She held up three fingers. Her ombré nails in multiple shades of blue reminded me of a cascading waterfall. “Third? Third is not good when you’ve won the National Barista Cup and have gone to Worlds. Third is terrible.”
Debating her status in the competition wasn’t my goal. “You seemed particularly upset with Benson, though.”
Sammy’s lip curled. “No. No I wasn’t. That’s the way these events go. The intensity of the challenges gets to everyone. It’s no big deal.”
Maybe. Or maybe Sammy was trying to downplay her outburst now that Benson was dead.
“Hey, can I get your number? I might have a couple questions to ask you about the pastry market, if that’s cool?”
“Sure.” We exchanged numbers. Then, I went to package up her pastries and added a few bonus cookies for later. “Here you go,” I said returning with a Torte box. “I hope you enjoy these later, and good luck tomorrow.”
She grabbed her purse and took the box. “I won’t need luck now.” With that she walked out the door.
Things seemed to be getting weirder by the minute. What did she mean by that? Now that Benson was dead she was confident that she would win? I hated suspecting anyone of murder, but I couldn’t rule out the possibility that Sammy was involved.
I went downstairs to fill the rest of the team in on my plan and to bake. I needed a distraction. As expected, the kitchen was running as smoothly as a ship on still waters. Everyone was excited about the idea of getting to see Andy compete and having a team dinner. I washed my hands with lemon rosemary soap and went to the walk-in for ingredients. Since I had a few hours before Carlos and I were due to meet Lance and Piper, I decided to make dinner for later—a pasta salad packed with flavor, which would keep in the fridge.
I loaded my arms up with red onions, carrots, cherry tomatoes, chicken, and three kinds of cheese. Next I grabbed a container of pasta, olive oil, vinegar, garlic, and an assortment of fresh herbs and spices. I set a pot of water to boil on the stove and started with a marinade for the chicken. I diced garlic and mixed it with the olive oil, vinegar, and spices. I set half of it aside to dress the pasta salad and poured the rest into a gallon Ziplock bag along with the chicken. The chicken could marinate for hours. I could grill it right before I was ready to serve the pasta.
With that done, I began chopping red onions, carrots, tomatoes, and Colby-Jack, Irish cheddar, and Swiss cheese. My water had come to a rolling boil, so I added the pasta and set a timer for eight minutes. Pasta is best served al dente. There’s nothing worse than limp, soggy noodles. To ensure a well-cooked yet firm pasta, I always boil it for two or three minutes less than the time recommended on the packaging.
Once the pasta had cooked and cooled, I added it to a large bowl along with veggies and cubes of cheese. I poured the remaining dressing over the noodles and mixed everything together. Then I covered the bowl with plastic wrap and placed it in the walk-in. The flavors should mingle and develop with a little rest. I had made a triple batch. Not only could Carlos and I have some for dinner, but there was plenty to serve for tomorrow’s lunch special.
I still had an hour before I was due at Puck’s, so I went to my small office and put in a call to James. He answered right away.
“The Hills, this is James.”
“It’s Jules from Torte, I wanted to see if I could make a reservation for a large party tomorrow night.”
“How many people are you thinking and what time? If it’s during the competition, things might be pretty tight during regular dinner hours since we had to push the Barista Cup finals back.”
“I was hoping for after the competition.” I told him my idea about a spontaneous staff party.
“Oh, sure, I love it. Yeah, we can definitely accommodate that. You want to sit outside on the patio?”
We made the arrangements. Before I hung up, I asked him one more question. “Hey, I heard that Benson used to be a coffee critic for the Seattle Times. Did you know that?”
He went silent.
For a minute I thought he had hung up or that we’d been disconnected.
“Hello?”
“Yeah, I’m here. What about Benson?”
“I was just wondering if you knew that he was a coffee critic.”
“Where did you hear that?”
I didn’t want to throw Sammy under the bus. “I don’t know who I heard it from. Word is going around.”
