I stifled a scream and raced to the lobby.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Are you sure James left?” I asked the desk clerk.
“I think so. He said goodbye like an hour ago and I’m pretty sure he walked out those doors.” He pointed toward the lobby.
“Okay, thanks.” I hurried outside to find Carlos waiting in the car.
“Julieta, is something wrong?” He paused. “Why do you sound like you are out of breath?”
“Because I am. It’s James. I went to find him and instead found a threatening note in his office. I have to call the Professor.”
“What?” Carlos puffed out in a protective position.
I called the Professor’s phone. Mom answered on the first ring. “Hi, honey it’s me. Doug’s driving.”
I told her about the note, then listened as she repeated my words to the Professor.
“Okay, hang on. We’re turning around. We are only halfway home, so will be there in less than ten minutes.”
We hung up.
Carlos frowned and reached for my hand. “Do you think that James is in danger?”
“I don’t know. I’m so confused. Honestly, I’ve been wondering if he could be the killer, but now I’m sure I must have gotten that wrong.” I sighed.
“Unless the note was for someone else.” He caressed my hand.
“Who?”
Carlos stared at me.
“Me? Why?”
“What if James thought you suspected him? You and Lance have been snooping around. You know that I love you, Julieta, but you two are not exactly discreet. Could he have left this note as a warning for you? You said that you were told to go to his office to pay, and you thought this was strange. It is strange. You must consider your safety, mi querida. I do not like this.”
Was Carlos right?
Could the warning poster in James’s office have been meant for me? I supposed it was possible, but there were so many other ways he could have tried to scare me. He could have left a threatening note at Torte. Why leave something like that in his office for anyone to see?
Blue, red, and white police lights cut through the dark night sky, followed by the sound of sirens. Thomas zoomed his squad car into the parking lot and pulled in next to us. He and Kerry got out of the car and walked over to us. Carlos rolled the window down.
“I take it the Professor called you?” I leaned across Carlos.
“Via your mom, yeah.” Thomas removed a flashlight from his belt. “Where did you find the threat?”
“Inside. Do you want me to show you?”
Carlos grunted his disapproval.
“It’s okay,” Kerry said to him. “You can come too.”
Kerry offering to allow a civilian to join her investigation? That was out of the ordinary to say the least. “It’s a poster, right? You didn’t find a body, did you?”
“No.” I shook my head and opened the passenger door.
The four of us headed inside.
“Let us take the lead, Jules,” Thomas said, with one hand on his holster.
I showed them to the office.
Thomas directed us to wait in the hallway. I tried to sneak a peek at what he and Kerry were doing. Had I gotten it wrong? Could James be in danger?
Kerry clicked photos. Thomas made a call.
Mom and the Professor arrived a few minutes later. The Professor went into the office.
“You found a threatening note?” Mom asked.
“Yeah. It’s so weird, because the waiter told me that he couldn’t take payment. He said that James had the invoice waiting in here for me, but there was no sign of him and the front-desk clerk told me he left an hour ago.”
“That doesn’t make sense.” A flash of concern crossed Mom’s face.
Carlos jumped in. “Si, I can tell you are thinking the same thing, Helen. What if the note was meant for Julieta?”
“But why would James lure me to his office and leave a warning poster on his desk? That seems like a weak way to threaten me.”
Mom agreed with Carlos. “I don’t know, honey. Why wouldn’t our waiter take payment? Something feels off about this situation. I’m glad you called Doug.”
As the words left her lips, the Professor stepped into the hallway.
“Well?” Mom looked to him.
He tapped his chin with his finger. “I find the Bard’s lines running through my head. ‘Let every eye negotiate for itself and trust no agent.’”
The Professor had a quote for any occasion. Tonight his words sent a chill down my spine.
“Carlos, will you please escort Juliet home? I’m going to send a squad car to drive by your house a few times as a precaution.”
“A squad car?” I couldn’t keep the shock from my tone. “Are we in danger?”
“Call it an abundance of caution,” the Professor replied.
Carlos put a protective arm around my shoulder. “I will stay up tonight.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary. The squad car will do a few drive-bys. If they see anything out of the ordinary, they’ll stick around and notify me. I’m sending a team of two highly trained officers. Their job will to be to keep watch so that you and Juliet can have a restful night’s sleep.”
Right. Like there was any chance that would happen. Did he suspect that James had intended the warning for me? Why else would he have the police drive by our house?
Mom hugged us both. “Try to get some sleep. We’ll check in first thing in the morning.”
The Professor cleared his throat. “About that. I’d like you to have the officers escort you to the bakeshop in the morning.”
“Is that necessary?” Carlos asked. “I can drive Julieta.”
“I’d prefer for the officers to do a quick sweep of the bakeshop—again, out of an abundance of caution.”
There was something he wasn’t telling us. Had they found more incriminating evidence? Was I in more danger than I realized?
Carlos nodded and clutched my shoulder tighter. “Si, this is a good idea. I will drive and come with her. We will make sure that the police inspect Torte. Thank you.”
The Professor caught my eye. “All is well. Things are developing and I have faith that we’re closing in on a killer. However, the situation calls for the utmost caution if we are to be successful in our quest.”
