On Thin Icing (13 page)

Forks clinked on plates as Lance continued. “I’m afraid I must report that not only are we snowed in and cut off from outside communication, but that our dear chef Juliet made a tragic discovery this morning.” Lance closed his eyes, placed one hand on his heart, and inhaled through his nose.

The room went silent. Lance opened his eyes. “I’m afraid, my friends, that there’s been a murder.”

There were gasps and murmurs from the crowd. “Murder?” someone asked.

Dean Barnes, who wore his signature checkered cap, choked on a potato. He dropped his fork on his plate and clutched his throat. The woman sitting next to him pounded on his back. He coughed and heaved. I was just about to run over and perform the Heimlich maneuver on him, but one giant whack to his back sent the potato flying onto his plate.

His face had a bluish tint. He removed his hands from his throat and breathed deeply. “Did you say murder?”

Lance, who’d also looked ready to leap into action when Dean had been choking, returned to his solemn stance. “Yes. Murder.”

“Who?” the woman sitting next to Dean asked. She darted her head around the table nodding at each board member, as if trying to get a head count.

“Not one of us.” Lance gave her a reassuring look. “Tony—the bartender who made … well, as you know, made a bit of a scene last night—was discovered dead this morning.”

Another round of gasps sounded from the board members. People started to chatter among themselves. Lance picked up his knife and tapped it on his water glass. “I know you likely have many questions. I do as well, but due to the fact that we’re stranded here together for who knows how long.” He paused and looked out the window. Snow lashed against it. The wind howled in perfectly timed response. “Anyway, Juliet has spoken with the authorities.” He curled his index finger. “Come, come, Juliet.”

I walked over and stood beside him.

“What did the authorities recommend we do while we await their arrival?”

Where was Mercury? I craned my neck toward the fireplace. She wasn’t there. Shouldn’t she be giving the board directions? It was her lodge after all. Not to mention the fact that one of her staff members was dead.

Lance nudged my waist. “Juliet?”

“Oh, right.” I returned my focus to the table. “They’re working to get help up here as fast as they can. In the meantime, they said to proceed as normal. They said no one can leave, but it’s not like that’s an option anyway.” I tried to laugh. It sounded forced.

Dean raised his hand. “Where’s the body?”

Lance looked to me for approval. We hadn’t discussed whether or not to tell everyone where the crime scene was. They could figure it out on their own if they walked around the resort, but given the blizzard conditions outside, I doubted anyone would.

I shrugged.

Lance pursed his lips. “The scene has been secured.”

“But where is it?” Dean asked.

Why was he so insistent?

“I can assure you that it’s nowhere near the lodge. None of you are in danger of stumbling over a body on your way back to your cabins tonight.” Lance chuckled. The group did, too. “The bigger concern for the moment is our power situation.” Lance scanned the room and looked toward the bar. “Mercury, are you in there?”

No one answered.

“Whitney, go track down Mercury.” Lanced snapped his bony fingers. “We need a power plan. Ha! Get it? Power plan.”

Whitney didn’t even bother to swallow the piece of cantaloupe in her mouth. She pushed back her chair and spilled her coffee in the process. Dean helped her mop the coffee with a forest-green napkin that had a silhouette of a deer stitched in the middle. Whitney gave him a look of thanks. “I’ll find her right away,” she said to Lance. If possible, she looked even more frazzled than she had yesterday. Her wiry hair and twitchy eyes matched her skittish attitude. At least she was dressed for the elements today in a bulky sweater and another pair of skinny jeans. Instead of pumps without socks she wore a pair of Uggs.

She left her tablet on the table and darted toward the front door. Dean watched her leave. For a minute I thought he might go after her, but instead he picked up her tablet and stored it by his feet. Of all the board members he was best outfitted to follow her into the inclement weather. He wore a thick hunting jacket, chaps, Wellington boots, and a cap. Was that all that he packed? He looked exactly the same as he had yesterday, and like he could step onto the set of Mom’s latest television obsession—
Downton Abbey
.

“Anything else we need to know from the authorities?” Lance asked me.

I shook my head.

Lance clapped his hands together. “Excellent. It’s back to business for us, then.”

I pulled Sterling into the kitchen before Lance could rope me into anything else.

“He enjoyed that way too much,” Sterling said.

