“Sure.” My gaze traveled to the Merry Windsor, where one of Richard’s bellhops was shouting for people to come try samples of their iced coffee.
I wonder where he got that idea, I thought as I took a seat across from the Professor.
He folded his hands together. “Juliet, I fear I put you in danger by asking for your insight. Please accept my deepest apologies. I assure you it will not happen again.”
“No,” I placed my hand over his. The Professor had become my second father and someone whose opinion mattered most to me. “I’m embarrassed that Lance and I did something so juvenile. I got carried away in the moment. I should be the one apologizing not you.”
“Ah, there’s the rub. If it hadn’t been for your”—he paused, searching for the right word—“your innovative tactics, we may have missed our window to arrest Piper. She had arranged to steal away in a cargo truck. She may have been across state lines by the time we arrived on the scene if you and Lance hadn’t delayed her.”
“Wait, does that mean she had an accomplice?” My mind immediately went to her conversation with Diaz and the sound of the beeping horn outside of her hotel room.
“Yes. It appears that way. She became quite cooperative when given the choices in front of her and proceeded to tell us about her escape route with Diaz, amongst other things. She approached Diaz when she learned of Benson’s arrangement with Sammy. She decided that if she could ensure a win for Diaz, it would catapult his rise to fame. They had plans to open their own coffee shops in direct competition with Fluid.” He paused and greeted a group of tourists who passed by us chatting about the matinee show at OSF.
“Do you think Diaz was in on it?” I asked when the group was out of earshot.
The Professor wavered. “That I can’t say for sure. Obviously he confessed to cheating, and he was waiting at the hotel for Piper when she was apprehended. Whether he knew and/or was involved in Benson’s death remains to be seen. Piper’s claiming that Diaz was her right-hand man, but our interviews with him have painted a different story. He claims that he had no knowledge of Benson’s murder, and I’m inclined to believe him.”
Piper’s hushed conversation at the Hills with Diaz made more sense. They must have been plotting their exit strategy.
“What about James?” I asked the Professor.
“He is well and accounted for.”
“I don’t get it. Why did she threaten James?”
He strummed his fingers on his tightly shaved beard. “I believe James went too far in his accusation. Rather than coming to us immediately, I suspect that he had other motives. Motives that were … shall we say, less than ethical?”
“You mean blackmail?”
“Indeed. They had a common enemy in Benson. He ruined both of their careers. Perhaps that was James’s initial pitch, and then the lure of money became too strong.”
“Do you think he knew that Piper had killed Benson?”
“He isn’t saying as much, but my intuition tells me there is more that will be revealed with time. I don’t believe he was successful in his quest.”
“What’s going to happen to Diaz now?” I felt bad bombarding him with questions, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to put Benson’s murder behind me until I had more answers.
“His fate will be up to the judicial system. It reminds me of the wise words of King John, ‘And oftentimes excusing of a fault doth make the fault worse by the excuse.’ It seems that young Diaz found himself in a scene the Bard could have penned himself. His mistake in sabotaging his fellow competitors could mean that the judge or jury—if his case goes to a full trail—will reflect on all of his actions. He could very well be telling the truth about not knowing that Piper killed Benson, but his previous transgressions certainly won’t help his case.”
My gaze drifted toward the center of the plaza where a trio of little girls in pigtails broke out into a spontaneous dance in front of the Lithia fountains. “How did she do it?”
“You mean slip the sedative into his drink? A slight of hand. The work of street magicians. She offered to hold Benson’s coffee while he gathered his things. A fatal error to say the least. Although, I’m quite sure that was her intention. Benson’s medical records revealed that he had been suffering from high blood pressure and an arrhythmia for nearly a decade. Given his level of stress, his doctor had him on beta blockers, which interfered with the sedatives. Piper is claiming she didn’t know about his other medications. Given their history, I find that highly doubtful.”
“Did she steal the medication from Sammy?” I told him how Sammy had been looking for her anti-anxiety prescription.
