“What now?” Lance asked, pouring himself another cup of coffee.
“I guess it’s back to work.” I motioned to the kitchen, which needed organization before we opened the tasting room.
“Well, that’s no fun,” Lance scoffed. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“My sense of adventure involves being ready to serve tonight,” I bantered back.
Disappointment washed across Lance’s angular jawline. “Carlos, whatever will we do with our pastry muse?”
Carlos held up both hands. “No, no, do not put me in the middle of this debate. I have to prepare the tasting room to open soon, but before that I must return to the vines. There’s always more pruning to do.” With that, he mouthed “Good luck” to me and removed himself from the conversation.
“I’m serious,” Lance said, shifting out of theatrical mode. “We can’t simply sit around and do nothing.”
“Don’t you have rehearsals this afternoon?”
He glanced at his watch. “Fair point. I’m planning to gather the cast and crew early to discuss how we move forward without Jimmy and make sure his understudy is up to speed. But you’ve given me a new mission. I’m assuming you suggest we use rehearsals as a chance to spy on our ever-growing list of suspects?”
“I’m not sure I’d put it exactly like that, but yeah. We’re both here. I have to prep food and desserts. You meet with the cast; I’ll keep an eye out and my ears open while Thomas and Kerry continue their investigation. We can reconvene later.”
“Excellent.” Lance gulped the rest of his coffee and set his empty cup in the sink. “Let’s meet up outside a little before three.”
“That works for me.” I gathered the dishes and took them to the sink.
He kissed my cheeks. “Good luck, and do be careful.” Then, in a rare show of tenderness, he held my gaze. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Juliet Montague Capshaw. You know that, yes?”
“Yes.” I leaned into him. “The feeling is entirely mutual.”
“Well, lucky us.” He waved his hand with a little flourish and danced out of the kitchen. “Until later.”
I watched him stroll casually into the tasting room. I wasn’t averse to snooping with Lance, but I really did have plenty of work to do.
The jingle of bells in the tasting room signaled that our first customers had arrived. I took that as my cue to assemble the theater boxes. I started by placing the stack of flat boxes on the island and folding each side until I had a pile that reached almost as high as the stainless-steel pot rack hanging from the ceiling. I started on the dessert boxes first, carefully placing cupcakes, brownies, and tarts on paper doilies and then securing the lids.
The bread and fruit had helped. My stomach felt relatively calm as I worked.
I stacked the dessert boxes on the far counter and turned my attention to the savory boxes. I scooped chicken salad into reusable containers and added miniature baguettes, spiced nuts, and cherry almond cookies. Each box would serve at least two people. They would need to be refrigerated until the performance. We didn’t have a walk-in or large pantry spaces at Uva, but fortunately, we had an oversized fridge that easily had enough room for the boxes.
The list of suspects swirled through my mind as I rolled hummus wraps. Sophie had admitted to arranging a meeting with Jimmy in the cellar. Ed was seen fleeing the scene. Tom had requested access to the cellar, and now there was video evidence of Bertie and Olive following Jimmy after the show. Not to mention Sophie’s claim that one of the Fair Verona Players had been trying to kill Jimmy, and Tom’s prior connection to the star. There was no one above suspicion at this point.
Any one of them could have killed him. They were all in the vicinity of the tasting room after the show. It would have been easy enough to slip downstairs, stab Jimmy, and sneak out again without being seen. The only people around would have been my staff, who were focused on the event.
It seemed impossible that Jimmy’s colleagues could have killed him, but at the same time, it wasn’t as if he had done much to earn their respect or affection. I’d witnessed him being awful to Olive and Ed. I was curious about his history with Tom, and how he’d come to encourage Tom to invest in the Fair Verona Players. I needed to learn more about Tom’s financial connection to the company and if he stood to gain anything with Jimmy’s death.
Bertie seemed like she had been trying to be the peacekeeper between Jimmy and the other members of the small company, but could that be an act? She was trying to climb the theater ranks. If she saw Jimmy’s unprofessional behavior as a threat to her future career, could she have resorted to drastic measures?
And then there was Sophie. She confused me more than anyone else. Her outward adoration of Jimmy was apparent, but as Lance suggested, it was possible that she may have harbored other feelings for the star. I was sure that there were holes in her story, I just didn’t know what they were and why she was lying.
I sighed as I rearranged boxes in the fridge in a delicate balancing act. Working with limited space was a skill I had learned early on in culinary school. It was the premise for the philosophy of “mise en place,” or “everything in its place,” and something I had taught my staff. Every knife had its own spot on the magnetic strip hanging beneath the cupboards, every ingredient and spice was labeled and organized alphabetically, and every member of our team had a station. I appreciated the challenge of finding a place for everything and everyone in the kitchen.
My thoughts drifted to the murder as I rotated a stack in the back to make more room.
