There was only one way to find out. I would have to talk to her directly and I had a perfect excuse to stop by the costume department. I needed to return my dress from last night and I would bring along a hefty slice of my carrot cake to sweeten her up.
Chapter Fourteen
Sterling and Bethany had finished cleanup when I returned to Torte. The dining room was sparkling and the kitchen was spotless.
“Hey, Jules,” Sterling said, turning on the dishwasher. “We were just about to take off, but before you go, you had a couple of visitors.”
Everyone in town would be attending opening night at OSF so we had decided to close early. “Who?”
“Your architect. He wanted to warn us that we’re probably going to feel some rumbling with demo going on.”
That was to be expected. “Okay, and the other visitor?”
Bethany stuck out her tongue. “Richard Lord.”
Shocker. “What did he want?”
Sterling tossed his apron on the island. “I’m not sure. He wants ‘a word’ but didn’t elaborate.”
“Get this.” Bethany took off her apron as well. She wore yet another baking T-shirt. This one was white with red lettering and the words BAKERS GONNA BAKE. “He’s starting an Instagram page and wants my help.”
Classic. I tried not to let my irritation show. “That could be a good side project for you.”
She looked at Sterling and they both laughed. “No way. I don’t want to be within ten feet of the Merry Windsor’s kitchen. That place scares me. Plus, I’m good, but I’m not that good.”
“Thanks for the solidarity. I’ll deal with Richard tomorrow. You guys should take off.” I sent them both home with boxes of leftover pastries and told them to be ready for a busy day tomorrow. Then I got to work on assembling my carrot cake.
The candied ginger had cooled nicely. I popped a piece into my mouth. The crystallized sugar gave the pungent, chewy treat a sweet finish. No wonder these were a staff favorite. I set the ginger aside and sliced the cooled cake into four thin layers. Then, I slathered on generous amounts of the whipped cream cheese frosting. I added bits of the candied ginger between each layer and arranged the remaining candy in a circular pattern on the top. The cake looked decadent and creamy. I couldn’t wait to slice into it.
I found a to-go box and cut a thick piece for Vera. But as I told my young staff, a chef must taste before she delivers, so I cut myself a tiny piece. The combination of moist carrot cake, tangy frosting, and zing of ginger brought an immediate grin to my face. The cake was rich without feeling heavy and the intense spice flavor left a warm finish in my mouth. Hopefully, a slice would butter up Vera and get her to talk to me.
Since Mom and I had tickets to opening night, I washed the frosting bowl and flat spatula that I had used to ice the cake and then I closed up the kitchen. Often, I would work late in the evening after we closed. I liked to bake solo in the calm of a quiet kitchen. I used that time to test new recipes and catch up on paperwork. After last night’s party, being awoken by Lance in the middle of the night, and going to the premiere of Antony and Cleopatra tonight, I knew that there was no way I was going to want to come back later.
I grabbed my dress and the box of carrot cake for Vera and headed for the OSF complex. I was tempted to take a detour to Lithia Park, but I knew that my window for catching Vera before the show was tight. Plus, that way if she shared any new information with me I could pass all of it—what I might learn from her and what I had learned from Judy—on to Thomas and the Professor.
The bricks were packed with theatergoers who had already begun to gather despite the fact the curtain wouldn’t rise for another three hours. Eager anticipation pulsed through the dapper crowd. Ashland had put on its Sunday best for the occasion. Women in flowy flower-print dresses and men in tailored suits discussed the playbill, debating whether Cinderella or Love’s Labor Lost would be the most popular outdoor show. The air smelled of cherry blossoms and fresh cut grass. It was hard not to get caught up in the energy. Opening night of the new season meant that spring was finally upon us.
I navigated through the crowd, stopping once to wait while a group of twenty schoolteachers posed for a selfie with an actor dressed as Julius Caesar who stood as still as a statue. They were wearing matching T-shirts with the words I PREFER MY PUNS INTENDED on the front and DRAMA TEACHERS RULE on the back.
