, here’s the Juliet we all know and love.”

I grabbed the handheld faucet and threatened him with it. “Do you want me to spray you? Don’t. Don’t even go there. You know I’m right.”

“Uncle, uncle. You win. I’m sorry. We weren’t using you, or setting you up.” Thomas removed a dish towel from a hook and as a truce offering began drying the dishes. “Jules, I swear I’d never put you in danger. That’s why I asked you to stay out of it.”

“You didn’t ask. You
told
me.”

“Okay, sorry. I
told
you. The Professor and I both thought that Nancy’s murder was opportunistic. It didn’t appear to be premeditated. You know, the crime scene, with all those broken jars of jam—that made us think it was a fight that escalated. Someone went into a rage. Maybe even a fit of passion?” He turned to place the dry dishes on the island behind him. “We thought someone might slip up, especially around here. You know Torte’s the place to go when you’re feeling down.”

I squirted soap into the lukewarm water.

“We realized we made a mistake. Whoever killed Nancy might do it again. That’s why you have to stay out of it. I couldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you.”

I handed him a wet spatula, intentionally flinging water at him.

“Hey, that’s not nice.”

“It’s also not nice to set me up. What’s the story with Richard? What do you know?”