On Thin Icing
Authors: Ellie Alexander
Tags: #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Women Sleuths, #Cozy, #Amateur Sleuth
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
ON THIN ICING
Copyright © 2016 by Kate Dyer-Seeley.
Excerpt from
Caught Bread Handed
copyright © 2016 by Kate Dyer-Seeley.
All rights reserved.
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ISBN: 978-1-250-05425-8
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / January 2016
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eISBN: 9781466857261
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Contents
To Luke, who makes everything in my world magic.
Nothing sends me into a panic more than attempting to thank the many people who’ve been a part of seeing this book into the world. Writing a book is easy compared with trying to sum up my gratitude. I’ll try to keep it short and sweet.
To the libraries and book clubs who have invited me into their homes, wineries, and bakeshops, it’s been such a delight meeting you and noshing on delectable treats this past year. To my PNW team, Erika and Candace, you rock! To my editor Hannah and everyone at SMP, thanks for loving Jules. To the book blogging world, thank you for helping connect readers to the series. To all of the independent bookstores that have championed the series and especially the staff at Vintage Books, thank you for providing a space for books and authors to live. To Cindy, thanks for providing information on the inner workings of a theater company. To the community of Ashland, Oregon, thank you for welcoming me into town and helping bring Torte to life. To you, the reader, thank you for coming into the kitchen with Jules and the team.
They say that you can’t go home again. I’m not sure that’s true. I’d been home for almost six months, and found myself settling back into a comfortable and familiar pace.
Working at our family bakeshop, Torte, had helped ease the sting of leaving my husband and the life I’d known behind. I didn’t have any answers about what was next for Carlos and me, and the longer I was home the less it seemed to matter. Ashland, Oregon, my welcoming hometown, was the perfect place to mend. Being surrounded by longtime friends and family for the past few months had made me realize that while my heart may have been a bit broken, I wasn’t. It was an important distinction, and hopefully a sign that I’d made the right decision.
I’d been so consumed with baking and growing our catering business at Torte that I hadn’t had much time to reflect. Ashland is best known for the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. The world-famous theater company draws in thousands of visitors each year. From February through October our sleepy town transforms into a tourist hub. Theater enthusiasts, families, school groups, and travelers from every corner of the globe descend on our quaint streets.
The steady stream of visitors was great for business. During the height of the theater season it was nearly impossible to get a table at Torte, or any other restaurant in town. Shopkeepers make their yearly profits in the busy summer months. Torte had a booming summer and fall season, so much so that my only focus had been on the bakeshop. Now that winter had closed in and OSF had closed its doors for the season, it was as if the entire town shuttered in as well. I’d forgotten how quiet Ashland becomes in January—and how cold!
After spending ten years working as a pastry chef for a cruise line, I hadn’t experienced a winter like this in a long time. My winters had been spent island-hopping in the Caribbean and sailing in the Mediterranean, where the sun sparkled on warm waters despite the fact that the calendar read January.
January in Ashland was a different story. The temperature had been dropping steadily since October. Fall’s cool crisp mornings felt practically balmy compared to the icy layer of frost that coated the ground. I’d invested in a new collection of sweaters and wool socks. Despite pulling on heavy layers before leaving my apartment, I still shivered on my short walk to Torte.
Torte is located in the heart of downtown. The bakeshop sits in the middle of the plaza, nestled between shops and restaurants, with a front-row view of the bubbling Lithia fountains across the street. It’s a prime location for grabbing a pretheater snack or a catching up on the latest gossip. My mom, Helen, had been running the bustling bakery solo since my dad died and I took off to see the world. Her delectable handcrafted pastries are legendary with locals and anyone passing through town. Not only do people find comfort in her sweet creations, they also seek her out for advice and her kind listening ear. Everyone who walks through Torte’s front door is treated like family. That’s the secret to Torte’s longevity. Well, that and the binder of recipes passed down through generations of my family that Mom keeps locked in the office.
Keeping baker’s hours means that I’m always awake long before anyone else. This morning as I hurried through a biting wind to Torte, the streets felt especially dark and gloomy. I quickly unlocked the front door, flipped on the lights, and cranked on the heat.
A large chalkboard on the far wall displayed a Shakespearean quote reading: “In winter with warm tears I’ll melt the snow. And keep eternal spring-time on thy face.”
My dad started the tradition of a revolving quote when I was a kid. He loved everything Shakespearean, hence his insistance on naming me Juliet. I prefer Jules. There’s too much pressure attached to having a name like Juliet. But each time I glanced at the chalkboard, I smiled at the memory of my dad’s sparkling eyes and quick wit.