He confirmed my suspicion with a nod. “We did indeed find an empty prescription bottle with Sammy’s name on it in among the pieces of evidence we collected from Piper’s room. The lab will have to verify whether the drug in Benson’s latte is a match, but I would not be the least bit surprised. Piper believed she had an easy scapegoat in Sammy, so logic implies that using Sammy’s medication as the murder weapon would only serve to heighten our interest.”
We were quiet for a moment. The Professor’s phone buzzed. “Duty calls. Please excuse me, and please do accept my apology. You must know how dear you are to me. I would be shattered if harm should come to you.”
“I feel the same.”
He kissed the top of my head and strolled across the street to the police station. I felt satisfied. My questions had been answered. Piper had been arrested, and now I could celebrate Andy’s win in earnest.
Chapter Thirty
The rest of the week passed without incident. Andy received well-earned accolades from the community. Not a day went by when a customer didn’t ask to pose for a photo with him and the Barista Cup, which we had on display behind the espresso bar. Andy tried to downplay his enthusiasm in an attempt to stay humble, but I caught the look of delight in his eyes as he smiled broadly for each picture. Andy was the last person in any danger of developing an inflated ego. I told him as much on the morning of our dinner in the vines. A customer had asked to take a selfie, and he blushed.
“Soak it in,” I said, after he snapped a couple of selfies. “You earned this, and I want you to enjoy every minute.”
“Thanks, boss, but it’s almost been a week. I can’t believe people are still asking for pictures and even my autograph. A woman this morning asked me to sign her coffee mug.”
“You are Ashland’s coffee celebrity.” I grinned.
“It’s kind of embarrassing.” Andy’s cheeks darkened.
“Not at all. Trust me, you should enjoy it. Take in the love. You spread joy every day through your coffee, now it’s your turn to receive.”
He considered my words. “Okay. I’ll work on that.”
It was a good lesson for life—the cycle of giving and receiving. Carlos had been a good role model for me on that. I tended to give freely, but like Andy, allowing other people to return the gesture hadn’t come as easily. I remember one night on the Amour of the Seas, a guest had asked to meet me. That didn’t happen as often in the pastry kitchen as it did in the main kitchen. “What do I say?” I had asked Carlos. He was well versed in having conversations with guests as head chef.
“You smile and take in the compliment. It completes the circle. We give. We receive. We repeat.”
His words had struck a chord and I have carried them with me ever since. I hoped that Andy would do the same.
I went downstairs to get started on my dessert. Sterling, Marty, and Carlos would do the bulk of tonight’s cooking at Uva. We were fortunate in that the winery had a large house on the property with a full working kitchen. It was a space we could use year-round and offer to wedding parties and special events at no additional cost.
Bethany and Steph were gathering decorations to transform the vineyard. I stopped and watched Steph adorn vanilla macarons in her beautiful cursive handwriting with the Spanish word for cheers, “salud,” in chocolate.
“Those are so pretty,” I comm
ented.
“We thought they would be a sweet welcome for the guests,” Bethany replied. “We’re going to have one on each place setting. Is that cool?”
“It’s fabulous.”
“Great. We’re going to head over to the winery to start decorating in about an hour.”
“That works for me. I’m going to make the pavlovas and then pack up everything I need to assemble them. I shouldn’t be too far behind you.”
Before I began whipping egg whites for the meringue, I heated the ovens to three hundred degrees and lined baking sheets with parchment paper. Then I separated the eggs, reserving the whites for my dessert and saving the yolks for another day. I beat the whites until they were stiff, but not completely firm. The key to a light and airy pavlova is adding the sugar a tablespoon at a time so as not to deflate the whites. I slowly incorporated the sugar and beat the whites until they were silky and glossy. Next, I folded in vanilla beans, fresh lemon juice, and cornstarch. The basic building blocks for the elegant dessert were so simple it almost felt like cheating. However, the real test in creating a pavlova comes in forming it on the parchment. I made a large circle with a Sharpie and filled it in with the fluffy egg white mixture. I worked my way from the center, out to the edges, making sure to build layers as I went so that a depression would form in the middle of the circle.