Carlos was rinsing dishes in the sink. In all the years that I’d known him, I’d never seen him wash a dish. We had an entire dishwashing staff for that on the ship. Chefs don’t wash dishes. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m helping you. I’m washing the dishes.” He held up a soapy plate to prove his point. “Am I doing it wrong?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I just can’t believe you’re washing dishes. You never wash dishes.”

“I do for you,” he said with a seductive smile.

Sterling laughed. “I’ve heard that’s the way to a woman’s heart. Do the dishes, and the laundry.”

“Stop, you two.” I fanned my face. “You’re going to make me faint with all this romantic talk.”

We all laughed. Sterling took over dish duty. I sent Carlos out with a fresh pot of coffee. I figured he was the least likely of the three of us to get wrapped up in Lance’s theatrics.

“Okay, one meal done. Two to go. Plus snacks.” I flipped open my notebook. “Now it’s on to lunch. I’m thinking we do a hearty stew and toasted open-faced sandwiches in the brick oven. Does that sound good?”

“Is there anything you’re not going to bake in that thing?” Sterling asked.

“Not if I can help it. Don’t you think we need one at Torte?”

“It’s pretty sweet.” Sterling scrubbed a skillet with a Brio brush.

For the next hour Sterling, Carlos, and I worked in an easy cadence. Sterling cleared breakfast dishes and finished loading the dishwasher. Carlos started on a homemade beef stock for the stew base, while I assembled the ingredients I needed for my cookie dough. I planned to bake them right before lunch. That way we could serve them warm.

Mercury burst into the kitchen a little after ten with Gavin Allen, the marina manager who had been missing, trailing behind her. “Good news, everyone. Gavin is fine.”

Gavin’s Lake of the Woods sweatshirt was tattered. One of the sleeves was ripped and the logo was nearly worn off. It stretched over his belly. “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. I was asleep.”

Mercury laced her fingers together and cracked her knuckles. Deep bags had formed under her eyes. “I know, but like I told you, after we learned that Tony was dead I was worried about you. We couldn’t find you.”

Gavin rolled his eyes. “The one time I sleep in.”

“What if we have a serial killer or something up here?” Mercury rubbed her temples.

“I know every square inch of this place. Trust me, there’s no serial killer hiding out up here.” Gavin hoisted up his tool belt. “I checked every building. No one could survive out in this weather for long.”

His words seemed to relax Mercury, at least for a moment. She glanced at the cookie dough on the island. “It looks like you have everything under control in here.”

“So far so good,” I said.

“That’s one piece of good news at least.” She sighed. “I was telling Gavin that he’s going to have to become a bartender today. I don’t have anyone else to work the bar, and the storm is getting worse. I think we might lose power.”

“We’re going to lose power, you can take that to the bank.” Gavin sounded sure of that. “I’ve been up here since 1981. This is one of the worst storms we’ve had in a while. Snow’s blowing off the lake. Trees are coming down. Phone lines are already down. It’s going to happen.”

Mercury ran her hands through her hair. She still hadn’t changed out of her pajama bottoms. “I don’t know what we’re going to do. I need you at the bar, but I also need someone to help me get wood and extra supplies to all the cabins. I can’t do it myself. Oh, I wish my husband was here.” She sounded like she was going to cry.

Carlos stepped toward her. “I have a suggestion.”

“Yes?”

“I could tend bar for you.”

“You could?”

“Yes, I’m a chef. I know how to mix drinks.” He looked at Gavin. “If that’s okay with you.”

Gavin gave him a thumbs-up. “Fine by me. It’s all yours. My idea of bartending is cracking open a can of beer.”

Mercury threw her arms around Carlos. “Oh, thank you! Thank you. I’ll pay you, of course.”

“No, no. I do this for you.” Carlos smiled at me.

“We’ll discuss it, but can you come with me now? I’ll show you where everything is, and then Gavin and I can start delivering supplies to the cabins.”

“Of course. It will be my pleasure.” Carlos took off his apron and folded it on the counter. “I’ll be back soon,” he said to Sterling and me as he left with Mercury.

Having Carlos man the bar was a win for me, too. As much as I enjoyed having him in the kitchen, he was also a distraction.

“The guy is doing back flips for you, Jules.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

“And the tension in here is off the charts. I feel like I’m on the set of a Spanish soap opera or something.” Sterling started the dishwasher.

