Live and Let Pie Read online

  He tripped on loose lava rocks twice as we descended the sloped hillside and found a shady bench under a giant white oak tree.

  We watched as an osprey circled the lake in search of food. For a minute I wondered if the Professor had lost his nerve to ask me whatever favor he was hoping for, but after the osprey flew away he crossed one leg over the other and leaned back against the bench.

  “Please forgive me if I’m potentially stepping into uncharted waters.” He acknowledged the lake with the slightest of nods. “Juliet, as you know, I never had children of my own. I’d never known love—the kind of love that set the Bard’s quill on fire—until your mother and I found one another. I suspect that you and I are alike in that way. I was content to live alone, knowing that one day love would find me. Or it wouldn’t. Either way I would be fine. I never wanted to settle for something unworthy of a sonnet. I would have been happy living out my days alone if it weren’t for your mother.”

  “I know she feels the same,” I said.

  “Indeed. But, this conversation is not about your mother. It’s about you.” His gentle eyes held my gaze. The tender look made my throat tighten. “As I’ve said before I would never dare to attempt to fill the very large shoes that your father left behind, but I want you to know, my dear, that I’ve come to think of you as my family.”

  “Me too.” I squeezed his hand. The lump in my throat grew.

  “My favor is this: I would be so very, very pleased if you would consider your mother’s house as our gift to you.”

  I started to interrupt, but he patted my hand.

  “Grant me this brief plea.”

  “Okay, sorry.”

  “You see, Juliet, I lived a relatively simple existence until your mother came into my life. I never felt the need for extravagant vacations or a luxurious home without someone to share them. I’ve saved a rather large amount over the years and neither your mother nor I feel right about you buying the house. You’re investing in Torte right now. You’re growing your parents’ legacy. That is such a gift for your mother and the entire community.”

  I couldn’t contain my tears. They spilled from my eyes and trickled down my cheeks.

  The Professor reached into his pocket and handed me a monogrammed handkerchief. “I’ve watched you with such pride,” he said after I’d had a chance to regain my composure. “I take no ownership of the young woman that you’ve become, but I’m filled with the deepest gratitude every day that I get to be a small piece of your life.”

  “That’s one of the nicest things that anyone has ever said to me.”

  “I mean it with the utmost sincerity. You are the daughter I never had, and while I will do my best never to overstep my role, as one of your father’s dearest friends I’m positive that he would be so proud of you. And I also want you to know that I am always here for anything you need.”

  His words spurred another round of tears. After I wiped my face again he gave me a hug. “We can’t be blubbering messes like this for much longer. Your mother will scold me to no end.”

  I laughed. “That’s true.”

  “Will you consider the offer?”

  “Yes.” I folded the handkerchief.

  He sat up on the bench. “Shall we go see what furniture arrangements your mother has come up with?”

  While we walked back to the house, I relayed everything, from Gretchen’s insistence that Edgar was going to bequeath the lot to the homeless council to Henry’s assertion that Edgar was rich. When I finished the Professor returned the notebook to his pocket. “Aha, so it continues to unfold.”

  I wished I had a clue what he meant by that.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I returned to Torte in time for the lunch rush. Andy and Sequoia were actually laughing as they pulled shots and steamed milk at the espresso machine. Thank goodness for small miracles.

  “Hey, boss,” Andy called. “Check out the specials board.”

  I looked up at the chalkboard that hung next to the counter. Stephanie had outlined our daily specials in chalk along with a new quote that read: “You raze the old to raise the new. —Justina Chen.”

  “Oh, I like that quote. It’s very fitting for our new space,” I commented. “Who’s Justina Chen?”

  Sequoia deftly poured foam on top of a latte in the shape of a leaf. “I think she’s a YA author.”

  “Yeah, Steph loves her,” Andy offered. “But that’s not what I’m talking about. Did you check out the special?”

  I looked up again. Below the quote Stephanie had drawn a teacup and hunk of cheese along with a clever saying: “Feeling cheesy? Try our cheese tea latte. Mmmm. Creamy, cheese, tea latte. That’s right. The big cheese.”

