Till Death Do Us Tart Read online

  Carlos clapped him on the back. “Sí, this is why as chefs we must always be open to trying new things. Our taste buds they will surprise us. It is like training for your mouth. If you only taste the same flavors again and again you will not have to make your taste buds work. You must force your palate to work. It is like a muscle. Without working it out, it will become flabby.”

  “I never would have thought of Hawaiian pizza as stretching a palate,” I said, taking a slice of salami and black olive.

  “Sí, but it is the same as any of you coming to Spain and trying one of our signature dishes.” Carlos was talking to everyone now. He thrived in moments like this. “It is our job as chefs to lead the way. We must show people the way to food. It is the only understanding we share. It is the only way we will find peace on this planet. We must come to the table together and break bread and drink wine. This is how we will solve the world’s problems.”

  Andy raised his bottle of ginger ale. “Cheers to that.”

  We clinked our glasses together. “Cheers.”

  Ramiro polished off two slices of the Canadian bacon and pineapple pizza along with a slice from each of the other four pizzas I had ordered. Carlos was right. The kid could eat. “I will have to tell my friends about this American pizza,” he said, wiping his hands on a napkin.

  Bethany nibbled on a piece of crust with her stained fingers. “Which one was your favorite?”

  “That one.” Ramiro pointed to one lonely slice of Hawaiian. We all laughed.

  “If you stay much longer, we’re going to turn you into an American, bro.” Andy chomped down a fourth slice. As long as I had known Andy I had never once seen him turn down food of any kind. Mom and I liked to tease him about his ability to put away food without ever gaining an ounce of weight. I appreciated that my staff had embraced and included Ramiro. It was evident in his wide grin that he was loving being an honorary member of my American “crew.”

  Carlos and Ramiro shared a brief look. Ramiro started to say something, but Carlos interrupted him. “I would like to do a walk-through of how we will be serving the feast tomorrow night.”

  I wasn’t sure why he was intent on changing the subject, but he was right, we needed to make sure that everyone knew what they were responsible for and where they were going to be stationed. We cleaned up the pizza boxes. Carlos took the lead in setting up the rotation for dinner and appetizer service.

  Our work party lasted well into the early morning hours. It was close to one in the morning by the time Carlos, Ramiro, and I flipped off the lights, locked Uva’s kitchen, and headed for my apartment. While Ramiro showered, Carlos and I shared a cup of tea on the couch. He draped his arm around my shoulder.

  “What are you thinking, Julieta? You are lost in your thoughts, no?”

  “Sorry. I was just reviewing everything for the wedding in my head. I didn’t forget something, did I?” I didn’t want to bother him with the news of Lance’s dad. There was no point.

  He massaged my neck. “No. It is perfection. Everything will be wonderful.”

  I hoped that he was right. I needed a moment of quiet to absorb the mix of emotions pulsing through my body. Tomorrow, my mom was getting married. My family was changing and expanding. Change was good, but lately it felt like everything was in flux. I wanted to be in a place to fully appreciate the moment when Mom and the Professor exchanged their vows, and the only way to accomplish that was to force myself to sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  I woke the next morning to the sound of scrub jays squawking outside my window. Mom often would save a loaf of sourdough and take it to the park to feed the jays. I wondered if they knew that today was her big day and had come out for an early serenade. Nervous jitters rumbled through my empty stomach. I crawled out of bed and pulled on a pair of old sweatpants and T-shirt. I twisted my hair into a ponytail and squished my toes into flip-flops.

  Carlos snored lightly on the couch. Ramiro was sacked out on the air mattress. They had agreed to help Thomas distract the Professor and get him to Uva on time.

  I gathered my things and left without causing them to so much as blink. Mom didn’t know it yet, but she and I were spending the morning at her house. I had packed a hearty breakfast last night, along with makeup, my dress, and a change of clothes for after the reception. Most importantly, I had tucked a gold-embossed creamy invitation into my bag. After weeks of secrecy, this morning I would hand Mom the invitation to her wedding. When we first hatched the plan of a surprise wedding I had imagined keeping Mom and the Professor in the dark until it was time to walk down the aisle. But then reality set in. How would I get her into her wedding dress or keep her away from the wedding cake? Not to mention that every bride should be pampered on her wedding day. I wanted Mom to languish in love while we painted our toes and curled our hair. Just like she had done for me when I was getting ready for high school dances.

