Till Death Do Us Tart Page 15

  Carlos reached for one of the bottles.

  “Uh, uh, uh.” Lance swatted his hand away. “Don’t touch. The evidence the police need might be in one of these bottles.”

  “I do not understand,” Carlos repeated, looking to me. “Who would do such a thing?”

  “We don’t know,” I replied, internally willing Lance not to say anything about the fact that the poison might have been intended for me.

  “The woman earlier.” Carlos tapped a finger to his temple. “This is why the ambulance came. She drank the poison.”

  “Just a little,” I assured him. “She’s going to be okay.”

  “Julieta, why did you not say anything?” Carlos looked injured.

  “I…” I couldn’t think of what to say. I felt terrible watching Carlos stare at me with a pained expression on his face. I was also acutely aware of Ramiro’s presence. I didn’t want him to worry.

  Lance rescued me. “The police asked us not to say anything. Well, more like told us that we weren’t allowed to say anything. Don’t be upset with Juliet. They asked us to come to the hospital to speak with the victim. Juliet poured the wine and was right there when it happened, so they needed her official statement.” He sounded legitimate. I hoped that Carlos would buy his story.

  “This is terrible. Terrible. Why would someone bring poison to a wedding? This makes no sense.” Carlos paced from one side of the room to the other.

  He was right. I still couldn’t fathom what had happened. The only thing I kept coming back to was that there had to be a connection between Lance’s investigation into Leo and the Brown Family Group and Megan’s poisoning. The wine couldn’t have been meant for me, could it? It was too much of a coincidence that the PI Lance had hired was the person who drank the tainted wine.

  Detective Kerry came inside. She walked over and whispered something in Thomas’s ear. They both scanned the kitchen. What were they looking for?

  I glanced out the windows. The outside lights flooded the deck. Someone moved in the shadows near the railing. I squinted to get a better look. It was Adam.

  “Hey!” I waved Thomas over. “See that guy out there?”

  Thomas and Detective Kerry both turned in the direction I was pointing.

  “Have you talked to him?”

  Detective Kerry flipped through her spiral notebook. “That’s Adam Tucker. He works for the temp agency you used to hire for tonight’s event.”

  “I know. Did you talk to him?”

  She pursed her lips. “This is not my first rodeo. Of course I spoke with him.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant.” Why did I always manage to irritate her? “I saw him and Megan fighting behind the speakers in the barn.”

  “They were?” Thomas asked.

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “I don’t know what they were arguing about, but Megan was obviously angry. I got the sense she didn’t want him here.”

  Detective Kerry jotted something down in her notebook.

  “I saw him at Torte too.”

  Carlos, who was still pacing around the kitchen, caught my eye and shot me a look of concern.

  Lance chimed in. “Yes, yes. Juliet is right. He’s quite shady. Lurking around the plaza. Hiding behind bushes and trees. I’m sure he’s been following me.”

  “Care to expand?” She rested the tip of her pen on the paper and waited for us to say more.

  “He’s been everywhere,” Lance replied. “At the theater. At Torte, like Jules mentioned. Everywhere.”

  “I remember him because he was wearing biker gear. He stood out. He was dressed from head to toe in black leather. He hung out at the espresso bar for a while, but didn’t interact with anyone. Megan was there at the same time. She was meeting with Clarissa. At the time, I thought it was weird because he was definitely watching her. The minute she left, he followed her.”

  “Are you sure, Jules?” Thomas asked.

  “Positive.” I nodded.

  Carlos had removed a napkin from one of the baskets and was twisting it into a tight spiral. “I do not like the sound of this. This is not good. A stranger following Lance and Julieta around town.”

  Thomas gave him a solid thumbs-up. “I agree. Sounds like we better talk to him again,” he said to Detective Kerry.

  “Already on my way.” Kerry’s heels clicked on the floor.

  “Do you think he tried to kill Megan?” Lance asked, after they were out of earshot.

  I shrugged. “I’m not sure, but when I saw him here I tried to ask him about coming to Torte. He claimed that Chef Garrison told him to come check out the bakeshop.”

