Nothing Bundt Trouble
Page 25
It was a bit of an exaggeration to claim that everyone in Ashland practiced yoga. I did agree that as a whole Ashland’s free-thinking population was focused on health and wellness. Yoga, Pilates, meditation, Qi Gong, and Tai Chi classes were plentiful in our little artists’ mecca. I enjoyed being part of a community that prided itself on health and well-being. Perhaps it was embedded in our DNA. The Lithia Waters that flowed through the plaza had long been revered for their healing properties. Ashland offered abundant opportunities to unplug. I had come to realize that was because we were a part of nature, literally surrounded and embraced by mountains in every direction. It was common to spot black bears lumbering through the vast network of trails above Lithia Park or to see flocks of wild turkeys strutting around a neighbor’s front yard.
Addie stretched her limber arms. “Want to check out the kitchen?”
“Sure.” We followed her to the back of the garden.
As Laney had mentioned on the phone the prep kitchen wasn’t more than about ten feet long. It was covered by an overhang that, like the entrance, was wrapped in even more decades old ivy. A walk-up coffee counter and a large chalkboard menu served as barrier from the small outdoor kitchen with a row of cabinets, a prep space, fridge, and sink. The wooden counter was rotting with large splinters that could prove dangerous. The fridge had been tagged with purple graffiti and two of the cabinet doors were missing hinges.
How long had the place been empty?
“It’s not much, but it also won’t take a lot to make it prettier,” Addie said, reaching into the waistband on her yoga pants and removing a single key. She proceeded to unlock a door next to the sink. “This is a storage closet for supplies. You and your staff will also have access to the bathrooms inside the yoga studio. I know it’s not a full commercial kitchen, but it’s perfect for coffee. Electric, water, and wifi are all included in the lease. The train is a nuisance, but you’ll get used to it. It only passes through twice a day and it’s short cargo cars. I learned not to schedule yoga at noon because when it passes behind us it lets out a shrill whistle and shakes the building. No big deal—I pushed back our start time to 12:15. It shouldn’t be a problem for you, other than hearing the noon and five whistle.”
She was talking as if the space was already ours.
“Basically, it’s move-in ready now.” She glanced up at the ivy ensconced pergola that looked like it might collapse on our heads at any minute. “That should give you plenty of time to put your own spin on the space for a late spring or early summer opening.” Her attention veered as a man wearing a long purple cape pedaled past us on a rusty bike.
I recognized him immediately. He was affectionately known around town as “The Wizard” due to the cape, his wiry silver hair, and the trail of gold and green metallic streamers that flapped from his bike. As far as I knew, he was homeless by choice. He tended to travel in a radius throughout the Railroad District. I often spotted him in Railroad Park making figure eights on the paved bike path or holding court on his favorite bench, orating to no one in particular. The Wizard was famous for his elaborate balloon art. He delighted kids in the park with balloons shaped like monkeys and mermaids. Once he’d recreated the Elizabethan theater, our version of the Globe, out of balloons. It was so impressive that one of the local art galleries had put it on display for a month.
Addie muttered something under her breath that sounded like, “Stay away, crazy.”
Laney waved to him. “Stop by the truck later okay? I have a bento box saved for you.”
The Wizard gave her a slight nod of acknowledgement and steered his bike toward the path that led to Railroad Park.
I wasn’t surprised that Laney helped feed the Wizard. That was on par with the rest of the community. At Torte, we delivered day old pastry and breads to the shelter and had an unspoken policy to cover the cost of a hot coffee or warm bowl of soup for anyone who might need it, especially during the cold winter months.
Addie didn’t appear to share the same sentiment. “That guy creeps me out.” She kept her eyes narrowed on him until he was out of sight.
“The Wizard?” Laney wrinkled her brow. Her golden-flecked eyes were filled with confusion. “He’s harmless.”
“Hardly,” Addie scoffed. “You should try being here after my late night hot yoga class. He’s always hanging around on the railroad tracks, just staring me down.” She licked her thumb and tried to rub graffiti from the fridge. “I’m sure he’s responsible for this damage and I never walk to my car alone now.”
I caught Laney’s eye. She shrugged in confusion.
Addie pointed to the roofline of Namaste. “I’ve installed surveillance cameras in the front of the building and up there. I’m going to catch him in the act, one of these days. Trust me, you’re going to want to keep an eye out for him. I make one of my students come with me because I’m waiting for him to attack.”
“Attack?” Laney laughed, making her long braids shake. She wore her dark hair in braids tied with small pink hibiscus flowers. “I’ve known the Wizard for years. He’s a gentle, tender soul. If anything he’s a bit of a free spirit, but dangerous—never.”
Sterling who had been quiet thus far backed her up. “Yeah. I’ve run into him a few times and he seems like he’s kind of in his own world, dancing to his own beat as they say, but I’ve never gotten a dangerous aura from him.”
“That’s because he’s harmless,” Laney insisted. She untied her raspberry sherbet colored apron and folded it neatly.
“I totally disagree. He’s weird.” Addie scowled and rubbed the spray paint on the fridge harder. It was futile. Removing the graffiti was going to take more than scrubbing. An industrial cleaner was in order. “Anyway, what do you think of the space? Should we get an agreement put together?”
