“I hope you’re right.” I crossed my fingers.
The bell rang to announce that it was time for the contestants to start blending their drinks. I got swept up in the excitement. Andy performed like a champ. I had a feeling his massive squad had given him a boost. As Carlos had predicted, he ended the round with top marks. Sammy pouted when James announced that she was holding steady in second place.
After a quick break, it was time for the second round.
“Who’s feeling nervous?” James asked. “Those blended beauties were frothy and fun, but what will your next assignment involve?”
The DJ played a clip of ominous music.
“Is this even legal?” Sammy folded her arms across her chest.
“Legal?” James turned to Piper. “Does our technical judge want to weigh in on that?”
Piper took the mic from him and addressed the baristas. “I understand that this situation is less than optimal, and I wish there was another solution, but after many hours of discussion and deliberation we decided the only fair way to proceed was with this random method since four of you already presented drinks yesterday. In terms of legality, the answer to your question is yes. The rules clearly state that the judges reserve the right to make changes as necessary without warning. I’d advise you to read the fine print.”
“She is not open to debate, is she?” Carlos asked.
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
“All right, on that note, let’s see what you’re going to brewing for us next.” James reached into the vase again. “Simple syrups! The judges want three Americanos where a simple syrup is the star of the show. You ready? Let’s countdown fifteen minutes for you to come up with a concept.”
“Andy has this for sure,” Mom said. “His simple syrups are the best around. Customers are always asking if we’ll bottle and sell them.”
She was right. He breezed through the second round with another first-place finish. Before I knew it, James was reviewing the rules for the final round.
Andy had a chance at winning. I couldn’t believe it. Not that I had a single doubt about his talents, but after the way the weekend had started I never would have imagined that he might be a contender to be this year’s West Coast Barista Cup Champion. When James announced that the final round would be latte art, my sense of hope only expanded.
“Latte art! This is my favorite category, folks. The judges want to see what our dream team of baristas can create from nothing more than foam. A quick note here—food coloring is not allowed in this round. The judges want you to mastermind an amazing design with nothing more than frothy, frothy foam!”
“He’s got this,” Bethany voiced what I had been thinking. She turned to the team. “Let’s get a chant going.” She clapped three times. “We love Andy!”
Marty was the next to chime in and then our Torte crew was on its feet cheering for Andy. It warmed my heart to see such a show of solidarity. We quieted down once the bell sounded and watched with bated breath as Andy delivered three stunning lattes with unique designs inspired by Ashland—Mt. A., a black-bear paw, and the pièce de résistance: Shakespeare’s bust. Piper took meticulous notes, and the judges offered no feedback after studying the lineup of gallery-worthy coffees.
Andy’s voice came out strong and solid as he shared his connection to the latte designs. “I wanted to leave you with a piece of me. This is Ashland, the place where I was born. The place I love. Your first latte design represents Mt. A. Ever since third grade, I would board the ski bus in the winter after school and hit the slopes. Skiing comes second only to coffee. The next latte is a bear paw, because I started as a Cub and graduated as a Grizzly. Go Ashland High!” He paused to pump his fist. “It’s not just a middle- and high-school mascot. We get bear visits nightly, especially when I forget to drag the garbage cans inside. Right, Grandma?” He turned to June.
She pretended to scold him.
“Lastly, I had to give you Shakespeare, because Ashland.” Andy laughed. “When you grow up in a place as great as this, you can’t take it for granted. I learned that through coffee, believe it or not. It’s Torte, the bakeshop where I work, that has made me appreciate how special Ashland really is. But one last fun fact—Shakespeare never drank coffee. What a shame.”
The audience clapped.
I caught Lance blinking rapidly. “Your eyes aren’t misty, are they?”
“I’m not crying. You’re crying,” he bantered back.
“Folks, we’ll be back with the results in five minutes. Sit tight. I can feel the tension building and I can tell you this is going to be a close one.” James set down the mic and went to the judges’ table.