“Why are you asking me?” He sounded irritated.
Had I hit a nerve?
“You’ve been in the business so long, I wondered if you had known Benson when he was writing for the Times.”
“Listen, I have to go. I have, like, a dozen fires to put out, but I have your reservation. We’ll see you tomorrow night.” He hung up.
I couldn’t be sure, but from the almost instantaneous shift in his tone, I had the sense that James knew more about Benson than he was saying.
Chapter Seventeen
An hour later, I left Torte and walked a few doors down to Puck’s Pub. The restaurant was designed to resemble the forest scene from A Midsummer Night’s Dream with snaking ivy, twinkling lights, and tiny fairies tucked into nooks and crannies. Tourists frequented Puck’s for its whimsical Shakespearean atmosphere and craft beer served in pewter steins. Puck’s was also a favorite hangout for locals, especially during the off-season when the popular pub offered open mic nights for musicians, actors, and spoken-word poets.
Carlos was standing at the bar when I came inside. He wore a pair of navy chino shorts, a gray-and white-striped T-shirt, and Top-Siders. With his tanned arms and the slight wave in his dark hair, he looked as if he had spent the afternoon on a catamaran. When he saw me and flashed me his dazzling smile, my knees went weak. “Mi querida, I was going to order for you. What would you like?”
Puck’s summer cocktail menu featured a variety of delicate and refreshing drinks. I opted for Love at First Sip, a blend of rum, fresh strawberries, lime, and a splash of bitters.
Carlos ordered a London mule with gin, lavender, lime, and ginger beer. “Lance is outside. He found a table on the patio.”
We took our drinks and wound our way through the restaurant and out the back exit. Like the other restaurants on the plaza, Puck’s had outside seating on the Calle. Like its interior, the rustic outdoor tables that sat parallel to the creek continued the fanciful vibe. They were each made of old-growth wood and hand carved. Instead of providing shade for guests with colorful patio umbrellas like the other restaurants nearby, Puck’s had installed dark green sails that stretched in varied angles to mimic a forest canopy.
Lance was seated at a four-person table adjacent to the water. He waved with two fingers. “Over here!”
Piper hadn’t arrived yet.
I inhaled the scent of jasmine and the sound of the gurgling creek.
Lance pounced the minute we sat down. “We don’t have much time. What’s our strategy?” He strummed his fingers together.
“Strategy?” Carlos looked confused.
“You haven’t told him?” Lance gave me an exasperated sigh.
“I just got here. I’ve been at the bakeshop.”
Lance dismissed me and gave Carlos his version of the morning’s events. Never one to pass up an opportunity to add extra flourish, Lance embellished every detail, making it sound as if the Professor had tackled and cuffed Diaz for owning up to sabotaging Andy’s latte.
“What? Andy’s coffee was tainted by this contestant Diaz? This is terrible. How could someone do such a thing?” Carlos’s hands flew in the air as he spoke.
“Yes, yes, it’s a travesty, an absolute travesty, but we have to think of Andy. We have to focus for his sake. It’s all connected. It has to be.” Lance clapped twice. “Piper is on her way here now. We have an opportunity to figure out what she knows. I’m convinced that there’s more to her and Benson’s relationship.”
“How?” Carlos sounded skeptical.
I took a sip of my cocktail infused with summer fl
avors. The sourness of the lime paired beautifully with the sweet strawberries.
“I don’t have anything firm to go on yet, but she and I had a chat this morning, and I know enough about body language, movement, and what our eyes say when our lips are saying something else from my years directing to know that she was definitely holding back.”
“That could be true.” I told them about my conversation with Sammy.
“Most enlightening. Well done.” Lance raised his cocktail in a toast to me. “Further proof that we need to make the most of this happy hour. Let’s dazzle Piper with our enchanting personalities and see if we can get her to spill some secrets.”
Carlos frowned. “You two and your schemes, I do not understand how you get involved in a case like this.”