  Mom and the Professor were flying to Greece on a red-eye after the reception. The Professor had already put a deposit down on the trip, and thanks to Thomas’s sleuthing we had been able to have the Professor’s travel agent book the trip earlier. I had snuck over and packed her suitcase with flowing sundresses and swimsuits. Thomas had done the same for the Professor. We had also arranged for a car to pick them up at Uva and take them directly to the Medford airport. This was my last day to spend with her before she became “Mrs. the Professor” as Andy had affectionately deemed to be her new married name. I wanted everything to be perfect for her, and wanted to soak in our last few hours together.

  The street lamps along Main Street shimmered, along with the rising sun, on the path to Mom’s house. I drove past sleepy shops and turned onto Mountain Avenue with its towering sequoia and aspen trees. The steep road that led to my childhood home was familiar. Thomas used to race his bike down the hill, much to the discontent of Mom, who was convinced that he would break an arm or leg. He never did, but he did boast that his bike clocked thirty miles an hour. I remember telling him that it was probably best to keep that stat to himself. I smiled at the memory and pulled into the driveway.

  My throat tightened as I knocked on the solid wood door. This was really happening. She was getting married today. “Mom, are you awake?” I stepped inside, and was immediately flooded with the familiar smells of my childhood—the lemon-scented wood floor cleaner and a fragrant bundle of fresh herbs sitting in a vase in the entryway.

  “Juliet, is that you?” she called from upstairs.

  “Yep. I brought breakfast.” I placed my dress on the banister and went into the kitchen. Mom hadn’t changed anything since my dad died. The house had been built in the 1920s and they had decorated it with mission-style furniture. Windows with the original pressed glass looked out onto the forested hillside. The kitchen had oak floors that gleamed in the morning light. A collection of framed photos rested on a desk near the window. I paused and picked up a picture of me and my parents. It had been taken at my elementary school carnival. I had won the cakewalk and was holding one of my dad’s custom black cherry tortes.

  I fought back tears.

  “Juliet, what are you doing here so early?” Mom came into the kitchen. She was wearing a thin, creamy bathrobe and matching slippers. The minute she saw me holding the picture, she pulled me into a hug. “Oh, honey, I know. I miss him too.”

  “Sorry. I feel like all I’ve done the past few weeks is cry.” I sniffed.

  Mom released me and handed me a tissue. “It’s okay. There’s a lot going on.”

  “I know, but I’m a mess.” I brushed salty tears from my cheek. “It’s Carlos, and the expansion, Uva, everything.”

  Her eyes misted. “Do you remember your dad talking about the days of water?”

  “The days of water?” I shook my head.

  She twisted her old wedding ring that she now wore on a chain around her neck. “He used to say that our best days were the days of water. Days when life-affirming tears rolled down our cheeks just as yours are now. Happy tea
rs, sad tears, it doesn’t matter. It’s the act of feeling deeply that makes us human. Your father knew that and embraced it every day of his life. That’s what I want for you, more than anything.”

  Her tender words made my eyes well again. “Thanks, Mom.” I dabbed my face with the tissue.

  Tiny wrinkles creased her cheeks when she smiled. “I’ll tell you what you need.”

  “What’s that?” I felt more centered. Instead of fighting the tears, allowing them to flow had released something.

  “How about a pot of coffee. Strong coffee.”

  “That I can do.” I moved to the other side of the kitchen and set to work brewing coffee and arranging the fresh fruit, cheese, and box of pastries I had brought for brunch.

  “What’s all this?” Mom asked, tucking her hair behind her ears.

  I held up a finger. “It’s a surprise.”

  “A surprise? I love surprises.” Mom clasped her hands together.

