by Meg Benjamin
“Yes’m, that’s true. Met her a couple weeks ago.” Kurtz’s expression was back to wary again.
“Glad to know she’s talking to somebody.” She let a touch of bitterness slide into her voice. “Hasn’t said much to me herself.”
“Seems nice enough,” he mumbled.
“Well, then, maybe you’d be willing to help me a bit. Seeing as how the two of you get along so well.” Nedda narrowed her eyes. Her lips firmed into a flat line.
Kurtz shrugged. “Sure. I mean, I’ll do what I can, I guess.”
You bet you will. “Just keep an eye on her place. See what goes on there—who comes and goes, where she is, what happens with those chickens, like that.” Nedda managed to push her lips back into the semblance of a smile. “Just so I know what’s happening. She’s my kin, after all.” The words tasted slightly sour, but she managed not to grimace.
Kurtz’s brow was furrowed. “So you want me to make sure nothing bad happens or something? I don’t know as how I’d be much use in a fight.”
Nedda’s hands folded into fists. She wasn’t sure whether Kurtz really was as stupid as he seemed or if he was just pretending. Whichever it was, she didn’t have time for it. “I want you to watch my niece. Keep a record of who comes and goes at her place. And keep track of those chickens of hers—any changes in the flock. You do that and I’ll knock twenty bucks off your monthly payment.”
Kurtz stared at her blankly. “Fifty,” he said finally.
“Fifty?” Nedda raised an eyebrow. Who would have guessed the little creep had that in him?
He nodded jerkily, licking his lips. “I’ll do it for fifty.”
For a moment she considered dickering with him. She could probably get him down to thirty-five if she pushed. But that would take time, and she was already bored. “Fifty. And I’ll expect a report from you at the end of the week. Each week she’s there.” Until you go bust, of course. Or she does.
Kurtz nodded again, his jaw tightening. Nedda guessed he didn’t exactly like what he’d signed on to do. But she also guessed he’d go through with it. An extra fifty would make a difference to him.
“All right then. I’ll be back on Friday. Have it ready by then.” She pushed herself upright and headed back toward her car. She could feel Kurtz’s gaze boring into the space between her shoulder blades, but she didn’t much care. Lloyd Kurtz had just become her latest possession, worth approximately as much as her electric stapler.
And a lot less interesting.
The routine in the kitchen at the Rose never became much easier for MG, but it became a lot faster. Chop one onion and her speed didn’t change. Chop fifty onions and the chopping became like second nature. Of course, the chopping also became incredibly monotonous. The main thing she worried about was zoning out with a knife in her hand. She had a feeling that could have painful results.
Darcy added new tasks every day—pulling chicken off the bones for the salads, mincing herbs for pasta and preparing every variety of vegetable and fruit MG had ever heard of and a few she hadn’t.
She’d shown up her second day with her new knife. It wasn’t the cheapest, but it also wasn’t the best. She figured if Darcy threw a fit, she’d ask for an advance from Joe LeBlanc, who might be willing to tell her what to look for.
Darcy looked it over and shrugged. “You’ll need a new one in a couple of weeks.”
MG clenched her jaw. “Why? Isn’t it good enough?”
“It’ll work. But you’ll fuck it up in a week. It’s too flimsy.” Darcy’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the way it is. You don’t want good stuff, but you don’t want flimsy stuff either. If you find a knife you can’t fuck up, keep it.”
“You said not to buy a good knife,” MG ground out.
“You need a crappy good knife,” Darcy corrected. “No knife can stand up to the punishment around here—chopping up fifty pounds of potatoes at a shot.” She turned to the counter and handed her the same knife she’d used yesterday. “Get something like this. Order it online. I’ll show you where. You can use this crappy stuff for now.”
Now she’d begun to understand what Darcy meant. She sharpened the crappy knife regularly, every time she saw Darcy sharpening hers. It turned dull with astonishing speed. The handle was already cracked.
Joe still smiled at her every morning, but he hadn’t come back to the farm again. She told herself she wasn’t surprised or disappointed. After all, he had an important job that took a lot of his time. He couldn’t hang out with the chicken lady.
She still missed him, though, which was slightly weird since they hadn’t had anything close to a friendship.