  “Maybe he disappeared after he put this poison in the wine,” Carlos added.

  Lance patted his shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Yes, exactly what your delightful husband said.”

  “But why would he come back?” I thought aloud.

  Ramiro scuffed his shoes on the floor. I felt terrible for involving him in this. “That could be his disguise. Is that the right word?”

  “Disguise for what?” Carlos asked.

  “I saw it in a movie once. I do not think ‘disguise’ is the word I am looking for, but in the movie the criminal pretended to be a worker to—how do you say it? Blend in?”

  “Sí, sí!” Carlos clapped him on the back. “To blend in. Yes, this is a good theory.”

  “It’s not a bad idea,” Lance agreed. “Let’s imagine that Adam, our mystery man, knows Megan. She’s a PI, so perhaps she’s been tracking him. Maybe he’s wanted for something else. But he’s one step ahead of her. He knows that she’s working a case here in Ashland and he gets hired as a temporary worker to follow her. He had access to the kitchen, right?”

  “Right.” I nodded.

  “So, he easily could have been in and out throughout the night,” Lance continued. He was gaining steam as he worked out his theory. “It was dark. People were drinking. He could have snuck up behind Megan and dropped something into her drink. Then he vanished. Maybe he took shelter in the grapevines for a while. He waited until the police and everyone left and returned to his position. If you think about it, it might have raised more concern if he didn’t finish his shift. I’m assuming that Chef Garrison makes his employees check in and out?”

  “Probably.” I could check with him in the morning.

  “Right. So once he knew that the coast was clear he blended back in with the rest of the cleanup crew and no one would be the wiser. If it hadn’t been for our astute Juliet, he would have grabbed his paycheck and been out of here.”

  Lance’s idea had some merit. I wondered if Adam was even his real name. Maybe he had used a fake name to get the position. It was late and Thomas and Detective Kerry had told us we could leave. I wasn’t sure why Adam and Megan had been fighting, but I knew one thing: in the morning, I was going to box up a care package of pastries and go back to the hospital to see what I could find out.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I wasn’t sure what to do with myself when I woke the next morning. Usually, in times of stress I immerse myself in baking. I’ve found that my problems fade away, or at least are put in perspective, when I’m up to my elbows in bread dough. But baking would have to wait. Unless Roger and his team had pulled off a miracle yesterday, the bakeshop would still be in the throes of construction. If I couldn’t bake, at least I could see how much progress they had made.

  I pulled on a pair of capris, an ivory V-neck, and my tennis shoes. Then I twisted my hair into a long braid, and snuck past Carlos and Ramiro. Sunday mornings were usually quiet on the plaza and today was no different. I didn’t pass another soul on my short walk to Torte. The plaza felt different today. It was as if Ashland knew that two of her most beloved residents were missing. Mom and the Professor were probably flying somewhere over the North Atlantic. They had promised they would text when they landed. The flight from Portland to Greece was almost fifteen hours, so I didn’t expect to hear from them for a while.

  The sign on Torte’s front door read:
CLOSED FOR REMODELING. COME SEE US FOR A COFFEE AND A SELECTION OF SUMMER TARTS WHEN WE REOPEN ON MONDAY.

  I hoped that Roger hadn’t oversold how quickly they could get the new kitchen set up. Every day that we were closed was a day of lost revenue. I realized that I was holding my breath when I unlocked the door and stepped inside.

  The dining room tables and chairs had been stacked against the window booths. Thick opaque plastic barricaded the coffee bar and kitchen from the front. I assumed that the crew had taped the plastic in place in an attempt to contain the dust. Even with the effort a thin layer of dust covered the floor. My tennis shoes left imprints in the residue as I walked toward the back. We were going to have to give Torte a full wipe-down once construction was finished.

