“I’m okay,” I said, instantly changing my mind. “Actually, I think some water . . .”
Em communicated silently with Billy. He nodded, coming around to my other side. “I’ll be back,” I said to the others. “Just getting a drink.”
They each gave a quick acknowledgment that I’d spoken, returning their focus to the voice over the speakers. “Fifth place . . .” the man was saying, but I couldn’t think about the contest. The three of us started across the dance floor, maneuvering around people. We intercepted Miguel. “Well?” I asked.
“She said yes.”
Em and Billy looked from me to Miguel. “Who said yes?”
I dragged them out of the crowd and to a shadowy corner of the room. “Here’s what I think,” I said. “Max screwed people over. He may have been trying to put things right, thanks to Vanessa—”
“The spiritual advisor,” Em said.
“Exactly. But someone saying they’re sorry for losing your one hundred twenty thousand dollars isn’t going to cut it, is it?”
Cheering and clapping erupted in the crowd as the MC went on to announce fourth place.
“The people who invested with Max trusted him. Take Isabel over there. They had some sort of long-term relationship. She’s in three of the Art Car photos with Max. Johnny Wellborn was a professional rival, but he considered Max savvy. You don’t have to be someone’s friend to do business with them.”
Miguel took over the narrative. “Vicente Villanueva is a VP for a hotel chain. He and Max had a professional relationship. If he was willing to hand over one hundred twenty K, there must have been some level of trust, right?”
Em’s posture had changed. Gone was the woman in the ball gown out on the town with her fiancé. Instead, dress and heels notwithstanding, she had morphed into Deputy Emmaline Davis. “So who’s the fourth?” she asked, looking like she was ready to pounce.
I drew in a deep breath, looking to Miguel for confirmation. He gave a succinct nod; then we both spoke at once. “Sheriff Robert Lane.”
Emmaline nearly dropped the wineglass she held. “Are you sure?”
“My mother saw the four of them at Baptista’s talking about Max and the money they’d lost. She didn’t know who they were, but I took pictures and texted them to my sister to show my mom. It’s the four of them.”
Billy shook his head. “The sheriff’s high-profile.” He turned to Miguel. “Your mom didn’t recognize him?”
He laughed. “Have you met my mom? She watches telenovelas and works at the restaurant. That’s it. I love her, but she’d barely recognize me if I wasn’t her son.”
Emmaline waved away the recognition skills of Miguel’s mother. “Let me get this straight. Are you suggesting that the sheriff killed Max?”
I’d worked it out in my head. Now I spoke my thoughts aloud, hoping they didn’t sound ridiculous. “He inherited so he had money to invest. I don’t know how he knew Max, but he’s the sheriff. He knows everyone, doesn’t he? Think about it. He said he looked into all the other investors and discredited them. Everything for him has been about finding Billy guilty. He went in with his mind made up, but why?”
Another idea hit me. “Wait. What if Max went to make amends with Lane. What if he told Lane where the money was? Lane might have killed Max before he could tell anyone else so—”
“He could keep the money for himself,” Billy said.
The color drained from Emmaline’s face, taking it from a rich cocoa color to something a little green and pale by comparison. “Oh my God.”
We all stared at her. “What is it, babe?” Billy asked, his hand finding her lower back.
“He said the money was gone. He was really pissed one day. Not pissed. Livid. He was pacing around. He kicked a chair. He even threw a glass. He said, ‘So much for retirement,’ but fuming.”
“That was the money he lost. The money Max invested,” I said.
“So it was revenge,” Billy said.
“Plain and simple.”
“And the zombie car?”
“Remember the broken window in the hangar?” I said to Em. “You said something was off about it.”
She nodded. “It was. It is. The glass was inside, but it didn’t look like anyone had stepped on it. It didn’t look like anyone had actually climbed through that window at all, in fact.”
“The place was locked up tight, though, wasn’t it?” Miguel asked.
