Читать книгу Day Zero - Chris Jayne - Страница 11

Lori

Monday

8AM Eastern Time

Miami Florida

How was it, Lori Dovner asked herself, that the most popular, trendy, sought-after young caterer in Miami, Florida couldn’t manage to get breakfast on the table for a six year old and a nine year old? How was that even possible?

She’d served sitting senators and congressmen, the CEOs of some of the biggest corporations in America, one ex-president and the Dalai Lama, but she couldn’t seem to make a frozen waffle that a six year old would eat.

“Brandon, you liked these last week.”

Brandon shoved the pieces of cut waffle around on his plate. “No I didn’t.”

“Pretty sure you did.”

“He only likes the Mickey Mouse ones,” Grace offered helpfully. Thanks Grace, Lori muttered to herself.

Brandon started to cry. Big fat tears ran down his chubby cheeks. Lori knew the real problem, and it wasn’t waffles: on a fundamental level, Brandon hated school. He’d been deliriously happy in the pre-K day care he’d attended four mornings a week for two years, but this year, in full day Kindergarten, he’d been miserable from day one. Nearly two months into the school year it was getting worse by the day.

Lori had tried more than once to talk to him, to figure out what was causing this change in her formerly cheerful little boy. Was someone being mean to him? Did the teacher yell? Was the work too hard? Not hard enough? Was he bored? Overstimulated? Just last Thursday, when he’d tried to plead a stomachache for the third day in a row, she’d gone in and talked to the teacher, Joy Brinkley. Ms. Brinkley, who seemed as nice and sweet as could be, had professed herself equally confused. But when she described Brandon as “quiet and withdrawn,” Lori knew it was worse than she thought.

Last weekend, Lori had had an event Friday night, Saturday night, and Sunday night, leaving her no time to puzzle over the problem. But this coming week was much slower - only a dinner party for eight on Saturday night - and she was going to give Brandon’s unhappiness her top priority.

However, right this second, she did not need this, not on a Monday morning, when she hadn’t gotten in until after eleven p.m. and - she took a quick look at her phone calendar app - she had a vet appointment with Sasha at nine and then two home visits scheduled. “Brandon, it’s a waffle. You don’t have to cry about it.”

Simone, Lori’s French au pair, breezed into the room. “He likes the big breakfast at McDonald’s.” She shrugged, typically French. “I have time to take him before school.”

“I appreciate the suggestion, but no.” Frozen waffles were bad enough, but the idea that she’d send her six year old off to fast-food as a better alternative was horrifying. “Brandon, what if I made you…?”

Lori froze. As she’d been bustling around the kitchen getting the food out for Brandon and Grace, she’d been simultaneously organizing her own day. Suddenly she realized she didn’t see her catch-all hobo bag. She looked at Simone. “Have you seen my bag?” Even as she said it though, she knew the question was absurd. Simone had been asleep when Lori came in last night, and this was the first time the au pair had been downstairs.

“No.”

Her laptop computer, her wallet with her license and all her credit cards, everything was in that catch-all. “Oh crap.” Lori slumped.

She knew exactly where the bag was.

“Swear jar, mom,” ten-year-old Grace piped in.

“Crap’s not swearing,” Lori muttered, distracted.

“Then why can’t we say it?”

“I don’t know. Ask me tonight. Oh crap,” Lori repeated. At Simone’s utterly confused look, Lori explained. “I’m pretty sure I left my bag at the job last night. I got it out of the car because I needed my laptop to check a recipe.” She shook her head, frustrated. “I know it’s there. I’m positive.”

“How far is it? To go back to get it?”

“It’s not that far. He lives in one of the big houses on waterway.” Lori paused, not really sure how to go on.

When the silence lengthened, Simone prompted, “What is it?”

“The last thing I want to do is go back there. It was sort of weird when I left last night.” Normally, Lori would not have shared something both professional and personal with the twenty one year old young woman, but so odd had the events of the previous night been that she found the words tumbling out.

Simone popped a granola bar from the cabinet into her backpack. “Weird?”

“I don’t know,” Lori paused as she pictured the scene. “Yeah, weird. Out of the blue, he just asked us to leave. Walked into the kitchen and asked us to go. We hadn’t even served the dessert.”

Simone digested this. “Was he mad?”

“No. Not really. He just wanted us gone.” Lori replayed the scene in her head, trying to come up with a better answer, then shook the train of thought away. “It doesn’t matter. Obviously, I have to go back. It’s my wallet, my computer, everything.” Lori looked at the table. Brandon was still crying and Lori knew when it was time to throw in the towel. “Brandon would you like to go to McDonald’s with Simone?”

“Can I come home after?”

Lori’s heart sank. “No. No, Bran, you have to go to school.”

He stared at his waffle plate. “I don’t like school,” he whispered. “My tummy hurts.”