  “Has anyone ordered one?” I asked.

  Andy held up two fingers to make a peace sign. “Two. That’s right. Two brave souls have ventured into cheese territory so far this morning.”

  “And, what’s the verdict?”

  He looked to Sequoia. “Props to my cheese girl here, they’ve loved it.”

  “Yeah, but two is pretty lame. I thought people might be more adventurous.” Sequoia sounded disappointed.

  Andy reassured her. “Don’t sweat it. Once word starts to spread, it’s gonna be a hit. I can feel it.”

  I mouthed “thank you” to him and went to check on how things were going downstairs. I had to admit that it was going to take a while to get used to overseeing staff in two separate areas. I was happy to have more space, but it felt strange to have the team spread apart.

  When I went downstairs there was music playing in the kitchen. I could hear Sterling and Marty laughing. The smell of baking rosemary-garlic focaccia bread enveloped me. I paused at the bottom of the stairs to breathe it in.

  At a table near the fireplace, Stella and Malcolm were sitting together, deep in conversation. It couldn’t be a coincidence that they were both vying for Edgar’s lot and meeting together here at Torte. I ducked into the kitchen. Sterling and Marty were working the stove together. Bethany and Steph were frosting two-tiered cakes for a bridal show. Rows and rows of dark chocolate cupcakes and lemon sugar cookies cut out in the shape of flowers and hand-piped with marionberry buttercream sat in lovely splendor.

  “Do you mind if I steal a couple of these?” I asked Steph. Who as usual shrugged and didn’t brother to look up from her work.

  “Aren’t they so cute?” Bethany gushed. “The yellow cookies with the light purple frosting look beautiful together. Steph and I have a couple dozen more to finish, and then I’m going to shoot some pictures for Instagram. This is our special cookie for the day, so we’re going to give one away to the first person who comes in and mentions the post.”

  “You two are amazing.”

  “We’re just getting started, Jules. The Ashland weekend giveaway has already had more likes and comments than anything we’ve ever posted. I think it’s going to be huge. Not only for us, but for all of the downtown businesses.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m hoping for.” I placed two lemon cookies on a plate. “Keep me posted.” With that I went out into the small seating area to offer cookies to Stella and Malcolm. Stella jumped when I held out the plate. “Can I interest either of you in a lemon marionberry cookie? They are today’s special and I’d love some feedback on what you think.”

  Malcolm cleared his throat. “I’ll try one.”

  Stella leaned back against her chair and crossed her narrow ankles. “No, thank you. Waistline.” She pinched her small waist. Her steel-gray outfit matched her steely, untrusting eyes.

  I tried to think of a subtle way to bring up the lot.

  Malcolm took both cookies. “If you’re not going to eat these, I’ll gladly try two.”

  “Please do,” I said to him.

  Stella unzipped her purse. Then she proceeded to open a compact and dab her cheeks with powder. “Rumor has it that your mother put in an offer on the Emigrant Lake house.”

  Wow. News did travel fast in Ashland.


  “How did you hear already?”

  Placing her compact in her purse, she reached in again and removed an expensive tube of lipstick. “Thirty years in real estate. I make it my business to know everything. Plus, I had already opted out of that property. It wasn’t worth the excavation costs. Flat parcels like Edgar’s are so much easier to work with.”

  She had given me the perfect in. “Have you heard anything about Edgar’s lot?”

  Malcolm choked on his cookie.

  Stella glared at him. “That deal was done weeks ago.”

  I pretended like I had no idea what she was referring to. “Really? I thought the lot was still for sale.”

  Malcolm coughed twice. He stood, leaving an uneaten cookie on the table. “I realized I’m late for a meeting,” he said, trying to clear his airway.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Must run.”

  Stella shot him a look I couldn’t decipher.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he said to her and took off.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Do you mind if I sit?” I asked.

  “Go ahead.” She waved at the empty chair that Malcolm had vacated.

