Читать книгу A Catered Valentine's Day - Isis Crawford - Страница 13

Libby stepped into her kitchen ahead of Amber and Bernie.

“They’re over there,” said Amber, pointing to the two men chatting in front of the cooler. One was dressed in a parka and knit slacks, while the other was wearing jeans and a windbreaker.

“I can see that,” Libby replied.

She loved this room, she thought, as the guy in the knit slacks broke off his conversation and headed toward her. She remembered when her mom had set this kitchen up, and she hadn’t changed anything in it since she’d taken over the business, at least not in any meaningful way, and she’d been right not to, given what had happened when she’d let Bernie talk her into making changes.

It was perfect the way it was. She loved the tile floors, the large window overlooking the back, and the pots hanging down from the ceiling, the stacks of flour on their shelves, the bags of sugar next to them. The rack of her mom’s knives lined up next to the prep table and the scales she used to weigh the ingredients. They all felt good in her hands.

Her mom had always told her that this was backstage, whereas the place where they waited on people was the performance area. Everything started from here.

Libby’s eyes reflexively swept the kitchen for possible health code violations, but everything was okay. The sinks were clean, as were the scrubbies. No food was lying out. Everything that should be in the cooler was.

The cleaning products were on their own shelf. All food products were off the floor. Amber and Googie were wearing hats, something Googie had a tendency to forget about. Libby watched the guy in the knit slacks walk toward her. Definitely the building inspector. She’d bet money on it.

She wondered what had happened to George. She’d liked George. He was a nice guy. Probably gone down to Florida to live with his children. He’d been talking about it for years. This one was young. That wasn’t good. His bearing was stiff. That wasn’t good either. And, even worse, he had a grim expression on his face. Executioner grim.

Given what Bernie had just told her as they went down the stairs, she could understand why. Although she had to remind herself it could be worse. She took a deep breath. She’d like to strangle her sister, but this wasn’t the time or the place. Maybe later. No. Absolutely later. One thing was sure: Bernie created chaos wherever she went. Maybe someone could study her. She could be like a science project. Libby was thinking about what kind of science project when she realized that the building inspector guy was talking to her.

“So your sister told you, right?” he asked.

Libby tried not to glare at Bernie. “I’m afraid she hasn’t had the chance,” Libby said.

Their dad always said never admit, never deny, and that was what Libby intended to do.

“We’ve had several emergencies,” Bernie added.

The building inspector shrugged. “They have nothing to do with this.”

“What happened to George?” Libby asked.

“Went down to Florida a couple of months ago.”

“That’s nice for him.”

“If you like bugs. And heat. Which I don’t.”

Libby followed his eyes as he glanced around the kitchen. She felt a burst of pride at its orderliness and cleanliness. Bernie coughed. Libby’s gaze shifted to her.

“I was going to tell her,” Bernie explained to him. “I was just looking for the right time.”

Libby decided to ignore her, mostly because she didn’t trust herself to speak to her sister yet, at least not in what her mother would have called a civil manner.

“You have a name?” Libby asked the building inspector. “A card?”

“The name is Peter Hager.” He slapped his pockets. “Sorry. No cards. Must have left them in the office.”

“I haven’t seen you around before,” Libby observed. She felt an overwhelming desire for a piece of chocolate.

“That’s because I’m new.”

Libby shuddered inwardly. The new ones were always the worst. They had something to prove, whereas the old guys were more inclined to honor the spirit rather than the letter of the law. Not that she wasn’t punctilious, because she was. No one had ever gotten sick from food from A Little Taste of Heaven, and as far as she was concerned they never would.

Libby watched as Peter Hager folded his arms over his chest. His expression got even grimmer. “You need a bigger venting system with this new oven.”

“You’re kidding,” Libby heard herself say. They were tight on money these days. The roof had to be fixed and they were going to need a new vehicle soon. The van was in the shop more than not.

“Nope. Your new oven is putting out a lot more BTUs. Sorry, but I don’t see any way around it.”

Peter uncoiled himself, extended his arm, and pointed to the new oven. “And you need to have your oven tethered to the wall because it’s on rollers.”

“We’re just waiting for the clamp to come in. The one they gave us didn’t work. Anything else?” Libby asked.

Peter smiled. Libby reflected that his smile wasn’t pleasant.