I felt like he was speaking in code. Was he trying to tell me something?
Carlos pulled me toward the door.
My head throbbed. It wasn’t from a headache, but rather from trying to piece together the clues. I felt like the solution was dangling right in front of me, but I couldn’t reach out and gasp it.
“This is serious, mi querida,” Carlos said, his voice husky, as he started the car and steered out of the parking lot. “Doug would not have the police watch the house if he wasn’t concerned about your safety.”
“I know.” I agreed, and yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the situation. I dropped the subject.
It took less than five minutes to drive home. As the Professor had promised, a squad car was waiting on the street next to our driveway. Carlos approached the vehicle to thank the officers before we headed inside.
Sleep was futile. I tossed and turned all night with strange dreams. Twice I got up to check out the window. The only thing I heard was the rustling of the wind through the trees. The police car was still parked out front. It was pitch-black when I pulled on a pair of capris and a sweatshirt and headed to the kitchen. I made a strong pot of coffee and warmed water to start a batch of my quick-rise cinnamon rolls.
I stirred yeast and a teaspoon of sugar into the warm water. Then melted butter and milk until, it was bubbling. I incorporated the melted butter and milk with the yeast and added in flour and a touch of salt. Once a dough began to form, I rolled up my sleeves and kneaded it by hand. At the bakeshop, we tended to use our industrial mixers with dough hooks when baking on a larger scale. The act of physically kneading the dough was
therapeutic. I put all of my weight into punching the dough and letting it rise up. After about five minutes, I had a wonderfully round ball ready for proofing. I covered the dough with a damp dish towel and set it on the stove to rise.
While it was rising, I poured myself a cup of coffee and tried to make sense of the many questions still pounding in my head. James must be the Professor’s top suspect, but I couldn’t reconcile why he would leave a threatening note for me in his office. There were too many variables. If he really wanted to scare me, there were dozens of other ways he could have succeeded. I kept coming back to a new possibility—James was in danger. Maybe he’d figured out who the killer was and they had threatened him, or worse. Or, could he have gotten suspicious when I asked him about his past with Sammy? Maybe Carlos was right. Maybe Lance and I had been too obvious in our attempts to help clear Andy’s name.
The timer for my dough sounded, making me startle. The dough had doubled in size. I dusted a cutting board with flour and rolled the dough into a large rectangle. Then I lathered it with butter and sprinkled on cinnamon and a touch of brown sugar. I folded the dough, sliced it into two-inch rolls, and arranged them in a buttered baking dish. Then I slid them into the oven to bake for fifteen minutes.
Carlos appeared in the kitchen as I removed the golden rolls from the oven. “What smells so wonderful?” He walked straight to the coffeepot.
“Cinnamon rolls.” I drizzled the hot rolls with orange glaze. “I noticed the police car is in the driveway. I wanted to thank them for watching the house last night.”
He rubbed sleep from his eyes. “That is nice. Are you ready to go?”
“Yeah, let me put together a breakfast basket for the police and then we can head out.” As I went to find paper plates in the pantry, my cell phone buzzed. It was early to be getting a text. I glanced at my phone and was shocked to see that the text was from Sammy.
SORRY TO BUG YOU. ARE YOU AT THE BAKESHOP? NEED TO TALK ASAP! IT’S ABOUT JAMES. I THINK HE’S IN TROUBLE!
Chapter Twenty-Five
I responded to Sammy’s text immediately.
ON MY WAY THERE NOW. CAN YOU COME BY IN 30?
Why she wanted to talk to me was a mystery, but I wasn’t about to give up the opportunity to hear what she had to say.
I wanted to give the police time to do their sweep. I wasn’t worried about meeting with Sammy, even if she had any involvement in Benson’s death, because I knew that Andy, Marty, Bethany, and Steph would all be arriving within the next thirty minutes.
Carlos brought a thermos of coffee and I carried plates of hot-from-the-oven cinnamon rolls. The police were grateful for the surprise breakfast and followed us to Torte. They completed a top-to-bottom search of the bakeshop, checking the walk-in fridge, locked closets, and my office before giving me the all-clear.
“What would you like me to do, mi querida? It is too early to go to the vineyard.” He caught my eye and held my gaze.
I knew it was his way of letting me know that even if it wasn’t too early, there was no chance he was leaving my side, and I had to admit that the gesture made him that much more attractive.
“You could fire up the pizza oven and start on a lunch special. We had our market delivery yesterday and there are some beautiful veggies in the walk-in. Work your magic. Plus, I know that when Marty and Sterling get here, they’ll be eager to go over their ideas for the dinner in the vines with you.”
“Okay. It is a plan.” He went straight to work, assessing stock in the fridge.
I went upstairs to fire up the espresso machine, start batches of our morning brews, and wait for Sammy. We offer a daily rotation of five house blends, along with a decaf. Our summer coffee line-up included a variety of light and bright roasts with notes of citrus and berries.
I heard Andy and the others arrive downstairs as I finished scooping ground beans into the last pot. Good. Sammy was unlikely to attack me with my staff starting the morning routine in the bakeshop. She arrived at the front door right on time. I went to unlock the door and invite her inside.
