Another One Bites the Crust

by Ellie Alexander

  Chapter Twelve

  When I returned to Torte it was buzzing with the lunch rush. The dining room smelled fantastic. I took in a huge breath of spicy tortilla soup and baking bread. Tables were packed with customers devouring our guacamole wraps. Bethany tapped orders into our sleek new digital system at the pastry counter and boxed up ombré packages of macarons. Thank goodness for the reprieve of the bakeshop. This was my happy place.

  I waved to Andy, who was demonstrating how to pour a heart from foam, on my way to the kitchen.

  “The soup is a hit, Jules,” Sterling said, placing two steaming bowls of soup on a tray along with the guacamole wraps.

  “I can tell. It smells amazing and it looks like every table in the front ordered soup.” I walked to the sink to wash my hands.

  “How was he?” Sterling placed the tray on the island.

  “In pretty bad shape, as expected.” I squirted repairing beeswax lotion on my hands and rubbed them together. Then I told him about my conversation with Thomas and bumping into Brock.

  Sterling listened while he finished off the lunch tray with slices of double chocolate cake, vanilla pudding with blueberry compote, and oatmeal raisin cookies. “Your instincts are right, Jules. It sounds like the police are operating under the assumption that Antony is dead. I don’t know what that means for Lance.”

  “Thanks for the validation.” I nodded toward the lunch tray. “Do you want me to take that?”

  “I’ve got it.” Sterling lifted the tray with one hand and flexed his arm. Not that I could see his muscles under his hoodie.

  “Nice.”

  Bethany returned to the front counter. “Back to my photo shoot,” she said, grabbing a stool and standing on it.

  “Be careful up there,” I cautioned.

  “No worries. I do this all the time.” She clicked dozens of shots. When she finished, she jumped off the stool and placed her phone on the edge of the island. “You want to take a look?” She swiped her phone to the photos section.

  Each dessert had been plated and shot from above. The pictures were stunning. Bethany certainly had an eye for design. My favorite was the lunch special, which she had shot on the island with recipe cards, bright-colored peppers, and a small bunch of wildflowers. It looked like a photograph from Sweetened magazine. No wonder our social media following was growing. “These are incredible,” I said to Bethany, handing back her phone.

  “You like them?” Her freckles stretched on her cheeks with her smile.

  “I love them. Has Mom seen them yet?”

  Bethany repositioned a single pale pink rose that she had propped next to Andy’s vanilla rose latte along with loose vanilla beans. “Not yet. She’s been in high demand.”

  We both looked to the dining room where Mom was packaging up pastries from the case and our to-go lunch boxes. “When it slows down you have to show her these.”

  “I will.” Bethany smiled and went back to snapping pictures of the creamy latte.

  Stephanie was slumped over the counter. I noticed she had inserted the star tip on her pastry bag upside down.

  “How’s it going?” I asked. The cake she was decorating had a glob of frosting in the middle.

  “The pastry bag is broken.”

  I leaned over her shoulder and took the bag from her hand. “You need to go home. Get some sleep.”

  Her eyes looked like two swollen purple plums. “No, I’m good,” she protested. “I want to learn that spoon thing you did the other day. Can you show me?”

  I wondered what my role was in her predicament. Should I force her to leave, or task her with something more manageable like the fluffy retro technique? I decided on the latter and showed her how to create the vintage pillowlike design.

  “Keep an eye on her,” I whispered to Sterling, as I started on the remaining specialty orders.

  “Already on it,” he replied in a low tone. “I tried to get her to go, but she won’t. You know how stubborn she can be. Women. I tell you.” He rolled his brilliant blue eyes, but I could see concern in the way he kept glancing in her direction.

  “Let’s make a pact to try and lighten her load, but subtly. She can’t know.”

  He spread guacamole on a tortilla. “Done.”

