A Batter of Life and Death (6 page)

Chapter Six

I dug through the mangled bag of ingredients for my cell phone and punched in Thomas’s number.

He answered on the first ring. “Jules, you miss me already?”

“Thomas, you have to get up here now.”

“Easy there. Slow down. Remember, this is the off-season—there’s no need to rush.”

“Thomas!” I cut him off. “Get up here now. Chef Marco is dead!”

“What? Jules, our connection must be bad. I thought you said someone’s dead?”

“I did! Chef Marcos, one of the contestants for
Take the Cake,
is dead.” I glanced toward Marco’s body and took a step backward. “Thomas, please come quick.”

“On my way. Don’t touch anything.”

The room felt even colder than when I’d first walked in. I hugged myself and ran my hands up and down my arms to try and keep warm. I wasn’t sure if it was actually freezing in the old theater, or if I was reacting to the sight of a dead body.

What could have happened to the chef? My mind became hyperfocused. Could he have been so drunk that he passed out in the frosting? My eyes scanned the room and landed on the countertop. All of the cakes had been destroyed. Sebastian’s delicate flowers looked like they’d been plucked from the top of his cake and scattered on the floor. His cake was smashed and smeared all over the counter. My Bavarian chocolate buttercream had finger marks swiped all over the sides and top. Linda’s and Nina’s cakes both had chunks missing from them, like someone had grabbed fistfuls of the desserts.

Marco must have gone on some sort of drunken rampage—ruining all of our entries.

The door flew open and Thomas raced in.

“Jules! Are you okay?” He stopped at my feet and assessed me from head to toe.

“I’m okay,” I lied.

He pulled me away from the kitchen. “Come on, you need to sit.”

I looked down for the first time. I was a mess. My jeans were coated in flour. Egg had splattered on my tennis shoes, and I couldn’t stop shaking.

“Jules, you’re freezing.” He grabbed a folding chair and pushed me into it. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared behind the stage. I wondered where Philip was. How much time had passed? He was supposed to meet me here at seven. It had to be long past that now.

Thomas returned with a cape. “Put this on.” He wrapped it around my shoulders.

“A cape?”

“It’s the best I could do.” He sat down next to me. “I want you to take some slow and steady breaths, okay?”

I tightened the cape around me. “Okay.” I inhaled through my nose.

“Good,” Thomas reassured me. “That’s it, keep breathing.” He placed his hand on my knee. It felt warm and comforting. “I need to go survey the scene. Are you going to be okay if I leave you here for a few minutes? I don’t want you passing out on me.”

I huddled under the cape and gave him a half laugh. “I’m not going to pass out, I promise. Go.”

He looked unsure, but got to his feet and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “Just keep breathing. Keep wrapped up. I’ll be right back.”

I nodded.

At that moment the front door opened and Philip breezed in. His cell phone was glued to his ear. “No way. We already talked about this. There’s no out clause.” He noticed me and held his hand over the phone. “Be right with ya. Just have to finish this call.”

Before I could respond, he stepped back outside. I could hear him arguing with whoever was on the other end of the phone.

Thomas surveyed the kitchen. Fortunately, from my vantage point at the front of the theater, I couldn’t see Marco’s body with the way the lights had been positioned. Every once in a while I caught a glimpse of Thomas making a note on his iPad, or crouching down to get a better angle.

Philip’s voice became agitated outside. “That’s it. No more negotiating. I’m done.” He must have hung up on whoever he was talking to, because he stepped inside and greeted me with a broad smile. “Jules, I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting.”

He stuffed his phone in the front pocket of the suit jacket he wore over a basic white T-shirt. “Business. You know how that goes.” Reaching into the laptop bag that hung on his shoulder, he removed a file folder and started to hand it to me. For the first time he took notice of me. “You don’t strike me as the cape type, Jules.”

I took the file from him with quivering fingers, and motioned for him to sit. “Philip, this is serious. Really serious.”

“Uh-oh.” He rested his laptop bag on the floor and sat in the folding chair. His jeans had holes that looked like they’d been intentionally sliced in them. I knew this trend was hot with twenty-somethings, but Philip was at least Mom’s age. I’d look ridiculous in ripped jeans, but somehow it worked on Philip. “That doesn’t sound good. You’re not backing out on me, are you?”

