Meet Your Baker (23 page)

“How is he?”

“Excelente.”

Thank goodness for the ocean between us. If Carlos could see my face, I knew he might be injured beyond repair.

“That’s good.” I threw the sheet off me and stood. I needed coffee. “Listen, Carlos. I have to go. I’m going to be late to help Mom.”

“You will call me soon?”

“Yeah.”

“You will, sí?”

I could hear the disappointment in his voice. He didn’t believe me. I didn’t believe myself either.

“I will. I gotta go.”

“Te amo.”

I clicked off the phone.
Maybe coffee isn’t such a good idea,
I thought as my hands shook while scooping grounds from the tin on the counter.

Carlos sounded sincere, maybe even unsure. Typically Carlos knew exactly what he wanted and went after it. Hearing him rattled surprised me. Still, I didn’t trust my feelings. Maybe I was hearing what I wanted to hear.

Coffee churned along with self-doubt in my stomach as I dressed. Had I made the wrong choice? Should I have stayed? Why couldn’t things be simpler? If only love was like baking. Someone hands you a recipe for a lasting relationship and you follow it step-by-step.

I sighed and stepped out into the hazy morning air. The smoke had cleared a little. I could hear birds chattering above and the distant sound of water rushing in the river.

*   *   *

“Hey, Mom, I’m here,” I greeted her as the bell on the front door jingled.

She waved from the kitchen with flour-dusted fingers. I squared my shoulders and forced a smile on my face.

“How was book club?”

“Huh?”

I clicked on the convection oven and turned so she could see me. “Your book club. How was it?”

“Oh, right. Book club. It was good.”

Odd response.

“What book did you read?”

Mom brushed an egg wash on loaves of bread rising in pans. “I don’t even know. I go for the wine and the company.”

“Fair enough.” I flipped through the recipe book. “Hey, did you hear about Caroline?”

“No?”

“She’s doing better. I saw her last night in fact.”

I landed on a recipe for lime and mint cupcakes. It might sound like a strange combination, but I swear the unique flavors pair together well.

Cupcakes can be surprisingly challenging to make. The key is the butter. You have to start with room-temperature butter as a base. If the butter is too soft the cupcakes won’t rise correctly. An easy way to make sure it’s at the perfect temperature is to press it lightly with your index finger. If it leaves an indent—you’re golden.

I filled the mixing bowl with butter and sugar and began whipping them together.

“Richard Lord paid me a visit last night.”

“What did he want?” Mom opened the oven and placed the bread pans inside. “This doesn’t feel very hot.”

“That’s weird. I turned it on ten minutes ago.”

Mom adjusted the temperature and shrugged. “Keep your fingers crossed. The last thing we need is for the ovens to go.”

Torte’s ovens hadn’t been updated since before Dad died. Sooner or later we were going to have to upgrade the entire setup. It wouldn’t be cheap.

“Why did Richard come by?”

“To threaten me.”

“What?” She swiveled her body in my direction.

I explained to Mom how Thomas had waited outside and that Richard had jumped up the list of prime suspects.

“Doug mentioned he had to take care of some police business last night, but I didn’t know you were involved.”

“When did you see the Professor? I thought you had book club?”

Mom blushed. “I did. I ran into him on the way home.” She looked like a guilty teenager.

“Sure you did.”

“It’s true.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Juliet, stop. Am I going to have to threaten you with the wooden spoon?”

I put my hands over my derriere. “Not the wooden spoon. Anything but the wooden spoon!”

Mom changed the subject. “I can’t imagine that Richard would murder Nancy. You know I can’t stand the man, but … murder?”

“That’s what I think too.” I sifted flour, baking soda, and a pinch of salt. “Caroline might know something. I want to talk to that kid Sterling who’s been hanging around here. She gave him a picture of Richard and Nancy. I’m sure it has something to do with this, but she doesn’t remember right now.”

“How involved have you been in this?” Mom raised her brow. She’s a natural beauty. I don’t remember her waxing her eyebrows regularly, but now they’d been waxed to perfection.

“Not that much. Thomas has been filling me in every once in a while, that’s all.”

“Maybe he still holds a torch for you. He’s never gotten married, you know.”

“No, we’re friends. That’s all.”

