A Batter of Life and Death (16 page)

The camera crew agreed to come back in an hour. Nina hurried out after them, leaving the kitchen island cluttered with dirty mixing bowls, dishes, and all her vegan supplies. “Richard’s on dish duty, right? I’m leaving all this for him to clean up. That’s a little something I call karma. Police headquarters are just a couple doors down, right?”

I pointed her in the direction of the police station, and turned my attention to helping Linda find her missing recipe.

She tossed shakers of sprinkles on the island, and unpacked all her baking tools. “It’s not here. Are you sure you didn’t move it?”

“Look at this place.” I motioned to the messy island and countertop. “Where would I put it?”

Linda threw her head in hands. “What am I going to do?”

I walked around the island and put my hand on her shoulder. “Don’t panic. I’m sure you can re-create it. Do you want some help?”

She composed herself, smoothing her hair and shifting the bracelets on her wrist. “You don’t need to do that. Although it is mighty sweet of you to offer, but I’m sure you have your own dessert to worry about.”

In fact, I did. I still hadn’t decided what to make for tomorrow’s show. Torte doesn’t really have a signature dessert, we do a little of everything. That’s my style—dabbling, playing around with a recipe or new ingredient. I wasn’t worried about it. I’d figure it out.

“I’ve got plenty of time,” I said to Linda. “How about this? I’ll make you a deal. If we work on it together and it turns out well, we’ll feature it here at Torte tomorrow. It can be our show special. Give people in town a chance to taste something Southern.”

Linda smiled. “Are you sure you’re not from the South? That’s the kind of hospitality I know and love. Thank you. I think I’m rattled from Marco. He’s always trying to steal my family recipes.”

“Always? I thought you just met him.”

She didn’t make eye contact and quickly began grabbing her sprinkles and rearranging them. “Right. I did. I meant he was sneaking around, trying to watch me in the kitchen. I know he was after my recipe.” She excused herself to refresh her face before getting started on the pudding.

I thought about the first day Marco had been here at Torte. He was sloshed, that was for sure. Going after Linda’s recipe sounded like a stretch, especially since he could barely stand upright. I had to drag him up the hill to the Black Swan. Come to think of it, when would he have snuck out to go in search of Linda’s recipe? He’d been at Torte, and she was at the Merry Windsor. I had the sense that Linda was lying, but I couldn’t figure out why.

Chapter Nineteen

I spent the next hour helping Linda re-create her banana cream pudding recipe. It was fairly simple and standard, but I didn’t tell her that. She planned to make a basic vanilla cream pudding base. I suggested we try adding bananas into the actual pudding.

She worked on a cookie crust while I stirred heavy cream, butter, eggs, and vanilla on the stove. Making homemade pudding is really simple and well worth the effort. Mainly it requires a lot of stirring, which in my opinion is fine given the flavor difference between a handmade pudding and store-bought mix.

I added a dash of salt and a half teaspoon of Mexican vanilla to give it a hint of coconut. The smell reminded me of my childhood. My dad would often whip up a pudding for an after-school snack. By the time I came home from school, he’d have puddings chilled in parfait cups in the fridge and send me to the back to grab one.

“Juliet, what should we top our pudding with this afternoon?” he would ask while setting chocolate sauce, fresh berries, and whipping cream on the counter.

He’d always act impressed with whatever choice I made. “Excellent. Excellent decision. That flavor combination should pair nicely.” We’d eat our puddings on bar stools at the island while he asked me about my day.

I smiled at the memory. He’d been gone for so long, I had a tendency to forget how magical the time we had together had been.

The camera crew returned to shoot footage of Linda at work. She pounded shortbread cookies into a fine powder for the crust, and put on a supersweet smile for the camera. I tried to stay out of the way while they interviewed her about her signature dessert. She acted like a pro, not giving off even a tiny hint that things hadn’t gone as she planned.

Linda finished her cookie crust after the crew told her they had everything they needed and would be back to shoot me in an hour. She sliced bananas lengthwise.

“Why do you slice them like that?” I asked, removing the pudding from the stove.

“That’s the way my mama always did it.”

“Can you mash a few for me and I’ll blend them into the pudding?”