Her fingers trembled as I handed her a cup of our blonde roast and pointed her to a window booth.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She clutched the cup with both hands. “No. I’m pretty freaked out.”
“Why did you text me?” I asked. “Is this about Benson’s murder?”
Her aloof exterior had disappeared. She shifted from side to side as she spoke. “I think so. I still can’t find my meds so I’m already shaky. I’m not sure if I’m fuzzy and not thinking clearly because I haven’t taken my medication in two days, or if I should really be freaked out.”
“But why me?”
She stared at her shaky fingers as she continued. “The thing is I’m not sure what to do. Sorry for involving you. I know I should go to the police, but James made me promise not to. I couldn’t think of what else to do, and you were cool when we chatted earlier, so I came here. I know it’s weird but I didn’t know what else to do.”
Why would he tell her that? To protect himself?
“Maybe you should start from the beginning,” I suggested.
She tried to steady her hands to take a sip of coffee, but instead set the mug on the table. “Yeah, okay. I didn’t know who to turn to because he made me swear I wouldn’t tell the police. You seem like you’re pretty connected here, so I figured maybe you can pass this on and then technically speaking I wouldn’t be breaking a promise.” She formed her lips into a tight circle and blew out air. “I wasn’t entirely honest with you the other day. Here’s the thing: Benson didn’t want anyone to know that he was going to invest in my franchise project. He thought it would be a conflict of interest.”
That was for sure.
“He came up with a plan,” Sammy continued. Her voice was as wobbly as her hands. “He wanted to stage a fight. He told me he would make sure that I came in third or fourth place in the first couple of rounds. That way no one would suspect that we were teaming up. He didn’t want me to blow the entire competition but he didn’t want me to be in first place either. He told me we had to be super careful. He thought one of the other judges was watching him. He was kind of paranoid.”
“Okay.” I wasn’t sure where she was going with this.
“He told me to make a scene. He wanted me to blow up at him when I didn’t take first place. That way there would be no chance that anyone would think we had a working relationship outside of the Barista Cup. We weren’t really fighting—that was an all act. Benson wasn’t pulling his funding either. That was just a rumor that started circulating. We met for dinner the night before the first round and he offered me even more money. He wanted the expansion to go bigger. He wanted to roll out a national franchise campaign sooner. I was thrilled. He said he was coming into some money and he wanted to invest it in me.” Sammy swallowed. “Now he’s dead and I don’t have an actual contract. Who’s going to believe me? I wouldn’t believe me.”
I noticed that one of her tattoos was the logo for Fluid. She also had trophies like Andy’s inked on her arm to represent her many past wins. Talk about coffee obsessed.
I wasn’t sure how to respond.
Sammy paused and wrapped her hands around her coffee cup again. This time she was able to lift it to her quivering lips.
“Am I missing something? I thought you were worried about James?” I asked.
“James found out about the deal. He and Benson have had a long rivalry. He wrote a terrible column about James years ago and James has had it out for him ever since. He threatened to tell Piper and the other judges about our financial partnership.”
If James knew about their agreement, how did that put him in danger? I caught Sequoia’s eye. She had arrived and began readying the coffee bar for the morning rush.
Sammy answered my question for me. “James pulled me aside yesterday and told me that he had a new proposition for me. He said he learned something very interesting about Benson’s personal and financial life t
hat should shed new light on the situation. Those were his exact words.” She steadied her hands to take another drink. “Then he went dark. I was supposed to meet him at his office last night, but when I showed up he wasn’t there and there was a warning poster on his desk. I haven’t heard from him since. I’ve been texting and calling and he won’t answer. I think something might have happened to him.”
So Sammy had seen the note on James’s desk too.
Her voice sounded weak as she continued. “I’m scared. I don’t know how I ended up in the middle of this, but I don’t know what to do.”
“We have to call the police.” There was no question in my mind.
“Yeah, but there’s a problem.”
“What’s that?”
“My fingerprints are all over his office. I picked up the note. I don’t know what made me do it. I guess I was curious. If I tell the police, they’re going to think I left the note. They’ve been asking me so many questions. I’ve had to tell them at least six times my movement from the time the competition started to the time that Benson’s body was found. They think I killed him. I know they do. There’s no paperwork for our deal. We were planning to finalize everything this weekend. Someone started the rumor that Benson and I had a big blowup and that he was pulling his money. It’s not true. He told me to pretend like I was upset at the Barista Cup. That’s it. I swear. He had bigger plans for us that he was going to spell out before he was killed. Why would I do it?”
She leaned her elbows on the table, revealing another Barista Cup tattoo near her elbow. “Someone is setting me up. If I go to the police, they’ll arrest me.”
I understood her hesitation. “Listen, Sammy, I know you’re scared, but the Ashland police team is extremely professional. If you explain everything you’ve told me, you won’t have anything to worry about.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“You don’t have any record of your plans with Benson? You must have run financials on the expansions. What about marketing plans? Target cities? Anything?”
Bakeshop Mystery 13 - Mocha, She Wrote Page 19