Another One Bites the Crust Read online

  My day brightened a bit when Tracy and Thad came in for lunch. Sterling ladled two heaping bowls of our cheeseburger soup, thick with chunks of potatoes, ground beef, onions, and sprinkled with cheddar cheese. “I’ll deliver that order,” I said, piling Bethany’s orange carrots onto a plate. She had trimmed the cookies with lime licorice tops, and using edible pens, she had hand-decorated pink bunnies with black whiskers.

  What were Tracy and Thad doing together? I thought as I balanced the tray on one hand and walked to the booth where they were sitting. “Delivery,” I announced with a smile.

  Tracy’s eyes went straight to the plate of macarons. “Oh my goodness, those are the cutest ever.” She looked different without her stage makeup. Her hair was indeed dark, but unlike her performance as Cleopatra last night, she wore it twisted up in a bun. Her porcelain skin didn’t need any extra enhancement.

  I set the tray on the table. “You mentioned how much you liked them the other day so I thought I would let you be the first to sample our latest creation—Easter macarons.”

  Her doelike deep brown eyes lit up. “They’re too cute to eat, though. Don’t you think, Thad?”

  Thad sat across from her. His bald head was covered with a carpenter’s hat. His suspension tool belt looked lighter than it had before. I wondered if he’d taken out some of his tools to lessen the load on his shoulders. “Sure.”

  She rolled her eyes at him and shot me a look of exasperation. “Men.”

  I wondered how to barge into their lunch, but didn’t have to think long.

  “Sit with us for a minute.” Tracy patted the booth. “I want to talk to you about a special order. Don’t you think something like these would be perfect, Thad?”

  Thad stared at her and gave her a look I couldn’t read.

  She ignored him and dug into her soup. “This actually tastes like I’m eating a juicy cheeseburger.”

  “That’s what we love to hear. I’ll be sure to pass your praise on to our sous chef.” I watched Thad, who kept his gaze focused on Tracy as she ate. “What’s the occasion for your special order?”

  Tracy’s pale skin flamed with color. “Uh, um—well.” She looked to Thad.

  He yanked up the shoulder straps on his tool harness. They shared another look, then he changed the subject. “Have you talked to Lance?”

  Did he know about Tracy’s pregnancy? Something was going on between the two of them. I got the sense that Thad didn’t want Tracy to tell me more.

  “Yeah, I saw him last night,” I replied.

  Tracy slurped her soup. “It was so weird to open a show without him. The whole night felt strange, didn’t it?”

  Thad removed a flat pencil from his tool belt and moved it to a different pocket. “Yeah. It was a different vibe backstage for sure.”

  “It’s just so sad.” Tracy stirred the melting cheddar into her soup.

  “You mean Antony’s murder?” I asked.

  “Well, yeah, I mean everything, though. Running a production without Lance is like…” She paused, bit her bottom lip, and pointed to the plate of cookies. “Like eating a macaron without filling.”

  “I heard that Lance was having challenges with the board,” I said.

  Thad still hadn’t touched his soup. “Lance made his own bed.”

  What did that mean? I started to ask him, but Tracy cut me off. “That’s not true. How would you deal with someone like Antony? Why am I still calling him Antony?” She threw her head back.

  “Did you two get along?” I asked. “You and Antony.”

  “His name wasn’t Antony,” Thad said under his breath.

  “I don’t know. It’s always hard when you’re cast in a role like Cleopatra, especially with a method actor,” she said in disgust.

  Thad cleared his throat. Tracy glanced at him. “So, tell me about these adorable macarons. How did you make them into shapes like this? And what flavors are they?”

  I knew that I had been dismissed. “The carrots are orange with a sweet cream filling, and the bunnies are cherry with almond.”

  “Yum.” Tracy reached for a carrot.

  Thad finally tasted his soup.

  “I should get back to the kitchen,” I said. “Before I go, do either of you know whether the back stairway from the Elizabethan theater is usually locked?”

  Tracy shrugged. “No idea.”

  Thad took a minute to respond. “Why do you ask?”

