Caught Bread Handed (20 page)

“And?”

Lance leaned his elbows on his desk and spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “Well, it seems that Rosalind has been successful in her quest to sway the town council. She got them to pass a new city ordinance that requires all businesses downtown to adhere to strict guidelines in terms of name, design, et cetera. She's creating quite the Old English village.”

“But she just gave everyone the petition at the meeting on Friday night. How did she already get the council to pass the ordinance?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. She didn't say how she made it happen, but she was very pleased that she had done it.”

“Pleased as in you think she could have killed Mindy?”

Lance strummed his fingers on the desk. “That's another question, isn't it? I got the impression that Rosalind would do anything—
anything
—to protect her precious town.”

“Anything as in murder?”

“Who knows, but perhaps.”

“How could she have killed Mindy though? Rosalind is in her seventies. Do you think she has the strength?”

“That depends on her motivation. As I tell my actors, everything comes down to motivation.”

“Maybe.” I wasn't convinced. Watching Rosalind struggle to sit down made me wonder how she could have managed to hold Mindy down. Something didn't add up. Although Rosalind was pretty banged up last night. I wondered how she got the scratches and bruises on her arm.

“Chin up, darling,” Lance said. “That gloomy look isn't becoming on you.”

I sat back in my chair. “Thanks.” I sighed. “I just feel like we're missing something, you know?”

Lance gave me a devilish grin. “I do enjoy being on a case with you. Your beautiful brain just cannot quit, can it?”

I scowled at him, which had the opposite effect that I was hoping for. He laughed and then clapped his hands together. “This is too much fun.”

“This isn't fun. Mindy is dead. Someone who we know may have done it.” I started to get up. “Thanks for the info from Rosalind. I better go.”

“Wait, wait.” He pointed to the chair. “I haven't gotten to the best part.”

“The best part?”

“Don't stand there with your mouth hanging open. Sit.” He nodded to the chair.

I plopped back down. Lance grinned. He was enjoying this way too much.

“Well?”

“Well, I did learn one other tidbit of information from our Ashland ambassador, Rosalind.”

“Which is?”

“Oh, Juliet, if only I had a mirror. It brings me such pleasure to watch you squirm.”

“I'm not squirming.”

He nodded to my foot, which was bouncing on the floor.

“Okay, fine.” I stopped moving my foot. “Now I'm not.”

I waited. Lance leaned back and savored the moment.

“It seems that in preparing her case for the city council that Rosalind did a bit of her own digging into Mindy's background and business practices.”

“And?”

“And it seems that Mindy wasn't entirely truthful about her staff.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm sure that you heard that she hired a top-notch cook, Reggie—our Brutus—from Portland. The rumor around town was that she scooped him right up from one of the best restaurants.”

“I did hear that.”

“According to Rosalind, that's not true.”

Lance paused and studied me. “Rosalind learned that Reggie didn't get his training at a world-class restaurant. It turns out his training was behind bars.”

“What?”

He waited for me to make the connection and then nodded enthusiastically. “Reggie is a convicted felon. He was just released from prison. He hasn't been working at a swanky restaurant, he's been a cook for some nasty fellows in orange jumpsuits.”

“Reggie was in prison?”

“It's true. Isn't that just a divine twist?” He thumbed through the stack of scripts. “In fact, I should write this myself. A prison cook. How dramatic. Do you think he served up a slice of murder with that greasy junk Mindy had on the menu?”

If Reggie had learned that Mindy was planning to hire Alan, could he have killed her? What had he done to land in jail?

Lance cleared his throat. “Darling, what are you thinking? I can almost see the brain cells firing in that pretty head of yours.”

“Nothing.” I stared at a glossy framed photograph of one of OSF's leading ladies on the wall.

“She's stunning, isn't she?” Lance said. “That was from a production of
The Merchant of Venice
two summers ago. She embodied Portia.” He dropped the affectation from his speech. “Jules, all kidding aside, is everything okay? You don't seem like yourself.”

