his phone on. “Listen, I’ve gotta make a few important calls here. This is going to put a big-time crimp in my production schedule. I’ll let you know as soon as the cop tells me when we can start filming again.” He scrolled on his screen. “And I’ve got to find another replacement contestant. Damn. Maybe we should have stayed in L.A.”
He didn’t notice as I continued down the hill and was out of earshot. I knew that Thomas told me I had to stay out of his investigation, but it struck me as strange that Philip was so preoccupied with the show. Shouldn’t he be concerned that a contestant—someone he seemed to have known well—had just been murdered?
Chapter Eight
“Boss, are you okay?” Andy greeted me at Torte with his backpack slung across his shoulder.
He held the door open for me. “I’m taking off for my morning class, but maybe I should stay. You don’t look so good.”
“No, no. Go. I don’t want you to miss your class.” Was my mouth forming words? My voice sounded distant, like it didn’t belong to me.
Andy waited while I stepped inside.
“I promise. I’m fine.” I waved him on. Andy and Stephanie both attend Southern Oregon University. We arrange their work schedules around their classes. Since the university is a short distance from Torte, they both come early to help open and, depending on their class schedule, they can leave and come back.
He tugged his backpack up his shoulder and wrinkled his forehead. “Okay. Catch you after class.”
Sterling was boxing up pastries at the counter. He paused when he saw me. “Hey, Jules. You’re back early. Did you have a run-in with a mixer?” he asked, noting my flour-coated jeans.
“You don’t even want to know.”
Stephanie came from the kitchen with a tray of red velvet mini Bundt cakes, glazed with a cream cheese frosting.
Sterling pretended not to notice her. He counted each pastry in the boxes he’d assembled on the top of the case—twice.
Stephanie cleared her throat. “A little help?” She nodded to the glass case.
He looked up from the boxes. “Huh?”
“Help,” she snapped.
I wondered what my role in their bickering was. I don’t get involved in the personal issues of my staff. Mom probably would know what to do, but not me. I learned early on from one of the head pastry chefs I apprenticed under on the cruise ship that personal issues have no place in the kitchen.
“Juliet, there’s no place for arguing in the kitchen. The tension comes out in the food.”
This same sentiment was repeated often, by Carlos. Of course his Spanish accent and less than perfect grasp of English made the idea seem much more romantic. “Julieta, mi querida, if you hold your shoulders so tight, like this, when you are baking, that tension it will come through in the pastry. You must relax.”
Relaxing wasn’t on my agenda at the moment. Stephanie thrust the tray of red velvet cakes at Sterling and turned and stormed back to the kitchen. He looked injured. “Women.” He rolled his eyes. “What is it with you guys?”
“Me?” I asked. “Don’t rope me into this.” The room felt like it was slightly spinning. Keep it together, Jules, I told myself, reaching for the countertop for support.
He placed the cakes in the display case. “Sorry. I just don’t get why she’s mad at me . She’s the one acting all into Elliot. The dude looks like he’s been dipped in Hollywood. I don’t get it. He’s not her type.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at his description of Elliot. That was better. Maybe I was feeling more normal after all. “She’s probably just a little star-struck. Don’t worry about it. She’ll come around.”
Sterling shrugged.
“Listen, I need to run home and change. Are you going to be okay without me for a few?”
Sterling studied my appearance again. “What happened?” He looked concerned.
“You’re not going to believe it.” I sighed. “Chef Marco is dead.”
“Let me guess,
He didn’t notice as I continued down the hill and was out of earshot. I knew that Thomas told me I had to stay out of his investigation, but it struck me as strange that Philip was so preoccupied with the show. Shouldn’t he be concerned that a contestant—someone he seemed to have known well—had just been murdered?
Chapter Eight
“Boss, are you okay?” Andy greeted me at Torte with his backpack slung across his shoulder.
He held the door open for me. “I’m taking off for my morning class, but maybe I should stay. You don’t look so good.”
“No, no. Go. I don’t want you to miss your class.” Was my mouth forming words? My voice sounded distant, like it didn’t belong to me.
Andy waited while I stepped inside.
“I promise. I’m fine.” I waved him on. Andy and Stephanie both attend Southern Oregon University. We arrange their work schedules around their classes. Since the university is a short distance from Torte, they both come early to help open and, depending on their class schedule, they can leave and come back.
He tugged his backpack up his shoulder and wrinkled his forehead. “Okay. Catch you after class.”
Sterling was boxing up pastries at the counter. He paused when he saw me. “Hey, Jules. You’re back early. Did you have a run-in with a mixer?” he asked, noting my flour-coated jeans.
“You don’t even want to know.”
Stephanie came from the kitchen with a tray of red velvet mini Bundt cakes, glazed with a cream cheese frosting.
Sterling pretended not to notice her. He counted each pastry in the boxes he’d assembled on the top of the case—twice.
Stephanie cleared her throat. “A little help?” She nodded to the glass case.
He looked up from the boxes. “Huh?”
“Help,” she snapped.
I wondered what my role in their bickering was. I don’t get involved in the personal issues of my staff. Mom probably would know what to do, but not me. I learned early on from one of the head pastry chefs I apprenticed under on the cruise ship that personal issues have no place in the kitchen.
“Juliet, there’s no place for arguing in the kitchen. The tension comes out in the food.”
This same sentiment was repeated often, by Carlos. Of course his Spanish accent and less than perfect grasp of English made the idea seem much more romantic. “Julieta, mi querida, if you hold your shoulders so tight, like this, when you are baking, that tension it will come through in the pastry. You must relax.”
Relaxing wasn’t on my agenda at the moment. Stephanie thrust the tray of red velvet cakes at Sterling and turned and stormed back to the kitchen. He looked injured. “Women.” He rolled his eyes. “What is it with you guys?”
“Me?” I asked. “Don’t rope me into this.” The room felt like it was slightly spinning. Keep it together, Jules, I told myself, reaching for the countertop for support.
He placed the cakes in the display case. “Sorry. I just don’t get why she’s mad at me . She’s the one acting all into Elliot. The dude looks like he’s been dipped in Hollywood. I don’t get it. He’s not her type.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at his description of Elliot. That was better. Maybe I was feeling more normal after all. “She’s probably just a little star-struck. Don’t worry about it. She’ll come around.”
Sterling shrugged.
“Listen, I need to run home and change. Are you going to be okay without me for a few?”
Sterling studied my appearance again. “What happened?” He looked concerned.
“You’re not going to believe it.” I sighed. “Chef Marco is dead.”
“Let me guess,
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