Caught Bread Handed (11 page)

I wanted to go over our accounts and spend some time roughing out a plan for the upcoming Chocolate Fest. Ashland hosts one of the biggest foodie events in the state every March, just after Valentine's Day when everyone's heart belongs to chocolate. This year Torte was going be one of the featured vendors. It was a fantastic opportunity to showcase our pastry art and chocolate offerings, but we had lots of work to do to get ready to serve tastes to the thousands of chocolate lovers who would be attending.

With the relaxing sound of the orchestra reverberating through the room, I poured myself a glass of Jose's red wine, cut some cheese and bread, and cocooned myself in the office for the next hour. The books were in good shape. I'd been trying to stay on top of them and make sure we were still on track for upgrading our kitchen equipment. Thanks to our Sunday suppers and some recent catering jobs it looked like we would be about ready to purchase the equipment just in time for the opening of the season.

The Chocolate Fest was a great marketing opportunity, but it meant spending some cash. I worked out a budget for supplies, food, staff, and promotional materials. Mom and I wanted to expand our occasion and wedding cake business. The Chocolate Fest would allow us to showcase a variety of cakes. When I was in culinary school the head chef drilled in us that the profit and salary of any successful bakery is in occasion cakes. Even in tough times people always order specialty cakes for birthdays and baby showers. Once we had new ovens we could expand our cake business.

I like to think of myself as an artist when it comes to cake and pastry. Customers commission us for our unique designs and flavors. I was looking forward to training Stephanie on some new techniques. She has a natural talent and an eye for design.

Mom and I had discussed printing colored brochures of some of our sample cakes and café menus to hand out. It wouldn't be cheap to have professional materials printed, but hopefully the cost would be worth the return.

Tomorrow Mom and I could go over the budget and start ordering supplies. Preparing for the festival, especially during the height of Valentine's Day orders was going to take time and careful planning. I sipped my wine and nibbled on the cheese and bread. The afternoon rush had made me hungry. My stomach rumbled as if to thank me for feeding it.

Once I finished the budget and printed out tomorrow's orders, I washed my wineglass and plate and decided to call it a night. There were two extra loaves of sourdough bread in the kitchen. I placed them in a paper bag and brought them with me.

The plaza was busier than usual when I stepped outside. People continued to mill around the sidewalk in front of the crime scene. One woman stopped to place a bunch of wildflowers and card at the growing shrine. I averted my gaze and headed for A Rose by Any Other Name. Mom has made it a habit to share leftover product with our fellow business owners, especially when we only have a few of something left.

Thomas's family had owned the flower shop for years. I knew that his mom was a fan of our sourdough bread so I decided to swing some by. Black pots with an assortment of winter flowers sat on the sidewalk. The display window at the busy shop was under construction. Thomas's mom stood on a short stool and was stringing up pink, red, and white tulle.

“Juliet, what a lovely surprise,” she said as she climbed off the stool.

“I brought you some sourdough. We had a couple of extra loaves.”

“My favorite. How did you remember?” She had the same youthful face as Thomas.

“We have a secret notebook,” I joked. “It's very red and pink in here.” The refrigerated cases housed a variety of bouquets all designed by hand.

She took the bag of bread and placed it on her workspace. “I know. Can you believe it, I'm already changing the shop over for Valentine's Day. Soon love is going to be in the air. It's our busiest day of the year, so I like to get a jump on the design. As soon as February hits we'll be up to our ears in roses.”

“It's hard to believe it's almost Valentine's Day. I feel like it was just New Year's. Mom and I are in the same mood with preparing for the Chocolate Fest.”

“And I hear love is in the air for you.” She cut strips of pale pink ribbon. “I haven't met your husband, but I've seen him pass by and everyone in town seems absolutely captivated by him.”

I wasn't sure how to respond. Thomas's mom had hinted that there was something left unsaid between us, but she'd never said anything more.

“Yeah. He's enjoying being in town.”

“Is he staying for long?”

“Uh, no. He has to get back to work on the ship.”

She wrapped the strips of ribbon around the base of a fragrant bundle of pink roses. “Of course. I hear he's a famous chef.”

“I don't know about famous, but a chef, yes.”