Did the weapon matter?
I shuddered at the vision of the twisty metal impaled in Jimmy’s neck.
Why a corkscrew?
Was it simply a matter of convenience?
Had the killer made a deadly decision in the heat of an argument? Or maybe there had been a physical fight, and they had grabbed the corkscrew to defend themself. I knew I left the corkscrew on the table after opening a bottle for Tom, so it was certainly plausible that the killer had skewered Jimmy in a rash act of passion.
Could Jimmy’s death have been a spur-of-the-moment crime? It seemed to make the most sense, or it alluded to his killer being a terrible planner. I couldn’t imagine a premediated murder with a corkscrew, but then again, I couldn’t fathom the concept of putting an end to someone’s life.
Regardless of whether he was brash or entitled, Jimmy didn’t deserve to die. The thought made me that much more resolved to do anything I could to bring his killer to justice.
A timid knock interrupted my thoughts. I turned to see Olive standing in the doorway. Her sewing kit was tethered to her hand the way a child might hold a security blanket. Again, she was dressed in a drab, monotone outfit of matching shades of dirt brown.
“Sorry to disturb you,” she said in such a low voice, I had to crane my neck to hear her. “I was told I might be able to get some water.”
“Of course, come in.” I closed the fridge. “Do you want a glass for yourself, or should I bring out pitchers for the cast and crew?”
Her skittish gaze darted around the empty kitchen. Was she looking for something or someone? Finally, after what felt like a minute, her eyes landed on the row of black Uva aprons hanging on the wall next to the stove.
Was she looking for the cellar key?
I waited for her to answer, but she continued stare at the neatly pressed aprons.
“Is this where he was killed? Here in the kitchen?” She squinted and wrinkled her nose as she tore her gaze away from the aprons. “I don’t see any crime scene tape or an outline of the body, but this is the spot, isn’t it? This is where he died.”
Her question took me off guard. “Jimmy?” I asked, reaching for a glass of water.
She moved toward the wall and appraised the stitching on the aprons. Our Uva logo was embroidered in cream on the top right corner. “Nice work. This was done by hand.”
I wasn’t sure how to respond. “Thank you” didn’t seem appropriate, given that I ordered the aprons from a supplier, and her behavior was odd. She went from bombarding me with questions about the murder to complimenting the stitching on our aprons.
“Rumors are spreading out there,” Olive continued, rubbing the hem of an apron between her index finger and thumb. “I heard that he was killed in here, in the kitchen. Was it with a cleaver or a knife? Was it bloody?”
I gulped down the bile rising in the back of my throat at the image of Jimmy’s punctured throat.
“Not here, exactly.” I made an executive decision and began filling water pitchers, mainly to give my brain something other than the crime scene to focus on. Was it my imagination, or did Olive almost sound excited about the possibility that Jimmy had been murdered in my kitchen? And why had she homed in on the apron rack? In fairness, the aprons were the only clothing items in the kitchen, and she was a professional seamstress, but everything about her seemed off.
“Was it down in the cellar? That’s the other rumor I’ve heard going around. Or was it upstairs? Are there bloodstains?” She took an apron off the hook to appraise it more closely. “I like the contrast of the topstitching on these.”
“Yes, he was killed downstairs.” I didn’t want to elaborate, since I wasn’t sure how much information the Professor had shared publicly yet.
“I suppose the police have that area blocked off. It must be hard to function as a business. Do you give a dead-guy discount? I can’t imagine many people wanting to sip their wine in a place where a dead body was discovered hours ago, but then again, you might get a crowd of gawkers. Murder is hot these days. Maybe you can find a way to capitalize on that. A murderous merlot and a tour of the crime scene.” Olive looked pleased with her suggestion, like she was offering me an inventive marketing idea, rather than suggesting I profit from her colleague’s death. “You found him, that’s what I heard. Was it bad? Is it true that his eyes were rolled back in his head? Did you get a good look at the wound?”
I couldn’t tell if Olive had a dark sense of humor or if she was obsessed with the macabre.
She returned the apron to its hook and peered into the tasting room. “Maybe you’ll sell more wine today if you give everyone the inside scoop on the murder. Like I said, people love a good crime. Have you seen how many true crime TV shows and podcasts there are these days? You could start one of your own.”
That was the last thing I would ever consider. Obviously Olive was one of the “people” she was talking about. I wanted to erase Jimmy’s murder from my mind, and she wanted to turn it into a full-scale production, complete with blood spatter and a bird’s-eye view of the body.
I filled one pitcher and began filling the next, trying to shift the conversation away from the gory details of Jimmy’s death. “Did you know Jimmy well?”
“I wish I could say I didn’t know him, but this was my fifth show working with him.” She stopped herself, shook her head, and held up one finger. “Strike that. What I should say is working in spite of him.”
