Sterling’s news forced me into action. I didn’t spend the remaining afternoon hours spiraling through potential suspects. Instead, I placed ads for extra part-time help and began sketching out job descriptions for three positions—a kitchen manager, cake designer, and sous chef. I wanted Mom’s and Carlos’s input before I posted job listings, and Sterling had asked for a couple of days to make his final decision. I gladly agreed, but I was fairly confident he had already made his choice.
I tried not to sink into nostalgia as I watched Sterling, Steph, Bethany, and Marty banter easily as they went about their day.
“I’ve got a joke for you,” Marty said, slicing baguettes for sandwiches.
“Oh no,” Steph groaned, and rolled her eyes, which were dusted in purple shadow. “How bad is this going to be?”
“I’ll tell you. Why are bread jokes always funny?” Marty’s eyes twinkled with merriment as he looked at Steph and Bethany expectantly.
Bethany crushed mint chocolate cookies for the grasshopper brownies. “Okay, I’ll bite, why?”
Marty used one of the baguettes to do a drum roll. “Because they never grow mold. Get it?”
“Boo. Hiss.” Sterling tossed a dish towel at him.
“I don’t know,” Bethany said, pounding the crunchy cookies into little pieces. “That is clever. I might have to use it in a social media post.”
“You’re welcome.” Marty bowed with the baguette in hand.
I soaked in the moment. What I had said to Sterling was true. I wasn’t worried about finding replacements for him and Steph, but I was worried about finding the right replacements. Chemistry with staff was critical. Everyone on our current team had unique skills to offer while at the same time providing mutual support and collaboration. One personality that didn’t mesh could throw off the entire balance in the bakeshop.
We had been extremely fortunate with our previous hires, so I resolved to remain positive. The best matches would find us. They might not be Sterling or Steph, but I had to follow the same advice I’d given him. Maybe it was time for a change at Torte. Hiring new staff would breathe new, creative energy into the kitchen.
At least, that’s what I was choosing to focus on for the moment.
My heart hurt at the thought of not getting to see Steph and Sterling every day. They had become an integral part of my life, and it would be strange not to hear updates about Sterling’s poetry group or get the latest celebrity food gossip from Steph. Their energy permeated the entire bakeshop. Without them, Torte would have a new rhythm and vibe. But as Mom had told me often, change was the only constant. Shaking up my routines had led me to an abundance of opportunities and insights. The same would be true for this. I just had to trust the process.
Later when we were finishing closing procedures, Steph motioned me to her decorating station. Marty had already left, and Bethany was upstairs, so it was just us.
She organized flat spatulas and piping tips, tucking her hair behind her ears, and keeping her focus on her pastry tools. “I heard that Sterling told you about the offer.”
“It sounds amazing,” I replied with sincerity.
“You’re sure you’re going to survive without me? Who’s going to be the voice of reason around here?” She put the tools away and moved on to carefully organizing a drawer of sprinkles. Each row of pearlized beads of sugar was sorted by color and style. “Bethany will be out of control with her puns, and Andy is going to be lost without Sterling, you know.”
“I know.” I nodded. Was she trying to get me to talk her out of it?
“Marty will be despondent.” Steph moved a container of edible gold foil flakes to make room for crystallized purple sprinkles. “Sterling is like a nephew to him. They collaborate on every dish. They have an entire text thread dedicated to flatbread recipes. Sterling was wrecked having to tell you, but telling Marty we’re leaving might break him.”
“Yeah, that’s the hardest part.” I could tell she needed to hear herself. There was nothing else I could say or do to help. She wanted to process. She didn’t need my input or suggestions. She just needed me here to listen.
“I’ve been here for five years, you know. All through college. It’s going to be weird not to have that stability. The thought of leaving makes me realize how much I’ve appreciated the structure and security of coming to Torte almost every day. You know how much I moved around as a kid. This place has been my home.” Steph was deeply emotional but rarely effusive. It was one of the things I appreciated most about her. When we’d first met, I thought she was standoffish, but I learned that she showed her love and affection in different ways. Meeting her family at graduation last year had given me more insight into her background. Her parents were free spirits who traveled the country in a van, gigging at circuses and busking from town to town. They were wonderful and adored Steph, but I also understood how her vagabond childhood played into her need for routines and personal space.