“Well, I don’t know.” I floundered. “I would have to discuss things with my mom, as she’s a partner in the business, and run some numbers on the viability of opening a second coffee spot so close to the bakeshop.”
“This isn’t that close, boss,” Andy chimed in. He had flipped his faded red baseball hat backwards. Strands of his auburn hair escaped from beneath the cap. “And it would be an awesome space for a summer ice cream shop. Am I right, Sterling?”
“For sure.” Sterling’s piercing blue eyes studied the space. I had a feeling he was making calculations in his head. “That back wall could be transformed into a larger menu. We could hang a Torte banner there.” He pointed above us. “It definitely needs a deep cleaning and gutting, but there’s potential here for sure.”
“Yeah, and imagine if we string twinkle lights from the front gate to the awning,” Andy added. “Boss, you’ve got to give this some real thought. This could be really cool. We could serve our signature concretes, ice cream sandwiches, and a very small line of coffees so that we’re not competing with ourselves. I’m thinking cold brew, affagatos, and blended coffee milkshakes.” His face lit up as he spoke, making his freckles more pronounced.
“It’s a good idea,” Sterling said, using his hands to measure the counter space. “We could easily fit a cold case here. And, if you wanted to go crazy and offer cold sandwiches or pasta salads for summer picnic lunches we could probably swap out this half fridge with a tall narrow one.”
Laney smoothed out a crease in her folded apron that she had set on the dilapidated coffee counter. “Smart staff you have here, Jules. They’re right. You can create an entirely new Torte experience. And coffee and ice cream would go beautifully with my teriyaki pork and fried jasmine coconut rice. Like I said on the phone it would be great for business. Bringing the Torte brand to the Railroad District would give us real cachet.”
“So, should we go put paperwork together?” Addie brushed her hands on her yoga pants.
“Not yet. Let me talk this through with Mom and the rest of our team.”
Addie blew out a long breath, as if she was trying to center herself. “I guess, but don’t take too long. There are a lot of other inter
ested parties, but because of my yoga vibe, I’d like to keep the garden pretty chill. Laney highly recommends you, so if you want it, we can make it happen. But if you don’t, I’m putting it on the market on Monday.”
“Deal. I’ll let you know one way or the other before Monday.” I shook her hand.
We parted ways. Laney left me with a hug and a promise to stop by Torte and help brainstorm if we wanted any other input. Sterling and Andy chatted about concrete flavors and potential shop names all the way back to Torte. I did appreciate their enthusiasm and I could definitely see the potential, but I had to be realistic, too. Was I ready for another new venture? Things at Torte had finally started to feel settled. We had an easy routine and a highly capable staff. Did it make sense to disturb that balance?
And, there was one more major issue that I hadn’t voiced—Carlos. My husband had opted to take an extended leave from his work as head chef on the Amour of the Seas. He had been in Ashland for the past three weeks to give things a go. This was our last chance to try to figure out what we both needed from our relationship, or whether it was time to say goodbye for good. If I took on yet another project, would I be intentionally sabotaging any hope for a future with him?
Also by Ellie Alexander
Meet Your Baker
A Batter of Life and Death
On Thin Icing
Caught Bread Handed
Fudge and Jury
A Crime of Passion Fruit
Another One Bites the Crust
Till Death Do Us Tart
Live and Let Pie
A Cup of Holiday Fear
Praise for Ellie Alexander’s Bakeshop mystery series
“Delectable.”
—Portland Book Review
“Delicious.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Quirky … intriguing … [with] recipes to make your stomach growl.”
—Reader to Reader
“This debut culinary mystery is a light soufflé of a book (with recipes) that makes a perfect mix for fans of Jenn McKinlay, Leslie Budewitz, or Jessica Beck.”
—Library Journal on Meet Your Baker
“Marvelous.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Scrumptious … will delight fans of cozy mysteries with culinary delights.”
—Night Owl Reviews
“Clever plots, likable characters, and good food … Still hungry? Not to worry, because desserts abound in … this delectable series.”
—Mystery Scene on A Batter of Life and Death
“[With] Meet Your Baker, Alexander weaves a tasty tale of deceit, family ties, delicious pastries, and murder.”
—Edith Maxwell, author of A Tine to Live, A Tine to Die
“Sure to satisfy both dedicated foodies and ardent mystery lovers alike.”
—Jessie Crockett, author of Drizzled with Death
About the Author
ELLIE ALEXANDER is a Pacific Northwest native who spends ample time testing pastry recipes in her home kitchen or at one of the many famed coffeehouses nearby. When she’s not coated in flour, you’ll find her outside exploring hiking trails and trying to burn off calories consumed in the name of research. You can friend her on Facebook to learn more! You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Epilogue
Recipes
Excerpt: Chilled to the Cone
Also by Ellie Alexander
Praise for Ellie Alexander’s Bakeshop mystery series
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
First published in the United States by St. Martin’s Paperbacks, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group.
NOTHING BUNDT TROUBLE
Copyright © 2020 by Katherine Dyer-Seeley.
Excerpt from Chilled to the Cone copyright © 2020 by Katherine Dyer-Seeley.
Cover design by Danielle Christopher. Cover illustration by Mary Ann Lasher / Bernstein & Andriulli.
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.
www.stmartins.com
eISBN: 9781250214379
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St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / 2020
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.