The next morning, I slept past dawn—a rarity in my profession. Lingering over a bold and smoky dark roast coffee, I flipped through cookbooks and decided to make myself a leisurely home-cooked breakfast. My apartment kitchen was nothing like the ship’s massive galley kitchen, but it was well stocked and warmed quickly. Rain pounded on the rooftop and spattered on the large bay window at the front of my apartment as I grabbed eggs, heavy cream, Parmesan and Gruyère cheese, and chicken apple sausages from the fridge.
A quiche sounded like the perfect accompaniment to the gloomy weather. Next, I found pastry flour and butter and started on my pie crust by cubing the cold butter. The key to a light and flaky crust is making sure not to overwork the dough. I added the butter, flour, and salt to my food processor and blended it until it resembled coarse crumbs. Then I removed the mixture from the processor, formed it into a rough ball and added a few tablespoons of water. One of the reasons that pie crust can be intimidating to new bakers is because it takes some practice to get the ratio of water right. My philosophy is that it’s always better to add as you go. Once the dough had formed into a soft ball with nice chunks of butter I floured my countertop and rolled it out.
Then I beat the eggs and heavy cream until they were a golden yellow color. I grated in two cups of cheese, added a handful of fresh chives and sprinkled in salt and pepper. The chicken apple sausages would cook in the quiche, but I wanted them to have a little char, so gave them a quick grill. While they sizzled on the stove I placed my dough in a pie pan and fluted the edges. Once the sausages had cooked, I chopped them and added them to the egg mixture. Then I poured everything into the pie crust and popped it into the oven.
My kitchen smelled like savory sausage and baking pie dough. I could hardly wait for my quiche to be done. While it baked, I curled up on the couch with a soft fleece blanket and my coffee. Thoughts of Evan’s murder invaded my mind as I thumbed through glossy photos of elegant European cakes and sweets. Trying to push the thoughts away seemed to make them all the more determined. Had it all been a terrible accident? Maybe there was some other explanation, but everyone seemed like a suspect to me. What had Evan and Howard been arguing about? Could Bethany have acted on a whim and given Evan a nut brownie? And what about Carter? I sighed and rubbed my temples, trying to silence my head.
The timer dinged on my oven, saving me from my thoughts. I hurried to remove my quiche from the oven. It had baked to a lovely golden-brown color. Breathing in the scent, I almost swooned. Quiche is a dish that can be served any time of the day and made with any ingredients on hand. I poured myself a second cup of coffee and cut into the steamy egg bake.
I sipped my coffee and tucked into my quiche. The tang of the cheese paired with the earthy herbs in the sausage and milky eggs was near perfection. I devoured the first slice and helped myself to seconds. After I finished my breakfast and cleaned up the kitchen my mind returned to Evan. It was no use. Even the distraction of baking wasn’t helping, so I gave up. If my mind was going to spin, it might as well spin on something productive.
Twenty minutes later I arrived at Torte to find Mom in the dining room. She and the Professor sat with their heads close together at one of the small tables. They shared a pot of coffee and a plate of muffins sat between them.
“Oh, hey!” I said, wondering if I was interrupting something. “I didn’t expect to see you here this morning.”
The Professor stood. His intelligent eyes flashed from me to Mom. He removed his tweed jacket from the back of the chair and gave me a slight bow. “Good morning, Juliet. I was just on my way out.” Turning to Mom, he caressed her hand and raised it to his lips. “I bid you good day, Helen.”
Mom tried to conceal her delight but it was evident on every line on her face. Her cheeks brightened and her eyes sparkled as the two of them shared a gaze that didn’t last long but made me feel acutely aware of the fact that I was the third wheel in the room.
“Wait, take these muffins with you,” Mom said as she wrapped two muffins in a paper napkin.
The Professor took her offering and gave us both a bow on his way out the door. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you soon,” he said with a wink to me.
I walked over to Mom and sat in the chair the Professor had warmed. “Sorry about that. I didn’t know you were having a romantic coffee date. You should have warned me.”
Mom laughed and pushed the plate of muffins toward me. “Hardly. Doug is getting an early start on the investigation this morning and I made my famous banana-nut muffins at home this morning. He stopped by and I offered him a muffin, that’s all.”
“That’s all?” I bantered back. “It looked like I walked in on a serious conversation.”