Piper arrived, saving me from a lengthy explanation. Without her judge’s apron and clipboard, she looked less severe. She wore her copper curly hair long and loose. Yellow-tinted sunglasses replaced the frames she’d been wearing earlier.
“Hi everyone. Thanks for the invite.” She placed a glass of white wine on the table and sat down next to Lance. “When I travel for these competitions, I usually end up having dinner alone at the hotel bar, so this is such a treat—especially after this weekend.”
Lance introduced her to Carlos. “You met Jules at the competition, right?”
“Nice to see you again.” Piper clinked her wineglass to mine. “I’m sorry about your barista, Andy. In all the years I’ve been judging the Barista Cup and now hosting the event, we’ve never had anything like this happen. The entire weekend has been a train wreck.”
“How well did you know Benson?” Lance didn’t hesitate.
Piper swirled her wineglass. “Benson and I go way back. I can’t say that we always saw eye to eye, but the man had a meticulous palate. No one had talent like Benson. He was a coffee sommelier. He could tell you in just a few sips everything from the origin of the beans to the roasting-and-brewing process used. He could distinguish every aroma and flavor in a cupping,” She stopped for a minute. “That’s the technical term we use, in case you aren’t familiar. Anyway, he could give you the perfect food pairing for every cup too. Watching him dissect coffee was truly a work of art.” Her voice trailed off for a moment. She shook herself from the memory. “If Benson liked your coffee, chances were solid that everyone would like your coffee.”
“Yeah, I heard something about him being a critic for the Seattle Times.” I found it curious that Piper made no mention of her personal relationship with him.
“That’s true.” Piper ran a finger along the rim of her wineglass. Her nails were polished in a thin clear coat. I noticed that there was a tan line from a missing ring on her right hand. “Benson was one of the leading voices in the industry for many years. A good write-up from him could make you and a bad review could break you.”
“And you knew him then?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yes. You have to remember that the coffee industry has exploded in the last couple of decades. For many years there was a relatively small group of us in the artisan coffee world, but once the trend took off, the numbers of indie shops has skyrocketed. Back in the day most of us knew everyone by name. East Coast. West Coast. It didn’t matter.”
“Were you a coffee writer too?” Lance asked, as he took a drink of his cocktail.
“No. Not me. I worked for an Italian importer. I would help small independent shops install espresso machines and train them how to use it. That’s where my technical expertise comes from. Benson was more about taste and flavor, whereas I know how machines should be operated and maintained.”
“It sounds like you two had complementary skills,” I said, hoping that might prompt her to say more.
She stared at her wine for a moment before answering. “You could say that. We had some good times in the early years.”
“That sounds ominous.” Lance chuckled.
“Not really. We started the Barista Cup. Did you know that?”
“Please enlighten us. We’d love to know more about its origins.” Lance laid it on thick.
“It was Benson’s idea.” Piper adjusted her sunglasses as the light cut through the sunshades. “It was a way to highlight some of the incredibly talented baristas, especially coffee artists who lived in more remote regions. He pulled me in for my technical knowledge. The first few years were nothing like now. We had five baristas. They were held at different coffee shops. No vendors. The only spectators were the other shop employees and maybe a handful of faithful customers. Then the competition started to take off. We got vendor sponsorship money and were able to give cash prizes and host the event at bigger venues. Each year it’s grown exponentially.”
“That sounds like a success.” Carlos spoke for the first time.
“It was. It was fun. I enjoyed seeing baristas gain regional and national attention. That was the best part for me. We weren’t making much money in those days. It was about the coffee and the community.” Her voice held a sense of nostalgia and longing.
“Did something happen with you and Benson?” Lance asked what I knew we were all thinking—why was Piper being closed lipped about her personal relationship with him?