  By the time I had hand-piped cherry French cream on layers of almond sponge, the dining room had begun to clear out. I had been wanting to make a carrot cake since my conversation with Vera. Sterling and Bethany took on cleanup duty and Mom worked on frosting dozens of cutout cookies for opening night. Lance had ordered theater cutouts for the opening-night cast party a few days ago. The cookies were cut in the shape of playbills and had funny sayings like Break Legs, Happy Opening, OSF Family, Team Antony and Cleopatra. I wondered if the show would go on as planned and whether or not he would be a part of it.

  For the carrot cake I rinsed and peeled a bunch of organic carrots. Then I finely grated them into a mixing bowl and set that aside. I creamed butter and sugar in the mixer and slowly incorporated eggs, a splash of buttermilk, the shredded carrots, baking soda, flour, and salt. I like carrot cake that is chock-full of tropical flavors and touches of exotic spices, like fresh ginger. However, ginger can be potent. It’s always better to start slow and layer on flavor as you go. A little goes a long way.

  I shaved the ginger root and finely diced it before adding it to the batter. Next, I added cinnamon, nutmeg, and a dash of cardamom. I sliced oranges and lemons, squeezed in the juice, and reserved the peel. I planned to zest some of it into the mixture. Finally, I incorporated chopped walnuts and pecans and mixed everything together.

  Before pouring the batter into cake pans I gave it a taste with my pinkie. It had a lovely spicy flavor that I knew would develop once it baked. I buttered and dusted baking pans and then spread in the rich, chunky batter. While the cakes baked, I turned my attention to the frosting. Carrot cake deserves a frosting worthy of its zest. In my opinion the tangy cake paired perfectly with a cream cheese frosting.

  To avoid a lumpy frosting, it’s imperative to start with room-temperature cream cheese and butter. Our microwave had a setting for warming both cream cheese and butter, so I opted to use that to speed the process up. I beat them on high and then added powdered sugar, vanilla, a touch of cardamom, and more fresh-squeezed lemon and orange juice. It whipped into a silky, satin frosting. As Vera had mentioned, the frosting wasn’t overly sweet and had a subtle hint of citrus.

  Then I used a mandoline to slice thin pieces of the remaining fresh ginger. I planned to candy it and use it as a decoration for the top of the cake. The process of candying is simple. I placed the ginger slices in a saucepan with a quarter cup of water. I would let it simmer on low heat for about a half hour or until the ginger was tender. Then I would strain the ginger and return it to the pan with more water and sugar. Once the sugar and water came to a boil, I would stir it frequently until it thickened into a syrup. At this point, I would continue to cook it until the syrup dried out and evaporated, eventually leaving a gorgeous crystallized-sugar coating on each piece of ginger.

  The candied ginger was so delicious it could be eaten as a snack, added to cookies, or in this case used as a decoration for my cake. It would keep for up to two weeks in an airtight container. That was if it would last that long around the bakeshop.

  As if reading my mind, Andy appeared behind me. “Are you making candied ginger? You know that’s my kryptonite, boss.”

  I pretended to swat him away. “It has to cool. You don’t want to burn your tongue.”

  “It might be worth it for candied ginger.” He threw his hand over his chest and batted his eyelashes. “I have to figure out how to create a coffee drink with candied ginger.” His phone buzzed in the back pocket of his faded jeans. “And I have to get to class. See you tomorrow.”

  Andy and Stephanie both attended Southern Oregon University in addition to working for us. Mom and I never had a problem rearranging their schedules if they had to study for finals or had a class that interfer
ed with their shift. Having Bethany join the team had given us even more flexibility. She and Sterling started their shifts later and stayed later so that Andy and Stephanie could leave for afternoon classes. Thus far it had been working, but I was concerned about our staffing levels once the basement renovation was complete, especially with Mom scaling back. We were likely going to have to hire additional help, but that meant more time training new staff and increasing our payroll. While I stirred the ginger I tried to calm the doubt rising in me. An expansion didn’t come without risk. We knew that going into the project, but as it became more of a reality it was hard not to think about the worst-case scenarios.