“No,” Mom scoffed. “Muffin?” She held up the plate.
“I already ate, and don’t try to change the subject. What’s going on with the Professor?”
Color rose from the base of Mom’s jaw up her cheeks. “Nothing.” She reminded me of a schoolgirl trying to lie and failing miserably.
“Mom! What is going on?”
She scrunched her nose and ran her fingers through her hair. “Nothing.” She paused and caught my eye. “At least not yet.”
“You are so transparent, Mom.”
She blushed even more. “Am I?”
“Mom.” I grabbed her wrist and looked into her gorgeous and wise eyes. “We made a deal, remember? We promised that we weren’t going to keep secrets from one another—good or bad.”
She squeezed my hand in a show of solidarity. “I know, honey. I remember.”
We dropped hands and I waited for her to continue.
“There’s nothing to tell, at least not yet. Doug has hinted that he is ready to take things to the next level.”
I kept my face as neutral as I possibly could. The Professor had confided in me when we were at an alpine lodge earlier in the winter. He told me that he wanted to marry Mom but wouldn’t do it without my approval. I told him that he didn’t need my approval; the only thing that mattered to me was Mom’s happiness—and she was clearly happy with the Professor. He asked me not to say anything and I willingly agreed to break my “no secrets” vow with Mom. Some secrets, like a surprise marriage proposal, were worth keeping and fell outside the bounds of our pact. I had expected the Professor to pop the question when we returned from the lodge, but it had been over two months and he had yet to make a move.
“What did he say?” I asked Mom.
Her smile was contagious. I couldn’t help but grin as I watched her beam with excitement. If anyone deserved a second chance at love it was Mom. She and my dad had enjoyed a long and happy marriage built on self-respect and a mutual love of baking. When he got sick a part of her died with him. Seeing the spark reignited in her made my eyes begin to well. I blinked back happy tears as she continued.
“He said he’s the happiest he’s ever been.” She put her hand over her heart. “I told him that I felt the same way.”
“Mom, that’s wonderful.”
She met my eyes and looked concerned for a minute. “I don’t mean to take anything away from the relationship your father and I had. Losing him was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. Those were dark days.”
We were both quiet for a moment, caught up in our individual memories. “We’ve been through this before, Mom. I am so happy for you and I know that Dad is too.” This time I couldn’t fight back the tears. They spilled from my eyes.
Mom grinned and sobbed with me. “Well, we’re a blubbering mess, aren’t we?” she finally said, handing me a paper napkin.
I wiped my eyes with it and swallowed salty tears. “I’m blaming the town. This Shakespeare thing, it just gets under your skin.”
She laughed and dabbed her eyes with a napkin. “Anyway, we haven’t gotten any further than that, but it’s nice to hear that he’s thinking about our future.”
“Have you given any more thought to your future?” I knew the question was loaded, but since we were sharing such a tender moment I couldn’t help but ask.
“You mean about Torte?” She exhaled and glanced behind and then to the kitchen. “It sure looks good. The kids did a great job yesterday.”
“I know and the ovens will be here soon. It’s going to be a whole new bakeshop.”
She nodded. “Yes, it is.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I want both. I want to build a new life with Doug and I want to be here with you. I think you know a little something about feeling torn and feeling a deep sense of longing for two very different lives.”
Her words hit me. “Right.” I looked at my hands.
She started to say something—to apologize, which wasn’t necessary—but the door jingled and Sterling and Stephanie came inside. “We’ll talk later, honey.”
I nodded.
“You two just can’t stay away, can you?” Sterling’s gray hoodie was soaked with rain and plastered to his forehead.
Stephanie wore a black rain jacket to protect her violet hair, which she wore tied with dozens of tiny black rubber bands. Not many people could pull off the look, but somehow it worked on Stephanie.
Mom held out the plate of muffins. “Breakfast, anyone?”
They both took a muffin.
“You did a wonderful job yesterday,” Mom said, handing them each a napkin. “Juliet and I were just talking about how great the kitchen looks.”