I shook my head. “No.” I took a deep breath. “It’s Chef Marco.”

His knee bounced. “Jules, you’re not auditioning for a part here. Stop dragging out whatever you have to tell me. My nerves are already frayed.”

“Mine too.” I pointed to the kitchen. For some reason I couldn’t make my mouth form the words that Marco was dead.

Philip sighed and rubbed his temples. “What has he done now?”

I inhaled again, making eye contact with Philip. “He’s dead.” My voice cracked a little.

Philip threw his head back and started cracking up. “Good one, Jules.”

“I’m serious.” I motioned toward Thomas. “The police are here now. Marco is dead.”

“What?” Philip jumped to his feet. “That’s impossible.”

“I wish it was. I found him here this morning.”

“What? No, that can’t be true.” He glanced around the theater like he was looking for something. “I took him back to the hotel last night.”

I shrugged. “Maybe he came back up here?”

Philip shook his head. “No way. He couldn’t even stand.” He moved toward the kitchen.

Thomas came up behind him and held out an arm. “I need you to stop right there, sir. No one can come in here. I’m securing the perimeter. This is a crime scene.”

Philip stopped in mid-stride. He swiveled his head in my direction. His eyes were twice their normal size.

A crime scene? Not again.

Chapter Seven

Philip stayed just outside the kitchen, watching Thomas’s every move. When Thomas completed his initial observation, he placed two folding chairs across the entrance to the galley kitchen in order to block anyone from entering. Then he called for backup.

I removed the cape. My temperature was climbing, probably in rhythm with my heart rate. Did Thomas really think that Chef Marco had been murdered?

He escorted Philip over to me. “I’m going to need to talk to both of you independently, and get a list of everyone who has access to this building.”

“Do you think it was really murder?” I blurted out.

Thomas gave me a hard look and turned to Philip and extended his hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name?”

“Philip Higgins, producer of
Take the Cake
.” Philip shook Thomas’s hand. “Listen, I’ve got a ton of money riding on this show. Is this going to take a while?”

“It’s going to take as long as it takes.” Thomas must have gotten that phrase from the Professor. “You’re in charge around here?” Thomas asked.

Philip rubbed his temples again. I thought he might end up with deep purple bruises on the side of his face from rubbing them so hard. “Yep. Listen, if I can’t shoot today it’s going to throw the entire production schedule off. I need to make a couple calls.”

“You can step right outside, but don’t go far. I’ll take Jules’s statement first, but then I’m going to need to talk to you.” His rigid stance made it clear he was in police mode. Thomas escorted Philip to the front of the theater and held the door open for him.

Philip walked outside. I could tell that he wasn’t used to taking orders from anyone, especially someone much younger than him. He adjusted the collar on his jacket and hunched his shoulders back as he exited.

“Do you really think someone killed Chef Marco?” I asked, folding the cape on the back of the chair. “He was really drunk last night. I just figured he passed out.”

Thomas scowled. “It doesn’t look that way, Jules. We’ll know as soon as the coroner arrives, but I have to follow procedure and protect the scene.” He looked toward the window where Philip paced outside. “What do you know about him?”

“Philip? Not much. He’s a big-time producer. He seemed to be the only person who could control Chef Marco. He said he took Marco back to the hotel last night. We had to cancel the show because Marco was so drunk.”

“One sec.” Thomas sprinted to the front, grabbed his iPad and clicked it on. “I need to get this all down. I don’t want to miss a single detail, especially since this is my first time securing a crime scene on my own.” He looked at the iPad. “The county sheriff is on his way. I hope he gets here soon.”

“You keep saying crime scene—why?”

“Jules, first of all the odds of someone passing out in a mixer filled with frosting are pretty slim, don’t you think?”

I agreed.

“Second, Marco has a large contusion on the back of his head. I’m not a doctor, but I’d bet money that’s the cause of death. The coroner will be able to confirm that.”

I felt like I might be sick.

“Jules, you okay?” Thomas grabbed my arm. “Maybe you should sit back down.”