“Well, I’m not a hundred percent sure,” he continued. “I’ll have to go back and consult the codebook, but I think you might need a sprinkler system.”

“A sprinkler system?” Libby squeaked. “Why? We have an Ansul system. We’ve always been fine with that.”

“Yes, but when you bought your new oven you went from a light-hazard to a medium-hazard operation. Now, if public space is over four hundred feet away…”

Libby groaned. A sprinkler system would cost two thou, easy. All this because they’d installed a new oven that was supposed to be more energy-and time-efficient. Talk about no good deed goes unpunished. From now on, Libby vowed, I’m sticking with the tried-and-true. If it works, it stays. Screw Bernie and her technology.

“We are over four hundred feet away,” Bernie said. She gestured to the other man. “You have a tape measure?”

He laughed. “In my profession I never leave home without it.”

“You want to measure?” she asked him.

Libby watched while he whipped his tape measure out of his pocket. “I guess you’re in luck,” he said to her when he finished. “It’s four hundred and thirty feet, so you can just squeak by. “By the way, my name is Tim Conner. I own Conner Construction. Your sister asked me to drop by.” He extended his hand and Libby shook it. He looked up at the exhaust fan. “Doesn’t look too bad to me. We’ll just rip everything out.”

Libby gasped.

“Hey. I’m kidding. Just a little contractor humor.”

“You know what you have to do?” Peter asked him.

Tim nodded.

Libby felt as if she was losing control of the situation.

“What if we got our old oven back?” she asked.

She could see the two men exchanging glances. Peter Hager shrugged. “Then I guess you wouldn’t have to make any changes.”

“Good,” she said. “Because that’s what we’re going to do.”

Bernie rolled her eyes.

Libby turned to her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“It means exactly what you think it does.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Ladies, ladies.”

Both Libby and Bernie turned. It was Peter Hager.

“You have to make up your mind here,” he said.

“We have made up our minds,” Bernie said.

“I suppose,” Libby said grudgingly.

Peter Hager crossed his arms over his chest. “Good. I’m glad that’s settled because now you can concentrate on the meal you’re cooking for the Just Chocolate benefit.”

“You’re going?” Libby asked. She was surprised. He didn’t look like a food person.

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything. You two always come up with interesting takes on things.” He gestured to the door. “You coming?” he asked Tim Conner.

“Might as well,” Conner replied. “If I need to I can come back and take measurements later.”

“So,” Libby heard Hager say to Conner as they both headed out of the kitchen, “I hear you had some trouble down at the shop.”

“Naw. Not really. Just the usual stuff. Someone borrowed one of our backhoes. We found it off Lakeland. Happens all the time.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Probably someone who worked for us. Did you hear what happened at the Smollet Restaurant? I about died…”

Then they were through the door and Libby couldn’t hear anything else.

“Who says men don’t gossip?” Bernie said. “I wonder what did happen at the Smollet Restaurant. When I go to R.J.’s I’ll have to ask Brandon.”

“You do that,” Libby told her sister. Personally she didn’t care. “You should have told me. I feel like a moron.”

Bernie hung her head. “I know. I kept meaning to, but the time never seemed right. Were you really thinking of getting a deck oven back in here?”

“Definitely.”

“But we’ll be able to bake so much more with the new one.”

“We would if it worked.”

“It does work. We just have to iron out a few kinks.”

“We’ve been ironing out the kinks for way too long in my humble opinion.” Libby was set to continue in that vein when she felt someone pull her sleeve.

She turned around. It was Googie.

“What’s up?” she asked him.

“I’m baking the lemon squares now.”

“That’s great.” On the way downstairs Amber had told her that they were nearly out of their best seller.

Googie tugged at his hair. Recently he’d grown it back again after shaving it off. “I thought you said you were going to give me more hours.”

“I did,” Libby said.

“I need more.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Libby thought for a moment. There was always something to do around the shop. The question was, could they afford to pay to get it done, especially now that they were going to be spending money on enlarging the venting system? On the other hand, Googie was usually a good worker and she didn’t want to lose him.

“Well,” Libby told him, “you can clean the mixer out tonight and inventory our supplies after we close.” That was one of those jobs that always needed to be done and no one ever had the time to do.

“I have to leave tonight,” Googie protested.

