Caught Bread Handed (14 page)

Mom folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot on the floor. “It isn't as easy as you thought, is it?”

“Hand me that string,” I said.

She tossed me the second string of lights. I plugged the strands together and snaked them through the chandelier. They wouldn't reach to the far wall without me having to lean my body out into a prone position. I decided it was best to climb down and move the chair versus falling and breaking an arm or something.

Mom handed me a metal hook. “Screw that into the picture rail.”

I scooted the chair against the wall, climbed back on it, and screwed the hook into the wall. Then I looped the lights through the hook and repeated the process on the other side of the room.

“It's going to look great.” Mom clapped when I finished. “Should I plug them in?”

“Definitely.” I pushed the chair back in place.

Mom bent down to plug in the twinkle lights. “Drum roll, please.” She pounded her knees and then stuck the plug into the outlet.

Little golden lights sparkled to life above us. The ceiling danced. Flecks of white and gold reflected off the windows and created a canopy of light overhead.

“It's perfect.” Mom placed her hand over her heart. “Enchanting.”

“It looks great.”

“I have one more finishing touch to do. I'm going to run over to A Rose by Any Other Name and grab a few things. I'll be back in a minute. Do you need anything while I'm out?”

“Nope.” I shook my head. “I think we're in good shape. It looks so festive in here we should take a picture and submit it to one of the foodie magazines.”

Mom's beaming smiled matched the lights. “Honey, you're being too nice.”

“I'm not, Mom. It's gorgeous.” I turned and called Sterling and Carlos to the front. “What do you think, guys?”

Sterling gave Mom a thumbs-up. Carlos wiped his hands on his apron and lifted his hands in the air. “It is—how you say?
Magnifique.
”

Mom shooed them back to the kitchen. “I'll finish arranging the chairs. You go ahead and get your own work done.”

I watched her sway as she made her way to the front door. Mom has the best eye for design. It's one of the many reasons that our customers keep coming back to Torte. That, and her delicious pastry. I was glad to see her mood lighter. I wondered if she and the Professor had a chance to talk last night. If we had any time alone this afternoon I would have to ask her.

The kitchen smelled like a street fair in Spain. I breathed in the scent of roasting peppers and chopped cilantro. Sterling and Carlos had taken over every square inch of countertop and island with meats, cheeses, vegetables, and spices.

“You two aren't messing around,” I said as I walked to the sink to wash my hands.

Sterling nodded at Carlos. “He says that it's customary to eat a lot in Spain.”

“
Sí, sí,
” Carlos said. “Julieta knows this. Yes?”

“I do.” I massaged honey lotion into my hands. “You have to pace yourself when you have a meal with Carlos. The food just keeps coming and coming.”

Carlos squinted and squared his jaw. “Do not say it like it is a bad thing. Food is an experience. You should savor and drink some wine. Then take a little siesta, and eat some more. This is the Spanish way.”

“Sounds good to me.” Sterling carefully sliced an olive.

“I'm kidding. It is a pretty fantastic experience to have a true tapas dinner in Spain. Carlos isn't exaggerating. People sit around the table for hours. They take breaks and just when you think there's no possible way you can fit another morsel into your mouth, out comes another round and the next thing you know you're eating again.”

“This is how food should be.” Carlos held his knife as he spoke. “This is the problem with American cuisine, no? It's all about fast. Like the ShakesBurgers. Food should not be fast. Food should be love.”

The doorbell jingled. Mom had returned with an armful of evergreen boughs, more roses, and Thomas. Uh-oh. Speaking of love …

 

Chapter Fourteen

Mom shot me an apologetic look as she set the box of flowers on the front counter. “Look who I bumped into at the flower shop.”

Thomas carried another box of evergreen boughs and twine. “Where do you want me to put these, Mrs. Capshaw?”

Mom made room for him on top of the pastry case. “Right here is great. Thanks for bringing those over, Thomas. They smell amazing.” She held a flower to her nose.