“Famous for our part of the world. Everyone is talking about him. I tried to get a ticket for your Sunday supper, but it's sold out. Rumor has it that he's cooking.”

“He is.” I glanced out the window. “I should go. It looks like you have lots of decorating ahead and I have an early morning date with butter.”

“Thanks so much for the bread. I'll have your flowers for the Sunday supper ready to go for tomorrow. Either send someone to pick them up or I'll have Thomas drop them by.”

“Will do,” I said. I turned and hurried out of the shop. Talking to Thomas's mom about Carlos was just weird.

“Juliet!” I heard someone call the second I stepped outside.

It was Richard Lord. He bellowed from the porch of the Merry Windsor across the street. “Juliet, come here!”

Richard Lord was the last person I wanted to see right now. I considered pretending not to hear him, but half the people in the square stopped and turned at the sound of his booming voice. There was no ignoring Richard Lord.

I sighed and crossed the street.

“Juliet!” He puffed out his beefy chest and waved me toward him with both hands. He could see that I was coming, there was no need to continue to shout at me.

“I'm coming,” I said, trying to get him to stop calling attention to me.

Richard Lord's name fit him. He and I hadn't exactly been best friends since I came home. He'd made a play to take over Torte, and his methods hadn't been exactly ethical in my opinion.

He liked to lord over Ashland in his ridiculous golf outfits. Today he wore a pair of orange-and-white plaid pants, a matching orange shirt, and a green vest that highlighted his rotund waist.

“I want a word with you, Juliet,” he said as he stuffed a handful of sunflower seeds into his mouth.

“What's going on, Richard?” I asked.

He chomped on the seeds and studied me. “You know what's going on.”

I stood on the top porch step, trying to stay out of range of his spit spray. “I do?”

“Don't play dumb with me.”

“Richard, I promise, I never play dumb. I'm exhausted. I just want to go home, so tell me what you need or I'm out of here.” I rarely had patience for Richard Lord. This evening was no exception.

He folded his arms across his chest and glared at me. I was about to back down the stairs when he finally said, “What's going on with Jose? I saw him at Torte earlier with your husband.”

“Jose Ortega?”

“Do you know anyone else named Jose?”

I did, in fact. I had met a number of men named Jose during my time on the ship. Most cruise lines have an international staff. I didn't bother to tell Richard that though. In addition to trying to micromanage everyone in town, Richard was a worse gossip than any little old lady. I was convinced that he had the front porch built at the Merry Windsor just so that he could stand out there and keep an eye on everything and everyone in town.

He continued without waiting for my response. “What was he doing? I saw him leave with your husband and that tattooed thug you have working for you.”

I sighed. Sterling might have tattoos but he was the furthest thing from a thug of anyone I knew. Reggie, Mindy's chef, who I'd officially met earlier, he could be mistaken as a thug, but Sterling—no way. I debated whether I should defend Sterling, but decided that would only lengthen our conversation. “I have no idea what you're talking about. Jose delivered our wine, like he always does. Why do you care?”

Richard leaned over the porch and spit sunflower seeds into the small patch of grass below the porch. “If he was delivering your order then why did your staff leave with him?”

“How is this any of your business?”

“You're up to something, Juliet, I know it. I tried talking to your husband, but he wouldn't stop. He's been too busy trying to weasel his way into everyone's good graces around here.”

“Richard, I'm leaving. I don't know what your problem is, but there's nothing going on at Torte. It's business as usual.”

“What did Jose tell you?”

“Tell me? Nothing. We talked about his kale.”

Richard scowled. “And…”

“And, nothing. We talked about kale and the wine he delivered. I don't understand why you're so concerned about Jose. Doesn't he deliver wine to you too? What's the big deal?”

He spit again, and then stared at me. I could tell that he was trying to decide whether or not he believed me. “I'm going to be watching you, Juliet.”

“Glad to hear it, Richard.” I waved with one finger and turned to walk down the stairs. I could feel Richard's eyes on my back as I crossed the plaza and headed for Elevation. Keep your eyes focused ahead of you, Jules, I told myself. I refused to glance in Richard's direction. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of thinking that he'd rattled me.