I slid it into the oven to bake for an hour and turned my attention to the berries. They would steep in red wine, a simple vanilla syrup, and a zest of lemon until we were ready for the dessert course. When it was time to serve the pavlova, I planned to fill the center with the berries and top it with a hearty dollop of hand-whipped cream and a chocolate drizzle.
I couldn’t wait to share it with our guests.
Before I knew it, it was time to close up Torte and head to Uva. When I arrived at the winery, Bethany and Steph had already strung up twinkle lights and lined the vineyard with the Mason-jar candles. Rosa folded white napkins, and Sequoia hung signage that would direct guests where to park. Andy helped spread white linens on the tables and Bethany followed behind with plates and silverware. Steph arranged the bouquets of flowers.
“Wow, it’s starting to look incredible,” I praised the team. “Let me go put everything in the kitchen and then you can task me with a new job.”
The smells permeating the kitchen made my knees weak. Salsa music blasted as Sterling, Carlos, and Marty moved in a choreographed rhythm, tossing salad and chopping veggies.
“You guys, I think we need to open the windows or find a way to pipe this smell outside,” I said, setting boxes on the counter.
“You like? It smells wonderful, si?” Carlos wore his classic chef’s coat. I hadn’t seen him in the uniform in a while. His chiseled features and tanned skin against the stark white coat made my heartbeat quicken.
“Yeah.” I drank in the scent. “It smells divine.”
Carlos dipped his pinkie in Sterling’s pesto. “Beautiful. Beautiful. A touch more salt.” Then he looked at me. “Julieta, the wine is ready and the first course is plated.”
I glanced to my left. On the counter opposite me, bottles of wine had been placed in neat rows. Each bottle had been uncorked to allow the wine to breathe. Gorgeous platters of meats, cheeses, nuts, dips, and marinated veggies waited next to the wine. They reminded me of works of art with the way colors had been arranged on each tray. “These are too pretty to eat,” I commented, popping an olive into my mouth.
“Do not touch, mi querida,” Carlos scolded with a grin. “You will ruin Sterling’s design, and it is not finished. We still must char the flatbread so it will be warm when we are ready to serve.”
Sterling held up a wooden spoon. “That’s right, Jules. Hands off.”
I held my arms up in a surrender. “Fine, I’ll go see if I’m needed outside. I can tell I’m not welcome here.”
“That’s right, no girls allowed.” Marty let out a baritone chuckle. “Ohhh, I’m playing with fire, aren’t I, boys?”
Carlos whistled. “This is trouble for you.”
I knew Marty was teasing. “That’s right. You better watch it, sir. Don’t forget which side your bread is buttered on.”
Marty bowed down. “I surrender. I surrender.”
“That’s our cue boys.” Sterling winked. The three of them dropped what they were doing and met in the center of the kitchen.
“Gentlemen, let’s show Julieta what these legs can do.”
They proceeded to do a kick line, while Marty sang, “These legs can-can cook! Oh yes, they can-can.”
“That’s the worst rendition of the Rockettes I have ever seen.” I shook my head in mock disgust.
My words only egged them on. They kicked their legs higher until they collapsed in a fit of laughter.
I left them to their boys’ club and went to see if there was anything else that needed to be done. Mom and the Professor had arrived while I was inside. Mom wore an ankle-length flowing cotton sundress that accented her waist. A sheer white shawl covered her shoulders and she had tucked two white rosebuds into the white headband that pulled back her chestnut hair. She glowed with happiness. The Professor looked equally striking in a pair of white linen slacks, a matching shirt, and sandals.
“You two look amazing.” I greeted them with a hug.
“Thanks.” Mom organized a stack of menus.
“Helen is a vision in white, if you ask me.” The Professor gave her a tender gaze.