  My dad used to tease me about getting lost in my own head. “Juliet, give those brain cells a rest, darling,” he would say and pull up a stool at the island for me. I spent my afternoons and weekends in Torte’s cheery kitchen watching my parents work in unison. It was like watching a choreographed dance. They would pass each other with a tray of scones or pot of beef stew. There was a palpable spark between them. I remembered wishing that one day I would find a love like theirs. Their love wasn’t flashy. From the outside it might have appeared common and predictable. But that’s exactly what made them special.

  It was different with Carlos and me. The heat between us was undeniable, but I wasn’t sure that we were destined for something lasting like my parents.

  The bubbling ginger splattered and hit me on the wrist. I winced, turned down the heat, and ran to immerse my hand in cold water. A red welt the size of a pimple erupted on my wrist. It could have been worse. Good thing I had quick reflexes, but yet another reason to get out of my head and focus on what was right in front of me.

  The burn stung. Pain pulsed in my hand as icy water cascaded from the tap. I had been trained in first aid in culinary school. The kitchen can be a dangerous place. Knowing how to react and reacting quickly, like getting water on a burn immediately, is a head chef’s duty.

  “Are you okay, honey?” Mom returned to the kitchen with empty soup bowls and plates. She started to put them in the sink, but stopped when she saw me running my arm under cold water.

  “Just a little burn.”

  She set the dirty dishes on the counter and reached under the stream of water to assess my injury. “Does it hurt?”

  “No, it’s fine.” I turned off the water and dried my arm.

  Mom frowned. “Are you sure?”

  “Promise.” I went to check on the ginger. “I should have been paying better attention. Rookie mistake.”

  A faraway look crossed her face. “You are your father’s daughter. My daydreamers.”

  We shared an unspoken memory. It was as if I could feel his presence in the kitchen. His hearty laugh, his meticulous care when piping a cake or cutting out sugar cookies. He lived on at Torte in everything we touched. I knew that he was watching over us and would be thrilled that we were expanding the bakeshop and happy that Mom had found love a second time.

  She rubbed her arms and then inhaled. I caught her eye. We didn’t need to speak. I knew that we had both been thinking of him. “Are you still up for coming to take a look at flowers with me?”

  I’d forgotten all about her wedding flowers. “Of course. When should we head over?”

  Mom glanced at the clock on the far wall. “Five minutes?”

  “No problem. Let me get this ginger drying and check on my cakes.” I lined the island with waxed paper. Using tongs, I removed the shimmery ginger pieces and left them to cool. When I opened the oven a blast of heat and the heavenly scent of cinnamon and nutmeg filled the kitchen.

  “That’s not fair, Jules,” Sterling said as he loaded dishes into the dishwasher. “That smells crazy good.”

  I laughed. “Maybe that’s what we should call it—Crazy Good Carrot Cake. It has a certain ring to it, doesn’t it?”

  “Call it whatever you want. Just make sure I get a slice once it’s ready.”

  “Deal.” I set the deep golden cakes on cooling racks and ran a butter knife around the edge of the pans. “Will you and Bethany be okay to finish cleaning up? Mom and I have an appointment at A Rose by Any Other Name.”

  “We got this.” Sterling turned toward the dining room. A student who had been nursing a cup of coffee had his head buried in his laptop, but otherwise the bakeshop was empty. Torte was typically busy from the time we opened in the morning through the lunch rush, but things died off in the afternoon. That wouldn’t be true once the season picked up at OSF. All the more reason to embrace the calm, knowing that it was temporary.

  “You know where to find us if you need anything.” A Rose by Any Other Name, Ashland’s premier flower shop owned by Thomas’s parents, was two doors down from Torte. I’d spent many of my childhood hours in the floral boutique.

  Mom nudged Sterling’s waist. “Don’t get lost. It’s pretty far.”

  “Right.” He winked.

  We left arm in arm. “Have you given any thought to flowers?” I asked Mom, pointing to the spring tulips in the planter boxes. “Something simple like tulips or maybe daisies?”

  Mom gave the spring flowers a wistful look. “If it were up to me, yes, but you know Doug. He’s such a fan of Shakespeare.” She paused and twisted her engagement ring. “I’ve had an idea percolating that I want to get your take on.”