She reached for a potato masher. “That I can do.”

I added the fresh bananas into the cooling mixture, then I whipped it in the mixer and handed it to Linda.

“It looks absolutely divine, doesn’t it?” She swiped a taste.

The pudding had a creamy, pale yellow color. The vanilla smell hit my nose as I took a bite on a spoon. “Really good,” I agreed. “I like the banana finish. It’s subtle. That should work nicely with the fresh banana slices you’ve got in there.”

Linda spread the warm pudding over the crust. “Delish. I’m going to let this set overnight. I’d like to wait until morning for the whipping cream. Thanks again for your help, sugar. I need to scoot out of here and go have a little chat with Philip. Richard’s on cleanup duty, so I’ll just leave this mess for him too.”

I knew that there was no way Richard was actually going to come do any of our dishes. Plus, the camera crew was due to return in less than an hour to film me. I wanted Torte to shine on TV.

Mom and the rest of the team offered to stay late and help me, but I like working by myself, especially in the evening. It was such a rarity to have any alone time when I was working on the ship. Being home I’ve created a ritual of sorts I like to follow in the evening—I uncork a bottle of wine, pour myself a glass, and blast some tunes. It’s cheaper than therapy and gives me a break from my own head.

I sent them on their way, promising that I’d try to sleep in in the morning. I locked the front door after them, and cranked on some Carlos Santana. On top of my signature dessert, I wanted to test out a few ideas for Lance’s end-of-the-season party, but before I could do anything else I needed to organize the kitchen.

Linda’s and Nina’s things were easy to tell apart. I started with Nina’s supplies, stacking everything into her plastic tubs and placing them on the front counter. I threw all her dishes in the sink and left them to soak. Linda’s sprinkles and jewel embellishments were all over the island and the floor. I swept the floor and brushed everything else into the garbage. Then I piled her supplies together on the edge of the island. I wanted to use the entire space while I was cooking, so I decided to move her things into the office for the evening.

When I opened the office door, I forgot that Thomas had stored all of Marco’s things inside. Why hadn’t the Professor taken them this afternoon? As soon as I was done with my segment for the show, I’d have to call him and make sure they were still coming back for Marco’s things.

I pushed the cart with Marco’s supplies closer to the filing cabinet on the far wall. It bumped into the cabinet and everything spilled onto the floor. Great. Just what I needed. I bent down to pick up Marco’s things. As I grabbed a stainless steel pastry cutter, I paused with it in midair. Was I tampering with evidence? Should I put on a pair of gloves?

Thomas and the Professor couldn’t be too worried about fingerprints if they’d left Marco’s things, right?

Too late now, Jules, I told myself as I scooped his other supplies from the floor and placed them back on the cart. His index card holder with recipes had tipped over and scattered handwritten notes all over the floor. I gathered those together too. Blame it on the chef in me or my inquisitive mind, but I couldn’t help thumbing through Chef Marco’s recipes. Not that I’d ever consider stealing them, but I always find it interesting to look at recipes. I must have dozens of cookbooks at home. Some people spend their spare time reading romance novels, I spend mine flipping through pages of perfectly styled food. Carlos used to tease me about this habit, calling it my food porn.

Marco’s recipes included everything from a beef Wellington puffed pastry to a chocolate soufflé. Looking at his handwritten notes about omitting or adding a particular spice, or cutting down the sugar content, made me feel sad for the deceased chef.

I returned the recipes to the holder. My eye focused on the recipe at the front of the box. It was for Southern banana cream pudding. Linda must have been right. Chef Marco had stolen her recipe.

A knock on the front door sounded before I could take a closer look. I wondered if what we’d come up with today was better than her original. I left the recipes and Marco’s things and headed to the front of the bakeshop.

It wasn’t the camera crew. It was Nina.

She waved from the other side of the door. “I forgot something. Is it okay if I come in?”

I unlocked the door and let her in.

“I’m glad you’re still here. I was sure everyone had gone home. The front of the shop looked dark.”

“Nope. I’m still here. Going to be for a while.”

Nina looked like she was dressed for a show. She wore a simple black halter dress with a hemp-colored shawl over her shoulders and strappy black sandals. Her curls spiraled around her face.

