Another One Bites the Crust Page 18

  “You’ve been avoiding me.” His yellow teeth gripped the base of the cigar as he spoke.

  “No. I’ve been working.” I lifted the box of cookies.

  “Have you talked to your friend?” He tipped his cigar in a greeting to a guest leaving the decrepit hotel.

  “Who?”

  “You know who—Lance.”

  “No,” I lied, shifting the boxes in my arms. There was no way I was divulging anything to Richard.

  “We need to talk.” His belly squished over the top of his plaid slacks. “Soon.”

  I wondered if he knew that Lance was in custody. “About what?”

  “You know.” He chewed on the cigar.

  “I don’t.”

  “Tell Lance I want a meeting with both of you. This week!” Richard turned on his stubby legs and padded inside, still puffing on his cigar.

  Could he know something about Antony’s murder? What Richard Lord knew was always a mystery to me. The thought of spending more than two minutes with him was about as appealing as a root canal. Whatever Richard wanted could wait. I repositioned the cookie boxes and continued on to the OSF complex.

  I was hedging my bets that Judy would be around for previews, and sure enough she was sitting at a table on the bricks handing out preview programs. I hurried to drop off the cookies at the box office and then returned as the bell dinged, signaling that the first preview was about to start.

  Her hair was wrapped in a paisley scarf and her forearms were covered in bangles. “Hey, Judy,” I said, coming up to the table.

  “Jules, are you here for previews?” She thrust a program at me. “You better hurry.”

  “Actually, I was hoping to talk with you for a minute.”

  “Yes, of course.” She motioned to the empty folding chair next to her. “What do you need?”

  “It’s about Antony. Did you ever see him with a DVD?” I said, taking a seat.

  A flicker of something—fear—crossed her face. Then she swept the programs into a stack. “A DVD? What kind of DVD?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  She flipped through the glossy pages of one of the programs. “Oh, wait, I did see him with a DVD.”

  “You did?” I tried to temper my excitement.

  “Come to think of it I saw him with a DVD a few times. Lance films each dress rehearsal. He gives the actors critiques. Notes on blocking, vocal quality, and diction. They take the DVDs home to review. It’s like football coaches having their players watch film of other teams. Lance does that sometimes, too. He’ll send an actor home with a performance tape from a past season to give them inspiration.”

  Could that be what was on the missing DVD? What would the killer want with a film of a dress rehearsal? Unless it didn’t have anything to do with the dress rehearsal. Maybe something else—something offstage—had been captured on the DVD.

  “Jules?” Judy patted my wrist.

  “Sorry. I got lost in thought for a minute.” I blinked and shifted in my chair. “All of the actors get copies of dress rehearsal?”

  Judy wrapped a rubber band around the stack of programs. “I think so.” She placed the stack in a cardboard box. “I have to get inside. I’m supposed to help pass out cookies at intermission.”

  “I just delivered the cookies.” I stood. “Thanks for your help.”

  She hoisted the box, making her dangling bracelets reverberate against each other. “Does this have to do with the investigation?”

  “I’m not sure, but I think it might.”

  I walked down Pioneer Street, feeling one tiny step closer to learning why Antony had been killed. As I rounded the corner onto Main Street, past the Shakespeare Education Center where gorgeous, jeweled Tudor costumes were on display, I spotted Detective Kerry. She had one foot propped up against the door to the Education Center. She had a jelly-filled doughnut in one hand and was deep in conversation with Thad, who stood on a step stool, wearing coveralls.

  I thought about stopping but decided against it when I heard her sharp tone and barrage of questions. Did she think that Thad was the killer? I wasn’t sure but I was happy to see that she was questioning other suspects. Now, if I could only find that missing DVD.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The rest of the evening passed without incident. I filled Thomas in on what I had learned from Judy, called Sterling to see if he had had a chance to talk to Stephanie, and stopped by to check in with Lance. Unfortunately, the station was locked when I dropped by. Nightfall had left Ashland quiet and still. I considered returning to Torte for some late-night baking, but after the whirlwind of emotions I had experienced the past few days I decided to turn in early.