The oven made an odd clicking sound.

“That might be the case for you, but have you thought he might be looping you into this investigation to reconnect with you?”

I blended the flour mixture with the butter and sugar, alternating with buttermilk and lime juice. “It’s his job.”

“Let me put it this way, I haven’t seen him in the bakeshop this much in years.” Mom gave me a knowing look.

“Nah.” I slowed the mixture and tasted the batter. It needed more lime. “He’s dating someone anyway.”

Mom checked the bread. “Just tread carefully. You wouldn’t want to break his heart again. I’m not sure he’d recover.”

“Mom! Stop. I didn’t break his heart. Do you want
me
to get the wooden spoon?”

“Truce. Promise me you’ll be careful, honey.”

She removed a loaf of bread from the oven. “Uh-oh, this isn’t even close to done. I think we might have a problem.”

With a lengthy list of pastries and rolls waiting their turn in the oven we had no choice but to crank it up to high and cross our fingers. One of us would have to keep an eye on the oven all day. At high heat it would be a delicate dance not to burn the tops of the baked goods and leave doughy centers.

I headed up to write the specials on the board. Since I’d returned to Ashland, problems had multiplied. Maybe it was me. Dead ovens were a problem I could handle, but Thomas being interested in me was definitely not something I was ready to deal with.

Chapter Thirty-five

I chopped fresh mint to enhance the lime flavor of the cupcakes. The smell cleared away the smoky scent that permeated everything. Flecks of green dotted the creamy batter.

Mom took the first shift on “oven watch” while I whipped buttercream frosting in the mixer.

Stephanie arrived early—shocker.

Her eyes looked red and puffy, making the bruise under her eye even more noticeable.

“Stephanie, you’re here early,” Mom commented.

She shifted her feet. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Buttercream whipped like puffy mounds of snow in the metal mixer, almost spilling over the top.

I didn’t realize Stephanie was talking to me. I looked up from the expanding frosting with a spatula in my hand to see two sets of eyes staring at me.

“Oh, sorry, you want to talk to
me
?” I stabbed the spatula into the frosting and followed her to a table in the front.

“What’s up?” I cracked my knuckles. I really have to stop doing that.

“Uh.” She wound a strand of purple hair around her finger. “Uh, I was wondering if maybe you’d seen Sterling?”

“No, not for a couple days. Why?”

“I can’t find him anywhere. I’ve looked all over town.”

This is the most I’d heard Stephanie say in a week. I had to tread carefully here.

“Stephanie, did he do that to you?” I raised my finger in the direction of her eye.

She flew her hand in front of it, as if I’d assaulted her. “What? No! He’d never hurt me.”

“Sorry, I had to ask. If you’re in any kind of trouble, Mom and I can help you.”

“I’m not in trouble. I think Sterling is though. I’m scared.”

Stephanie’s tattoos, purple hair, and bravado faded in front of me. Sitting across the table I saw a frightened young girl. This had to be the girl Mom had seen all along.

“I know you’re working with that police officer.”

“No.” I shook my head. Was it that obvious? “I’m not. Tell me what’s going on. Maybe I can help.”

She looked unsure.

“How do you and Sterling know each other?” I probed.

“He’s a friend.”

“Stephanie, if you want my help you’re going to have to give me more than that.”

She tucked her hair behind her ears. The result made her face less droopy. “I’m not used to having a lot of friends. Sterling’s been good to me. He has a bad rap, but he’s a nice guy. He’s worked hard to get his life together.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s had a hard life. I guess we kind of bonded over that, you know.”

I nodded in agreement, but I doubted that I knew anything about the kind of life Stephanie was referring to.

“For a while he was living on the streets, hanging with the wrong crowd, but he gave that all up.”

“Was that here? I thought he was new in town.”

“Yeah, he’s new. He’s worked odd jobs and stuff all the way from Northern California up to here. He wants to go to college. He’s supersmart.”

Andy breezed through the door. “Morning, everyone.” He saw me give him a look to steer clear of our table, gave me a thumbs-up, and made a beeline straight for the kitchen.

“So, how does that put him in trouble?”

Stephanie ruffled her hair and hung her head.