  In order to get a peek at the demoed kitchen I had to lift the edge of the plastic to sneak underneath it. What greeted me on the other side was a happy surprise. The ovens and the big equipment were gone. Where cupboards had hung from the walls there was blank space. The island that had resided in the middle of the room had been disassembled. Roger had asked us whether we wanted to sell it or try it in the new space. After much debate, we opted to hold on to it for a while. Mom proposed salvaging it and using it to store plastic lids, stir spoons, napkins, cream and sugar, and the other coffee supplies. It had been the first piece of furniture that she and my dad had purchased for Torte, and held sentimental value. I liked the idea of repurposing it.

  The kitchen felt huge. I couldn’t believe how much space we were going to have to work with. Some of the square footage would be taken away with the new set of stairs that would be put in, but we would easily double the size of the current pastry case and espresso bar. I had a feeling that Andy was going to freak out when he saw what would soon be his new digs. Not that I could blame him. My worries were unfounded. Roger had come through on his promise. Now I had to go see the basement.

  I ducked back under the plastic and headed outside. The basement steps had seen use. Dusty footprints led the way below. I unlocked the door and went inside. Where was the light switch? I was going to have to familiarize myself with the layout. Darkness surrounded me as I fumbled along the wall, feeling for the switch. My fingers finally slid over the plastic cover, and I flipped on the lights.

  The first part of the basement looked untouched. I walked down the short hallway that opened in front of the wood-burning stove and moved into the kitchen. There the ovens, dishwasher, industrial mixers, and other equipment had been placed in their new home. Instead of a stationary island like the one upstairs, we had opted for two rolling stainless steel workstations with white quartz countertops. The wheels on both stations could be locked down so that if one of us was piping royal icing onto sugar cookies or doing delicate design work we didn’t have to worry about the cart moving. When we had a big project, though, we could move the carts anywhere in the kitchen for extra space.

  From the looks of it, Roger and his crew might be done with phase one of the renovation. Fingers crossed. If they were finished, maybe Carlos and I could take the kitchen for a test run later. The thought of baking by his side made my heart flutter.

  I ran my hand along the cold, gleaming countertop. We had done it. A few months ago, the task had felt insurmountable. Now we were almost to the finish line. I couldn’t believe it. An equal mix of excitement and trepidation ran through me. Change would bring new energy and infuse life into Torte, but it also meant that our small team and easy rhythm would be shaken up. I just hoped I hadn’t made a mistake.

  Focus, Jules, I told myself, walking toward the ovens. I was about to turn on the oven to see if it was working when I heard footsteps upstairs.

  I froze.

  Were those footsteps?

  Sure enough, thudding steps reverberated above.

  Someone was inside Torte.

  Had I locked the door when I left?

  A crash sounded, like something had been knocked over. Who was up there? And what were they doing?

  Without thinking I sprinted for the door. I took the steps two at a time and burst into Torte.

  “Who’s here?” I yelled. Then a sinking feeling hit my stomach. It might not have been the wisest idea to confront whoever was in the bakeshop on my own. I probably should have called Thomas or at least given this more thought. Could this be connected to what happened last night? Or was it simply a prowler taking advantage of seeing an open door?

  Another crash sounded. It came from the kitchen.

  I stood in the doorway and considered my options. The plaza was lifeless. The only sound outside was the gentle flow of the Lithia bubblers. I glanced in both directions, but there wasn’t so much as a slight breeze. Even the travelers who often busked near the information kiosk hadn’t yet risen.

  If I confronted whoever was in the kitchen alone I ran the risk of them harming me and no one knowing. At least not for the next couple of hours. If I went to get help, they could get away.

  “Jules? Is that you?” a man’s voice called.

  My teeth unclenched. Okay, whoever was in here knew me. That was a good sign, right?

  The flap of plastic flipped up and Roger stepped from the kitchen into the dining room. He was dressed in a pair of expensive khakis, hiking boots, and a long-sleeved shirt with a puffy vest over it.

  “Roger, whew. It’s you. You scared me.” I moved away from the door.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I didn’t think anyone would be here this early.” He held the plastic up and Clarissa appeared from the other side. “We were off for our Sunday-morning walk. We always take a long stroll through the park before church, and I wanted to stop in and see how much farther the construction crew got yesterday. I had to leave for the wedding. When I left they were in the process of tearing down the cabinets. It looks like they got that done.”