  I must have crashed because I awoke the next morning feeling refreshed, with a bright idea. Thomas had mentioned that Detective Kerry was a fan of jelly doughnuts and I had seen her munching on one while interrogating Thad. I also knew that Lance had a sweet spot for doughnuts. Perhaps I could sweeten the new detective up and get a chance to talk to my friend.

  I dressed quickly in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved V-neck shirt. I pulled my hair into a ponytail and moisturized my face. My skin appeared pale and splotchy. Lance’s arrest had impacted me physically. In some ways that shouldn’t have come as a surprise. He and I had grown closer the longer I had been in Ashland, yet it wasn’t until now that I realized how much I relied on his friendship. I missed his playful banter and snarky comments and I felt responsible for proving his innocence. He was the first real friend that I had had in years. On the ship, I’d had plenty of acquaintances and crewmates whom I hung out with, but that lifestyle wasn’t conducive to building long-term relationships. Friends came and went. Not so with Lance. Despite his teasing and tendency toward melodrama he’d been by my side and cheering me on with every endeavor. Why had it taken a tragedy to make me understand how much I had come to care about him?

  The plaza was plunged into a peaceful slumber as I made my way to the bakeshop. No one would suspect that our tranquil village had recently experienced a gruesome murder.

  Stop, Jules, I told myself as I unlocked Torte’s front door and quickly locked it behind me. I wasn’t taking any chances this morning.

  The staff weren’t due to arrive for almost forty-five minutes, so I used the silence to try and clear my head and think strategically through my current list of suspects. There’s no meditation or escape better than baking and the smell of rising yeast.

  We don’t make doughnuts daily at Torte. There was a fabulous family-owned doughnut shop located near the Southern Oregon University campus. Most of the time we sent customers looking for a maple-bar or apple-fritter fix up to their shop, but every once in a while, we would make the time to produce a batch of the deep-fried doughy treats. I started by combining yeast, warm milk, and a touch of sugar. While the yeast began to ferment, I sifted cake flour into a large mixing bowl. Then I created a well in the center and added egg yolks, salt, butter, and more sugar. I worked it into a sticky dough and sprinkled flour onto the island. Once the yeast had doubled in size and began to foam I incorporated it into the mixture and plopped the ball on the counter.

  My muscles flexed as I kneaded the springy dough. The physical exertion was a relief. Pounding the dough with my fists released some of the tension I had been holding in my body. I thought about everything that Lance had done for me as I stretched and massaged the dough. Not only had he saved me from a crazed killer, but he had ensured that Mom and I got approved for the basement property and even helped secure a grant. He had listened knowingly to my struggles with Carlos and had been the one who first pointed out that Thomas still had feelings for me. He had hired Torte for every party and event that OSF had hosted, and made sure to purchase weekly boxes of pastries and cakes for his staff.

  I owed him a favor or two. The dough became pliable in my hands. I returned it to the bowl and covered it with a towel. It would need to rise and double in size. In the meantime, I filled a pastry bag with our homemade raspberry jelly
and placed vegetable oil in a fryer to get it warming on the stove. Doughnuts can be tricky. The type of oil used to fry them and the heat can be the difference between a light and fluffy doughnut and one that is dense and greasy. By the time the dough had doubled my oil was bubbling at 370 degrees. I rolled out the dough on the island and used a two-inch circular doughnut cutter to create perfect circles.

  Using a slotted spoon, I cautiously submerged the round circles into the hot oil. It only took about thirty seconds on each side for the doughnuts to puff up and turn golden brown. I scooped them out with the slotted spoon and placed them on cooling racks lined with paper towels. After they cooled I used a wooden skewer to make a tiny hole in the side of the doughnuts and then piped them with the raspberry jam. For the final touch, I dusted them with powdered sugar and placed a half-dozen of them into a box for Detective Kerry and two in a paper bag for Lance. The remaining doughnuts would go in the pastry case. I had a feeling we would sell out of them before the morning rush hit.