“Come on, I’m trying here. If you want my help you have to tell me everything you know.”

“It started about a month or so ago. He found out that I worked here and started coming in every day. We hung out on campus a little, but when he came in here we’d talk and stuff. He’s pretty chill, ya know?”

I knew the wistful look in Stephanie’s eyes—she had it bad. I wanted to tell her that Sterling felt the same way about her, but it wasn’t the time.

“Except about Nancy. He became obsessed.”

“Obsessed how?”

“She came in here every day too. He’d sit right over there in the corner.” She turned and pointed to the booth by the window. “He’d watch her, but wouldn’t talk to her. It got kind of weird. I tried to talk to him about it, but he blew me off. Said I was making a big deal out of nothing. I wasn’t making it up. I think he was stalking her or something.”

I tapped my fingers on my chin. There was something up between Nancy and Sterling. “I believe you, Stephanie.”

“Thanks.”

Customers would be arriving soon, I had to hurry her.

“Why do you think Sterling’s in trouble?”

“Because of this.” She pointed to her eye.

“So he
did
hit you?”

“No, Nancy did.”

“What?”

“That night. I forgot one of my textbooks here. I had a midterm to study for. Since I knew the Midnight Club was meeting here late, I came back to grab it. Sterling came with me.” She twisted a strand of hair. “When we got here, everyone was gone. I didn’t think I was going to be able to get in. I don’t have a key. The door was unlocked, so we came in. Nancy was here. She was trashed. Could barely stand up.”

She leaned forward and watched Andy at the bar. “Andy’s friend Mia was here too. They were fighting. I tried to sneak in and grab my book. I had left it behind the counter. Nancy saw me. She started screaming. Saying I was rude. When I bent over to grab my book she bumped into me. I hit the corner of the pastry case and hurt my eye. I don’t know if it was on purpose or not. My back was to her, but Sterling told her off.”

I sat back in the chair. “Did you tell the police this?”

“No, I couldn’t. That’s the thing. Sterling freaked out on Nancy. Told her if she ever touched me again, he’d kill her. I thought it was kind of sweet, like he was protecting me. But then Nancy ended up dead, and now I can’t find him. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but what if he did it?”

Chapter Thirty-six

Mom signaled that it was time to open. I told Stephanie to take a moment to compose herself before the mob descended.

My cupcakes sat cooling on the island. It’s better to remove cupcakes from the oven when they’re slightly underdone. It sounds counterintuitive, but cupcakes will actually continue to bake in their tins once they’re out of the oven. If kept in the oven too long they’ll overbake and turn out dry. No one likes a dry cupcake.

Mine had cooled with lovely golden tops. I removed them from the tins and scooped heaps of buttercream into a piping bag.

Garnishing is like therapy for me. I shaved strips of lime rind, coated them with sugar and twisted them into curls. Next, I piped the cupcakes with spirals of the airy buttercream. Finally, I topped them with the curled rind and fresh sprigs of mint.

Lance strolled in wearing a suit that almost looked purple when it caught the light. He appeared unbothered by the heat or smoke. Andy handed him his personal latte with a foam
L
on the top. Lance caught my eye and bowed in a greeting. I had to talk to him.

“Be right back,” I told Mom, and carried the cupcakes to the counter. “Stephanie, can you put these in the case?”

“Lance,” I called, as he turned the handle to the front door. “Hang on.”

“Can’t talk, darling, off to a meeting. Ta-ta.” He hurried out the door.

I raced after him.

“Wait, Lance.” My strides matched his. I caught up to him in front of A Rose by Any Other Name. I waved to Thomas’s mom who stood in front of the flower shop’s bay window arranging cheery bunches of wildflowers.

“I just need a minute.”

“One minute.” He tapped his wrist. “Art cannot wait.”

“Have you seen that kid Sterling around?”

“Who?”

I coughed into my elbow. The smoke smelled like toasting marshmallows. “Sterling. I saw him working on the sets the other night.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“He’s about this tall.” I put my hand to my shoulder. “Wears a hoodie. Skateboarder. Really light eyes.”

“No one like that works at OSF.”

“Are you sure? I saw him backstage the night of Caroline’s accident.”

“Am I sure? Fair Juliet, I know every person who works for the company.”