  I exhaled. My nerves must be frayed. Why had I jumped to the conclusion that there was an intruder at Torte? Then again it was early. Not as early as my normal baking hours, but church wouldn’t start for at least another hour or two. Could Roger be lying?

  “I know. I’m impressed,” I replied. “I was just downstairs and it looks like everything is already hooked up and running.”

  Clarissa stood next to her husband’s side. She wore a strappy summer dress, covered by a knee-length jacket and tennis shoes. I guessed that her church shoes were in the handbag on her arm.

  “That was the plan. You should be able to fire up the ovens this morning,” Roger said.

  “Great.” I wondered if they were picking up on my unease.

  Roger looked to Clarissa. “Well, we won’t keep you. I’ll return after church. The crew should be here by about nine to keep working on demo. We’ll move the island to storage until we’re ready for it. I’m having the guys take the cabinets and hardware to the ReStore store up in Medford. Once we get everything moved out they will take out the walk-in fridge and then we should be ready to cut through below and start building the staircase.”

  “Wow. I’m so impressed by how quickly everything has come together.” I turned to Clarissa. “Your husband is a miracle worker.”

  She gave me a curt nod. “So I’ve heard.”

  They started toward the front door.

  “Hey, before you go. I wanted to ask you about last night,” I said to Clarissa.

  “What an event,” Roger said with enthusiasm. “I can’t remember the last time we danced like that, can you, Clarissa?”

  Clarissa shook her head.

  I didn’t remember them dancing. That must have been after I left. “I think it turned out well,” I agreed. “But I wanted to ask you about the wine. Remember when I brought out glasses for you and Lance and Megan?”

  “Yes, what about it?” Clarissa snapped. She adjusted her purse strap.

  “The police think that Megan’s wine was spiked with poison,” I said, paying careful attention to Clarissa’s reaction. “They’ve sent the bottles to the lab in Medford to be tested. We’ll know for sure
later, but they were asking me and Lance about it last night. Neither Lance nor I drank the wine. You were the only other person who could have drunk from the same bottle. Did you drink your glass?”

  Clarissa looked surprised. “Yes. I drank the entire glass.”

  “And you didn’t have a reaction? You didn’t get sick or anything?”

  She shook her head. “Not in the slightest. I feel wonderful.”

  Roger stared at his wife. “The wine you drank might have been poisoned? What are you two talking about? I missed all of this.”

  I explained what had happened. How had Roger missed the ambulance?

  Clarissa reached into her handbag and removed a tube of pale pink lipstick. She applied it to her lips as she spoke. “That is simply terrible, but if Megan’s drink was spiked it must not have been the entire bottle of wine because I’m fine.”

  “That’s good. I’m very glad to hear that you didn’t experience any ill effects.” I changed the subject. “I didn’t know that the Brown Group was going to donate a very generous sum to the arts council.”

  Roger snapped his head around. “What?”

  “It’s nothing. I floated an idea out there to Sarah, who apparently holds the purse strings for the company.” She made a dismissive motion with her hand. “Who knows if anything will come of it.”

  “But—” Roger didn’t finish his train of thought, because Clarissa placed her lipstick back in her purse and tapped her narrow wrist.

  “Sorry, we must be off.”

  They left for their morning walk. I was stumped. We had been so sure last night that the poison had been in the bottle. The fact that Clarissa drank her entire glass of wine changed everything. That meant that whoever poisoned the wine had to have been close by. Did that mean it was more likely that Adam was the culprit? Could he have snuck up behind Megan while we were talking? The waitstaff was circulating throughout the night. It was certainly possible. But wouldn’t Megan have noticed?

  I sighed. The good news was that if the poison had been in her glass that meant that I probably hadn’t been the target. That was a slight relief. I guess I would have to wait and see what Thomas learned from the lab. In the meantime, I was going back downstairs to get my hands sticky and christen the new kitchen.