“Why?”

“You've been different the past few weeks. That gorgeous face of yours gives away everything.” He tossed a muffin wrapper in the garbage can. “You and I are so alike. Have you ever considered that you can only love one thing?”

“I'm not sure I know what you mean.”

He waved his long, lean arm across the pile of scripts and then up the wall behind him. “This. This is what I love—the theater. You love pastry. Maybe like so many of Shakespeare's lovelorn characters we can't have both.”

Lance rarely broke free of his OSF persona. He'd never mentioned his love life, or anything about his personal life, for that matter. Our friendship revolved around his quick-witted banter. This was an important moment in our friendship. I didn't want to lose this moment.

“Your love life is a mess too?” I leaned my elbows on his desk.

His face softened. “There was a time when I had it all. That doesn't make for good drama though. Life is conflict, darling.”

A siren wailed outside. Our moment of authenticity was lost. Lance tapped his bony fingers on his goatee. “You don't think there's been another murder, do you?”

“I hope not.” I stood and picked up the delivery box. “Listen, I have to get back to the shop. Thanks for the info from Rosalind.”

“Are you holding out on me, Juliet?”

“Not at all,” I lied. A clock chimed behind me as if on cue. “The coffee rush is going to hit soon. I have to get back. We'll chat later. I'm going to see what I can learn about Reggie. I wonder if Thomas knows.”

Lance shrugged. “No idea. But you must keep me in the loop. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

He blew me a kiss. “Ta-ta. Run along. I'll stop by later for a coffee since you so rudely neglected to bring me one.”

I turned and hurried out the door before he could stop me. Lance loved the drama of Ashland gossip. I couldn't exactly blame him. Even more than the gossip, I knew that our brief exchange had shifted something between us. Lance had had his heart broken. By who? I knew that mining emotional information was going to take some time. That was fine. I wasn't in a hurry.

 

Chapter Twenty-one

On the way back to Torte questions swirled in my brain. Why would Mindy hire a convicted felon? Did she know that Reggie had done jail time? Maybe she had found out about his jail stint and planned to fire him. If he had resorted to physical violence in the past, could he have killed her?

The plaza was starting to come to life. Business owners had placed sandwich boards on the sidewalk and the smell of bacon wafted in the air. A police car had parked in front of the Merry Windsor, blocking two spaces in front of the hotel. That must have been the siren that Lance and I had heard.

I slowed my pace. Richard Lord was spewing profanity at a uniformed officer. “You can't take spaces away from paying customers.”

The officer spoke with his hands, obviously trying to calm Richard down. “Sir, I have my orders.”

Richard adjusted his terry cloth bathrobe. “I want a word with your boss.”

I ducked behind a propane heater when Richard looked in my direction. As much as I wanted to stay and eavesdrop, I had to get back to the bakeshop.

Andy greeted me when I returned to Torte. “Hey, boss. We were just wondering if we should call out a search party.”

“Sorry.” I held up the empty delivery box. “I got stuck at OSF. You know Lance. He likes to chat.”

Andy poured foam into a paper cup. “That's true. No worries. We've got everything under control here.”

The pastry case had been stocked. There were a handful of customers waiting for coffee and a few tables that looked like they might need refills, but otherwise Torte was running like a well-oiled machine.

“Good work, Andy.” I squeezed past a customer and headed for the kitchen.

Mom was peeling apples and Stephanie was slicing bread. “Hey, you two,” I called, walking straight to the sink to wash my hands after putting the delivery box back in its place. “Looks like everything is running smoothly.”

“Did you think we were going to burn the place down in your absence?” Mom winked.

“No.” I dried my hands and gave her a funny look. “I feel bad leaving you in the lurch. I got stuck talking to Lance.”

Mom gave me a knowing smile. “I can't imagine how that could have happened.”

“What are you working on and what do you want me to do?”

Stephanie stacked thin slices of bread. “I'm making French toast.”