“Did you know he could do that?” Mom asked me.
“Shakespeare in coffee? No! I don’t know when he practiced that, but it’s going to have to go on the menu.”
June gleamed. “That was my idea. Everyone loves Shakespeare.”
“True.” Lance leaned forward to give her an air high five.
While the sensory judges huddled, Piper headed for the back of the ballroom. I tried to be discreet as I observed her and Diaz talking. Unless I was reading her wrong, Piper appeared to be trying to convince Diaz to leave. She thrust her index finger in his face and then toward the exit doors.
Diaz ignored her, folding his arms across his chest and smirking.
Under normal circumstances I might have thought that she was simply worried about appearances and not wanting a contestant who had been caught cheating on the premises. But these weren’t normal circumstances. My mind spun with a new slew of possibilities. What if they’d been in it together? I hadn’t considered the possibility that more than one person could have killed Benson. They could have teamed up to take out the crotchety judge.
“Okay folks, are you ready to crown this year’s West Coast Barista Cup Champion?” James interrupted my thought.
The crowd cheered.
“In fifth place…” he paused for effect before announcing the competitor who had been eliminated prior to Diaz getting caught tampering with Andy’s drink. Then he went through fourth and third places, the strawberry and the herbed-latte baristas.
That meant Andy would finish no worse than second place.
“In second place…” James continued, waiting even longer. “We have Sammy. Which means this year’s champion is Andy from Torte!”
Everyone around me erupted.
He had done it.
Andy had won the West Coast Barista Cup!
Chapter Twenty-Three
“He did it!” Bethany shouted into her phone and then spun around to show the crowd’s reaction. Confetti fell from the ceiling. James popped open a bottle of champagne. Piper handed Andy a two-foot-tall silver trophy in the shape of coffee cup. The other judges gathered for a photo op and a celebratory glass of bubbly. Bethany captured everything on her livestream.
Mom dabbed tears from her eyes “I’m so proud of him. My heart is bursting.”
“Me too.” I squeezed her in a long hug.
June went down the row of seats hugging and high-fiving the entire team.
Sammy fumed as she was awarded the second-place trophy. She couldn’t mask her disappointment. It was obvious from her scowl and the way she eyed Andy’s larger trophy that she was practically ready to snatch it from his hands. Again, her intensity gave me pause. As ludicrous as it seemed that someone would kill over a coffee competition, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for her—in my opinion.
After everyone had posed for photos and toasted with champagne, Piper brought out a four-foot-long check with Andy’s ten-thousand-dollar winnings. This made everyone cheer again.
Andy basked in the attention. June joined him for pictures, pinching his cheeks and repeating, “That’s my boy!”
Once the crowd began to disperse, we went to congratulate our star barista.
“Everyone squish together,” Bethany said, directing us on either side of Andy. She handed her phone to Piper. “Can
you take a group shot of us?”
“Of course.” Piper held the camera. “Say West Coast Barista Cup Champ!”
“West Coast Barista Cup Champ!”
She gave Bethany her phone back.
I scooted over to Piper. “Are you done now?”
Piper tucked her glasses in her purse. “Pretty much. We have a wrap-up meeting with the judges. We’ll be sharing out Andy’s win to our newsletter subscribers and on our social media channels as well as announcing next year’s locations. So I’ll finish that up and then I plan to stay in town for a few more days. I haven’t had a chance to take in a show at OSF yet. Lance was kind enough to give me complimentary tickets to the Elizabethan Theater for tomorrow night.” Her purse slipped from her arm and its contents spilled on the floor. She bent down to gather up lipsticks and her sunglasses.
I helped her pick up her things. My hands landed on a prescription bottle.
Piper snatched it from me. “Thanks.”