  “I hope you like this one,” I said, handing her the invitation.

  She ran her fingers over the paper and used her pinkie to free the wax seal on the back of the envelope. “What is this?”

  “Just read it.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek while I watched her read the invitation. What if she hated the idea? What if a surprise wedding had been a terrible mistake?

  Her mouth hung open. She dropped the invitation on the counter.

  “Is it bad? Do you hate it?” I winced and waited for her reply.

  “Hate it? I love it!” She danced over and hugged me. “A surprise wedding, today? It’s summer solstice. Midsummer’s Eve. How did you pull it off? Does Doug know?” Her words strung together as she spoke. “Wait! The launch party. Of course! Why didn’t I put two and two together? You’ve been planning this all along? Who else is in on it? Everyone?”

  “Everyone.” I laughed. “Well, not the Professor. We wanted to surprise both of you.”

  She punched me playfully in the shoulder. “But everyone else? The team at Torte?”

  I gave her a sheepish grin. “More like everyone in Ashland.”

  “Juliet, how did you do it? What about the flowers, and food…” She stopped in midstream. “That’s why Carlos and Ramiro are here?”

  “Yep.” I reached for two coffee cups. “It’s been a community undertaking. Everyone wanted to be in on the surprise. You and the Professor just get to show up tonight and revel in the experience. Oh, and you need to pack because you fly out to Greece tonight. I put some things together for you, but I’m sure you’ll want to take a look and add anything I might have missed.”

  “What?” Her eyes were wide. “I can’t believe it. It sounds wonderful. Beautiful. Thank you.”

  “I’m so glad that you’re happy about it; all of a sudden I was starting to panic. What if you hated the idea?”

  She patted my hand. “I could never hate anything you do.”

  I offered her a buttery croissant. “You know what they say, butter makes everything beautiful.”

  “I’ve never heard that.” She took the plate.

  “Good, then maybe I just coined a new mantra for the bakeshop.” I picked at a lemon poppy seed scone. “Now, where to start on our day of beauty?”

  “You tell me, you’re the expert. I’m still feeling like this is a dream.” She held out her wrist. “Do you think that feeling will go away if you pinch me?”

  I chuckled. “No, but maybe a cup or two of my wedding-day brew will ground you in reality.” I poured us each a mug of coffee. “Although, aren’t brides supposed to float through their wedding day anyway?”

  Mom took the coffee. “True.”

  We reminisced over pastry and fruit. I savored my coffee and the moment.

  “Oh my gosh, in the excitement I forgot to ask whether you heard about Lance’s dad? He called me yesterday to say that his father had died, but I was so busy I never had a chance to talk to him. Did he call the Professor?”

  She popped a deep purple blackberry in her mouth. “Yes, Doug mentioned it last night. He’s worried about Lance.”

  “Me too. It’s always hard to peel back the theater façade and get to the real Lance.”

  “True.” She cradled the mug of coffee in her hands. “Doug is personally invested in the case, because it’s Lance. He said this is the first time in all of his years of knowing Lance that he doesn’t think that Lance is intentionally dramatizing the facts. I hope he’s able to enjoy the day. He’s convinced that Mr. Brown was killed, but last night he barely touched our dinner. He has no idea how they can prove it, and since the murder took place in Medford, his hands are tied. Doug has a number of friends on the case who are sharing as much information as they can, but ultimately it’s not his case.”

  I hadn’t even thought about that.

  “Hopefully the wedding will be a good distraction. Doug doesn’t do well when he’s tied up in bureaucratic procedure.” She looked pensive.

  I felt bad for bringing up the subject. As much as I wanted her opinion on whether the Professor had any theories or an idea of how to prove that Lance’s dad had been killed, this was her wedding day. Neither Mom nor the Professor needed to worry about anything other than savoring their love.

  “Shall we go get started on our beauty transformations?” I asked, trying to wink. “Carlos, Ramiro, and Thomas have big plans for the Professor today. I’m sure they’ll keep him happily entertained.”

