Laney forced a smile. “I’m upright for the moment. I don’t think I can ask for more.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” I said.
“The same to you. It looks like you have some serious repairs ahead.”
“I’m trying to think of it as an opportunity to create something entirely new.”
“That’s the spirit, sister.” Laney leaned down to give me a high five. “We have to try to keep our heads up. Otherwise, I don’t know about you, but I might crumble.”
“Well said.”
“Come by in about an hour. I’ll make you a shoyu lunch plate with teriyaki rice and my world famous macaroni salad.”
“Sold. I’ll be back.” I gave her a thumbs-up and crossed the street to Cyclepath.
The bike shop catered to the Rogue Valley’s active biking community. There were two types of bike enthusiasts—tourists who rented day-use bikes with baskets to cruise around town and the serious mountain bikers who burned insane amounts of calories biking up the vast network of trails for the serious fast-paced payoff of the downhill ride.
I stepped inside. The front of the shop was a showroom. Road bikes, mountain bikes, electric bikes, joggers, recumbents, and kids’ bikes were on display everywhere. They hung from the ceiling, were mounted in the windows, and were grouped by style throughout the large room. The bright white epoxy floor and sterile white walls reminded me of a chemistry lab.
It smelled like bicycle grease and paint thinner. The grease made sense, but the thinner not so much. I realized it was because Hunter was scrubbing spray paint from the far wall, which had been tagged in black, purple, and red spray paint.
“Hi Hunter.”
He dropped a rag and turned around. “Jules, I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Sorry to startle you. The door was open.” I pointed behind me.
“I guess I forgot to lock it.” Hunter reached for the rag.
“Laney told me that you were vandalized last night.” I fixed my gaze on the graffiti.
“Vandalized and had two of my most expensive bikes taken. This is starting to get old.” He wiped his hands on a towel and pointed behind him. The back of Cyclepath housed Ashland’s largest bike repair shop. Wrenches, tubes, tires, and chains dangled from a pegboard wall. “They took a bunch of tools, too.”
I thought back to his heated exchange with the Wizard. Hunter had been convinced that the Wizard was responsible for bike thefts, but since he was dead that didn’t add up.
“Do the police have a suspect? Did they happen to catch anyone on camera?”
“I know who did this. The police do too.” Hunter wrapped his burly arms around his chest.
“Who?”
“Sky. That other homeless guy who used to hang around with the Wizard. I know it was him. He’s taking up his old friend’s gig. Ruining my business and every business here in the Railroad District.” Hunter sounded convinced.
“Did you see him? Laney mentioned you have an alarm system.”
“I do.” His eyes briefly shifted up above the cash register where a small white camera was tucked into the corner of the ceiling. “The guy was smart enough to hide his face so the camera couldn’t pick it up. He had the Wizard’s cape on though. It’s obvious that it’s Sky. I thought I had taken care of the problem, but apparently not.”
What did that mean? Taken care of the problem? Was he alluding to the fact that he had killed the Wizard? I took a step backward.
Hunter knelt down and dabbed a rag into paint thinner again. “Sorry about the smell. It burns the nostrils but it’s the only thing that has a chance at taking out this graffiti.”
I studied the scribbled paint. “Does it mean anything?”
“What?” He scrubbed the stained paint with such force I wondered if his hands would start to bleed.
“The graffiti—I read that taggers have a signature style. Do the police have any idea if it’s a specific tag or whether those jagged lines mean anything?”
“Who knows? The police are worthless.” He stopped scrubbing for a minute. “Sorry, I know that you’re tight with Doug, but the only thing they tell me is that their hands are tied and there’s nothing they can do. Why do I pay taxes? These vagrants are destroying our town and the police do nothing. Nothing. You know what I mean?”
I didn’t respond because I doubted he would agree with my answer.
“I say it’s up to us as small business owners to take up arms. If the police aren’t going to do anything to stop this, then we can.”
“How?” I thought of Addie and her pepper spray. Had Hunter gotten it into her head that she had to arm herself?