We paused to think about that one; then it came to me. “My dad told me that all kinds of events have been held at the hangar over the years. What did he say?” I thought for a second before continuing. “A vintage market. A school gala. And police auctions.”
Billy’s face changed, the life coming back into it. “That’s right. I bought some of my art cars there in the early days. They were like blank canvases. Beat-up and ready for the junkyard. But anything can become art.”
“If police events were held there,” I continued, “it would have been fairly easy for Lane to get himself a copy of the keys, wouldn’t it?”
Em nodded. “Presumably.”
“So Lane murdered Max to get revenge for the condo fraud.”
“And who better to frame for it than you,” I said to Billy. “Max’s longtime nemesis.”
We stood there, stupefied. Could it be? Was it really Sheriff Lane? As I processed through it again, the second place winner was announced.
It wasn’t Billy.
We all stared toward the front of the room, but we couldn’t see the speaker. Couldn’t gauge what was happening. Either Billy had won, at long last, or the judges had overlooked him because he was a person of interest in Max’s murder.
The cheering died down and the voice came over the microphone speakers. “And, folks, the moment we’ve all been waiting for. This year, the grand prize winner for the Santa Sofia Art Car competition goes to . . .”
A collective silence came over the room.
“. . . Billy Culpepper.”
There was a delayed reaction, but then a loud clap came from the double doors. I looked over to see my dad standing in the threshold, a proud expression on his face, his eyes glistening. Billy’s art car was a tribute to our mother. To our father’s wife. To the love of his life. And it had won. Billy had won.
We joined in the applause, and before long the crowd separated to allow Billy to walk to the front. We all joined him, but I scanned the room for the sheriff in the process.
I needn’t have bothered. He was at the front of the room, just off to the side from where the Eiffel Tower-sized trophies were being handed to the winners. Billy stepped up to shake the hand of the MC as my father, Olaya, Mrs. Branford, and Mason Caldwell joined me.
Sheriff Lane stepped up to the front at the same time. With one hand on a pair of handcuffs clipped to his belt, he spoke more to the crowd than to Billy. “William Culpepper, you’re—”
“Sheriff,” Emmaline said, coming up behind him.
He stopped. “Deputy, what are you doing?”
She said something to him quietly. I couldn’t hear, but I knew what she was doing. Emmaline had integrity. She didn’t need to make a show of things. What she needed was to exact justice. And that didn’t need to be done publically. She was giving him a chance to save face and not go down in front of the whole town.
Lane’s nostrils flared. His face instantly turned a blotchy red. He dropped his hand from the handcuffs, reaching instead for his holster. Someone from the crowd yelled, “Gun!” and just like that, the room erupted into chaos. People screamed. Rushed around. Pushed and shoved to get out of the way.
I stayed focused on the three people in front. “Robert, stop,” Emmaline barked. It didn’t matter that she was in eveningwear and not looking anything remotely like a cop. She was still intimidating.
The sheriff, however, didn’t listen. He yanked his gun from his holster. I didn’t know who he planned to shoot. Everything happened all at once. Miguel wrapped his arm around my waist to pull me out of
the line of fire. Billy moved with lightning speed, grabbing him in a chokehold, which allowed Em to lunge for the sheriff’s outstretched arm and knock the gun from it. She grabbed hold of the handcuffs at Lane’s waist and snapped one on the wrist that had held the gun. “Robert Lane,” she said. A hush had fallen over the crowd. You could hear a pin drop. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Maxwell Litman.”
Chapter 30
It was one o’clock in the morning before the chaos of the night was over. Emmaline had taken over, directing the deputy present to call for backup. Lane was subdued, but she wanted crowd control, damage control, and she wanted to read the sheriff his Miranda Rights so he could hear every last word.
Billy was officially cleared, Lane was officially under arrest, and we were all officially exhausted. A lot of people might have found an open bar. Taken a good stiff drink to decompress. But not us. We headed back to Yeast of Eden. Olaya made pot after pot after pot of coffee, we’d pushed the bistro tables together, and now we all sat, experiencing the letdown.