  I decided to be straight with her. She was clearly an astute businesswoman, and I had a feeling that she would see through any feeble attempt at skirting the issue. “I heard that you were at Edgar’s the day that he was killed.”

  With a simple flick of her fingers she dropped her lipstick tube into her purse. “Yes. I’ve been at the property nearly every day finalizing details. Why does it matter?”

  “Finalizing details? I was under the impression that the lot had already been accounted for.”

  Her jaw tightened. “What?”

  “I heard that Edgar had decided to donate the lot.”

  “Who have you been talking to? Gretchen?”

  I didn’t reply.

  “That’s wishful thinking on her part. Believe me, Edgar had no intention of giving away the land. He might have looked like a tattered, old hermit but the man knew money. He wasn’t about to let the lot go without a huge payout.”

  Her words mirrored what I had learned from Henry.

  “Edgar was motivated by money. He had been holding on to the lot for years, waiting for the land to appreciate. Gretchen is dreaming if she really thinks that he would give it away.”

  “I think he led her to believe that.”

  “That may be true, but he was toying with her. Or maybe he had an ulterior motive. Maybe he was trying to drive the value even higher by ensuring there were multiple interested parties. Perceived value can’t be discounted when it comes to real estate. I’ve seen it time and time again. A cash buyer is interested, and they learn that there is more than one offer on the table. The price gets bid higher and higher. I had a lot listed a few months ago that sold for fifty thousand dollars over asking price because of a bidding war. The parcel wasn’t even that desirable, but once the bidding war started everyone wanted in. That’s real estate.”

  “I don’t understand how Gretchen’s interest would help. The homeless council couldn’t outbid anyone.”

  “No,” Stella agreed. “They didn’t have to. That’s what I’m saying, perceived value. Not actual value.”

  “You mentioned that the property was already sold. Do you know to whom?”

  “To me.” She said it as if it was a known fact.

  “Edgar sold you the property?” I’m sure my face must have reflected my confusion.

  “Yes.” She brushed an imaginary crumb from her shirt. “I cut him a check for one hundred thousand dollars in earnest money last week.”

  “That’s a lot of cash.”

  She didn’t flinch. “Not in my line of work. It was intentional, to secure our interests.”

  Like a bribe, I thought to myself.

  “Edgar and I have been finalizing the contract and paperwork. It’s a shame that he died when he did. I had drawn up the documents and had gone over to have him sign them. When I arrived, he was already dead.”

  She didn’t sound shaken up over that fact. More upset that she hadn’t had a chance to ink the deal before Edgar’s untimely death.

  “I was under the impression that the city wasn’t going to approve a development for tiny houses,” I said, waiting to gauge her reaction.

  “Codes can always be worked around. Sometimes it takes some extra nudging, but it can be done.”

  “What about Malcolm? Isn’t he interested in the lot too?”

  Stella pursed her lips. “I’m not at liberty to divulge any details about my clients.” She picked up her purse. “I’m off to another signing.”

  With that she left.

  I sat for a moment, trying to absorb what she had just said. She, like Gretchen, believed that the lot was hers. Edgar hadn’t had a chance to sign the deal before his death. That didn’t give her much of a motive for murder. However, there was one detail that lingered in the air. She had just divulged something new. Malcolm was her client. Is that why they had been meeting? Her client for what?

  I picked up the cookie plate and their empty coffee mugs. I had been under the impression that Stella and Malcolm wanted Edgar’s property for their own separate purposes. What if I was mistaken? If Malcolm and Stella were working together that changed everything. The question was, how did this news connect to Edgar’s murder?

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Hey, Jules, do you have a minute?” Sterling called from the kitchen. I brought the dishes with me and placed them in the sink.

  Marty and Sterling had assembled an eye-popping assortment of concretes. Half of the island had been taken over by colorful tasting dishes. “We sort of got out of control.” Sterling looked sheepish.

