But then what? The killer couldn’t return to the park entrance, knowing the police were on their way. They had two choices. Run deeper into the Lithia forest, or take the secret stairs up to the theater complex. The stairs were unlocked. Had they known that? Was Antony’s murder premediated? Or could the killer have made his or her escape in a rush and then returned with the lock later? What if the lock had been put there in an attempt to keep the police from sweeping the area?
I sighed. Did that mean that the killer had to be connected to OSF? Who else would have known that the stairs were unlocked?
The sound of crunching leaves nearby put my body on high alert. I froze.
For a moment, the park was deadly calm, other than the sound of harmonizing frogs and the slight wind fluttering through the trees.
Then another crunch and the sound of heavy footsteps thudding toward me.
I yanked the Mace out of my pocket, and fumbled for the safety switch. What had Thomas said? Was I supposed to hold it all the way down or press it once and wait for it to click into place?
My heart rate pounded so rapidly that my breath couldn’t keep pace. Every sound came into sharp focus. It was as if my body had shut down every other function and given me superhearing.
I held my flashlight high and aimed it in the direction of the footsteps. A figure, wearing all black, darted behind a tree.
“I have pepper spray,” I shouted. “I’m not afraid to use it.” I knew from past experience and from the Professor and Thomas that it was critical to be as loud as possible in a situation like this.
I tried to stay as calm as possible as my breath came in quick, shallow bursts. What should I do? I could hold my ground and confront whoever was in the woods, or I could make a run for it. I wasn’t the fastest runner but my legs were long and my adrenaline was pulsing on high. If I stuck to the main path, which was dimly lit by antique lights, I figured I had a pretty good shot of making it back to the plaza unharmed.
But running came with risk. What if whoever was out there was faster than me? They could overtake me from behind. My pepper spray would do no good if they tackled me to the ground.
Whoever was out there raced from one tree to another a few feet away. It felt like a dangerous game of chess, and I was the pawn. They were strategically moving closer, managing to stay out of my line of sight.
I couldn’t wait around and risk them sneaking around from the other side of the duck pond. Once they made it to the pond they could easily run around the back side without any chance of being seen and come at me from behind. My best bet was to make a break for it. I shined the flashlight in a zigzagging pattern from tree to tree.
The person remained cloaked in darkness.
It’s now or never, Jules, I told myself. Then I grasped the Mace as tightly as I could, but in my haste my flashlight fell on the ground. I hesitated for a second. The flashlight could serve as a weapon, but there was no time. I left it glowing on the sidewalk, and ran quickly toward the police tape.
Chapter Eighteen
I hurdled the tape. There was no time to try and duck under it. For all I knew my attacker could be at my heels.
Run, Jules! I commanded my feet to fly. My breath burned in my lungs as my toes barely touched the pavement.
Was whoever had been hiding in the trees following me? Or had they run off, too? They wouldn’t dare risk attacking me in the plaza, would they?
I glanced behind me. It was too dark to see anything.
Keep moving!
The landscape blurred. My chest tightened, and a dull ache spread beneath my rib cage. The park entrance had to be close. Why did it feel like I had been running for miles?
I sucked chilly air in through my nose and ran on. Finally, the hazy lights of downtown came into view. I didn’t stop, though. I sprinted straight to my apartment, took the stairs two steps at a time, and raced inside.
I slid down the back of my locked door and collapsed on the floor. The ache in my side radiated down my back and into the top of my thigh. My breath came in shallow pants and sweat poured from my face. I wiped it on the back of my coat. That was close. Really close.
Now what? Who had been at the duck pond? Was it Antony’s killer? Maybe they had come back to remove the lock, or had they stashed evidence nearby? I poked two fingers underneath my rib cage, trying to massage the nagging pain. Had it all been a figment of my imagination? Maybe Lance’s flair for the dramatic had rubbed off on me. It could have been nothing more than one of the many black-tailed deer that live in the park.