“Stop, Doug. You’ll make me blush.” She handed him the menu. “And, we have work to do. Every place setting needs a menu.”
“What can I do?” I asked. The guests were due to arrive in thirty minutes. We were in good shape, but I still needed to change and we needed to bring out the first wine and appetizer course.
Bethany directed me to the macarons. “Can you put those on plates? Steph and I are going to wait until the last minute to light all of the candles.”
At that moment, Steph plugged in the twinkle lights, which gave the vineyard a festive glow.
“So pretty,” Mom said.
I set out the macarons while Andy placed bottles of our pale pink rosé on the tables. The Professor brought out Sterling’s platters and Mom arranged menus and place cards. We stood back to survey our work. The vineyard could have been a movie set. From the fading light hitting the green vines to the cloud-like lanterns waving from the trees to the elegant white tables, I couldn’t believe how some simple touches of white had transformed our little grape farm.
Bethany clapped. “It’s just what I was picturing.” She snapped photos for our social media.
Even Steph couldn’t contain the smile that tugged at her lips. “It looks pretty good.”
“Pretty good? You have outdone yourselves,” I shot back. “I’m calling it now. This is going to be our most popular Sunday Supper.”
A car rambled up the long gravel drive. “On that note, let’s go change. Our guests are arriving.”
Sequoia, who was dressed in Boho style, was positioned near the path that led to the tables nestled in the vines. Her role was to greet guests and give them each a copy of the dinner menu.
Mom and the Professor stayed to welcome the first guests while the rest of us headed inside to change.
I had gone back to London Station and purchased the white dress I had seen in the window. Its fluttering short sleeves and sleek woven knee-length skirt gave it an airy feel. I studied my appearance in the mirror. To accent the romantic dress, I added a pair of daisy earrings and a matching necklace, along with a touch of shimmery opaque eyeshadow, pale pink lip gloss, and a touch of blush. I twisted my hair into a high ponytail and stood back. Not bad for a quick change, Jules.
When I went into the kitchen, Carlos almost dropped the cast-iron skillet he was using to sear steaks. “Julieta, you take my breath away. You are stunning.”
I shot him a flirty grin. “You don’t look too shabby in your chef’s whites either.”
“Hey, we have work to do.” Ster
ling waved a dish towel in front of Carlos’s face. “Focus, chef.”
“Si, si.” Carlos laughed. “Julieta, I will see you later.”
“It’s a date.” I went outside. The guitar duo strummed peaceful background music. Every candle had been lit, casting a soft iridescence on the tables where guests gathered and sipped wine.
I mingled from table to table, stopping to chat with familiar faces and catch up with old friends. The air was scented with vanilla from the candles and the earthy fragrance of the vines. Music floated above us as the wine began to flow.
Rosa waved me over to her table. “Jules, I wanted you to meet my uncle.” She introduced me to a distinguished man in his early sixties. “This is my dearest uncle, Javier.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you.” I shook his hand. “You have no idea how lucky we are to have Rosa on the team.”
“This must mean you’ve tried her conchas.” Javier gave his niece a proud smile.
She brushed off his compliment. “My uncle is the curator at the art museum at SOU and he has an amazing exhibit coming that he thought we might want to be involved in. That’s why I wanted you two to meet.”
“Oh, I’m a huge fan of the museum. That was always my favorite field trip as a kid,” I said to Javier. “I remember when the ancient Egypt exhibit was on display, we did an entire unit on mummies and hidden tombs. In fact, I still might have my sketches of the pharaohs in the basement.” One of the many perks of having a university in town was the culture the students and professors brought in.
Javier smiled at my memory. “Yes, that was a very popular exhibit. What I have coming next is related to Shakespeare. The university has landed a major coup. I can’t say more until we send out the official press release, but I would be very interested in having Torte cater the opening-night event. I believe that given the magnitude of what we’ve curated, there will be press in town not only from the Rogue Valley but from Portland, Seattle, LA, and many other places.”
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