Hunter returned to scrubbing the wall with furry. “I’m working on a few ideas. I’m not ready to talk about them yet, but you’ll hear from me soon. Everyone will.”
I didn’t like where this conversation was going. My phone buzzed, giving me the perfect exit. “Good luck with the graffiti.”
“Thanks.” He made a gun with his finger and thumb, along with a clicking sound. “Like I said, I’ll be in touch.”
I let out an involuntary shudder and stepped outside to answer the call. There was no hard evidence to prove that Hunter had killed the Wizard, but the way he spoke about taking action made me want to steer as far away from him as possible.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I answered the phone. It was the Professor. “Excellent news, Juliet. You have been cleared to proceed with cleanup and demolition. The fire chief will likely drop by at some point with an update, but in the meantime, break out your rubber gloves and purge.”
“That is good news. Thanks.” I almost ended the call, but I had to tell him about my unsettling conversation with Hunter.
“I see.” The Professor sounded pensive. “Many thanks for sharing. As you stated, I would honor your inner compass and keep a safe distance from Hunter in the short term.”
When we hung up I wondered if that was the Professor’s veiled attempt to let me know he considered Hunter a top suspect too.
I crossed the street, taking in the amazing smells coming from Nana’s food truck. Was it too early for lunch?
Sterling and Andy were waiting for me in the garden.
“Hey boss, Mrs. The Professor filled us in on what went down last night, but man the kitchen is torched.” Andy’s cheeks flushed with anger.
“Seriously.” Sterling clenched his jaw as he tried to lift a section of the burned pergola. “It’s messed up.”
I appreciated that they shared my angst. “It’s pretty disturbing,” I agreed. “Did Mom tell you about our plan? The glimmer of hope in this is that now we can design the space completely according to our own wants and needs. You two have carte blanche. The sky is the limit—literally. What do you think about truly embracing an open-air concept?”
Their energy shifted as I explained my vision to restructure the kitchen.
“Totally. I feel you on this, boss.” Andy’s freckled face broke into a grin. “Yes. We can bust this out, can’t we, Sterling?”
Sterling rolled up the sleeves on his dark hoodie. “Give me a sledgehammer. Let’s do this.”
It was surreal to tear down the kitchen we had spent the past week laboring over. Yet I found it more than slightly cathartic to rip down charcoaled branches on the ivy vines and trash the old countertops. Sweat poured from my forehead as the three of us used our collective strength to demolish the cabinets and countertop. Within an hour we had a heaping pile of wood and debris in the center of the garden.
“It’s kind of a bummer that tearing everything down took us no time.” Sterling used the sleeve of his hoodie to brush dust from his face. “We spent days getting this place ready for business and not even an hour to gut it.”
“Yeah, and now we can’t even have java to fuel us,” Andy complained, pointing to the pile of rubble.
“That is a tragedy,” I teased. “I do have a consolation prize for you. It’s not cold brew, but Laney told me earlier s
he was making chicken shoyu platters for lunch. You should both go grab one from her before there’s a line. My treat.”
“Thanks, boss!” Andy sprinted toward the food truck with Sterling at his heels.
It didn’t take much to appease them.
While they were occupied with Laney’s handcrafted lunch plates, I made a few calls to the Ashland recycling center, the insurance company, and to the contractor we had hired to remodel Torte’s basement. Most of the basic redesign we could handle ourselves, but I needed a professional to build a new arbor, counters, and cabinets. The build-out of the kitchen was nothing close to the scale of our basement renovations. However, the challenge in Ashland and the greater Rogue Valley was supply and demand. Contractors were in short supply and high demand. Luckily, I had a personal relationship with our contractor, who agreed to fit us into his tight schedule.
“Jules, Laney made a plate for you,” Sterling said, handing me a paper plate piled high with beautifully grilled chicken, rice drenched in teriyaki sauce, and macaroni salad.
We gathered around one of the bistro tables and savored the traditional Hawaiian fare. Laney’s creamy mac salad was the stuff of dreams. It had the perfect balance of mayo with sweet onion, brown sugar, and garlic.