Mrs. Branford had changed from her chiffon dress to a dark gray and subdued velour lounge suit. She was a slave to her generation’s view of propriety . . . but with her own twist. The rest of us were still in our finest. Mrs. Branford clasped the wooden handle of her cane. The walking stick was usually for show, but at this moment, I thought she actually needed it to help keep her steady. She had long ago retired, but she hadn’t lost her poise or confidence. “Every person deserves to rest in peace,” she said. “Now Max will get that blessing.”
We raised our coffee cups. “To Max,” Emmaline said.
“To Max,” Miguel and I said at the same time.
My father, Olaya, Mason Caldwell, Martina, and Vicente Villanueva, who’d helped Olaya tear down her tables at the ball, all chimed in. But it was Billy who kept his cup raised for an extra second. “To Max,” he said. “Rest in peace.”
* * *
The next morning, I stood in my dad’s house gazing at the trophy on the kitchen table. Billy came up behind me, draping his arm over my shoulders. “It was a long time coming, eh?”
“Too long,” my dad said, his baritone light and satisfied. “Your mom would be proud of you, son.”
He took hold of it, holding it above his head, pumping his arm. “Yo, Mom, this is for you!” he said in his best Sylvester Stallone imitation.
“Where are you going to put it?” my dad asked.
Billy put it back down on the table and then leaned against the counter. “On a shelf in the lobby of my new showroom,” he said, a grin spreading on his face.
My dad and I stared at him. “Your new what?” I asked.
“Litman Homes is up for sale,” he said. “I’m always cautious—”
“Too cautious,” I interjected.
“You work hard, Billy,” my dad said, “but Litman’s?”
He shook his head, the grin still in place. “That spiritual advisor of Max’s—”
“Vanessa Rose,” I said.
“The stuff about Max making amends? I kind of think it might be true,” he said. “Vanessa told me about me being his lifeline. Taking over his business feels . . . right. Like coming full circle. I’m going to put the trophy next to mom’s book,” he said. “I think she’d like that.”
We stood side by side, arms around each other, smiling and relishing the peace that we all felt. It was as if we’d all been in Wonderland, but now we were full size again and back in the real world, together.
Wonderland, it turns out, was overrated.
RECIPES
CHOCOLATE BABKA
(recipe credit to King Arthur Flour)
DOUGH
1 to 1¼ cups lukewarm water
2 large eggs
6¼ cups all-purpose flour
⅓ cup nonfat dry milk
2 tablespoons instant yeast
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ cup sugar
2½ teaspoons salt
10 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature*
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
* Reduce the salt to 2¼ teaspoons if you use salted butter.
FILLING
½ cup sugar
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
⅓ cup cocoa powder of your choice, Dutch-process or natural
½ teaspoon espresso powder
¼ cup melted butter
1 cup finely chopped semisweet chocolate or semisweet chocolate chips, mini chips preferred
1 cup diced pecans or walnuts, optional
GLAZE
1 large egg beaten with a pinch of salt until well-combined
TOPPING
4 tablespoons melted butter
½ teaspoon cinnamon
⅔ cup confectioners’ sugar
½ cup all-purpose flour
1. Combine all of the dough ingredients (add water gradually), mixing until everything is moistened. Add additional water if necessary to enable the dough to come together. Cover the bowl and let the dough rest for 20 minutes. Then mix/knead it until it is soft and smooth.
2. Place the dough in a lightly greased bowl and then cover the bowl. The dough is going to rise for about 1½ to 2 hours, until it is quite puffy.
3. Gently deflate the dough and divide it in half. Set the pieces aside, covered, while you make the filling.
4. To make the filling, combine the sugar, cinnamon, cocoa, and espresso. Stir in the melted butter. The mixture will look grainy and slick; that’s okay.