Carlos stopped sautéing garlic and walked up to the opposite side of the counter. “Helen, let us help you.” He motioned for Sterling to come to the front.

Thomas clutched the box.

“I can take that, Thomas,” Mom offered.

“What?” Thomas stared at her.

“The flowers. I'll take them or you can put them right there.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Capshaw. Of course. Here.” Thomas set them on the pastry case.

Carlos immediately picked up an evergreen bough and took a whiff. “It is nice, Helen. Good choice.” He didn't acknowledge Thomas and I could tell by the way he emphasized Mom's name that he was trying to make it clear he had a very different relationship with her than Thomas.

Mom tried to break the tension. “Carlos, don't let me keep you from your work.”

“It is no problem.” Carlos nudged Sterling. “We can help if you need it, yes?”

Sterling tugged on the strings of his hoodie. “Sure. Whatever.”

“Really,” Mom insisted. “I know you two have a ton going on back there. Get to it. Don't worry about me.”

Carlos frowned. Then he recovered and blew Mom a kiss. “Okay. If you need some muscle you call us, yes?”

“I will call you, first, I promise.” She made a cross over her heart.

Sterling and Carlos returned to the kitchen. Thomas stood near the front door. He picked needles from one of the evergreen branches. They collected in a pile on the countertop. Mom began taking the boughs from the box and wrapping them together with the twine. She swept the pile of needles into her hand and tossed it into the garbage.

Thomas cleared his throat. “Hey, Jules, do you have a second? I need to talk to you about the investigation.”

“Sure.” I could feel Carlos's eyes on me.

Thomas must have sensed it too. He glanced to the kitchen. “Can you step outside for a minute?”

“Yeah.” I looked at Mom. “As long as you're okay for a few?”

She smacked my hip with an evergreen branch. “Please. I can do this with my eyes shut. You go. I'll take care of
everything
in here.” Her meaning was clear. I knew that she wasn't just talking about decorating for Sunday supper.

I followed Thomas outside and pointed to a bench on the far side of the plaza, out of sight of Torte's windows. The fog had lifted. A few tourists milled around the plaza. One of them snapped a photo of the shrine in front of ShakesBurgers with her phone. Not exactly the kind of photograph I'd want of a vacation, I thought.

“What's up?” I asked, taking a seat on the bench.

Thomas sat too. He stretched his legs out and crossed his feet. He wore his standard blue police uniform and black running shoes. I wondered how often he'd had to run a criminal down on Ashland's quiet streets.

“I need to ask you a couple follow-up questions.”

“Shoot.”

He removed a sleek gray iPad mini from his breast pocket.

“New toy?”

“Yeah.” He handed it to me. “I love it. I tested it for a month. The Professor gave me the green light to order my own. The department is updating all of our equipment. This is so much faster than my old one. I can fit it in my pocket and take it with me when we're on scene.”

“Nice.” I gave it back to him.

Thomas clicked the iPad on and scrolled through it to find what he needed. “I need to double-check a couple things.” He read something on the screen. “You arrived at ShakesBurgers at approximately six-twenty, is that correct?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Why are you asking this again? I already went over this with you, and the Professor asked me about it too.”

Thomas stared at ShakesBurgers. Crime-scene tape had been stretched in front of the door and some sort of official notice had been posted in the front window. “Sorry about that. Welcome to the world of police work. It's standard procedure and the Professor is pretty uptight about making sure we double- and triple check each suspect's statement.”

“Am I a suspect?”

Thomas grinned. “Not the last time I checked.” He shifted position on the bench as a group of women wearing cashmere coats and leather gloves walked past. “California tourists,” he whispered under his breath.

“Totally,” I agreed.

He readjusted his feet. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“I don't think so.” I paused. A breeze blew from the south. Hair flew in front of my face. I untied my ponytail and cinched it tighter. “You've talked to Alan Matterson, right?”

“Multiple times. Why?”

“What about Craig from the Green Goblin?” Shoot. Craig. I still needed to prepare Craig's tasting cake. As soon as I was finished talking with Thomas, Craig's order was going to the top of my list.

