On Thin Icing (17 page)

“Lance had us all get our coats,” she said, glancing around the room as if she were looking for something.

“Well, we’re going to bring out hot chocolate and tea. Hopefully that will help keep everyone’s spirits up and keep your hands toasty.”

Whitney didn’t make eye contact. “Good,” she said, not paying any attention to me. “Lance wanted me to check.”

“Did you need something else?”

“Huh?” She seemed to register that I was in the room. “No. Not really. I misplaced something and wondered if I left it in here.” Her eyes lingered on the cupboard where Mercury found the empty bottle of wine.

“Your tablet?” I asked. This was the first time all weekend I’d seen Whitney without her tablet clutched under her arm.

“What? Oh, my tablet. No, it finally died. Not that it mattered. I couldn’t connect to the Internet anyway. I even walked down to the lake early this morning to see if I could get a signal down there. Mercury said sometimes that works.”

“You were at the lake this morning?” I remembered seeing a flash of movement on my way to the marina. Had I seen Whitney?

She scrunched her curls. “Uh, just for a couple minutes. I couldn’t get a signal so I gave up. It was too cold.”

“Feel free to look around if you want.” I walked to the island and unwrapped blocks of cream cheese.

She started to back out of the kitchen, her eyes still glued to the cupboard.

“Really, I don’t mind. You’re welcome to check anywhere you need.” I was hoping she’d take me up on my offer. I wanted to watch her. Was she really so desperate for cell service that she had braved blizzard conditions, or was her trip to the lake connected to Tony’s murder?

“Uh, well, as long as I won’t be in your way.” She trailed off as she shuffled toward the cupboards in her Uggs.

“Nope. Not at all. Go for it.” I began creaming the cheese and butter together. I didn’t want Whitney to think that I was watching her, so I kept my eyes focused on the bowl.

She checked a few cupboards. I got the sense that she wasn’t being thorough because she barely opened them and then quickly shut each one. After checking three or four of the cupboards near the brick oven, she headed for the cupboard that had held the wine bottle. She sank to her knees and removed the toaster. Aha! My instincts were right.

I added confectioners’ sugar and a dash of almond extract to the butter and cream cheese. My arm needed a break from stirring.

“You didn’t happen to move anything from this cupboard by chance?” Whitney asked from her knees. Her face was neutral, but her eyes gave away her distress. They darted from side to side.

“What are you looking for?” I deliberately didn’t answer her question.

Before she could respond, Sterling came back into the kitchen with a deflated tray of almond bars. “It worked!”

Whitney scrambled to her feet.

“Hey.” Sterling gave her a look of surprise. “I didn’t see you down there.”

“Sorry. I better get back out there.” Whitney scooted past Sterling without another word.

Drat. I was hoping that she would tell me what she had been doing in here last night with an expensive bottle of wine and two glasses. Whitney had to have been the one who hid the bottle, but why? Could she have arranged a secret meeting with Tony? Over a glass of wine, Jules? I asked myself. I wasn’t sure what Whitney’s connection was to Tony’s murder, but I knew I had to find out who she met last night and what she was doing on the lake.

Chapter Nineteen

The almond bars were ice-cold and had deflated to an acceptable four inches. I cut out a corner from the tray and popped it into my mouth. The texture wasn’t exactly as I wanted it, but it had a decent crunch. I figured with a generous layer of almond cream cheese frosting and the chocolate glaze, they would be fine.

Sterling arranged packets of tea and hot chocolate in a basket.

“Any word on the generator?” I asked, giving the frosting one more good whip.

“No, but you’ll be happy to know that Thomas is in the bar grilling Carlos.”

“Perfect.” I grabbed a stainless steel pastry spatula and began spreading the frosting on the almond bars. It was hard to silence the perfectionist in me. For mixing by hand, the frosting was perfectly acceptable. I was pretty sure that Lance and his guests wouldn’t know the difference. It had a lovely subtle almond flavor and I had managed to whip out any lumps. The industrial mixer would have given it an airier texture.

Let it go, Jules, I told myself as I whisked the chocolate glaze and drizzled it over the top. You’re baking at high altitude and without power.