“No. Not exactly. We just had different visions for the future. He wanted to continue to grow the competition and I felt like we’d maxed out our capacity. It’s become a full-time job to organize the event—competitors, judges, advertisers, ticket sales, marketing. Benson wanted to do even more. He was pushing to host monthly, quarterly, and then an annual competition. I didn’t have the capacity to make that happen, but he didn’t want to hear it. He had a vision and was used to getting his way. The other issue was the way he was treating the baristas. At first it was kind of a joke. We would say that he was the Simon Cowell of the coffee world, but lately it had gotten ugly. The fun in his teasing had disappeared. It became mean spirited. We have amazing competitors. None of them deserved to be ridiculed by Benson. Maybe he didn’t like a particular coffee, but there were no terrible drinks. If a barista makes it into the Cup, they’ve already proven themselves.”
Piper was much more forthcoming than I had expected.
“Let me guess, Benson didn’t take kindly to any feedback about his brash style?” Lance asked.
“No. That made it worse. I stopped trying, because if I said anything, he would take it out on the contestants. That wasn’t fair.”
“This Benson, he does not sound like a very kind man,” Carlos noted.
“He wasn’t.” Piper knocked back her glass and drank half the wine in one long swoop. “I can’t say I’m heartbroken that he’s dead. There were days later in our relationship that I have to admit I wished he were.”
Lance kicked me under the table. I had to bite my bottom lip to stop myself from saying ouch.
I didn’t need to make eye contact with him to know what he was thinking. Piper and Benson definitely had a contentious relationship. Did that mean she could have killed him?
Chapter Eighteen
Piper regained her composure. She sat taller and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know that saying that about Benson must sound crass. I would never want anyone to die. We had a complicated relationship, that’s all.”
I decided that this was my chance to probe deeper. “Were you and Benson romantically involved?”
She snorted with a dismissive laugh. “He liked to think that. We had a fling that flamed out fast. I broke it off long ago. I should have done it sooner, but you know how that goes. Men! You can’t live with them and you can’t live without them!”
“I’ll drink to that.” Lance touched his glass to hers.
A waiter came by the table to ask if we wanted to order anything or have our drinks refreshed.
Piper stretched and massaged the side of her eye. “I would love to stay longer, but I don’t sleep well in hotel rooms and I have an early, early meeting with James tomorrow morning to go through final details.” She reached into her purse and
handed the waiter a twenty-dollar bill. “We should do this again soon. I may be sticking around longer, so next time maybe dinner—on me?”
“Wonderful.” Lance stood to shake her hand.
Carlos followed suit. Piper looped her purse over her arm and left with a wave.
“That was enlightening, wasn’t it?” Lance asked after she was gone. “I most certainly picked up a wistful quality in her tone when she was reminiscing about her past with Benson. Agree?” He raised an eyebrow.
“I was thinking the same thing.”
Carlos frowned. “What? You asked her about her past and she gave you an honest answer—why is this a problem?”
“Ah, such an innocent and trusting mind.” Lance reached across the table and patted Carlos’s hand. “Don’t worry, Juliet and I shall teach you the Ashland ways of the world, won’t we, darling?”
Carlos being painted as innocent made me chuckle. “What ways?” I bantered back.
Lance threw his hand to his forehead. “Must I do everything around here? Carlos, if Juliet and I have learned nothing in our time assisting the police in their investigations, it’s to trust no one. I repeat—no one.”
Carlos laughed, which only encouraged Lance.
“You think I jest, my friend, but do not say that I didn’t warn you. Our Ashland might appear to be bucolic and charming, but there’s a dark underbelly in this hamlet that your stunning wife and I have seen on more than one occasion.”
Carlos couldn’t keep a straight face. “Si, si. Thank you for telling me, my friend. I will take your warning to heart.” He placed his hand over his heart and winked.
Lance scoffed. “Mark my words, Piper is not being entirely forthcoming. I don’t trust that woman. I can’t pinpoint what it is, but let’s not allow her easy dismissals to blind us to the truth.”
I sighed. “I wish I had a sense of the truth. Everything is muddled. Piper, James, Diaz, and Sammy all either had a reason to want Benson dead or an argument with him. I’m more confused than ever.”
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