“Well, when do you want to put the hours in?” It was not, Libby thought, an unreasonable question, but judging from the expression on Googie’s face he thought it was.

Googie tugged at his hair again. “How about tomorrow?” he mumbled. “I could come in early tomorrow.”

“That’ll be fine.”

His phone began to play some tune Libby didn’t recognize. Hip-hop? Or was it rap? Libby couldn’t tell them apart, although Googie had explained the difference numerous times. Bernie probably knew, Libby reflected. But then, Bernie was hip. Really, she defined the term. Libby watched Googie take the phone out of his pocket and move away from her.

Bernie turned toward her. “What was that all about?”

Instead of replying immediately Libby opened the cooler door, reached in, and took a bite of their classic chicken salad. The chicken was slightly dry. It had cooked too long in the oven. Mayo would help. Like butter, mayo helped practically everything.

“He has a new girlfriend,” Libby explained as she threw a few finely chopped walnuts into the salad. A little texture wouldn’t hurt either. Neither would some black pepper. She reached for the grinder and turned. Nothing.

“Googie,” she yelled.

“Yeah?” He moved the phone away from his ear.

“I thought you were going to fill up the pepper mills.”

He flushed. “Right. Yeah. I’ll get on it right away.”

Libby shook her head. He’d been with her for two years now. Usually he was pretty good, but every once in a while he just lost focus.

Bernie nodded for Libby to move away from Googie.

“He seems totally spaced out,” she said once they were standing near the sink.

“I told you. He’s got a new girlfriend.”

“He always has a girlfriend.”

“This one is different.”

“How so?”

“He’s in love.” Libby bracketed the word love with her fingers.

“I would think he’d want fewer hours, not more.”

“She’s got expensive taste.”

“How expensive?”

“She wants something from Prada.”

Bernie whistled. “That’s expensive. Even for me.”

“Do tell,” Libby answered. “And she wants it for Valentine’s Day.”

“That’s not very far away,” Bernie protested. “Maybe he should give her some nice chocolates.”

“Nope. Not good enough. I’ve already suggested that. And while we’re on the subject, Amber wants that day off.”

“Valentine’s Day? But we need her.”

“I know.” Libby took another nibble of the chicken salad. Much better. “Yeah. It’s going to be a real problem. Especially since we’ll be prepping for the benefit.” She shook her head. She wished she could do everything by herself. That way she wouldn’t need to deal with staff. “All I can say is that I’ll be glad when Valentine’s Day is over this year.”

“Hmm,” Bernie said. “Do you know the origin of Valentine’s Day?”

“No. And I don’t want to.”

“Rather grumpy, aren’t we?”

“I can’t imagine why,” Libby said. “First Ted Gorman and now Peter Hager. It has not been a good day.”

“No, it hasn’t,” Bernie agreed, “although I have to say there’s a big difference between dealing with a wayward corpse and a building inspector.”

“True.” Libby watched while her sister spun her silver and onyx ring around her finger.

“And let’s not forget that we missed the funeral on top of everything else.”

“I’m sure we’ll hear from Bree Nottingham.”

“I’m sure we will,” Bernie said. She smiled.

“What are you thinking?” Libby asked her.

“I’m thinking that we should go shopping.”

“We could go to Central Restaurant Supply and see about getting a meat slicer. They have a good one on sale there. “

“I was thinking more along the lines of buying shoes. Sexy shoes. How about a pair of red, sexy sling-backs? You could wear them on Valentine’s Day.”

“You just want to get my mind off the oven because you think I’ll forget about it.”

“I wasn’t thinking about that at all.”

“Yes, you were. Anyway, Marvin doesn’t care about stuff like that.”

“Of course he does. All men do. He’s just not admitting it.”

“He thinks shoes like that are stupid.”

Bernie snorted. “Right. He thinks that down-at-the-heel black flats are more attractive.”

“That is so not true,” Libby protested.

“That’s what I was saying.”

“I didn’t mean that and you know it.”

Libby was about to say something more when she heard the phone ring out front. Amber picked it up.

“Hello,” Libby heard Amber say. “A Little Taste of Heaven. How may I help you?”

“Libby,” she cried. “It’s for you. A Marnie Gorman. She sounds really upset.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Bernie said. “I guess Clayton told her.”

“I guess he did,” Libby agreed. “I think we can forget about shopping.”

“Unfortunately, so do I.”