5. Shape each half of the dough into a 9” × 18” ¼” rectangle. If the dough “fights back,” let it rest for 10 minutes to relax the gluten, then stretch it some more. Don’t be fussy about this; 19” or 20” is as good as 18”.
6. Smear each piece of the dough with half of the filling, coming to within an inch of the edges.
7. Scatter half the nuts and half the chopped chocolate/chips over each piece. If using standard-size chips, process them in a food processor first, to create smaller bits of chocolate and a less chunky filling.
8. Starting with a short end, roll each piece gently into a log, sealing the seam and ends. Working with one log at a time, use a pair of scissors or a sharp knife to cut the log in half lengthwise (not crosswise) to make two pieces of dough about 10” long each; cut carefully, to prevent too much filling from spilling out. With the exposed filling side up, twist the two pieces into a braid, tucking the ends underneath. Repeat with the other log. Place each log into a lightly greased 9” × 5” loaf pan.
9. Brush each loaf with the egg glaze. Mix together the topping ingredients until crumbly, then sprinkle half of the topping over each loaf.
10. Tent each pan with plastic wrap and let the loaves rise until they’re very puffy and have crowned a good inch over the rim of the pan, about 1½ to 2½ hours. Toward the end of the rising time, preheat your oven to 300°F.
11. Bake the bread for 35 minutes. Tent lightly with foil and bake for an additional 15 to 25 minutes (for a total of 50 to 60 minutes); the loaves should be a deep golden brown.
12. To ensure the loaves are baked through, insert a digital thermometer into the center of one loaf. It should register at least 190°F.
13. Remove the loaves from the oven and immediately loosen the edges with a heatproof spatula or table knife. Let the loaves cool for 10 minutes, then turn them out of the pans onto a rack to cool completely.
14. Slice the babka and serve it at room temperature; or rewarm individual slices briefly in a toaster, if desired. Store any leftovers, well-wrapped, at room temperature for several days; freeze for longer storage.
Or make it gluten free! It’s really delicious.
GLUTEN-FREE CHOCOLATE BABKA
(adapted from recipe by King Arthur Flour)
DOUGH
2¾ cups gluten-free flour (I use either King Arthurs’s or Pamela’s all-purpose gluten-free flour)
3 tablespoons sugar
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon xanthan gum
/> 2 teaspoons instant yeast
4 tablespoons (¼ cup) soft butter
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 cup warm milk
1 large egg
1 teaspoon vanilla
FILLING
¼ cup sugar
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon espresso powder, optional; for enhanced chocolate flavor
2¼ tablespoons Dutch-process cocoa powder
2 tablespoons melted butter
⅓ to ½ cup semisweet chocolate chips
½ cup diced pecans or walnuts, toasted if desired
GLAZE
1 large egg beaten with a pinch of salt until well-combined
TOPPING
⅓ cup gluten-free all-purpose flour
4 tablespoons brown sugar
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
2½ tablespoons melted butter
1. To make the dough, combine all the dry ingredients in your mixer bowl. Add the soft butter, blending on low speed until you have coarse crumbs.
2. Add the oil, milk, egg, and vanilla, beating until incorporated. Scrape down the sides of the bowl. Beat on medium-high speed for 2 to 3 minutes; scrape the bowl down again. Cover the dough and let it rise for about 1 to 1½ hours, or until visibly puffy.
3. When the dough has risen, turn it out onto a lightly greased piece of parchment paper (or waxed paper) and press it gently into an 8” × 16” rectangle.
4. To make the chocolate filling, combine the sugar, cinnamon, espresso powder, and cocoa. Stir in the melted butter. The mixture will look grainy and slick; that’s okay.
5. Spread the filling over the dough, leaving a ½” to 1” border of filling-free dough around the edges. Scatter the chips and nuts atop the filling. If desired, process the chips in a food processor first, to create smaller bits of chocolate and a less chunky filling.
The Walking Bread Page 21