A snake keeper with a boa constrictor draped around his neck watched over his cage of snakes as people gawked and snapped pictures. Were the snakes part of the show or a preshow art installation? It had been a while seen I had seen Antony and Cleopatra, but if memory served me correctly, Cleopatra’s suicide was brought on by a venomous snake.
I shuddered at the thought and made a beeline for the Bowmer Theater. Getting past the ticket booth volunteer took some finagling.
“Show doesn’t start until seven-thirty, miss. We’ll be opening the doors at seven.”
“This is for Vera, in the costume department.” I held up my silky party dress. “I catered the party last night and am supposed to return it to her.”
He scowled. “I’m not supposed to let anyone in. I guess I can take it for you.”
I clutched the dress. “No, Vera will have my head. She specifically instructed each of us to return our costumes directly to her.”
He hesitated. I knew that I had him. “Okay, but make it quick.”
“Will do.” I scooted past him before he had a chance to change his mind.
The costume department was a blur of activity. Actors wearing yoga pants and sweatshirts in full stage makeup posed for last-minute alterations. Portable fans had been placed throughout the room. They spun on high in a futile attempt to bring the temperature down. The basement tended to run high with humidity, particularly on a night like this. I spotted Vera directing a seamstress to take in the hem on one Cleopatra’s servants’ costume. It took a minute to work my way in her direction. When she spotted me she pointed at a pincushion resting on a messy workstation. I managed to catch it with my free hand. “What’s this?”
“What does it look like? A pincushion. Do you know how to sew?” She dabbed her forehead with a swatch of purple cotton.
“A bit, but I’m not a professional.”
She pushed her oversized glasses to the bridge of her nose. “I don’t care. I’ll take all the help I can get.”
“I came to bring back my dress and give you this.” I offered the box of carrot cake. “It’s our carrot cake made especially for you.”
Vera held a tape measure across a sheath of velvet fabric. “Thanks, thanks. Set it over there for laundering. I can’t talk right now. The show must go on and we’ve had to refit all of Antony’s costumes today.”
An actor with a five-inch rip down the front of his skintight pants squeezed in next to us. “Vera, you have to fix this. I’m due on stage for final dress rehearsal in ten minutes.”
“Jules.” Vera nodded to the pincushion in my hand.
“Me?”
“You.” She reached into the pocket of her apron and pulled out a pair of silver shears and began cutting the velvet fabric.
I turned to the actor. “I’ll give it my best shot, but I have to warn you that the last time I sewed anything was in Home Ec class in high school.”
“I don’t care. Just get me sewed up enough to get out on stage.”
I placed my dress and the box of cake on one of the large green drafting tables nearby. Actors flew in and out of changing stations. Sewing machines sung. A flurry of colorful fabrics danced around the room. The painstaking detail that went into making each costume come to life was evident in the hectic pace.
Here goes nothing, I thought as I threaded a sewing needle with black thread and started to mend the tear. It was easier than I imagined. The actor had ripped his pants on the seam. With a few stiches, it was like new.
“I’m not sure how long that is going to hold,” I cautioned.
The actor gave me a bow of thank
s. “Not to worry. It only needs to hold for final dress rehearsal. Thanks.”
A bell sounded overhead and the lights flashed. “That’s my cue.” The actor, along with everyone else in costume, left in a mass exodus for the stage.
This was my chance to talk to Vera. I found her with her head bent over a sewing machine, fastening gold strings onto a belt.
“I had forgotten how wild things are before the show.”
She looked up from her work and stared at me as if she had forgotten I was here. “Yep. This is the calm before the next storm.”
I handed her the pincushion. “I fixed the pants.”
“Excellent.” Vera removed her glasses and rubbed one eye. “I can’t see straight. I’ve been sewing since we got word late this morning that Antony’s understudy is going on for him tonight.”
“Have you seen him?”
“Who? Antony?”
“Yeah.” I picked up a ball of twine that had fallen on the floor.