I nodded. “You’ll love the theater. It truly is a one-of-a-kind experience to see a production outside, and the weather is perfect right now. Not too hot. Not too cold. Here’s an insider’s tip, be sure to stop by the pillow booth for a seat cushion and blanket—it might get chilly for the second act.” I glanced to where Diaz had been sitting. He must have taken off. “I saw you chatting with Diaz a while ago. He’s still around too?”
She twisted a silver bracelet around her wrist. “The police have asked all of us to stay, at least for another day or two.”
“Right.” She hadn’t answered my question. “I’m surprised that Diaz showed up after getting kicked out.”
“That’s exactly what I told him. When I saw him sitting in the last row, I immediately went over to explain in no uncertain terms that he is not welcome here. He made his bed and he has to lie in it. We won’t condone cheating in the Barista Cup.”
“Did he say why he was here?”
Piper yawned. “Sorry. I didn’t get any sleep last night.” She stifled a second yawn. “Yeah. He claimed that he wasn’t planning to cause a disruption. He gave me a sob story about feeling guilty and wanting to apologize to Andy. I didn’t believe a word of that. He came here to make a scene. He doesn’t have an empathetic bone in his body. How could he? He sullied the Barista Cup name by cheating. I know the real reason he came here today. He wants another shot at next year. I’ve been around long enough to know truth from fiction. He wanted to butter me and the other judges up in hopes that we would change our minds.”
“About what?”
“Next year.” She sounded irritated. “Diaz can’t complete next year. He’s been banned for life.”
“I didn’t realize that.”
She stretched her neck in a semicircle. “We can’t have a competitor with a tarnished reputation competing in the Barista Cup. I’ve worked too hard and too long to build the competition into the prestigious event it is today. I will not let Diaz Mendez trash the insane amount of effort that has gone into creating a world-class event. He didn’t like hearing that, but frankly that’s not my concern. He should have thought of that before he made such a huge error. The Barista Cup is a worldwide brand, and I will not have him ruin our reputation or good name.”
Suddenly Piper sounded like Benson.
Her expression was tight and her lips flattened as she continued. “Diaz has no place here. I’m going to see to it that he will never work in the industry again.”
I knew that I had a tendency to want to believe the best about people. Part of me felt sorry for Diaz. If he had been desperate for the cash, I could understand how he might have felt the need to cheat. That didn’t justify his actions, but it did make me feel empathy for him, especially if Piper was serious about trying to ostracize him from future employment.
On the other hand, I couldn’t rule out the possibility that Diaz had done more than try to sabotage his fellow competitors. There was a good chance that he could be a killer.
“Are all of the competitors staying here at The Hills?” I asked Piper.
“Yes. The competitors and judges have a block of rooms. Fortunately, we had some surplus in the budget, so we’ll be able to cover the cost of a few additional nights.”
I wanted to ask her if she knew anything about Benson’s partnership with Sammy, but Bethany was waving me over for another group photo. “Stop by Torte tomorrow before the play. I’ll hook you up with some pre-show pastries.”
“That would be wonderful.” Piper attempted a smile, but it fell short. “I need to go and try to get some sleep.”
After at least a dozen photos and group hugs, James came over to tell me that our table outside was ready.
“Who’s hungry?” I asked
“I thought you’d never ask, boss.” Andy grinned. He clutched his trophy and check. “I don’t think I’ve eaten more than a couple bites in a week and suddenly I feel like I could eat everything on the menu.”
“Let’s get you some food then.” I led the way to the patio. The hills blushed with pink light, and a nearly full moon rose above the forested mountainside. One long table had been set with twelve places. A waiter stood at the ready to take drink orders. The mood was light and vibrant. Andy walked everyone through each stage of the competition. There were gasps, ooohs, and ahhhs at all of the twists and turns. He was a natural storyteller, which made the experience that much better.
“Andy, you have to tell us how you made Shakespeare out of latte foam. You were already going to win, but that put you over the edge.” Bethany had positioned herself in the seat next to Andy. I was sure that wasn’t a mistake.