  “Lance mentioned it. That’s all.” I tried to keep my tone casual.

  “No one uses those stairs. They’re crumbling and not safe.” He gave Tracy a hard look. “You shouldn’t use them.”

  She crunched the carrot-shaped cookie. “I don’t. They creep me out with the woods on either side.” She shuddered.

  “Good.” He looked relieved. “They should be locked. I’ve told Lance that at least a dozen times. They’re dangerous and no one needs access from the park. We’re inviting vagrants to come up into the complex.”

  “Yeah, I wondered the same thing when I was looking at them yesterday,” I said, instantly regretting the words as they escaped my lips.

  “You were there?” Thad’s hand went to his tool belt.

  “Oh, I was just walking through the park and noticed them. We’re doing a renovation downstairs and our steps are in the same shape.” I stood. “I’ll let you two finish your lunch. Just holler if you want to talk about your special order.”

  Tracy nodded. Thad kept his hand wrapped around a chisel and watched me leave. I wasn’t sure what was going on between them, but he obviously didn’t want her talking. Why? Had I been mistaken about the height of the person hiding in the woods last night? Could it have been Thad? He wanted the steps locked. Or was that a convenient excuse? Maybe he had been the person who put the lock on the gate.

  I returned to the kitchen feeling more confused. Tracy seemed sincere, but I couldn’t forget the fact that she was a talented actress. She could easily be fooling me. Or were they working together?

  “Hey, boss,” Andy whispered as I passed the espresso bar. I was so deep in thought that it took me a minute to register.

  “Sorry, what?” I shook off my conversation with Tracy and Thad and concentrated.

  “We have to do something about you know who.” He tilted his head in the direction of the kitchen.

  “Steph?” I mouthed.

  Andy acted out a pantomime of what I assumed meant that Stephanie was killing him by the way he clutched his neck and pretended to gag. “She’s killing you?” I asked.

  “She’s killing the coffee vibe in here.” He massaged the top of the shiny espresso machine. “This baby needs good energy to churn and burn.”

  “Churn and burn?” I raised my brow.

  “Cut me some slack. We’re all walking on eggshells around here. I can’t even come up with any good jokes.”

  “I know. I talked to her this morning and I gave her a pair of really good earplugs. Hopefully, they’ll do the trick,” I assured him.

  “And if they don’t?”

  I tucked the empty tray under my arm and patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I have a plan.”

  “Good.” He reached for a latte resting on the bar. “In the meantime, you want to give her this. It’s my newest latte art, Ode to Stephanie.”

  I picked up the cup, which had a grumpy but shockingly accurate portrait of Stephanie’s profile crafted in foam. “Andy, this is terrible. True. Talented. But terrible.”

  He grinned. “We have to lighten it up somehow.”

  I laughed. “Fair enough. But you’re taking your own life in your hands if you give her that.”

  “Don’t I know it.” With that he snatched the cup out of my hands and gulped down the grumpy face of foam.

  Andy was right. Torte was supposed to be our happy place. If the earplugs didn’t work, then maybe it was time to force Stephanie to take a break.

  Chapter Twenty

  Things didn’t improve the next day. The tension was thicker
than the new vat of chili Sterling had made. “How’s everything going?” I asked, returning from delivering a custom cake order.

  “Can you tell Andy to turn down his tunes?” Stephanie plugged her ears. “It’s giving me a headache.”

  I hadn’t noticed the music. I paused and listened for a minute. Light classical music was barely audible above the chatter of customers and the hum of the espresso machine. “That’s loud?”

  Stephanie stuck her fingers deeper in her ears and nodded. Bethany caught my eye from across the counter where she was whipping a batch of buttercream. She dipped her pinkie into sky-blue frosting. “Is there even music on?”

  Stephanie rubbed her eyes, leaving a smear of cake batter on her face. “I’m a freak. I swear, listening to the Oklahoma! sound track nonstop has given me superhuman hearing or something.”

  “Did you try the earplugs?” I asked.