“No, not since last night. They say that he’s missing, but who knows. There’s always something going on around here.” She mopped sweat from her brow with the four-inch square of cotton.
She didn’t sound particularly worried that Antony was missing.
“I heard that you were the last person to see him last night.”
“What?” Her head snapped to the left and then to the right. She put her glasses back on and stood up. “Who told you that?”
“I’m not sure where I heard it, to tell you the truth,” I lied.
Vera peered at me from behind her glasses. Her beady eyes made me take a step backward. I got the sense she was trying to gauge whether or not I was lying. “Someone had to have told you that. Who was it?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. Rumors are swirling around Ashland like crazy. Antony’s disappearance is the only thing that people were talking about at the bakeshop today.”
My words appeared to appease Vera. She noticed the box of carrot cake that I had left on the workstation and picked it up. “Come with me,” she commanded. “Let’s talk in my office.”
A brief warning alarm flashed in my head. Why did Vera want to talk in private? Then again, what could she possibly do to me? There were people everywhere and she was half my size and twice my age.
I followed her to her office. The walls in the messy room were plastered with artistic sketches of period costumes. There was a set of creamy white angel wings hanging from the ceiling and stacks of magazines and catalogs in every corner of the small space. Her oak desk was cluttered with jewelry, tiaras, and even a few pairs of shoes. Piles of fabric rested on the floor and on top of bookcases.
“Sit.” She pushed a sketch pad off a chair and walked behind her desk. “Juliet, your mother is one of Ashland’s most respected residents. I’m well aware of her ability to be discreet and not fan the flames of the rumor mill.”
I nodded, wondering where the conversation was headed. Not that I didn’t agree with her assessment of Mom.
She picked up a forest-green pencil from one of the many containers of pencils, chalk, paintbrushes, and pens on her desk. “Then I trust that you have inherited the same abilities?”
How was I supposed to respond to that?
Vera gnawed on the pencil and stared behind me. “Here’s the thing. The rumor you heard is true. I had to talk to Antony last night—in private. That’s why I asked him here.”
“Okay.”
She held up her hand. Years spent running the costume department had taken a toll on her hands. Band-Aids were wrapped around the tips of two of her puffy fingers. Scratches and scars zigzagged across the top of her hands, and she wore a wrist brace on her left arm. “Costume designers know everyone’s secrets. I think the same is true for bakers. That’s why I’m telling you this.”
“I thought it was just pastry that made our customers spill their secrets,” I said with a laugh.
Vera didn’t return the laugh. She removed the well-chewed pencil from the side of her jaw and tapped the gnarly end on her desktop. “It comes with the territory. I know the actors who are starving themselves and the ones who are consuming too many pastries. I know when an actor is pregnant. I know before their spouses or partners know.”
There was something slightly smug about her tone.
“Do you know what his real name is by chance?”
“No. He refused to tell anyone his name. Method actors are the worst.” She flicked the edge of the pencil. “In any event, I had to speak to Antony last night about something very delicate.”
My mind tried to make the connection. “Antony is starving himself?”
Vera rolled her eyes. “No. Nor is he partaking of too many sweets.”
“Well, he certainly isn’t pregnant.”
“No, he isn’t.” Vera leaned back in her chair and waited for it to sink in.
“Antony isn’t pregnant, but someone else in the cast is?”
“You got it.”
I thought about getting my dress fitted yesterday and how Vera had complained about the fact that she had to take Tracy’s costume out again. “Tracy?” I asked.
Vera tapped the pencil on the desk so hard I thought it might snap. “Yes, Tracy.” She sighed and shook her head. “I told her to be careful, but she didn’t listen.”
“What does this have to do with Antony?”
Before Vera could respond another bell sounded and the lights flashed three times. Vera jumped up. “Must go. Thanks for the cake.”
No! I wanted to scream. I was so close to a major clue.