“Are you going to closing night?” I asked, flipping on the front light.

“No, why?”

“You’re all dressed up.”

“Oh, that.” She blushed. “I guess I kind of have a date. Well, I’m not sure if it’s a date, but I’m going to dinner with that nice cop, Thomas.”

Cop?
Maybe I was being snooty but I thought of Thomas as a detective in training, not a cop.

“That’s great,” I lied. Why did my stomach start to turn?
Knock it off, Jules.
I smiled at Nina. “Did you need something?”

She fluffed her curls and giggled. “Oh, yeah, I did. I made a special batch of vegan brownies earlier and I want to grab them for Thomas. I’ll just scoot past you and get them.”

“Of course.” I stepped to the side and pointed to the front counter. “I moved all your stuff up here so I could have the workspace in the back. I don’t remember seeing any brownies though.”

Nina glanced at her neatly stacked supplies. “Wow. Did Richard come clean?”

“Nope. That would be yours truly.”

“Oh, sorry. It looks really good. My brownies are in the fridge. I’ll just run grab them and get out of your hair.”

Her curls bounced as she trotted to the fridge. Was she really Thomas’s type? Why did it matter? I had to get myself out of this weird Thomas loop—quick.

She returned with a glass pan of brownies. “Got ’em. See you bright and early.”

I felt my jaw clench as she skipped outside. There’s a chance I might have been exaggerating about the “skipping.” Across the dimly lit plaza I could see the
Take the Cake
crew assembling. I hurried to finish cleaning the kitchen before they came to film me. As I finished wiping it down with a basic mixture of warm water and vinegar, the door jingled again.

“You ready?” the main cameraman asked. His lip curled a bit as he scanned me from head to toe.

I hadn’t even thought about looking good on camera. I’d been too distracted trying to think of something to make. “Can you give me a couple minutes?”

The cameraman agreed, muttering something about the lighting.

I raced into the bathroom to assess myself in the mirror. I was as bad as the kitchen had looked a few minutes ago. My Torte apron was splattered with flour, pudding, and water. Stray hairs escaped from my ponytail and my face looked worn out. Fortunately Mom keeps a nice little stash of bathroom accoutrements for us and our guests in a set of wicker drawers next to the sink. Things like hand lotion, wet wipes, and individually wrapped toothpicks and mints.

I splashed water on my face and dug through the bottom drawer for a brush. We keep a stash of personal supplies on hand in case we need to freshen up after a busy morning baking. Yanking my hair free from the ponytail, I gave it a comb-through and tied it back up. I pinched my cheeks to give them a little color and ran a peony-colored shimmer gloss on my lips.

My apron would have to go. I threw it in the wicker basket and grabbed my
Take the Cake
apron. After I tied it on, I gave myself a final check. Much better.

“Ready to roll,” I announced as I stepped into the kitchen.

The cameraman had placed lights and screens on the windowsill and the far wall near the sink. My eyes squinted, trying to adjust to the bright lights. I’m not vain, but I did feel disappointed that the makeup team weren’t on site. When I asked, the cameraman laughed.

“Philip wants these shots to be real world,” he scoffed. “Like any baker would be working this late.”

I didn’t bother to tell him that I often stayed at the shop late. In fairness, I was unique. Most bakers aren’t like me. I thrive on little to no sleep. I just wished I had spent more of my waking hours preparing a dessert, instead of helping everyone else.

We started the segment with a brief Q/A about Torte. I forgot the camera was rolling once I started talking about the bakeshop.

Then he asked me to start working on my dessert. I gulped.
What are you going to make, Jules? Think!
My eyes landed on a bottle of strawberry dessert wine that Mom had brought from her wine tour for me to sample. I’m not overly fond of sweet wines, but this one had been made with ripe-from-the-vine Oregon strawberries and tasted like I’d cracked open a jar of strawberry jam.

I’d make a panna cotta and serve it with the sweet wine. Panna cotta is like pudding for adults. It’s an Italian dessert that translates to “cooked cream.” I’m a fan of the simple, versatile dessert. It works for elegant parties and casual family gatherings. It’s easy to dress up with fresh raspberries or, in my vision for my signature dessert, an exotic sweet wine.