  I knew Lance was probably desperate for good coffee so I brewed a pot of French press. The strong scent of coffee and the yeasty doughnuts permeated the bakeshop along with the loaves of bread that I had baking. I whipped up a batch of our standard cookie dough and muffin mix and placed them in the walk-in, so we’d have a head start on the morning prep. I left Andy and Bethany a note, in case they showed up before I got back, and poured a cup of the French press into a paper mug.

  The police station’s charm was undeniable with its navy blue awnings and arched windows trimmed in matching blue. It was more adorable than intimidating with its window boxes and welcoming benches. Short of steering panhandlers out of the plaza and dealing with the occasional shoplifter the police station rarely saw much action. I wondered how Detective Kerry was adjusting.

  I knocked on the door, carefully balancing the doughnuts and coffee.

  Detective Kerry opened the door with a suspicious frown. “Oh, it’s you.”

  “Morning,” I said, offering her the box.

  She scowled. “What’s in here?” She wore another trim skirt and a tailored black blouse. Her features were angular and striking. If she ever smiled she would be quite beautiful.

  “Jelly doughnuts.” I lifted the lid of the box to show her the neat row of droolworthy sweets. “Can I come in?” I held the box out for her.

  She took it and moved to the side to allow me entry. “They told me things were different in Ashland, but doughnut deliveries weren’t on the list.”

  I almost thought she was making a joke. “It’s one of the perks of being across the street from a bakeshop. I wasn’t sure if you were a coffee drinker. I brought a cup of French press for Lance, but we have an open-door policy at Torte. Stop by anytime for coffee or a pastry.”

  Her narrow face softened. “Thanks.”

  “How’s the investigation coming?” I asked.

  “I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation.” Her sharp jawline tightened.

  “Can I have a minute with Lance?” I held up the coffee and bag of doughnuts.

  “It’s going to take a while to get used to this place,” she mumbled, but headed for the back. When we reached the office, she stopped. “I’m going to need to see what’s in the bag.”

  “This?” I offered her the paper bag. “Doughnuts.”

  She examined the bag with a frown, and then unlocked the door. “Okay, ten minutes.”

  The room was humid and stagnant. Lance was curled up on the cot under a thin blanket. “Juliet.” He sighed and tossed off the blanket.

  “I brought you a pick-me-up.” I held up the doughnuts and coffee.

  He managed a weak smile. “You are too kind.”

  Detective Kerry shut the door and locked me in with him. “Ten minutes.”

  I walked over to place the doughnuts and coffee on a small side table near the cot. “How are you doing?”

  Lance rubbed his temples and reached for the coffee. He took a long whiff. “Oh, dear Lord, you are a savior. You wouldn’t believe the sludge she tried to give me earlier.” He crossed his legs and patted the empty spot on the end of the cot. “Sit. Sit.”

  “Do you want a doughnut? I made your favorite—jelly filled.”

  Lance shook his head. “Thank you, darling, but no. Coffee is all I need for the moment.”

  I sat on the edge of the cot. “How are you doing?”

  “How do I look?”

  “You look fine,” I lied. He had changed out of his sweatpants into a pair of jeans and fleece OSF jacket. At least the outfit wasn’t three sizes too big, but I noticed that his face was drawn and his nails had been gnawed in jagged edges.

  “Please, Juliet. You are the worst liar. I’m a disaster. Don’t try to make me feel better. Join me in my pity.” He clutched the coffee as if it was a lifeline. “Do tell. What’s the news? I’ve been stuck in this cell without even so much as a newspaper.”

  “This isn’t exactly a cell,” I pointed out.

  Lance scoffed. “Am I locked in a room in the police station?”

  “Yes, but—”

  He cut me off. “Juliet, I’m nothing more than a common prisoner at the moment. What have you learned and what are we going to do to get me out of here?”

  I felt bad for him. Lance was used to being lavished with praise and surrounded by art and beautiful things. I told him about my list of suspects and explained that Mom and I were both sure of his innocence and that the Professor was working underground. “Richard Lord stopped me yesterday. He said that the three of us need to talk. Do you have any idea what that’s about? Could he know something about Antony?”

  Lance waved me off. “No, no. Richard can wait. He’s nothing. What else have you learned?”