“Whatever.” I laughed and shook my head.

“I’m serious, Jules. Carlos is crazy about you, and you’re as cool as this cucumber.” He pointed to a basket of vegetables on the island.

“Am I? I feel like I’m acting like a total idiot.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I haven’t been able to focus on anything this morning.”

“You fooled me. Lance must be right about your acting skills.”

I couldn’t believe that Sterling wasn’t picking up on how nervous I was. I agreed with him that the tension in the kitchen was thicker than any stew and that Carlos was doing everything he could to prove his commitment to me. I just wasn’t sure if it was because he really cared or if it was because he felt guilty.

Chapter Fourteen

“Let’s talk about something else, like lunch.” I changed the subject.

Sterling came over to the island. “What do you want me to do next?”

We checked off tasks. Sterling would assemble the sandwiches while I made stew. My focus returned as I strained the broth that Carlos had started. We make all of our stocks by hand. It takes longer than using commercial beef or chicken broth, but it’s well worth it in terms or flavor. It was chock-full of onions, carrots, garlic, and celery. It reminded me of winter evenings as a child. My dad would make a pot of stew, Mom would bring a loaf of bread home from Torte, and we’d snuggle together on the couch and watch a movie.

Carlos says that food is love. I say it’s memory.

“Since we’re on the subject of love, what about you?” I asked Sterling. “How are you feeling about Stephanie?”

He stoked the flames in the oven, and pushed up the sleeves of his hoodie. “Hey, that’s not fair. I thought you said we were dropping the subject.”

“You don’t have to talk about it. I’m the last person who will push you on that. Now, Mom might not let you off so easy when we get back.”

“She has a way of getting people to talk.”

“Yeah. You know what her secret is?” I stirred the flavorful stock.

“She’s a good listener?”

“That and pastry.”

Sterling laughed. “Torte’s pastries do have a certain effect on people.” He ran his finger over the tattoo of a hummingbird on his forearm. I knew that the tattoo was a permanent reminder of his mother.

“Does talking about my mom bring up memories of your mom?”

His eyes misted. “It does, but in a good way. It makes me feel closer to her, you know?”

I did. Losing a parent young had left a lasting mark on both of us.

“Having Helen in my life helps ease the sting a little.” Sterling smiled, but there was pain behind his eyes.

“I feel the same way about the Professor. It’s weird because I didn’t even realize how much I missed having a father figure in my life.”

Sterling reached for a loaf of sourdough bread. “So, really, we’re both messed up and broken.”

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” I grinned and gave him a loopy smile. “Is that why we’re both unlucky in love?”

“Probably.” Sterling sliced the loaf with a serrated bread knife. “My mom used to blame it on my birth date. I was born on Valentine’s Day. She said I was born a lover not a fighter.”

“I didn’t know you were a Valentine baby. We’ll have to throw you a bash next month.”

“Don’t. I’ve come to hate the holiday.” Sterling grabbed another loaf and stabbed it with the knife.

I wondered if he meant because of Stephanie or because Valentine’s Day reminded him of his mom. Either way I didn’t push him. We were so alike. I knew he needed space and quiet to work through whatever was going on.

As we prepped lunch, I couldn’t stop circling through who could have killed Tony. It was probably to avoid having to think about Carlos.

“Who do you think did it?” I asked Sterling as I diced more fresh onions for the beef stew.

“No idea.” Sterling spread butter on the sliced loaves. “Mercury was pretty jumpy this morning.”

“I thought so, too.”

“But then again, her bartender was murdered so I guess it would also be weird if she wasn’t jumpy.”

“Good point.” I wiped the corner of my eye with my sleeve. The onions were making my eyes tear. “Given what happened last night, she had a motive. She was pretty upset with Tony. I got the impression she would have fired him on the spot if they were alone and if she wasn’t in desperate need of a bartender for the weekend.”

“Me, too.”

I scraped the onions into a sauté pan and began chopping celery and carrots. My beef stew recipe had been passed down from my grandmother. She used to make it on Sundays, letting it simmer on the stove for hours. We didn’t have that much time. But thanks to technology, I did have a modern gadget that would make the beef so tender in minutes that it would fall apart on the fork. A pressure cooker.