  “I tried them last night. I think they helped, but honestly, it’s all I hear in my head. I’m not even sure what’s real and what’s not anymore.” She clutched the counter.

  Sterling slid behind her to support her. “Steph, you should sit down. You don’t look very steady.” He looked to me.

  “Yeah, he’s right,” I agreed. “Have you been eating? I’ve seen you guzzling coffee for the past few days, but have you eaten anything?”

  She shrugged. I noticed that she didn’t push Sterling away. “Let’s get her a sandwich,” I said to Bethany. “Sterling, take her up front.”

  Stephanie didn’t resist. She let Sterling place his arm around her shoulder and lead her to the dining room. “Hey, Andy,” I called. “Can you do me a favor and kill the music?”

  He stared at me as if I was speaking a foreign language. “Huh?”

  “The music is bothering Stephanie.” I nodded to the front.

  Andy scowled and pointed to a speaker mounted on the wall. “This? It’s Bach.”

  “I know,” I mouthed.

  He left the espresso counter and came closer to us. “Steph usually throws down with her punk beats. If Bach is bugging her, she really needs to see a doctor.” His boyish eyes were full of concern.

  “I know,” I repeated. The question was, how could I convince her to go? I knew that as her employer I couldn’t force her to see a doctor, but as her friend and mentor I was genuinely worried about her mental health.

  I had always thrived on little sleep. It was a hazard of working in the bakery industry. Fortunately, genetics played a huge role for me. As long as I had a few hours of solid sleep I was completely functional. But I understood that wasn’t true for everyone. Stephanie’s lack of sleep had clearly gotten out of control.

  Bethany made a turkey sandwich that I paired with a fruit salad, green salad, and chips. I took it to the front. “Eat something, then I want you to take the rest of the day off. Do me a favor and just drop by the student health center and ask them if there’s something they can give you. Melatonin, or a sleeping pill.”

  Sterling’s cornflower-blue eyes were filled with worry. “I told her to come stay at my place tonight.”

  “It’s a good idea.”

  Stephanie picked at the sandwich. “You guys are freaking out. I’m fine.”

  “You almost collapsed back there.” Sterling’s voice was firm. “You need to eat, like Jules said, and then I’m taking you to the health center.”

  She started to complain, but he fixed his piercing eyes on her.

  “Fine,” she snarled.

  “Good. I’ll check in with you later.” I touched her bony shoulder. “We all care about you, Stephanie.”

  Sterling caught my eye to say thanks as I walked away. Hopefully, the health center would have something to ease her sleeping angst. I felt relieved knowing that she was at least going to see a doctor.

  “Everything cool, boss?” Andy spoke in code since there were two regulars waiting for iced caramel lattes at the bar.

  I flashed him a thumbs-up, and went to check in with Bethany. “Sterling is going to take her to the health center,” I said.

  “Thank goodness.” Bethany scooped fluffy buttercream into a pastry bag. “She’s getting worse every day.”

  “Yeah. I’m going to call Mom and see if she can come help cover.”

  Bethany stood on her tiptoes. “It’s not too bad up there. We can handle it.”

  “True, but I know she likes to be needed, and we could use an extra set of hands to get us through the lunch rush. Previews start tonight for two new shows so I was planning to close early anyway.” I went to call Mom who immediately agreed to come help.

  “Juliet, why didn’t you tell me about this? I’m putting on my clogs as we speak and I’ll be there in ten minutes.” She didn’t give me a chance to explain.

  Not even ten minutes later Mom had an apron wrapped around her white capris and cable-knit cardigan. Bethany and I explained that Stephanie had gotten progressively worse while she took over the chili Sterling had been working on.

  “Mrs. C.’s in the house!” Andy shuffled in with a lavender honey latte. “Made this one special. Just for you.”

  “Look!” Mom waved us over to the stove to show us Andy’s creation—a three-tier wedding cake in foam. “We have to enter him in competitions,” she said to me. Then she blew Andy a kiss. “You have outdone yourself, young man. I’m serious. We are signing up for the barista competition in Seattle, and Torte will foot the bill.”