Lori sank down into the empty chair next to her son. “Bran, tonight, how would you like it if you and I, just the two of us, went to Charlie Cheese and maybe you can tell me why you don’t want to go to school. And whatever it is, honey, I promise I’ll fix it.” She paused. “Sound good?”

Grace looked up, her lip already moving into full-on pout position. “Not fair!” she stated, with all the outrage a ten year old could muster. “Why does he get to go to Charlie Cheese and I don’t?”

Normally, Lori was not quite so indulgent, but she had to solve this problem and the last thing she needed was Grace having a meltdown. Lori brought out one of the big guns. “You and Simone can go for pedicures. How does that sound?”

Problem solved. “Okay.” Grace beamed up at Simone and Simone beamed back.

“Can I stay home from school forever?” Brandon asked.

“No, Brandon, no. We’ll talk about it. Tonight. For right now you go to McDonald’s with Simone and then be a good boy at school today, alright?”

In the days, weeks and months to follow, Lori would think about that morning, and about Brandon’s request to stay home from school forever and she would realize that at least one of them had gotten something they wanted.

Lori checked her watch as Simone hustled Brandon and Grace into the little Toyota she drove, trying to put her schedule together. It was already 8:30; there was no way she could get out to Raoul Saldata’s house and back to the vet by nine. So she’d have to go to the vet first, then on to the Saldata’s, then back to the house to drop Sasha off, then on to her home visits, the first of which was scheduled for eleven. It would be tight, but she could make it.

Twenty minutes later Lori was in her Range Rover, speeding towards the vet. Thank God she’d had her phone in the pocket of her apron last night, so at least that had not been left behind. Suddenly she realized she might have made a miscalculation: Would anyone even be home at the Saldata’s? Lori knew for a fact that Mrs. Saldata was not there; her absence was, allegedly, the reason that Mr. Saldata had hired Lori’s catering company, Top Hat Catering, to do the dinner party. Lori had in fact never met a Mrs. Saldata and wasn’t sure she even lived in the U.S. As much as she didn’t want to talk to Mr. Saldata, she knew she couldn’t just show up unannounced, and reluctantly she brought up the number in her phone and hit dial. However, sixty seconds later, she was no better off, because no one had answered at the house, neither Mr. Saldata nor the housekeeper. Now what?

Sitting in the vet’s office, Sasha obediently curled up at her feet, Lori suddenly remembered that she’d put the housekeeper’s cell number in her phone as well. But what was her name? Lori thought for a moment, frustrated, because of course the notes for the job were in her laptop, which were in bag, but maybe Rodriguez? She scrolled through her numbers until … yup, Maria Rodriguez. She hit the number and breathed a sigh of relief when the woman’s voice came over the line on the first ring.

“Mrs. Rodriguez, it’s Lori Dovner.” Silence. “Top Hat Catering? I did the party last night at Mr. Saldata’s.”

“Oh, si, si. Miss Lori, how are you? How did the party go?”

“It went well. It was fine, but, are you at the house?”

“Oh, no señora. No, no. I am off Sunday and Monday.”

“Do you know if Mr. Saldata is there? I left something at the house. I called and he didn’t answer.”

“He no like answer telefono.”

“Do you think he’s there?”

“No se. He come and go and never say de nada to me.”

“Is there any way, I hate to ask, but could you meet me there? I wouldn’t ask but it’s my wallet. I don’t even have my driver’s license.”

“Oh, Señora, I am so sorry but I am visiting my daughter in Orlando. I am four hours away. I cannot help you.”

“Well, thanks anyway,” Lori spoke slowly, trying to think of a plan. “I’ll just go over there, and hopefully Mr. Saldata will be there…”

There was a long pause. “Miss Lori, I no should do this but if he no answer the gate buzzer, here is the code. The code for the gate is 7-2-7-2-9. And the back door is 1-9-7-5.“

“Hold on.” Lori hurried up to the desk and grabbed a pen and a post-it note from the secretary. “Tell me those numbers again.”

Maria Rodriguez repeated the codes. “Don’t tell no one I give you. He say I never give anyone the code, but if he not there, what can you do?”

“Thank you. I’ll call you if I need you.”

“Buenos dias, Senora.”

“Buenos dias, Senora Rodriguez.”

Twenty minutes later Lori was winging her way towards the Saldata residence. The vet visit, just routine yearly shots, had gone quickly. Lori was hopeful she could get in and out of Saldata’s in just a couple of minutes. That would give her nearly an hour to get home, drop Sasha, change into business clothes and get to her first visit.

Top Hat Catering specialized in private dining, high-end seated dinners served and usually prepared in the clients’ own homes. For that reason, an essential part of Lori’s workday was what she cynically referred to as “location scouting.” What dishes, pots and pans, and kitchen set-up did the client have? More than once in her early days she’d been assured by a client that “we have everything,” only to arrive and discover that “everything,” was a couple old frying pans, and grandmother’s china for eight that the hostess thought Lori, using her super powers, could somehow magically stretch to serve twelve.