Sterling delivered steaming carafes of water and the basket of teas to the dining room and then came back for the tray of antipasto. I sliced the bars into squares and fanned them onto a glass platter. They actually looked decent enough to serve.

Thomas came in just as I was about to hand the platter to Sterling. “Hold up, let me get my hands on one of these,” Thomas said, giving me a sheepish grin as he snagged a bar.

“They’re not my best. Don’t hold it against me. We’re working under very unusual circumstances.”

He held the bar in front of a candle. “Looks pretty good to me.” He took a giant bite, swallowing half of the bar. “Mmm-hmm,” Thomas mumbled. “Yep. These are pretty terrible. I should probably have another.” He grabbed another bar.

“Take those to the guests before Mr. No Palate here eats them all,” I said to Sterling.

Thomas pretended to be hurt. “No palate?” he said with a mouth full of almond bar. “That’s not fair.”

“Who has no palate?” Carlos entered the kitchen.

“I was teasing Thomas,” I replied, nodding to the tray in Sterling’s arms. “Those aren’t my best effort. The altitude is throwing everything off.”

Carlos picked a bar from the tray. He carefully broke a piece off it. “These rose too high, yes?”

“Yep.”

He tasted the almond bar. Watching him savor the tiny morsel was like a sensory experience. He closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose while he chewed. No one would accuse Carlos of not having a developed palate.

Thomas rolled his eyes and started on his second bar. “If you ask me, Jules, I think these are great.”

Carlos finally swallowed his tasting bite. “The flavor is good, yes, but I think too much baking soda, no?”

“Exactly. Thank you,” I replied.

Sterling cleared his throat. “Should I take these out now?” He stood waiting by the door.

“Yeah, yeah. Go.” I motioned him forward.

Thomas shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about with baking soda. I think these are awesome. Everything you make is awesome, Jules.” His voice caught a little.

This was it—Thomas and Carlos in the same room. The contrast between them was staggering. Thomas with his boyish face, light eyes, and blond hair looked like an all-American football star. Carlos oozed sexiness with his olive skin, dark hair, and piercing eyes.

“Ha! I wish.” I laughed, trying to break the tension. “I’ve had my fair share of disasters over the years, but this one takes the cake.”

Carlos moved to be closer to me. Thomas frowned and inched closer to the island to make room for him. “This is what it means to be a chef.” He held up the almond bar. “Sometimes things do not go our way, but we must improvise.” His eyes twinkled. “You improvised well, Julieta. I like the frosting and glaze.”

I noticed Thomas flinch when Carlos called me Julieta. No disaster in the kitchen compared to being sandwiched between these two.

“Did either of you need something?”

Thomas arched his shoulders back. “No, I wanted to check on you. See how you were holding up.”

“Me, too.” Carlos slipped his arm around my waist.

“Actually.” Thomas reached for his iPad. “I have a few details regarding the case that I’d like to go over with you.”

“Okay.” I waited.

Thomas stared at Carlos. “In private.”

“Ah yes, police business.” Carlos pursed his lips. “I will leave you for now, but I will be back soon?” He kissed the top of my head before he left.

“What’s going on?” I asked Thomas. “Do you care if I work while we talk? Everything is taking so much longer than I expected.”

“No, do whatever you need to do. Can I help?”

I walked to the sink and tossed him a soapy sponge. “Sure, you can wipe down the island while I get the pasta maker prepped.”

Thomas caught the sponge and grinned. “At your service, chef.”

“So what’s the scoop?” I asked.

Thomas glanced behind him to make sure we were alone. We were. I could hear Lance talking to Sterling out in the dining hall. Thomas lowered his voice anyway. “I thought you might want to know that we think that we’ve determined cause of death.”

“Really?” I tried to keep my voice nonchalant as I lugged the pasta maker onto the island.

“Yep. Gunshot.”

“Tony was shot?”

Thomas nodded and scrubbed chocolate from the far side of the island top. “From the looks of the site of entry, the Professor thinks it was probably a hunting rifle of some kind.”

“Where was he shot?” Granted I hadn’t stayed around to get a better look, but I didn’t remember seeing a bullet wound or even any blood.

“He was shot from behind.”

That made sense. I’d seen his face, but not the rest of his body.

“So someone shot him and then put him in the freezer?”