After my breathing returned to a semi-normal pace, I stood and went to the kitchen to douse my blazing cheeks with cold water. Regardless of whether my eyes had been playing tricks on me, I knew that I had to call Thomas and let him know what had happened. I dabbed my face with a dish towel and pulled my cell phone from my pocket.
“Long time no see,” Thomas said after picking up on the second ring.
“I was just chased out of Lithia Park,” I panted into the phone.
“What?” Thomas sounded incredulous. “Hang on a second. I’m going to step outside.”
Based on the sound of muffled footsteps I figured he was getting out of earshot of Detective Kerry. “What did you say, Jules? You were chased?”
“Just now. I went to the park to look at the lock.” I told him about my conversation with Lance, and how Lance had insisted that the gate had never been locked before.
“Whoa. Slow down. Breathe.”
I knew I must sound crazy. “Someone was out there, Thomas. I know it.”
“Okay, I’ll go check it out now.” He sighed. “Jules, stay put. In fact, go to bed.”
My pulse still pumped through my neck. “There’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep, Thomas.”
He let out a groan. “Fine. Lock your door. Don’t move a muscle and I’ll stop by once I survey the scene.”
“Thank you.” I clicked off the phone and put on a pot of water for tea. If whoever I had seen in the park was Antony’s killer, what had they been doing? Could it have something to do with the missing DVD? What if they had dropped the DVD while escaping up the unused stairs? Or maybe they had intentionally hidden it in the brush nearby.
Sleep would be futile until I heard from Thomas, which made me think about Stephanie. I had promised to bring her my old earplugs.
With the kettle warming on the stove, I tugged off my coat and went to look for the earplugs. My belongings were pretty sparse. Life at sea lent itself to prioritizing essentials. Everything I owned fit into two suitcases, which meant that my bedroom housed nothing more than a bed, a dresser, and a small bedside table. Like the rest of my place, I needed to add some personal touches, like a picture, plant, or even splurge on one of the colorful handwoven tapestries that I’d seen at the Artists Market a few weeks ago.
I checked my closet for the earplugs, wondering if perhaps they were still tucked into a suitcase or if I had put them in my dresser. They weren’t in either place, so as a last-ditch effort I checked my bedside table. When I had moved back home I had dumped an assortment of miscellaneous items into the drawer, which rarely got opened.
Sure enough, the earplugs were in a box at the back of the drawer along with a mysterious gift from Carlos—a key. My heart caught in my chest at the sight of it. Carlos had given me the key when I left the ship, but I hadn’t figured out its cryptic meaning. I had assumed maybe it was a last effort to express his love for me. A symbol of holding the key to his heart, but even for a romantic like Carlos the gesture seemed out of character. Plus, the key was a regular ordinary house key. If Carlos meant the gift to be a token of his affection it was more likely he would have given me an ornate and elegant key. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this key actually opened a door. The question was where and what.
I ran my fingers along it and returned it to the drawer. Then I took the plastic box with the earplugs out to the living room and tucked them into my purse to give to Stephanie in the morning. The t
ea whistled, causing me to start. Obviously, my adrenaline was still running high.
Warm steam enveloped the kitchen. I poured water into a mug and opted for a cup of lemon zinger tea. My thoughts turned to Thomas as I opened the fridge. Had he found anything? Or had I sent him on a wild-goose chase? Since he was always hungry, and because he’d readily dropped whatever he had been working on to go search the park for me, I wanted to offer him a token of my thanks.
I scanned the shelves in the fridge and decided on a grown-up grilled cheese with fontina, basil, tomatoes, and honey on thick-sliced Parmesan bread. I warmed butter in a skillet and spread it on both sides of the fresh bread. Then I cut thin slices of fontina and layered in basil leaves and tomatoes. Once the sandwiches had been stacked, I drizzled a touch of honey on the top and placed the first one in the sizzling skillet.
The lemon tea soothed my nerves as I flipped the first sandwich and drizzled honey on the other side of the bread. Fontina is an Italian cheese made from cow’s milk. And not just any cows. The most exquisite fontina is produced in the summer months when the cows are moved to higher elevations to dine on rich alpine grasses. It’s a wonderful melting cheese with a creamy texture and woodsy aroma.