Torte’s front windows had frosted overnight. I rubbed my hands together for friction and made my way to the kitchen. The bakeshop is divided into two sections. Customers can nosh on a pastry or linger over an espresso at one of the tables or booths in the front. A long counter and coffee bar separates the dining space from the kitchen. It gives the bakery an open feel and allows guests to watch all of the action in the back.
I grabbed an apron from the rack and tied it around my waist. Our red aprons with blue stitching and a chocolate Torte logo in the center are as close as it gets to a uniform around here. Everyone on staff wears one of the crisp aprons that match Torte’s teal-and-cranberry-colored walls.
My first task of the day was getting the oven up to temp. We’d been down an oven for a while. Managing with one oven was doable during the slow season, but Mom and I had been tucking cash away in hopes of upgrading our equipment before things got busy again. I turned the oven on high, and leafed through the stack of special orders waiting on the kitchen island.
On today’s agenda were two birthday cakes, a pastry order for the theater, and our normal bread deliveries. The tight-knit business community in Ashland diligently supported and promoted each other, especially in the off-season. Wholesaling our bread to local restaurants and shops definitely helped with cash flow.
I washed my hands with honey-lavender soap and got to work on the bread. There’s something so therapeutic about making bread. From watching the yeast rise to kneading the dough, I allowed my thoughts to wander as I went through the familiar steps. Some of my colleagues in culinary school had complained when they had to work early shifts. I remember one aspiring chef said that she always felt lonely in an empty kitchen. Not me. I like working in a quiet space with nothing more than the hum of a mixer and the scent of sourdough bread baking around me. That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy a vibrant kitchen with bodies squeezing past each other and a counter chock-full of delectable treats. I guess, like so many things in life, it was finding the balance between solitude and socialization that counted.
With the first batch of bread rising, I quickly sketched out a menu for the day. Once the team arrived everyone would have an assignment. The cold weather had our customers hungry for hearty breakfast options. I’d have Stephanie, one of the college students I’d been mentoring, bake chocolate, cinnamon, and nut muffins. Mom could handle stocking the rest of the pastry case with an assortment of sweet and savory delicacies. That would give me time to focus on the special orders.
As I finished writing the menu and task list on the whiteboard, the front door jingled and Andy walked in. He wore a puffy orange parka and knit stocking cap. His shaggy sandy hair stuck out from beneath the cap. “Morning, boss,” he called, rubbing his arms. “Man, it’s cold out there.”
Andy had been working for Mom since he was in high school. Now he attends Southern Oregon University, and runs Torte’s espresso bar whenever he’s not studying. He’s a genius when it comes to crafting coffee drinks. His creative flavor combinations have earned him a loyal following. There’s always a line for one of Andy’s expertly pulled shots or specialty lattes. He has an innate talent, and I’ve enjoyed watching him thrive.
He shrugged off his parka, stored it and his backpack behind the counter, and tied on an apron. Without missing a beat, he revved up the espresso machine. “You want to try something new?” he asked, pulling a canister of beans from underneath the bar.
“I’d love anything you want to make me,” I said as I roughed out a sketch for one of the birthday cakes. The order form read:
Anything chocolate.
Talk about a dream client. Chocolate was wide open for interpretation. Since this was for an adult birthday, I thought it would be fun to work some childhood nostalgia into the cake. I’d make an Oreo mousse cake and slice it into four layers. Then I planned to fill each layer with chocolate mousse and fresh berries. I would top it with more berries, Oreos, and gold dust. It should give the cake a whimsical yet elegant touch.
While I whipped egg yolks and sugar in the mixer for the mousse, Andy plugged his phone into our sound system and blasted some tunes. I watched as he swirled steaming milk to the beat of the music.
Mom and Stephanie arrived a few minutes later. Stephanie had originally been hired to help at the front counter, but her introverted personality—and the fact that she could really bake—made her a much better match for the kitchen. When I first met her, I thought she was a bit sullen. I’ve come to realize that there’s a kind and caring young woman underneath the layers of black eyeliner, purple hair, and her standoffish attitude. Mentoring Stephanie in the bakery had been one of the highlights of the last few months. She was a quick study and had an eye for design.
“Morning, everyone,” Mom yelled over the music. She really needs hearing aids. “It’s already hopping in here this morning.”
I signaled for Andy to turn down the music. He nodded and turned the volume down.
Mom patted Andy on the shoulder in silent thanks as she walked toward the rack of aprons.
“You know it, Mrs. C. It’s Monday. That means we crank up the tunes and the grinds.” Andy grinned and drizzled white chocolate sauce over a steaming latte. “Order up, boss,” he said to me.
“What is it?” I asked, grabbing the coffee from the front counter.