That certainly had not been the case at the Saldata’s. It had been a beautiful, fully-equipped kitchen in a lovely residence, all top-notch. Everything had been perfect - until the moment last night when Mr. Saldata had walked into the kitchen and basically kicked them out.

As she drove, she couldn’t help but replay the incident in her head, sick to her stomach. That party was the sort of event that Lori needed to go well. One of Mr. Saldata’s guests had been Senator Kyle Michaels, current United States senator from Florida; a second guest was the assistant chief of police in the Miami police department. Precisely the kind of people whom Lori wanted to remember Top Hat Catering favorably.

Delicious food, beautifully presented, in the comfort of the client’s own home. That was Lori’s mantra, and that’s exactly what had gone down, right up until the moment that Mr. Saldata had walked into the kitchen. Lori had just taken the individual apple pies out of the oven and was ready to plate the desserts when he came in, and with no preamble, told her it was time for her and her staff of two to leave. Astonished, Lori had tried to query him as to whether there had been a problem with the meal. He had assured her that it had been fine, but without engaging in any further discussion, he’d announced, “Please be gone in five minutes. Don’t worry about cleaning up. The housekeeper can do it.” With no further word, he’d turned and left the kitchen, leaving Lori, open-mouthed, with Salvadore and Michelle, all staring speechless at his back.

Not knowing what else to do, Lori had quickly gathered up the cooking things that were her property, her high-end knives, her special soufflé pan. She’d shepherded her two staff members to the door. And, with what-the-hell expressions on their faces, they left.

As Lori continued to drive, she suddenly thought about her staff members and knew a moment of hesitation. Could one of them have grabbed her bag and accidentally carrying it to their car, and then forgotten to tell her? Best call and check, Lori realized.

Quickly she punched in Michelle’s number, praying that they had her bag. That way she could avoid this errand altogether. Michelle and Salvadore were a couple, and had driven to the Saldata residence together. Lori didn’t know for sure, but she assumed they’d be together.

Michelle’s sleepy voice came on to the phone line. “Lori. Everything OK?”

Quickly Lori explained about her catch-all. “I was just wondering if there was any chance you guys grabbed it and put it in your car.”

“I wish,” Michelle responded. “Sorry. I never noticed it.”

“No worries. I’m on my way there now. I just thought I’d call before I got there on the chance you might have it. The housekeeper’s not there, so this means I’m going to have to wake Mr. Saldata up. After last night, that’s the last thing I want to do.” She paused. “Wasn’t that just about the strangest thing ever?”

Because Salvadore and Michelle come in their own vehicle, and no one had wanted to linger in the driveway for a chat, they had not gotten an opportunity to discuss the odd situation the previous night.

“Hold on,” Michelle said. “Sal is still asleep.” Lori could hear the rustle of bedclothes as Michelle moved out of the bedroom. In a few seconds, her voice came more loudly. “Sal and I talked on the way home, Lor. Listen to me. Something’s wrong there.”

“What do you mean?”

“Sal heard Mr. Saldata speaking Spanish to one of the guests. He says that Spanish is not his first language. Saldata spoke it very well, but Salvatore could tell. He had an odd accent to his Spanish. Sal couldn’t place it.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“Because if you live in Miami, and your name is Saldata, you speak Spanish. Period.” Michelle paused for emphasis. “You speak Spanish, your mother speaks Spanish and your grandmother speaks Spanish.”

“Could Saldata be a Brazilian name?” Lori tried to make sense of it. “They speak Portuguese.”

“Maybe,” Michelle allowed, “but there was something else. That Senator? The so-called guest of honor? Sal said he was miserable. Spent most of the night looking like he was scared out of his mind.”

“What?” That was the last thing she wanted to hear. “Really?” Lori’s role at events like this was to prepare and manage the food. Salvatore was the server, and Michelle bridged the gap: helping both Lori in the kitchen and Salvatore in the dining room. Lori had barely set foot in the dining room and had only caught a brief glimpse of the Senator.

Lori certainly trusted Salvatore’s instincts and information, and if he said that Mr. Saldata was not a native Spanish speaker and that the Senator did not look happy to be there, Lori believed him… but what did it mean? Unless the Senator was unhappy about the food, there was nothing Lori could do about it.

She ended up just shaking her head. So what? Some clients just didn’t work out, and Lori was going to put Raoul Saldata into that group. Whatever the deal at Saldata’s, she was going to get her bag, leave, and not go back. If he called again, she’d politely turn him down.

She said a quick good-bye to Michelle, just as she pulled onto the expressway for the quick trip to the Key Barca waterway and the Saldata’s house.

Two minutes later, Lori was parked by the side of the road listening to the NPR announcer in astonishment.