“This is one of the best things I’ve ever tasted,” Andy gushed through a mouthful of the tender chicken. “How have I never had this before?”
“Working right next to Nana’s this spring and summer should remedy that,” I said, stabbing a piece of chicken along with a scoop of rice.
“Or it could be dangerous. I have to keep my boyish figure trim.” Andy pinched his waist. Until recently he had played football at Southern Oregon University. Ultimately, he had opted to give up football to work at Torte full time and immerse himself in the world of artisan coffee with the goal of opening his own roasting company one day. At first I had worried about his decision to drop out of school. The statistics of students returning to college after dropping out weren’t in his favor. Andy had made a calculated risk. A risk that in his opinion came with fewer side effects than one too many hard hits on the football field. I couldn’t argue with him there.
“Hello! Hello. Milk delivery.”
We turned to see Dean standing at the side gate holding a crate of glass milk jugs.
“Come in,” I called.
Dean unlatched the gate and came into the garden. “Yowza! What happened here? Looks like you had an explosion.”
“You didn’t hear about the fire?” That was shocking given that it was nearly noon. I would guess the entire town had heard by now.
“No.” Dean puffed out his cheeks and set the crate on the grass. “An accident?”
“Arson.” I watched his reaction. It was almost too exaggerated.
“Arson? In Ashland! It can’t be!” He shifted his weight from side to side as he took in the pile of wreckage. “They must have had it wrong. I bet you had an accident. With the painting and staining you’ve been doing, I bet a bunch of rags spontaneously combusted. You can’t be too careful.”
Odd reaction, I thought to myself. “Well, the police are saying it’s arson.”
“The police are known to jump to some crazy conclusions. I bet you had a burner go bad or maybe an electrical problem. I’ve seen it in this line of work. Lots of commercial kitchens have had similar issues.”
Why was Dean insistent that it wasn’t arson?
Sterling’s wary look seconded my opinion.
“Last week the same thing happened out in Eagle Point. One of my clients put a stack of towels hot out of the dryer on the counter. Left for the night, and poof! They ignited. Burned the kitchen to the ground. Nothing left. A total loss. It’s a shame. You can’t be too careful,” he repeated.
“We were careful,” Sterling interjected. “The fire was intentional.”
Dean shrugged. “I guess that means you won’t be wanting milk anytime soon.” He tapped the top of the glass bottles. “Looks like the homeless camp over there is going to get a bounty today. Should I take this stop off my delivery list for a while?”
“Yeah.” I nodded to the demoed kitchen. “We’re going to have to push back our grand opening until we can rebuild.”
“Sorry to hear it.” Dean sounded anything but sorry. He stood and picked up the crate. “You be careful now.”
Was he genuinely worried about us? His words almost sounded like a warning.
“That was weird,” Sterling said once Dean was gone.
“I’m glad you think so too. He completely dismissed the fact that our space was intentionally set on fire.”
“And what did he mean that the police in Ashland exaggerate things?” Andy’s eyes wandered to my plate. “Are you going to finish that?”
“It’s all yours.” I pushed him my half-eaten plate. “I have no idea. The Professor is the last person to jump to conclusions when it comes to an investigation, or anything for that matter.”
“I feel bad for recommending Dean,” Sterling admitted.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. He seemed really great when we were first interviewing potential vendors, but the more I get to know him the less I like him.”
If Sterling had reservations about Dean, I wasn’t about to blow them off. One of Sterling’s best assets was his ability to read people. The more interactions that I had with Dean, the more confused I became. On one hand he seemed untrustworthy, and yet he was heading out to give away the milk we couldn’t use to the homeless. There was something about him that didn’t add up.
“Maybe this is a natural way to break ties,” I suggested. “We can use this time to look into other vendors.”
“Okay. I like that idea.” Sterling nodded.
Andy polished off my lunch plate. “If we’re done with demo I’m going to head back to Torte. I have an idea for a new coffee that I have to go try.”
“Do tell.” I rubbed my hands together with anticipation.