  “Sweet.” He cracked his knuckles. “My steaming pitcher is going to get a workout.”

  “Wait.” Bethany held up her index finger. “Can I borrow you and the drink for some quick pics?”

  Mom carefully handed her the latte so as not to disturb Andy’s artwork. “Hold the cup like that,” Bethany directed, having Andy pose for a couple of pictures and then taking close-ups of the foamy cake.

  “We have to send him up to Seattle to compete,” Mom said to me. She cracked ground pepper into the chili. “You should go with him. It would be a great networking opportunity, especially with the expansion.”

  “I’ll look into it,” I agreed. Barista competitions attracted highly skilled coffee connoisseurs to showcase everything from latte art to roasting methods, along with a barista throwdown, where participants had mere minutes to make and serve a perfect cup of espresso, latte, and signature drink while being scrutinized by judges on technique. Not only were regional, national, and world competitions a feast for the senses, they brought big prize money for the winners. Andy could win thousands of dollars to put toward his tuition or save for after graduation. It had been years since I had attended a competition, but I was fairly confident that Andy had a good shot at making it at least past the first round. Plus, it would be a chance for him to learn new skills and meet coffee artists from different corners of the world.

  “How’s the Professor doing?” I asked Mom after Andy returned to the front.

  She tasted the chili before adding another grind of pepper and a sprinkling of salt. “He went up to Medford again. He’s doing everything he can behind the scenes.” Pausing, she pursed her lips. “How are you doing? That was quite the speech you made last night.”

  “Sorry. I’m just upset about Lance.” I opted not to mention anything about my adventure in Lithia Park. “By the way, I met Detective Kerry.”

  “And?” Mom tasted the chili with a soup spoon.

  “She’s, er, serious?”

  “That’s exactly how Doug describes her.” She savored the chili for a minute and then reached for the cumin and chili powder. “Although he says that she’s very talented. She comes highly recommended.”

  I thought about Thomas’s perspective—that Medford was more than happy to send her our way.

  “He thinks that having someone without an attachment or history in Ashland might be good for the department. He’s always hired from within, and said it might be time to bring in some fresh eyes.”

  I hoped that didn’t mean that the Professor was thinking about offering Detective K
erry a permanent position. Detective Kerry was much too serious for Ashland.

  We got off the topic because Sterling returned with an update on Stephanie. “She’s at the health center,” he said, tugging on the strings of his black hoodie. “But she wouldn’t let me stay.”

  “At least she’s there,” Mom assured him. “Good work convincing her to go.”

  “I guess.” He didn’t sound convinced.

  At least the mood in the kitchen lightened. With Mom beside me rolling out sheets of pie crust and fielding gossip about Lance and why the Professor wasn’t on the case, I felt more centered. I plunged into piping royal icing on our sugar cookies. My thoughts continued to stray to Lance, but the steady stream of customers forced me to stay in the moment. By late afternoon the crowd had dissipated, as everyone headed to previews. OSF ran a week of previews before the official opening of a new show. It was a chance to work out any last-minute kinks and generate buzz.

  Andy had already left for class, Sterling to check on Stephanie, and Mom offered to stay for a while and play around with macaron designs with Bethany. I opted to do some more digging. Under the guise of delivering boxes of cookies to the theater, I went off in search of Judy. I wanted to get a better sense of whether she was lying. Had she only gotten favors like an invite to Lance’s party from Antony, or had she been blackmailing him for cold, hard cash? And the missing DVD was nagging at me. If Judy had really been close with him maybe she knew something about it.

  I loaded two boxes with our signature sugar cookies cut in the shape of tiaras and glass slippers in honor of the preview of Cinderella.

  As I crossed Main Street, I heard Richard Lord’s booming baritone. “Juliet, a word!”

  Just my luck.

  He was on the porch of the Merry Windsor with a lit cigar clenched in his jowls.

  “What’s up, Richard?” The smell of the cigar made me nauseous. Not that I had any intention of hanging around for long, but I didn’t want my sugar cookies to soak in the scent of the musty tobacco.