Her voice trembled slightly as she continued. “I owe you a lot, Jules. I hope you know how much I appreciate you, Helen, Torte.”
I couldn’t hold in my tears. “I do,” I said through a sniffle. “I can speak for Mom when I say we both feel the same way.”
Steph closed the sprinkle drawer and blinked rapidly as if she was fighting to hold it together, but she couldn’t contain the swell. Her purple and black mascara streaked down her face as she released the dam.
“It’s going to be amazing. This is such a great opportunity for you and Sterling. I’m going to miss you, but this is what you’re supposed to do.” I reached my arm around her shoulder with a firm grip.
She used both hands to smear tears and her makeup across her face. “Why is it so hard to think about leaving if this is what we’re supposed to do?”
“The hard things are always like this. At least they have been for me.”
Her shoulders heaved as the tears really began to flow. “Yeah, I get that.”
“You’re going to be great.” I squeezed her tighter. “And I’m going to be your biggest cheerleader.”
“Cheerleader, ewwww.” Steph scowled and stuck out her tongue.
I laughed. “There’s the Steph I know and love.”
“It’s fine if you tell Carlos and Lance, but don’t say anything to the rest of the staff yet,” Steph said, mopping her face with a dish towel.
“I would never. It’s your story to tell when you and Sterling make your final decision, but I think you have, yeah?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
I left it at that. Steph had plenty to process on her own, and I was due to meet Lance for happy hour.
Lance was waiting for me at Puck’s Pub at a high-top table constructed out of a rustic keg barrel. He lifted his martini. “Welcome to the party, darling.”
“I have to warn you I’m not feeling very festive,” I said as I pulled up a bar stool and sat across from him.
“Why the long face?”
“Sterling and Steph are leaving,” I blurted out, and then proceeded to tell him all of the details of my conversations with both of them.
“Oh, this is tragic for us.” Lance fanned his face. “However, I appreciate the romance of it all. Young love off to launch new careers. It’s so exciting for them.”
“Exactly. The word that keeps coming to mind is ‘bittersweet.’” My throat tightened. I swallowed the lump. Enough tears had been shed for one day.
“Cheers to that.” Lance raised his glass. “It sounds like a drink or two is in order.” He signaled to our waiter. “What’s your poison, darling?”
“I’ll have a ginger ale.”
Lance lifted one eyebrow. “Ginger ale, interesting.”
“No.” I waved him off. “My stomach has been off a little ever since I found Jimmy.”
“Fair enough. Ginger ale it shall be.”
He waited for the waiter to return with my drink before launching into a discussion about Jimmy’s death. “Do tell, were you able to work your pastry magic on Ed?”
I sipped the bubbly soda and filled him on Ed’s confession.
“Wait.” Lance held out his palm to stop me. “Ed stole wine from the cellar?”
“That’s what he said. He told me that things have been tight financially and when Tom told him about the wine in the cellar, he seized the opportunity. I’m not sure what to believe. He seemed sincere and even offered to do dishes at the bakeshop.”
“I find that to be the flimsiest excuse I’ve ever heard. A kindergartner could have been cleverer. He might as well have said that the dog ate his homework.”
“I’m glad you think so, because it seemed like an odd story to me, too.”
Lance plunged his olive skewer into his drink. “Like he realized that he was in the hot seat and scrambled to come up with a story—any story—quickly. No wonder the man works behind the curtain. Can you imagine him attempting improv?”
“Not if he is lying. I called Carlos earlier to have him check the cellar, but he must be in the vineyard. He hasn’t gotten back to me yet.”
“True. I suppose we will be able to confirm or deny Ed’s story. If no wine is missing, then we can certainly put him at the top of the list.”
A band lugged equipment onto the small wooden stage in the front corner. “Even if he took the wine, it still seems suspicious to me.”
“Agreed. He’s the only one we know who was physically in the same space where Jimmy was murdered. That must make him a person of interest to the police, don’t you think?”
“I wish we knew the exact window of time that the Professor is looking at. I’ve been trying to figure out how Ed could have gotten away with boxes of wine without being seen by Jimmy or the killer.”