A knock sounded on the door as I plated both sandwiches.
“Jules, it’s me!” I heard Thomas call.
Perfect timing. I walked to open the door, stopping to place the sandwiches on the small two-person dining table in the corner of the living room.
“What smells so good?” Thomas said, peering over me toward the kitchen.
“I made you a late-night snack. I figured I owed you.” I pointed to the table. “You want a cup of tea, too?”
“You don’t owe me, Jules. It’s my job to serve and protect.” He patted the word POLICE on the bulky navy jacket he had on over his suit. “But if you insist, I certainly will never turn down anything you make.”
I smiled. “Sit. I’ll get your tea and then you have to tell me what you found.”
He removed his jacket and hung it by the door. I returned with two mugs of tea and handed one to Thomas. “What is this?” He picked up half of his sandwich. Lovely white fontina cheese stretched like Silly Putty.
“I’m calling it grown-up grilled cheese.”
Thomas bit into the sandwich and closed his eyes. He tilted his head to the ceiling then looked at me. “I’m calling it the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“You say that about everything I make,” I scoffed, and pulled my gooey sandwich in half.
“That’s because it’s true.” Thomas took another bite. “It’s like slightly sweet, too.”
“Yeah, that’s from the honey.” I tasted my sandwich. The nutty fontina merged with the basil and warm tomatoes while the Parmesan crust gave the sandwich a nice sharpness, and the honey a final hint of sweetness.
“I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what?”
Thomas held up his partially eaten half. “This. Who puts honey on a grilled cheese sandwich? Honey!” He munched a corner of the golden bread. “Jules. Jules Capshaw does.”
“Trust me, lots of chefs pair sweet and salty foods together. It’s one of the building blocks of a well-balanced plate.”
“Whatever,” he said through a final mouthful. “You are a miracle worker and this is forever my new favorite thing.”
I grinned and sipped my tea. “So, did you find anything?”
“No.” His face turned serious. “Don’t look so dejected. That doesn’t mean anything. If there was somebody out there with you tonight, the odds of them sticking around are pretty slim. Did you get a good look? Can you give me a description?”
“It was so dark.” I paused and tried to concentrate on exactly what I had seen. “I only caught a quick glimpse of whoever it was.”
“Male? Female?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure.” It could have been anyone. I thought about my current list of suspects—Judy, Brock, Vera, Tracy, and Thad. “I think the person was tall.” That made Brock, Judy, and Tracy the most likely. Thad and Vera were both short.
Thomas tucked into the second half of his sandwich. “I’ll take another look in the morning. See if there are any footprints around. Or if anything’s been disturbed. What’s this about the locked gate?”
“Oh, right.” I jumped up and went into the kitchen to get my phone. The scent of grilled bread and butter lingered in the tiny space. “I took pictures for you,” I said, handing the phone to Thomas and scrolling through the photos I had taken.
“Can you send those to me? I’ll share them with Detective Kerry and talk to Lance first thing in the morning.” He gave me back the phone.
“You weren’t kidding. She’s very…” I searched for the right word. “Professional.”
“That’s one way to put it.” Thomas polished off his sandwich and washed it down with his tea.
“You don’t think that the Professor is planning to hire her on permanently, do you?”
“Who knows.” He shrugged. “She’s going to have some serious adjustment issues if he does.”
“Isn’t she from Medford? It’s hardly like she’s coming from New York or something.”
Thomas scowled. “She kind of is, though. I guess she came out from Chicago a couple weeks ago. I’m pretty sure that Medford can’t handle her, either. I bet they gladly sent her to us on temporary assignment.”
That made much more sense.
He stood. “You should get some sleep, Jules. Be careful, please?”
I picked up our plates. “Bakers’ honor.”
“Right.” Thomas gave me a knowing look. “Thanks for the sandwich. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He walked to the door. “Lock this behind me and no more park stunts, got it?”
