Free Meet Your Baker by Ellie Alexander Page A

Professor told Andy he could go. Andy looked equally relieved and terrified.
    On his way out the door he whispered to Mom and me, so Richard couldn’t hear, “What do you think will happen to Mia?”
    Mom gave him a half hug. “Don’t worry about it. Detective Curtis is one of the most intelligent men I know. He’ll take care of Mia. You go home and get some rest. Hopefully, we’ll be back to business tomorrow.”
    Andy apologized again and hurried out the door.
    The conversation between Richard Lord and the Professor didn’t appear to be going well. I tried to eavesdrop, but the Professor kept his voice low and appeared to be intent on taking thorough notes in his small notebook.
    I could tell when the Professor had finally shared the news about Nancy, because Richard launched to his feet and began pacing back and forth in front of the booths.
    “How? How?” he yelled. I’m sure the sound carried outside to the plaza. What I couldn’t decipher is whether Richard’s ruddy cheeks were leftover from last night’s imbibing, or whether he was really upset about Nancy.
    The Professor motioned for him to sit down.
    Richard ignored him and continued to pace. Something about his reaction seemed off to me. It looked like a staged response, not someone facing the shock of a dead lover.
    “This is unacceptable!” Richard narrowed his eyes on the Professor. “You better figure out who did this, or heads will roll.”
    With that, he grabbed his clubs and stormed out the door.
    I expected him to elbow his way through the throng of tourists outside, but instead he stopped in front of Torte, reached into a pocket on his golf bag. He pulled out a cell phone and looked in both directions before making a call.
    His eyes darted as his spoke, with one hand cupping the phone.
    His paunch spilled from his collared shirt, which looked like it had been washed one too many times and shrunk around his belly. I couldn’t help but think he’d likely been sampling too many of the Merry Windsor’s dry, cardboard pastries. I know that’s not nice, but anyone who’s mean to Mom …
    He turned his head over his shoulder and caught me staring at him. He gave me an accusatory look that made me feel like he’d just read my mind.
    I pretended to start the espresso machine, watching him out of the corner of my eye. He finished his conversation and looked around suspiciously before pushing his way across the street and back to the inn.
    Who did Richard need to call so urgently? And why did he look like he didn’t want anyone to hear whatever he said?
    The Professor cleared his throat and made my thoughts return to the present. “Might I beg another cup of coffee from you, madam?” He bowed. “Your pasta was absolutely divine.”
    I smiled and turned the machine on. “Thanks. You’re speaking my language when it comes to coffee. What’ll it be?”
    “If it isn’t too much trouble, a latte would do the trick.” He studied me as I poured milk into a carafe and cranked the dial for steam higher. “You know, I don’t generally feel sorry for the bard. Shakespeare lived quite the charmed life, one might say, but for the fact that he never tasted this nectar of the gods.”
    “What do you mean, he didn’t like coffee?”
    “Coffee didn’t yet exist, then.”
    “Really, I never knew that.”
    “Alas, no, not in Shakespeare’s time. Neither coffee nor tea was introduced to England until after his death in 1616.”
    I handed him a blue mug with our red Torte logo. “Well, thankfully we have both.”
    He held the mug in a toast. “Ah, yes indeed. I see you’ve inherited your mother’s abilities,” he said as he took a sip of the creamy latte.
    “Actually, I think my dad was the coffee connoisseur.” I surprised myself with my curt response. Where did that come from? I felt oddly unsure how to react to his interest in Mom.
    The Professor rested his mug on the counter and clasped his hands together. “Of course. The talent in