  “Don’t let the kid take the blame,” Marty said, patting his plump belly. “I can’t resist a good frozen custard. Sorry—concrete. It’s a nice upscale term, isn’t it?”

  Sterling cracked his knuckles. “They’re the same. You can call it whatever you want.”

  “Custard, concrete, ice cream—you name it. I used to tell my late wife that ice cream is always cheaper than therapy.” His warm brown eyes lit up at the mention of his wife.

  I chuckled. “That’s a sentiment that we take to heart here at Torte. My mom’s mantra is: ‘Never underestimate the power of pastry.’”

  “I knew there was a reason I was supposed to work here.” Marty smiled. Then he slid a dish filled with a creamy scoop of pale pink custard my way. “Try this first.”

  I picked up the dish to study the custard’s appearance. One of the first things I taught chefs-in-training is the importance of presentation. We eat with our senses. The custard was smooth without any icy chunks. The texture was like butter. It had a lovely color that reminded me of spring and an intoxicating smell. “This looks divine.”

  Marty and Sterling shared a look of pride.

  Next, I took a taste. The juicy flavor of vine-ripe strawberries instantly melted in my mouth, followed by an earthy finish with a touch of basil.

  “You guys, this is amazing.” I took another bite.

  “It’s good, isn’t it?” Sterling reached for another dish. “Try this one. It’s super chill—vanilla bean with sea salt, but I think we nailed the sweet-versus-salty balance.”

  “You don’t have to ask me twice.” The snowy white custard was flecked with tiny black vanilla bean seeds and sprinkled with coarse sea salt. My taste buds rejoiced at the first bite. Sterling hadn’t oversold the custard. Often, in baking, simplicity provides the best results. This was certainly the case in the simple yet full-flavored vanilla-and-salt combination. “I’m at a loss for words.”

  Marty clapped Sterling on the back. “Our work here is done.”

  I couldn’t resist spooning another heaping bite of the custard into my mouth. “There’s only one problem with flavors this decadent—we are going to go through this fast. Are we sure that we’re going to have the capacity to make enough with
everything else we have going on?”

  “We’ve already worked it out,” Sterling replied, looking to Marty for confirmation.

  Marty adjusted his apron. “Right. We’ll add custard production to the top of the list each morning. The magic is in the machine. We dump in the ingredients and set it and forget as they like to say on TV.”

  Sterling picked up a lavender-colored cup of custard. “Yep. We’ll shoot for three flavors to start and work our way up to five or six for daily rotations. Once we run out, we run out.”

  “I have a feeling we might run out quickly.”

  “Supply and demand.” Marty opted for a serving of dark chocolate custard dusted with chopped hazelnuts and drizzled with homemade caramel. “We supply, and they will demand.”

  I liked his sense of humor and could tell that Sterling did as well.

  “Speaking of supply and demand, I’m going to make some flyers to put out for the next Sunday Supper. We’re confirmed on the menu, right?”

  Sterling polished off his custard. “Yep. And Marty’s agreed to help too.”

  “That’s great.”

  A brief look of sadness passed over Marty. “I have more time than I know what to do with. Being here has been a good distraction from…” He trailed off.

  Sterling patted his arm. “Distractions are good, man.”

  Truer words couldn’t have been spoken. I was happy to have them paired together in the kitchen. They were good for one another. Sterling knew about loss, and I could already tell that Marty was going to be a parental figure for Sterling.

  I said a silent prayer of thanks to the Universe for bringing Marty our way and then went to check on lunch service upstairs.

  Rosa was circulating through the busy dining room, refilling coffee and clearing tables. She paused at a table with four older women to speak in Spanish. Andy was pushing cheese teas at the espresso bar while Sequoia was working the register and sending happy customers out the door with our boxed lunches and lemon marionberry cookies.

  This was exactly what I had pictured when we began the expansion process. Torte was humming with life, with fantastic smells wafting from downstairs and the easy chatter of customers enjoying a leisurely lunch. Contented that all was well, I went to the office to work on the Sunday Supper flyers.