“As far as we can tell, yeah.” Thomas walked to the sink. “We’ll need confirmation from the coroner of course, but he was already dead when he was placed in the freezer.”

I was surprised that Thomas was sharing so much information with me. After I’d helped him when a customer was murdered at Torte, he had backed off from wanting me involved in any police investigations.

“Whoever killed him had to be a man, right?” I reached into the flour canister and sprinkled flour onto the crank. The pasta maker does best when liberally floured. I have a strict routine that I follow: flour, crank, roll, repeat.

“The Professor doesn’t want to rule anyone out at this point, but yeah—lifting the body would take some serious strength, that’s for sure. Although, like the Professor says, people can do amazing things when under stress. Your fight-or-flight automatic response kicks in, and who knows.”

I twisted the crank with my hand to make sure it was nice and smooth. There are automatic pasta machines these days, but I prefer the old method of using the hand crank.

“Do you have any suspects in mind?” I asked. I considered telling him about the hidden wine bottle and Whitney.

“Carlos is pretty strong, isn’t he?” Thomas folded his arms across his chest.

“We’re not going to do this again, are we? Carlos is not a killer.”

“Jules, you have to look at it from my perspective. I have to check and double-check everyone’s alibi. Carlos is a stranger. Think about it, he shows up and someone is dead. Conveniently, Carlos has taken over Tony’s job here. I’d say that gives him motive.”

“You have to be kidding me!” I couldn’t stop myself from shouting.

Thomas raised his hands in the air. “Calm down. Just hear me out. I know you haven’t wanted to talk about whatever happened between you and Carlos since you returned home. Everyone in town is cool about that. No one cares, but Jules, I have to ask you, do you really know Carlos?”

I cut him off. “Of course I know Carlos! He’s my husband.”

“Estranged husband.” Thomas twisted his head to the side and wrinkled his mouth.

“Thomas, that’s not fair. What happened between Carlos and me is just that—between us. It has nothing to do with anyone here, and I know for a fact that there is no possible way that Carlos killed Tony.”

Thomas scrunched his brow. “Maybe, but you understand why we can’t rule him out, don’t you?”

“No!” I exhaled. “Carlos is a professionally trained chef. He’s one of the best chefs in the cruise industry. He’s highly sought after. Ask him about all the offers he’s received to work for different cruise lines.” I tried to steady my breathing. “You’re telling me that a head chef for one of the biggest cruise lines in the world would come up to Lake of the Woods in the middle of the Oregon forest and kill a bartender for his job? That’s ludicrous. That is seriously the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

I knew immediately I’d gone too far. Thomas swallowed and looked at his feet.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to be rude, it’s just that I know Carlos, and I know he’s not a killer.”

Thomas shrugged. “I hope you’re right. You probably are, but I want you to be careful.”

I wanted to tell him that the only danger I was in around Carlos was the danger of losing my heart.

“The Professor asked if you would be willing to come down to the crime scene and answer a few questions for him. He said that if it’s too upsetting for you, you don’t have to, but if you’re up for it he’d like to walk through exactly where you went this morning.”

“Okay.” I wiped my hands on a dishtowel. “I can do that.”

“What about your dinner prep?”

“The noodles can wait. Let me check in with Sterling and get him started on a couple things, then I’ll head down there.”

Thomas agreed. “I’ll wait out by the fireplace. The Professor asked me to escort you.” He turned and left the kitchen.

I took a moment to gather my thoughts and regulate my breathing before going to get Sterling. How could Thomas possibly consider Carlos a suspect? Was he acting this way because he was jealous? It wasn’t like Thomas to have such an outlandish theory. I knew one thing for sure; I had to get to the bottom of the empty wine bottle and glasses. I just had a feeling it would point me in the right direction. As soon as I finished with the Professor, I had to find Carlos and figure out what he knew.

Chapter Twenty

The arctic air took my breath away as I followed Thomas to the marina. After a few minutes of being lashed by the wind, I was nostalgic for the chilly kitchen. Thomas kept a tight hold on my arm as we trudged through the wet snow. I couldn’t believe how much snow had fallen since this morning. The resort was completely enveloped in the storm. Snow blew in every direction, making it nearly impossible to tell where the ground ended and the sky began.