“Doesn't that sound good this morning?” Mom asked. “We had some leftover bread and I was in the mood to make my applesauce. We'll serve the French toast with sliced apples, cinnamon, and whipped cream as our breakfast special.”

“Yum.” I put my hand over my stomach. “Can I sign up to be the taste tester?”

Mom offered me an apple slice. “Do you need something to tide you over?”

“No, I'm fine. Should I start on lunch prep? Are we going to do another soup?”

“They've been selling so well. I was hoping that you would make your creamy chicken noodle soup,” Mom said as she placed the sliced apples in a saucepan and sprinkled them with cinnamon and sugar.

“For sure. I haven't made that for a while,” I replied. “We should also talk about the Chocolate Fest. Can you believe that it's next month? I started sketching out a plan but I want your input. You too, Stephanie.”

Stephanie looked up from the bread. “What's Chocolate Fest?”

Mom lit the front burner on the stove and set the apples on it. She added water and a splash of maple syrup. “It's only the best weekend in Ashland. Weren't you here for it last year?”

Stephanie shook her head. “Nope. I don't remember it.”

“Oh, that's right. You weren't working much last winter. You were taking extra classes.”

“That term sucked.” Stephanie shuddered. “I had three math classes,” she said to me. “Someone told me to get them all out of the way together. Bad idea. Bad.”

Mom stirred the apples. “Chocolate Fest takes place at Ashland Springs Hotel and brings in some of the best chocolatiers from all over the state. There are chocolate tastings, chocolate sculpture classes, presentations on sugar art, demos, and much more. Last year there were ten thousand people who attended over the course of the three days. We have to have tastings for everyone and this year we've been asked to be one of the presenting vendors. That means we'll have one of the biggest displays.”

“Whoa, that's a lot of chocolate.”

“It is,” I said. “That's why we need to get started this week. It's going to be all hands on deck.”

Mom nodded. “I'm so glad you're going to be here this year, Juliet. Last year I thought I could sleep for a week after the event. I can't even imagine what it's going to be like this year. It's such an honor to be named one of the presenting vendors, but it's going to be a lot of extra work. I hope everyone's up for it.”

Stephanie cracked eggs into a mixing bowl for the French toast batter. “We'll all help, right, Jules?”

“Of course. I'm excited about it. I have some big plans. You guys might need to bring me back down to earth. I'm thinking chocolate fountains, chocolate pasta, chocolate art, chocolate, chocolate, chocolate. I could keep going.”

“No, don't.” Mom waved her hand in front of her face. “You're going to give me a chocolate rush.”

“It's going to be absolutely delicious. Think Picasso in chocolate.”

“Do you win anything?” Stephanie asked.

“I don't think so.” I looked to Mom for confirmation.

“Not exactly. There's not a cash prize, but there are awards for different categories and some of the pastry chefs who've won in the past have gone on to do great things. It's a huge honor to win.”

Stephanie added milk to the eggs. “Cool.”

I pulled a stock pot from the top shelf for my soup. “Totally cool. We're going to win something. There's no better place on the planet than Torte and it's time everyone else learns that.”

“I'm glad I raised such a humble daughter.” Mom laughed.

“You have built an empire here in Ashland and I want everyone to know it, that's all.”

“An empire?”

“A pastry empire.”

Mom turned the flame on the burner down. “I like the sound of that. A pastry empire. Don't we wish, but empire or no empire the Chocolate Festival is always a highlight of the year. People come from all over Southern Oregon and other parts of the state. It's going to be fun, and exhausting.”

I began dicing onions, garlic, celery, and carrots for my chicken soup. “Let's start thinking through each tasting and narrow down what we can realistically produce on a grand scale.”

Mom agreed. “Right. We have to think about things that will hold up well and things that we can make in giant quantities.”

“Oh, and I want to do a couple chocolate wedding cakes,” I said. “If we're going to expand our cake business the Chocolate Fest is the perfect time to showcase what we can do.”

“Good idea.”

“Speaking of cakes, I need to create a booze cake for Craig at the Green Goblin.”