Sterling tried to help Stephanie off with her coat, but she shoved him out of the way. I knew that he was trying to be chivalrous, but she considered herself a woman of the twenty-first century who didn’t need a man’s assistance for anything. I appreciated her can-do attitude and had dealt with my fair share of chauvinistic chefs over the years, but I also felt sorry for Sterling. It must be hard to be a man in modern times. There was something to be said for the romance of the Elizabethan era. I considered myself a strong woman who could run a tight kitchen and bake a mean pastry, but I appreciated it when Carlos would open a door for me or take my hand when we walked through Paris’s busy streets. In my opinion, romantic gestures were an expression of love, not a way to steal someone’s power, but I had a feeling that Stephanie would disagree with me, as I watched her struggle to yank off her wet coat.
I caught Sterling’s eye. He rolled his and threw his hands in the air.
We all followed Mom into the kitchen. She set the muffins on the only free edge of the butcher-block island. “Help yourself to more, I made them for you.”
“What’s the plan for today?” Sterling asked. His hoodie dripped onto the floor.
“Do you need a new shirt?” I couldn’t believe he wasn’t freezing.
“Nah. I’ll be cool.”
Mom chuckled. “Do you remember when you were in high school and refused to wear a coat to school even in the dead of winter?”
“Me? No, never.”
She winked at Sterling. “She refused. Absolutely refused. I gave up the fight and told her if she was wet and cold at school she might reconsider the coat.”
“I did, really?” I had no memory of fighting with Mom about wearing a coat. If anything I tend to be cold. Maybe that’s why.
“Oh, yes,” Mom said, giving me a knowing smile. “For at least a year. Then one of your friends got a stylish snow parka for Christmas and you had to have one. After that you wore the parka every day.”
Sterling frowned. “So you’re saying that I have the maturity of a high schooler? Uh-oh. Guess I’m going to have to buy a coat.”
Mom’s smile faded. I knew we were both thinking the same thing. When Sterling arrived in Ashland last summer he was penniless. We’d given him a job and paid him well, and I knew that he was living at one of the co-ops in town. Because Ashland is home to Southern Oregon University, many of the old bungalows near campus had been converted into co-ops that provided cheap housing for college students. Even with an inexpensive place to live and some of his meals coming from Torte, I hoped that it wasn’t that he couldn’t afford a coat. My mind flashed back to our time at Lake of the Woods together when Sterling had worn his gray hoodie in the blizzard. I thought he was just being a twenty-something guy, but now I felt terrible. What if he’d been freezing that entire weekend because he didn’t have the funds to buy a coat? I had shared Lance’s generous tip with him at the end of the long weekend. Hopefully that had given him some extra cash.
“You know,” Mom said, moving closer to Sterling and extending his left hand. “If you’re in the market for a coat I just might have the thing for you, and you’d be doing me a big favor.”
“That’s okay, Helen.” Sterling looked uncomfortable. “I’m not a coat guy.”
“Fine, fine, but I’m going to bring in a bag of some of Juliet’s dad’s winter gear. It’s been sitting in my entryway for over a month and I haven’t had the heart to donate it. You and Andy should take a look at his ski gear. It’s in great shape and it would make me so happy to see it go to you guys instead of a stranger.”
She was good. I smiled internally knowing that Sterling was astute enough to know exactly what she was doing, but also too tenderhearted to refuse her offer to take my dad’s winter gear.
“Okay, I’ll check it out,” Sterling agreed.
Mom gave me a satisfied smile and we returned to the day’s agenda. Andy arrived a few minutes later.
“Sorry I’m late, Mrs. C. I had to take my grandmother to the grocery store this morning. She had cataract surgery and can’t drive.”
“You’re right on time, don’t worry,” Mom said. She turned to me. “What is our action plan?”
“First we need to finish the paint. One more quick coat should do it. How is the inventory count coming along?”
Stephanie handed me a file folder. “We’re done with the pantry and all the decorating supplies. We still need to finish the walk-in and the wine.”
“Great. While the paint is drying you can finish the inventory and then once it’s dry you should be able to go ahead and start putting things back together. The ovens will be installed sometime between two and four tomorrow. Either Mom or I will come over when they arrive to make sure that all goes smoothly.”
With the plan mapped out, Andy, Sterling, and Stephanie went to stir the paint and cover the floors and counters with drop cloths. Mom and I packed up our tasting samples and braved the downpour on our way to Ashland Springs. I had a feeling that today would be even busier than yesterday, given that it was a Saturday and most people would have the day off. I was looking forward to introducing more people to our products and being too busy to think about murder.