I watched her leave and sat for a moment trying to let the information sink in. Tracy was pregnant and Vera knew. Who else might know? And why had Vera needed to tell Antony? Could he be the father? Or did Vera know more that she hadn’t told me?
After running the possibilities through my mind, I decided there wasn’t much more I could do for now. Vera would be busy for the remainder of the evening and I needed to get home and change for opening night. And I needed to find a way to talk to Tracy. If she was pregnant with Antony’s baby, that changed everything.
Chapter Fifteen
After my conversation with Vera, I reconvened with Mom, the Professor, and Thomas in front of the theater.
“You look nice, Jules,” Thomas said quietly so only I could hear.
I willed the warmth in my cheeks to stop. Unlike last night’s princessworthy costume, I had opted for a simple black skirt and soft cashmere sweater. I had tied my hair into a low braid and splurged by inserting my favorite pair of silver dangling earrings. “Thanks. You clean up pretty nicely, yourself.” I hoped that my playful banter would send the right message.
He brushed off his suit jacket. “Not bad, huh?” The charcoal-gray coat with a smart blue tie brought out the color in his eyes.
Mom and the Professor were like magnets. People surrounded them, asked to see the ring, and peppered them with questions about the wedding. I took the opportunity to fill Thomas in on what I had learned from Vera and Judy. When I finished, he let out a low whistle. “Geez, Jules. You want me to see if I can convince the Professor to give you a badge? How did you learn so much in one afternoon?”
“It’s Torte. Pastry chef by day, sleuth extraordinaire by night.”
“Jules, you bake almost every night.”
“True.” I buttoned the top button on my sweater. The sun had fallen, giving the evening a slight chill.
“You can joke all you want, but it’s you.” His gaze made my cheeks blaze with heat. “People want to open up to you. It’s as natural as breathing.”
“I don’t know about that.” His piercing eyes made my throat tighten. I changed the subject. “If what Vera told me is true and Tracy, aka Cleopatra, is pregnant, then do you think Antony could have been the father? I’m not sure about Judy’s story, either. She seemed genuinely upset, but then again, she was basically blackmailing Antony for special theater favors. I know that there’s a chance that Lance is lying, but the more I learn
the more I believe him.”
Thomas checked to make sure no one was listening. “We found him.”
“You found Antony?” I tried not to blurt it out, but I couldn’t believe that wasn’t the first thing he had told me. Why had he let me go on and on with my conversations?
“In the duck pond.”
“You sound pretty casual about it.” My hands tingled. I wasn’t sure if it was from the dropping temperature or the fact that the police had found Antony’s body.
“Finding a body is never a casual thing, Jules.” Thomas frowned. I saw the angst on his face. “It wasn’t casual, more like expected.”
“Sorry.” I reached for his hand. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know you didn’t.” He massaged my hand. His touch sent an unexpected shiver up my spine. “The Professor was fairly confident that we would find the body. The drag marks, the vicinity of the pond, everything lined up, but until we actually recovered the body he wanted to make sure that we covered any other possible trail or lead.”
“So someone dragged him into the pond after he was already dead?”
Thomas nodded. “It looks that way. The coroner is preparing the official statement, but at the scene he noted that Antony had suffered a major wound to the abdomen.”
Exactly as Lance had said.
“What does this mean for Lance?” I asked. Come to think about it, where was Lance? I hadn’t seen him earlier when I visited the costume department and typically he would be out on the bricks mingling and hobnobbing with theater patrons before the opening show.
“He’s not here,” Thomas said as I stood on my tiptoes to get a glimpse of the outdoor stage.
“Where is he?”
“In custody.”
“You mean jail?” I shouted. A few heads turned in our direction. Thankfully, the snake charmer had begun his act for a special opening-night Green Show. Flute sounds drew the crowd toward the outdoor stage. The Green Show offered theatergoers free entertainment on the bricks throughout the summer months. Percussionists, dancers, lecturers, and performers of all types would take the stage to amuse the crowd before the main show.
Another One Bites the Crust (A Bakeshop Mystery) Page 13