The Sourdough Wars

said Tosi, and laughed heartily. “I’ve just started collecting in the last couple of years. I guess I don’t really know much. Do you think Mary Robertson’s good?”
    “Certainly. Everyone does.”
    “And you, Chris?”
    “You don’t really care what I think, do you?”
    “Not in the least.” He put his feet up on his desk. “Now what can I do for you?”
    “We came,” said Chris, “because we have some good news for you. The starter’s been found.”
    “The starter’s…” He slapped his hand to his forehead, as if he’d forgotten something. “Oh, yes, Peter’s starter. But I don’t understand.”
    “They had another batch.”
    He nodded. “Of course. They would.”
    “So that’s our good news. It may come back on the market after all, though we don’t really
think
Anita will sell it. We thought we’d better tell all the bidders, just in case.”
    “I see. You mean there might be an auction after all?”
    “I doubt it. We just thought we should let you know the starter exists.”
    “That’s nice of you.” He looked at me, then at Chris, who looked miserable. “But I don’t
think
I care much. It’s just a PR gimmick, really. The Tosi Bakery doesn’t need it.”
    “But—”
    He held up a hand. “I’ve done some thinking since Peter died. About why he was killed.”
    “We’ve done a lot of thinking about it.”
    “Peter wasn’t the type to get involved in romantic triangles,” he said.
    I winced and avoided looking at Chris. She said nothing. “And if it wasn’t that, what’s left? I think someone wanted that auction stopped. Otherwise, why the threatening phone calls?”
    “Feelings were running kind of high,” said Chris.
    “And over a thing that’s just a gimmick—for Conglomerate especially. Thank God I don’t have to deal with that kind of garbage.”
    “What kind of garbage?” I asked.
    “Working for a big company that’s all image and no substance. They need that starter. I mean, who are they trying to kid? Nationally distributed frozen sourdough!”
    “I don’t follow you.”
    “It’s going to be second-rate, no matter what. Good sourdough is sourdough that’s baked today. So Conglomerate needs a gimmick.” He looked disgusted. “Let them have it and welcome to it.”
    “And your brother?”
    “Same thing. He’s my brother, but let’s face it—he’s got to try harder, like Avis.”
    “You’re saying he needs a gimmick, too.”
    “Rebecca, my brother’s my brother, but we haven’t really been close for a long time. He’s made it clear nothing would make him happier than running me out of business. If he thinks that starter can do it…” He stopped for a moment and finished in a much lower voice, “I pity him.”
    “He makes a nice loaf.”
    “It’s not good enough to hurt me.” He snapped out the words. “Tony and Thompson can battle it out for all I care. I’m not going to get involved in some kind of petty puff-up that’s getting people killed.”
    “So you think Peter was killed because of the starter,” I said.
    “It sounds,” said Chris, “as if you think your own brother might have done it.”
    “My own…now you listen to me, young lady—”
    “Don’t you young-lady me, you big galumph.”
    “Galoot,” I blurted, and started laughing. Chris really had a terrible time with words.
    But I was the only one laughing. Bob was suddenly very serious. “I’m sorry, Chris. It just slipped out. But you did accuse me of accusing my own brother of murder.”
    “Not quite. I was just trying to clarify things.”
    “Okay, let me make it clear that I wasn’t accusing Tony of anything.”
    “I’m sorry.” Chris spoke in a small voice. She hated apologizing.
    I said, “Aren’t you forgetting something? There was a fourth bidder, you know.” I don’t know why I said that. I had no wish to accuse Sally Devereaux of murder. It just made me mad, the macho way he seemed to imagine the men duking it out among themselves.
    Bob leaned back in his Naugahyde chair and swiveled sideways so he wasn’t facing us. “Sally Devereaux,” he said, almost wonderingly. “Yes, I did forget.” He swiveled back. “I guess I don’t think of her as much competition, as far as business goes. But come to think of it, maybe Peter
was
involved in a triangle. Or something.”
    I spoke quickly, sensing Chris’s distress. “What do you mean?”
    “You didn’t know they’d dated?”
    “Peter and Sally?” But even as I said it, I