Richard was prone to crazy outbursts, but this was an entirely new level. Why did he care what Jose was doing at Torte? The only thing I could imagine was that he was trying to convince Jose to only work with the Merry Windsor. That would be a classic Richard move. Jose and Mom had been friends and business partners for way too long. There was no way Jose would ditch us for Richard. At least I hoped not.

 

Chapter Twelve

I don't remember falling asleep, but I must have. My alarm beeped in my ear at four the next morning. It took me a minute to figure out where I was. I had fallen asleep in my jeans and T-shirt. I needed coffee and a shower, in that order.

Waiting for coffee to brew is agony. I stumbled into the kitchen, found a bag of whole coffee beans, ground them, and shook them into the coffeepot. The robust scent permeated my small kitchen.

Much better, I thought, breathing in the scent as I walked to the bathroom. While my coffee brewed, I would shower. I turned the water to its hottest setting. The bathroom quickly filled with steam. I let the stream of water run over my shoulders and down my back. It felt so refreshing. Long showers were a luxury on the ship. As staff we were reminded to limit our water usage. Amenities were for the passengers, but I didn't mind. I was usually too busy baking anyway. Since returning to dry land, I had enjoyed indulging in a long hot shower every once in a while.

I scrubbed my skin with a eucalyptus and mint body wash that I'd purchased at Sensory, a natural skin-care shop downtown. The smell brightened my mood and made my skin tingle. After my skin had been buffed and turned a shade of pink, I shut off the water and toweled myself dry. My morning beauty routine is fairly simple. There's no need for heavy makeup or jewelry at the bakeshop.

I massaged my hair with a towel, applied a thin layer of eucalyptus and mint lotion, and pulled on a pair of black skinny jeans and a thin camel tunic sweater. Before I blew my hair dry, I needed coffee. I wrapped the towel around my head and flipped on the overhead fan.

The coffee had brewed to a deep ebony. I poured myself a cup and added a splash of heavy cream. There's something so indulgent about the first cup of coffee in the morning. It's almost a spiritual experience for me. I follow a steadfast ritual of warming my mug in the microwave, pouring in the rich liquid from the gods, and allowing the cream to turn it a lovely shade of caramel. Then there's the smell. I cradled the mug in my hands and drank in the scent of the Italian roast. I could almost feel my eyes brighten and my synapses start to fire. Finally, I took the first sip. Magic. Pure magic.

With my coffee in hand, I danced back through the living room and into the bathroom. Now I could concentrate on my appearance. I gave my hair a quick blow-dry and twisted it into a high ponytail. Thanks to the invigorating body wash and a full night of sleep, my skin looked bright. I was worried I would have deep bags under my eyes from the stress of yesterday, but thankfully I didn't. I dusted my cheeks with a light pink blush, applied some mascara and lip gloss, and studied my appearance in the mirror. The camel sweater brought out the natural honey highlights in my hair and the blush gave my face a bit of color. My skin is so fair that a hint of pink on my cheeks always helps accent my strong jawline.

Satisfied that I wouldn't scare off any customers, I finished my coffee, grabbed a jacket, and headed for the front door. An eerie fog had settled over the sleepy town last night. Old-fashioned streetlights glowed behind the mist. I quickened my pace as I made my way to Torte. It wasn't far, but with a killer on the loose I didn't want to take any chances.

The dense air weighed heavy on our little village, like the cloud of worry and fear that hung over all of us. Ashland was a friendly, welcoming city. We'd only recently recovered from a murder in our idyllic community. No one had expected it to happen again.

I rubbed my hands together and sucked in the frosty fog. It reminded me of a time on the ship when we'd sailed through a bank of clouds so thick that they looked like they could be molded together like pastry dough. I remember taking a break on the top deck. Gray mist enveloped the ship in every direction and stretched seemingly forever out into the vast sea. It was a creepy feeling. Fortunately it didn't happen very often. We usually sailed in calm and warm waters. Not that day. That day everyone from the staff to the passengers, even the captain, seemed on edge. Whatever direction we sailed the fog loomed over us. Our cruise director tried to distract everyone with movies and a scavenger hunt through the hidden corridors of the bowels of the ship. It didn't work. I heard the passengers voice concerns about slamming into another ship. Staff assured them that the modern technology on board wouldn't allow it, but in the kitchen there were whispers and rumors that the computer system had gone down. We were sailing blind.