  She took a final sip of her coffee. “Let’s do it.”

  We spent the next few hours laughing on her bed like we used to in my teenage years. I remember many late nights plopped on her queen bed with its white down comforter, telling her about my dreams and aspirations. Things had shifted between us. Now she was the one taking off for new and grand adventures.

  The day passed like a magical dream straight from the pages of a Shakespearean play. By late afternoon it was time to pack our things and Mom’s wedding dress and head to Uva. The grounds were abuzz with activity when we pulled into the parking lot and I quickly ushered Mom upstairs to the bedroom where she could change. I didn’t want her to see the romantic scene we had created until she was walking down the aisle. I touched up her makeup and lay her dress out on the bed.

  Once we finished primping, the moment came for her to put on her dress. We had found it at a dress shop in Jacksonville not long after the Professor popped the question. The minute she had tried the dress on, we both knew it was the one. She removed it from the closet and I helped her get it over her head without ruining her makeup or loose curls. The dress was made of off-white silk. It was cut with an empire waist and fell below her ankles. She was a vision straight from the pages of one of Shakespeare’s plays. The ethereal dress brought out the olive undertones to her skin. Her wavy locks framed her heart-shaped cheeks, which glowed with excitement. At Uva, we would add the final touch—a floral headpiece with ribbons of flowers and greenery that would cascade down her back.

  “Mom, you look incredible.” I placed my hand over my heart.

  She bit her bottom lip. “You think so?”

  “I know so.” I turned her toward the mirror on the door that led to the master bathroom. “Look.”

  Her breath caught as she took in her reflection. We stared at each other in the mirror. “Mom, you’re beautiful.”

  She waved her hand in front of her face. “Don’t start. Don’t look at me like that. Otherwise, I’m going to tear up and ruin your makeup job.”

  I kissed her cheek. “I promise. I won’t cry. At least not until the actual wedding.”

  Mom smoothed the front of her dress. “Now what about you? Are you going to change now?”

  I glanced at my own reflection. I looked pretty funny in my baggy sweats and T-shirt with long curls and enough makeup to grace the stage. “I’ll change later. I still need to check on everything at the winery, and depending on how far the staff has gotten I might need to jump in and help.”

  “I can help too,” Mom offered.

&
nbsp; “No way. This is your wedding day. I’m going to go get you a light snack and a glass of something bubbly. You can sit outside on the deck and watch everyone else run around.”

  She scowled. “Juliet, you know that I’m not good at sitting still.”

  “Too bad. You have exactly thirty minutes until the guests start to arrive, and you are going to enjoy it.”

  I left to check in with the team in the kitchen and get her a glass of champagne. The kitchen was a blur of activity. Chef Garrison’s crew from Ashland Springs had arrived and were wiping down plates and glasses, stacking dinnerware, and carrying warming trays onto the deck. I spotted Adam among the staff. He was wearing the standard uniform—black slacks, black work shoes, and crisp white button-down shirt—but his neck tattoos and dark goatee made him look more like a criminal trying to dress up to go before the review board.

  Stop it, Juliet. Like Mom had said earlier, even the Professor doubted that Lance’s story hadn’t been embellished. My imagination was getting the best of me. The odds that Adam had been tailing Lance were slim.

  Carlos’s booming voice made me turn my attention to the stove where he conducted the crew. “No, that must go out last,” he said to a waiter about to uncover a platter of bread. “Do not uncover that until the very last minute. We want it to be fresh and springy. We do not want it to sit even for an extra minute and get hard and stale.”

  The waiter took his hand off the plastic wrap.

  “How’s it going down here?” I asked.

  The way Carlos looked at me made my cheeks burn. “Julieta, you are lovely.”

  I motioned to my T-shirt. “I’m in my sweats.”

  He ran his fingers through my curls. “I like your hair like this. It is soft and romantic.” He let his hand slide along my neck. Then he paused and stared at the ceiling. “The lights they make your hair look like gold.”

  “Thanks.” I gulped. “Is everything okay with food prep?” I changed the subject.