“Got it.” My experience in Lithia Park had spooked me. He didn’t need to ask twice. I followed his instructions and locked the door behind him. Then I cleaned up and headed for bed. Unfortunately, my brain had other plans. I lay in stillness, considering each suspect.
Vera had been the last person to see Antony alive. She had access to all kinds of props and weapons at OSF as well as keys to everything. But did she have the strength to have dragged his body to the pond? Whoever I had seen in the park was tall. Did that rule Thad out, too? Like Vera, he was short and had keys to every office and building in the theater complex. He was definitely strong. Years of constructing heavy sets had left him with well-defined muscles. What was his motive, though?
Tracy had motive, as did Judy. Both were tall and had been at OSF the night of the murder. Judy could be lying. Perhaps Antony had been giving her more than special perks for her silence. What if she was actually blackmailing him and he had had enough? And Tracy was pregnant. Was Antony the father, or had he been about to out her? What about Brock? What motive could he have for wanting his roommate dead? My thoughts flashed to Stephanie. Could Antony have had an annoying habit that drove Brock to the edge?
The one thought that brought me relief was Lance. If the killer had been lurking in the forest tonight, it couldn’t have been Lance. He was miserably snug in Ashland’s police office. Which made me even more confident that he couldn’t be the killer.
Chapter Nineteen
The next morning, I woke with a throbbing headache. It had been a restless night, even worse than when Lance had stumbled into my apartment with blood on his hands. I found myself waking every thirty minutes with nightmares. Sometime after four I finally gave up, made a strong pot of coffee, and took two Advil.
I figured the headache was from lack of sleep and worry, so I decided my best bet was to dive headfirst into baking. I was resolved to do whatever it took to clear Lance. Once things were up and running at Torte I intended to have my own conversations with Thad, Brock, and Tracy.
Shockingly, Stephanie was already partway through the morning’s bread orders when I arrived at the bakeshop. “You’re here super early,” I said, tying on an apron and joining her in the kitchen where loaves of dough wrap
ped in plastic sat rising on a portable rack. The ovens had already come to temp, and a carafe of coffee sat on the island.
“Can’t sleep, so what else are you going to do?” Her normally sleek purple hair was frizzed and had a slight curl.
“A gift,” I said to Stephanie and tossed her the earplugs. “Hopefully, these will help and, if they don’t, I think you should stop by the health center on campus and talk to someone. Maybe they can give you a temporary sleep aid.”
She stared at the box. “Thanks.”
“I’m serious, Stephanie,” I said, moving closer but careful not to touch her. “Days and days without sleep is taking a toll on your health, not to mention your schoolwork and baking.”
“Am I in trouble?” Her eyes were nothing more than tiny slits.
“No, no, of course not.” I didn’t mean to cause her any worry.
“I’ll take care of it.” She stuffed the earplugs into the back pocket of her black ripped jeans.
“It’s not that. It’s that we’re all worried about you.”
“You don’t have to be. I said I’ll take care of it.” She dug her hands into the bread dough. “I’m cool.”
I felt terrible. That wasn’t the result I had been hoping for. I tried to reassure her once more, but without success. It was probably the lack of sleep. Between her and Lance, it was terrible to watch my friends suffering without knowing what else to do to help. I dropped the subject. Once Stephanie clammed up, no good would come of continuing to prod her.
Nothing about the morning felt routine. I found myself constantly checking over my shoulder, unable to completely shake last night’s nerves. Stephanie’s negative energy rubbed off on everyone. My staff gave her a wide berth. Sterling kept his head down while simmering tomatoes, garlic, and beef broth for our lunch special—cheeseburger soup. Bethany tried out uniquely shaped macarons, like bunny ears and carrots. She didn’t bother to ask Stephanie’s input when she set up a photo shoot of her Easter-themed treats. Even Andy cut his usual banter. Anytime he entered the kitchen, he quickly refilled the coffee carafe and made a quick escape. If the earplugs didn’t work I was going to have to stage an intervention. There’s nothing worse than an unhappy kitchen.
Another One Bites the Crust (A Bakeshop Mystery) Page 16