  “Sure. Shoot.” A dusting of pink blossoms fell like snow as we passed under a cherry tree.

  “As you know, we’re flexible on the date. If we can find a venue then anytime this summer will work for us. I was looking at the calendar and June 20th jumped out at me. What do you think about doing a Midsummer Night’s Eve wedding? Doug be over the moon if I could pull off a surprise.”

  “That’s a great idea.” I stopped in mid-stride. “Wait, you want to surprise him?”

  The corner of her eyes crinkled. “That’s what I was thinking. Is it crazy?”

  “No. Not at all. It’s romantic.” I put my hand over my heart. “He would love that.”

  A smile spread across her face. “He would, wouldn’t he?”

  “Yes, he would. And I’m here to help make it happen.” I secured my arm tighter and we entered the flower shop.

  Thomas’s mom greeted us both with a warm hug. “Helen, I’m so thrilled for you! Everyone in town is delighted. It’s the main topic of conversation these days.”

  “Thanks, Janet.” Mom’s bronze cheeks blushed. “I have to admit that I feel like I’m twenty again. I never imagined I would be planning another wedding in my fifties.”

  “A surprise wedding,” I interjected.

  “Surprise?” Janet frowned. “But didn’t Doug propose?”

  Mom explained her idea about throwing a Midsummer Night’s Eve wedding.

  “That’s uncanny.” Janet motioned for us to join her at the back counter. She laid out an assortment of loose bouquets and floral headbands with long silky ribbons. “I don’t know why, but I had the sense you might be drawn to a bohemian style. I was inspired by this clipping I saw in one of my industry magazines.” She slid a cutout of a Midsummer Night’s Dream wedding across the countertop.

  Mom and I shared a knowing look. The stars were aligning.

  Janet continued. “The couple went with a starry and celestial theme. I used this backdrop for inspiration. What about something like this?” She placed whimsical arrangements and floral headpieces in soft pastels and bright jewel tones along with hints of chocolate on the counter.

  “It’s like you read my mind.” Mom bent over to smell the dark lilies.

  “Have you picked a venue yet?” Janet asked.

  “Sadly, no. Thus far we haven’t been able to find anything big enough.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. I think everyone is expecting an invite.” She handed Mom one of the flower headpieces. “If you end up going with an outdoor venue then I thought we could use trees. They are nature’s cathedrals after all. I could take this same design and create long flower garlands that we could string from the trees along w
ith paper moons, stars, and twinkle lights.”

  Mom stroked the delicate headpiece. “I love it. What do you think, Juliet?”

  I nodded. “Agreed. It’s gorgeous.”

  Janet reached under the counter and retrieved two large binders. “I don’t want to force you into this. There are thousands of other ideas. We can go with a more traditional look like this.” She thumbed through the binder and pointed to a picture of a bouquet of simple red roses and then to one of wildflowers.

  “No. I don’t need to see anything else,” Mom insisted. “Don’t get me wrong, these other designs are lovely, but what you’ve put together reflects Doug and me.”

  “This is the easiest and fastest bridal consultation I’ve ever done.” Janet returned the binders beneath the counter.

  “I’ve always believed that when things don’t come easy, it usually means we’re trying to force our own agendas,” Mom said, as she tried on the headpiece. The dainty pink roses and chocolaty willow twigs blended in beautifully with her hair.

  Her words made me think of Lance. Had forcing his agenda caused him to snap? I wanted to believe that he was telling me the truth, but a seed of doubt lingered.

  “Shall we talk about colors and if there are any specific flowers you want me to use?” Janet reached for a sketch pad and Sharpie.

  I took that as my cue to leave. “It looks like you’re in good hands,” I said to Mom. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

  Mom held her index finger to her lips. “Remember, this our little secret.”

  Janet nodded solemnly. “A florist never dishes the dirt.”

  I laughed and waved. “My lips are sealed.”

  Part of me wanted to swing by Lithia Park before returning to Torte. I wondered if the search team had found anything yet. Before I could make up my mind I spotted Judy Faulkner, the volunteer who had been flirting with Antony, heading straight for me.