“He seemed like he had a bit of an ego.”
“A bit?” She threw her head back and let out a cackle. “That is an understatement. His ego was absurd.”
“Although his performance onstage certainly resonated with the audience.” I had to admit, Jimmy had won me over last night. Or rather, I had forgotten about Jimmy the person and become captivated by his interpretation of Petruchio. That was where Sophie and I agreed. There was no denying his ability to completely embody a character.
“If you like that sort of thing, I suppose, but no amount of supposed ‘talent’ excuses his atrocious behavior. I’m not the least bit shocked that someone killed him. He had no friends among the company.”
I turned off the tap and went to the freezer for ice. “Do you think someone in the company killed him?”
“I can name about twenty people who wanted him dead, so the answer to that is—yes.” She tapped the tip of each of her fingers like she was mentally reviewing everyone she considered a possible criminal.
“Do you really think someone killed him because of his ego?” I agreed with Olive about Jimmy’s personality, but I was still struggling to see how that translated to a motive for murder.
“It was much more than that.” She peeked into the tasting room again to make sure no one was coming our way. Then she put a hand to the side of her lips. “I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but did you know he was involved in a number of enterprises that were not legal?”
Enterprises?
That was an interesting choice of words.
“Like what?” I scooped ice into the pitchers.
“The rumor mill has been working overtime on that. You know how it is with theater people.” She paused for a minute and checked behind her. “I’ve heard too many stories to count about Jimmy’s financial situation, blackmail, bankruptcy, and even issues with some of the women on the cast and crew.”
My thoughts immediately went to Sophie.
“He was not a nice guy.”
“But these are rumors, right?” I tried a more rational approach.
“Most rumors are born from truth,” Olive said with a hard gaze. “Surely you know that, living in a small town like Ashland.”
I wasn’t sure I agreed with her statement, but I wanted her to keep talking. “Jimmy was in financial trouble, does that mean he was being blackmailed or blackmailing someone else?”
Olive shrugged. “I don’t know, but I do know that he was in serious trouble, and as we know from Shakespeare, love and money are the ultimate entanglement.”
Now she was starting to sound like the Professor.
“Jimmy’s brash attitude was probably the final straw.” She twisted her pincushion and took out a needle. “I’m convinced that the real reason he was killed had more to do with his bank account than his personality. No one would kill a guy just for having a big head. Who cares about that? You know what people care about?”
I started to reply, but she didn’t wait for me to respond.
“Money.” She jabbed the needle into the pincushion so hard I thought it might come out the other side. “Mark my words, that’s why he’s dead. Cold, hard cash—it gets you every time.”
“What kind of financial trouble was Jimmy in?”
“How would I know?” she scoffed, sounding offended. “I’m the costume designer. I mend hems, but I have two working ears that no one seems to notice. I hear things. I hear a lot of things.”
“Like what?”
“Like him talking to the bank and trying to move around funds and…” Olive clammed up. “I should probably get back to rehearsals. Chances are good that one of the actors has split a seam by now.”
“Should I bring some food, too?” I asked, motioning to the platter of bread and fruit. “Do you think everyone is ready for an afternoon snack?”
“Whatever you think. Ask Bertie. She should be taking over, since Sophie didn’t show up for work today.”
I was about to ask her opinion of Sophie, but she beat me to it.
“That young, flighty woman claims to have a huge crush on Jimmy. She followed him around like a puppy, neglecting her responsibilities. But I don’t buy it. If you ask me, I would put my money on her.”
I pretended not to follow. “Put your money on Sophie for what?”
“For killing him,” she said with a hint of irritation. “Sophie trotted after Jimmy like a sycophant. She wanted everyone to think that she was starstruck and lovesick.”
“Wait, are you saying that you don’t think Sophie had a crush on Jimmy?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Sophie played her dewy-eyed role beautifully. Everyone in the company believes that she was desperately in love with Jimmy. I’m sure her next performance will be that of grieving lover, but she doesn’t fool me.”
“Why?”
“Because her insincere flattery was a smoke screen. She wanted something from Jimmy. I don’t know what, but what I do know is that young woman was as much in love with Jimmy as I was.”
I tried to control my reaction by focusing on refilling the snack tray Carlos had put together earlier.
“My guess is that she learned she wasn’t going to get whatever it is that she wanted from him and decided that she would have to kill him instead.” She pretended to stab herself in the neck with the needle. “You know what they say about a woman scorned.”
How did she know that Jimmy had been stabbed in the neck? Was it simply a coincidence that Olive had pretended to stab herself? Was that information out to the public? I couldn’t imagine the Professor releasing any details about the crime scene to the Fair Verona Players. She hadn’t known that he was killed in the cellar, so how would she know that he’d been impaled by a corkscrew?
Unless she was the one who had stabbed him.