“Nope. It’s a secret. I have to go experiment and see if I can pull it off. If I can, I’ll tell you this much. It will be an ode to the fire.”
“Interesting. Like spicy chili and cinnamon.”
“Not even close, boss.” Andy clapped Sterling on the shoulder. “You coming?”
“I’ll be there in a few. I want to take a few pictures for Steph.”
Andy left. “Meet you guys back at Torte later then.”
“Jules, you remember our conversation the other day?” Sterling asked while taking pictures of the gutted kitchen. He didn’t make eye contact.
“Of course.”
“I made a decision.” He clutched his phone in his hand. “I’m going to do it. I’m going to ask Steph to move in with me.”
“Sterling, that’s amazing.” I stepped over a charred paint can.
“Don’t get too excited. She hasn’t said yes yet.”
Unlike Detective Kerry and Thomas, I wasn’t as sure about Steph. She could go either way. It was obvious that she had a deep connection with Sterling, more so than with anyone else on staff, but given how fiercely private she was, she could also want to maintain her own space.
He stuffed his phone in his pocket. “Can I ask a favor?”
“Sure.”
“It’s kind of cheesy, but Steph is a huge fan of the baking shows.”
“Oh, I’m aware of that.” It was one of her most surprising and endearing qualities. She was obsessed with reality baking shows.
“We were watching the Cake Debate last week and this guy had one of the bakers design an engagement cake. I was wondering if you could do something like that for Steph? I would do it myself, but you know me, I’m a chef, not a baker. She loves black and purple, so maybe a cake with those colors?”
“That is the sweetest idea. I would be honored to design a cake for you.”
“I’ll pay.” Sterling’s face was earnest.
“Never. Wipe that thought away. I would love to make a special cake for you and Steph!”
&nb
sp; “You don’t think it’s too cheesy, do you?”
“I’m the wrong person to answer that. I’m a hopeless romantic, like you. And I suspect that secretly Stephanie is too.”
“Right?” He nodded with relief. “Cool, thanks, Jules.”
An engagement cake, a let’s-move-in-together cake—I had some serious baking to do.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The remainder of the day was refreshingly uneventful. We’d done as much as we could at Scoops for the short term. Now it would be a waiting game for the insurance payments and contractors. With things on hiatus at the new space, I spent the afternoon at Torte.
The bakeshop’s busy kitchen grounded my nervous energy. I baked alongside the team, happy for a distraction from the Wizard’s murder, the fire, and Carlos. Before I knew it, it was time to close. I said goodbye to Marty, who was the last staff member to leave, and turned the sign on the front door to CLOSED. Then I returned to the basement to bake cakes for Thomas and Sterling.
Baking a cake in a professional bakery is different than baking at home for many reasons. The most notable being how much more time is required when baking professionally. At Torte we have a flow sheet for the many steps involved in our custom cakes. The first is baking the actual cake. Then we cool the layers, cut and trim them as needed, stack the cake, frost a crumb coat, chill completely, frost the base layer, chill completely again, frost again, pipe, and decorate. Most of our custom cakes are built over the course of a couple days. For larger cakes and more intricate design work like wedding cakes, the timeframe can extend to a week.
For the donut cake, I began by creaming butter and sugar together in our industrial mixer until it was smooth and silky. Then I added in vanilla, eggs, buttermilk, baking soda, flour, and a touch of cinnamon and nutmeg for the donut spice. I baked the cake in round Bundt pans shaped to resemble a donut with a hole in the center.
Once the donut cake was in the oven, I switched gears to a cake for Steph. I knew the perfect flavor—black velvet. The deep black color in this cake was achieved with dark chocolate cocoa powder. When baked it would resemble the night sky. I mixed oil, sugar, eggs, sour cream, and the cocoa powder together, slowly adding in the dry ingredients. The black batter made me smile. I knew Steph would love the moody vibe of the image I had in my head. I would stack the cake with dark chocolate ganache and blackberry buttercream. Then I would frost it with more of the blackberry buttercream and pipe it with black royal icing. It should be a dramatic statement cake.
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