Lance snapped his fingers above his head like a lightbulb clicking on. “Because he is the killer.”
“Maybe.” I wasn’t quite as confident. “What about Tom? Did you learn anything about his finances?”
“Where to start?” Lance tugged the olive free from the skewer and popped it in his mouth. “According to my sources, things are not exactly chummy with Tom and his auntie dearest.”
“What does that mean?”
“As you know, his aunt is not pleased with how he’s been investing her fortune and has drastically tightened her purse strings. He’s on a losing streak, except for his investment with yours truly, of course. It sounds like his monthly allowances have been reduced to pennies and that she might cut him off completely. The man hasn’t worked a day in his life, so losing Auntie’s money could certainly give him a motive for murder.”
“But why kill Jimmy? I agree with your point. What I’m having a hard time grasping is the connection between Jimmy’s death and Tom’s bad investments. If anything, you would think Tom would have wanted Jimmy alive. Jimmy stole the show, so why kill him? And I still don’t get why he was throwing you under the bus either.”
“I have a theory on that.” Lance tipped the edge of his glass to get the last few sips of his martini. “Let’s assume that Tom has made continuous bad business investments with his family’s trust, the Fair Verona Players aside, and his aunt has realized that her fortune is being whittled away. Then let’s assume that she has indeed cut him off. What if he had something going on the side with Jimmy? A nefarious dealing that he didn’t want anyone to know about. Maybe that’s where his funds have vanished, and the night of the murder, they had an altercation. What if Tom demanded his money back, Jimmy refused, and in the heat of the moment, as they say, Tom stabbed him in the neck?”
“It’s possible.” I had to speak louder over the sound of the guitarist warming up for tonight’s show. Puck’s hosted a variety of local bands and comics, along with poetry slams and open mic nights for aspiring singer/songwriters. “He did mention going into business with friends or family being a terrible idea. He brought it up as a warning to me. The guy loves to lecture on best business practices, which I do not enjoy, but maybe he was projecting.”
“That’s quite probable,” Lance retorted.
“Bertie mentioned Jimmy was having financial trouble, but I haven’t heard anything about him having a side hustle, have you?”
“Alas, I haven’t either,” Lance admitted with a shake of his head. “That doesn’t mean it’s not a viable theory. I think it could also explain why Tom was attempting to diminish the success of the Fair Verona Players.”
“How so?” I scooted my chair closer to make room for the lead singer, who was dressed in an emerald green cloak. The band’s merch advertised that they were a hobbit cover band. I had as many questions about that as I did about Jimmy’s murder, but Lance kept us on task.
“If he had invested funds in a failed venture, then the Fair Verona Players became his scapegoat. It’s an easy sell to claim that the company was struggling, and that’s the cause of his financial worries, rather than admitting that he’s been doing shady deals all along.”
“It’s a good theory. The only problem is how do we prove any of it?”
“That, darling, is the rub.” Lance frowned as he sipped the dregs of his martini and motioned to our waiter that he was ready for the check.
“I’m sure that the Professor is researching Jimmy’s financial records. Maybe he left a paper trail.” I watched as the bass player set up his instrument and began tuning the strings.
“That would be a gift. I think what we need to do next is figure out exactly what Jimmy could have had up his sleeve in terms of side gigs.”
“How do you suggest we do that?”
“Sophie, for starters. She tracked Jimmy’s movement like an astronomer tracing the path of a constellation across the night sky. I can’t remember a time she wasn’t in his orbit. Anything Jimmy was involved with, Sophie would know. I think you should have a woman-to-woman chat with her.”
“A woman-to-woman chat? What is this, 1950?” I teased. Although I was surprised by the amount of thought Lance had put into this theory. It wasn’t as far-fetched as some of his previous suggestions. “What about Olive and Bertie? Earlier, I was mapping out where everyone was when I found the body. I don’t know about either of them. I heard that they both followed Jimmy after the show, but where did they go? No one has been able to confirm where either of them was when Jimmy was killed.”
“Leave that to me.” Lance finished the last sip of his martini and paid for both of our drinks. “I’ll see both of them at rehearsals tomorrow.”
“It’s a plan,” I said. I wasn’t sure if it was a good plan, but any plan was better than nothing at this point.