“I want to know that too,” Mom said from across the table. “Shakespeare. Wow! You’ve been holding out on us.”
Andy grinned. “That was my grandma’s idea. She said I needed a secret weapon. Something that no one else would do. I’ve been practicing it at home every night.”
June sat on the other side of him beaming with pride. “I told him that he had the winning combination—talent and heart.”
“Salud.” Carlos stood and held up his wineglass.
We toasted with sparkling cider, hoppy beers, and aromatic wines. Lance ended up staying after all. He sat next to Carlos and me, sipping a glass of champagne.
“Torte’s ascent to fame continues. You can now officially claim that you have the best barista on the entire West Coast. Let’s take a moment to imagine Richard Lord’s face when he learns the news.” Lance threw his head back and cackled.
“You sound like a movie villain.”
“Intended, darling.” He lifted his champagne flute.
Dinner involved lots of sharing and tasting bites from one another’s plates. By the time the wait staff brought out platters of desserts and carafes of coffee, the sky had gone dark and we continued the conversation under a blanket of stars.
Carlos wrapped his arm around my shoulder. “This is so good for the team. I’m glad you thought of it.”
“Me too.” I leaned into his embrace and listened to the happy sounds of laughter. Our staff had an easy chemistry despite their very unique personalities. They had become an extension of me—my Ashland family. I decided on the spot that we needed to do more of this. Hard work deserved rewards. An idea began to form about a new staff outing—an adventure on the Rogue, a trip to Crater Lake, something special. I’d have to brainstorm with Carlos and Mom later.
For the remainder of the evening I drank in the glow of the moonlight and the infectious spirit of my staff. A chill began to descend as the night grew longer.
Mom rubbed her arms. “I think these goose bumps are my cue to head to bed. Well done, Andy, and thank you to everyone. We have the best team in Ashland—in the world for that matter. Smooches to you all. See you tomorrow.” She blew a kiss and left with the Professor.
Lance stretched. “A nightcap with a tall drink of bald beauty is calling. Ta-ta.”
Everyone else departed. I still needed to settle the bill. When our waiter came by to clear
the table, I asked for the check.
“Oh, James told me that he needs you to meet him in his office. He has the bill for you there.”
“Okay.” I was surprised that the waiter couldn’t take my credit card, especially after my conversation with James earlier.
“Do you want me to come with you?” Carlos asked. “Or, I can pull the car around to the lobby.”
“Yeah, do that. I’ll go find James and meet you out front in a few minutes.” I went inside. The lobby was deserted. A single front-desk clerk stood behind the large reception area. “Is James in his office?” I asked.
The young guy frowned. “I don’t think so. I thought he left a while ago.”
“The waiter told me that he had our bill for our large party outside.”
“Weird. You can check his office, but I could have sworn he left.”
A strange feeling assaulted my stomach as I walked down the corridor to James’s office. The door was shut. I knocked twice.
No answer.
I knocked again.
Still no answer.
I twisted the handle, expecting it to be locked. To my surprise it turned with ease. I opened the door to find James’s office pitch-black.
“James? Are you in here?” I asked, knowing it was highly doubtful I would receive a response. Why would James be in a dark office?
I ran my hand along the wall on the left side of the door until I found a light switch.
My heart rate sped up as I flipped on the lights.
Something felt off.
Was I being set up?
Maybe this was a mistake. What if James was the killer and he had lured me in here? What if he was hiding next to the door with some sort of weapon? He could smack me on the head and disappear.
Jules, don’t be ridiculous.
I braced myself against the wall.
There was no one lurking in a corner. Everything appeared to be in place. There must have been a mistake.
I let out a long sigh of relief.
But that relief was short lived as I caught sight of James’s desk. A large sheet of white poster board had been taped to the top of the desk. YOU’RE DEAD was lettered in blood-red paint.
Bakeshop Mystery 13 - Mocha, She Wrote Page 18