“It’s fine. I just can’t believe I’m involved in another murder.” My hands trembled.

Thomas kept his hand on my arm. “I was going to say the same thing. Anything you want to tell me? You didn’t really go to culinary school, did you? I’m guessing you’ve led a secret life as a special agent on the seas.” He winked. I could tell he was trying to put me at ease.

I gave him a half smile.

“That’s more like it.” He motioned to the chair. “Sit, I have a few questions.”

He typed on his iPad while I filled him in on everything I could remember from last night. I explained Marco’s drunken behavior and how I wondered if he’d sabotaged all the cakes. When I left last night, Marco and Philip were the only two left. Philip claimed to have taken Marco back to the hotel. Maybe he hadn’t? Could he have hit Marco and left him to die? Was there any way the inebriated chef could have trekked back up the hill last night if Philip did indeed leave him at his hotel?

Thomas held up his index finger. “Jules, you’re not getting involved in this case. I made a big mistake this summer asking for your help. Leave the questions to me. There is no way I’m taking a chance on you getting hurt again.”

My hand reflexively went to my right shoulder.

Thomas noticed. His voice softened. “Does it still hurt?”

I rubbed the scar. “No, not really.” The scar was a physical reminder of the danger I’d been in a few months ago, and how lucky I was to be alive.

He leaned closer. I could smell a hint of lavender and lilies on him. His family owns A Rose by Any Other Name, the flower shop two doors down from Torte. Thomas helps out in the shop when he’s not on duty. “Jules, if this is murder—and I think it is—I don’t want you involved. Got it?”

“Got it.” I traced the small scar on the palm of my hand. Helping Thomas with a murder investigation last summer had definitely left its mark. I understood why he was being so serious, yet there was part of me that felt shut out.

Sirens wailed outside. The county sheriff and coroner arrived. Thomas told me to head back to Torte as he directed the coroner and sheriff to Marco’s body. “I’ll come find you at Torte later,” he whispered, walking me to the door.

My eyes had to adjust to the sunlight outside. The flashing strobe lights on the county sheriff’s vehicle made it more difficult. I wondered how much time had passed. The sun had risen overhead, casting a cheery glow on the bricks. I felt anything but cheery.

Philip grabbed my arm and startled me. “What did you tell the cop?”

“What do you mean?” I pulled away.

“What did you tell him about the show and Marco?” He had to shout over the sound of a siren on yet another police car arriving at the scene.

“The truth.”

“Which is?”

I shrugged. “That Marco was drunk last night and that I thought he may have intentionally destroyed our cakes.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s exactly what I was going to say too.” He clicked his phone on. “Listen, I’ve gotta make a few important calls here. This is going to put a big-time crimp in my production schedule. I’ll let you know as soon as the cop tells me when we can start filming again.” He scrolled on his screen. “And I’ve got to find another replacement contestant. Damn. Maybe we should have stayed in L.A.”

He didn’t notice as I continued down the hill and was out of earshot. I knew that Thomas told me I had to stay out of his investigation, but it struck me as strange that Philip was so preoccupied with the show. Shouldn’t he be concerned that a contestant—someone he seemed to have known well—had just been murdered?

Chapter Eight

“Boss, are you okay?” Andy greeted me at Torte with his backpack slung across his shoulder.

He held the door open for me. “I’m taking off for my morning class, but maybe I should stay. You don’t look so good.”

“No, no. Go. I don’t want you to miss your class.” Was my mouth forming words? My voice sounded distant, like it didn’t belong to me.

Andy waited while I stepped inside.

“I promise. I’m fine.” I waved him on. Andy and Stephanie both attend Southern Oregon University. We arrange their work schedules around their classes. Since the university is a short distance from Torte, they both come early to help open and, depending on their class schedule, they can leave and come back.

He tugged his backpack up his shoulder and wrinkled his forehead. “Okay. Catch you after class.”

Sterling was boxing up pastries at the counter. He paused when he saw me. “Hey, Jules. You’re back early. Did you have a run-in with a mixer?” he asked, noting my flour-coated jeans.

“You don’t even want to know.”

Stephanie came from the kitchen with a tray of red velvet mini Bundt cakes, glazed with a cream cheese frosting.