  None of my information fazed Lance. He sipped the coffee and nodded. “Lance, can you think of anything else from that night that might be important? Anything you saw? Anything?”

  He tapped the top of the plastic lid. “Nothing. I’ve had nothing but time to think in here. I’ve replayed the ghastly scene again and again and there’s nothing. The only thing that I’ve come up with is the DVD. Why was there an empty case next to Antony’s body? It can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

  “No, it can’t. I talked to Judy Faulkner and she said she thought it might be from one of the dress rehearsals.” I paused for a moment. “What if something else was caught on film? Maybe a fight?”

  “It’s possible.” He drummed his wrecked nails on his chin.

  I went on to explain everything that I had learned from my conversation with Vera. Lance perked up when I mentioned Tracy’s pregnancy.

  “Wait, what? My leading lady is knocked up?” Lance sipped the coffee and stared off at the white wall with the bulletin board.

  “According to Vera, yes.”

  “She would know. Costume designers know everyone’s secrets, darling.”

  “That’s what she told me. Do you think it could be Antony’s? Maybe they had a lover’s spat? Maybe he refused to acknowledge that the baby was his?”

  Lance set the coffee cup on the side table. “No. No, no, no. There’s no chance that the baby is Antony’s.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Those two hated each other. They couldn’t stand to be in the same room together.”

  “Really? But they seemed so chummy when I saw them at the party.”

  Lance rolled his eyes. “Acting, darling. Acting.” His jaw softened and he reached for a doughnut. “This is news. Well done, my fair Juliet.”

  “But what does it mean? Tracy’s pregnant. She and Antony didn’t get along, but why would she kill him? Maybe Antony threatened to reveal her secret?” I offered.

  Lance bit into the doughnut. Red jam spilled onto his chin, making him look like an evil villain. He wiped it away with one hand and smiled. “Or perhaps Tracy’s paramour killed to keep their love child secret.”

  “Huh?”

  “Darling, this doughnut is to die for.” Lance licked the
jelly from his hand. His demeanor had shifted. “Do scurry up to the theater. You have some more sleuthing to do. I think we have our first real lead.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  He tapped his chin with his free hand. “Chin up, darling. Costume designers might get the good gossip, but I assure you as artistic director I’m privy to everyone’s secrets, including Tracy’s.”

  Now he was enjoying the moment. He was intentionally stringing me along.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Time’s up,” Kerry said in a harsh tone.

  I heard her turning the key. “Lance, what do you know? You have to tell me. She’s going to kick me out.”

  Lance swallowed a bite of doughnut. “Go have a little chat with Thad. Let’s just say that I’ve caught him and Tracy with their lips locked in some unusual places.”

  “Really?”

  He shot me a wink. “Really, darling.”

  Kerry thrust open the door and tapped her wrist. “Time’s up.”

  “I was just leaving,” I said, standing up. “Take care of yourself, Lance. Mom and everyone at Torte will be happy to hear that you’re in good spirits.”

  “I am now.” He waved his fingers. “Ta-ta!”

  Kerry scowled. “Let’s go.”

  “Oh, Jules,” Lance called after me as Kerry escorted me out of the room. “I’d spend some time in the props department if I were you.”

  I was going to respond, but Kerry pointed to the front. What did Lance know about the props department? I wasn’t sure, but I would keep my promise and find out later. For the moment, I was relieved to see a little glimmer of my old friend. I took that as a promising sign along with the news that Tracy and Thad were having an affair. I couldn’t imagine her dragging Antony’s body to the duck pond, but Thad had the strength, and if he had killed to protect his pregnant girlfriend then that changed everything.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  I returned to Torte with new resolve. We had to be getting closer to figuring out who had killed Antony and I was sure that Lance would be exonerated soon. Sure enough, the entire team—even Stephanie—was fast at work in the humming kitchen. I paused to take in the mingling scents of coffee, doughnuts, and baking bread. Food is a sensory experience. The texture of a chewy crust, the taste of a zesty lemon scone, the scent of hot rolls straight from the oven, and the smell of brewing arabica beans. Mom and I often joked that we should find a way to pipe the bakery scents onto the plaza. We would probably double our customer base instantaneously.