“I've talked to Craig too. Why, Jules?” He rested his iPad on his knees and narrowed his blue eyes at me. “I don't need to remind you that this is a murder investigation, do I?”

“No.” I tried to avoid staring at Mindy's shrine. A card caught in the wind and rattled along the sidewalk. Did Mindy have a family? I wondered what would happen to the cards, candles, and flowers that people had left as a tribute to her. “I don't even know if it's true, but Alan told me that Mindy and Rosalind Gates got into a physical fight the night before the murder. When I dropped off Craig's delivery earlier he mentioned that customers were talking about a fight at the business association meeting. Everyone assumed it was Alan, but maybe it was Rosalind.”

“Or maybe Alan is lying.” He scanned his iPad for a minute. “A lot of people didn't like Mindy.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I don't think the Professor and I have ever had a case like this where there are so many people in town who didn't like the victim. That's not even strong enough—who had a reason to want the victim dead.”

“Really?”

Thomas nodded. “Really.” His gaze traveled to the Merry Windsor. A teenager in a ridiculous green velvet bellboy costume was polishing the wooden deck.

What did Richard Lord have to do with Mindy's murder? My curiosity was piqued. I thought back to seeing Richard arguing with Mathew. Although Mathew was staying at the Merry Windsor too. It was just as likely that Mathew was complaining about the hotel's musty rooms or overpriced meals.

Then there was Richard's weirdness about Jose Ortega and what he was doing at Torte and why he was talking to Carlos. Could there be a connection I was missing?

Thomas asked me a few more questions, all of which were a repeat of things I had already answered. He tucked his iPad away and thanked me for my time. As we stood he leaned close. “One last thing, Jules. You haven't noticed anyone hanging around across the street, have you?”

“Hanging around?”

“Yeah. You have a prime viewing spot of the crime scene from Torte.”

“I know. Everyone has been hanging around. Since it happened there's been a crowd, news vans, and of course Mindy's growing shrine.” I pointed to the sidewalk. “Don't you find it interesting that Mindy wasn't well-liked, yet her shrine is spilling onto the street?”

Thomas considered this for a moment. “Murder and death have a way of putting things into perspective.”

“You sound like the Professor.”

“I've been taught by the best.”

“What should I be looking for?”

“You shouldn't be looking for anything.” Thomas gave me a disapproving look. “I only wondered if you'd seen any movement or anyone hanging around, that's all.”

“I'll keep my eyes open.”

Thomas shook his head. “Jules,” he said with a warning tone. “I didn't say to keep your eyes open.”

“What?” I tried to wink.

“Don't even try. I know your tricks and I also know that you can't wink to save your life. You better get back to the bakery. It looks like there's a party happening tonight.”

I stood and twisted my ponytail tighter. “Will do. See you later, and I'll call you right away if I see any action across the street.” I hurried off with Thomas shouting a warning for me to leave it alone.

If he wanted me to leave it alone he shouldn't have mentioned anything about keeping an eye on ShakesBurgers. I also wondered about his vague response when I asked him about Mindy and Rosalind's fight. I knew who I needed to ask—Craig, and I knew exactly how—with a delicious pastry delivery.

 

Chapter Fifteen

The dining room had been completely transformed when I returned to Torte. In addition to the red roses, votive candles, white linens, and twinkle lights, Mom had twisted evergreen branches together to form a long vine that she wrapped between the vases and candles on the table. She had tied vines to the chandelier and hung red roses from the branches. The space smelled incredible with the earthy flowers and boughs and the scent of tapas grilling in the kitchen.

“Wow! This looks amazing, Mom,” I said.

She snipped the stem from a rose and tucked it into an evergreen branch on the table. “The final touch. What do you think?”

“Seriously, I wasn't kidding about submitting this to a magazine. Everything looks gorgeous.”

“It's not half bad, is it?” She stopped and surveyed her work. “I'm going to give each guest their own rose and bough. After I finish that I think my work here is done.”

“I'll say. Thanks for doing this.”