Todd Fairley continued to ignore her existence as much as he could. She’d memorized the contents of the freezer so that she could find the packets of fresh pasta and frozen sauce that were stored there within seconds, and by now she spent so much time in the cooler that she already knew what was in there. As long as she kept the chefs going, Fairley apparently considered her invisible.
On Thursday, however, Fairley showed she wasn’t entirely invisible yet. He arrived after the breakfast rush with a tall, skinny guy in a Godflesh T-shirt and baseball cap. His greasy brown hair stood out in what looked like one of the last mullets in the Hill Country. Joe followed them into the kitchen. He didn’t look entirely happy.
“Okay, everybody, listen up,” he called. “This is Kevin Dietz. He’s on prep. He’ll be a runner for dinner. Got it?”
Darcy gave Kevin a long look. “Is he prep chef?”
Joe shook his head. “Assistant.”
“Like MG?” Darcy nodded in her direction. MG was a little surprised to find out Darcy remembered her name.
Joe shook his head again. “He’s had some experience. You won’t have to train him.”
Darcy gave Kevin a long look. “Experience where?”
“A lot of places around here,” Fairley snapped. “Don’t worry about it. He’s qualified.” He gave MG a look that seemed to indicate he couldn’t say the same about her.
“Just tell me what you need, baby. I’ll get it done for you.” Kevin’s voice was a smoker’s rumble. He gave Darcy a smirk that might have worked if he’d been ten years younger.
Darcy narrowed her eyes but said nothing.
“Okay, everybody, back to work,” Fairley called.
MG glanced at Joe. He didn’t look pleased, but he didn’t look like he was going to do anything about it either.
It was sort of galling to realize that Kevin Dietz actually knew his stuff. He could produce a mountain of onion twice as fast as MG, even after she’d been doing it for a week. His carrot chopping was a thing of beauty. He could strip the stems off a bunch of parsley in the time it took MG to undo the twist tie holding it together. He was, in fact, a superlative prep guy.
He was also an asshole. That was clear after his first ten minutes in the kitchen. He kept up a constant flow of talk, mostly concerned with his sexual prowess and predilections. The cooks ignored him. MG tried her best to do the same. She noticed that Darcy gave her tasks that allowed her to work on the other side of the kitchen, for which she was profoundly grateful. Just being around Dietz made her feel like she should wash her hands.
She succeeded in sidestepping him until late one afternoon when she was hurrying to get the greens done. She bent over the sink to siphon out the last few leaves as Dietz walked by. He half turned and grasped her buttocks in both hands. “Mmm,” he muttered in her ear. “Good buns, mama.”
MG came upright in a spray of rinse water, her hands already balled in fists. “You lousy fucking asshole,” she snarled, aiming one fist at his ear.
Dietz jumped out of the way, grinning. “Whoa, pretty feisty there, mama. Just the way I like it.”
“What’s the problem?” Fairley’s voice behind her made her jump. She whirled to see him watching her with a flat gaze.
MG caught her breath. He’d been right there. He must have seen what Dietz had done. Why was he asking her what the problem w
as?
“Break time.” Darcy’s hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Back in a few.”
“No more than fifteen minutes,” Fairley snapped. “We’ve still got a lot of prep here.”
Darcy gave him a curt nod, not bothering to look back. She pulled MG through the hall and out the back door to a picnic table overlooking the rolling greens of the golf course. “Sit,” she ordered.
MG flopped down on the bench. Darcy took a seat on the table beside her. “What did he do?”
“He grabbed my ass, that son of a bitch. I ought to give his nuts a twist. See how he likes it.”
Darcy shook her head. “You do that and you’ll be out of here in five minutes. It’ll be your word against Dietz’s. And the Beav will say you’re disrupting his kitchen.”
MG clenched her jaw, fighting the tight feeling in her chest. “But Dietz is the one who started it. If there’s a disruption in there, it’s him.”
“You know it and I know it. Hell, even Jorge and Leo know it. But nobody saw what happened. And you’re the one who yelled.”
MG closed her eyes, trying to breathe evenly. “Actually, somebody else did see it.”
“Yeah? Who’s that?”
She glanced up into Darcy’s narrowed eyes. “Fairley. He was right there behind me. He had to have seen it.”
Darcy stared down at the ground for a moment. “Interesting. Looks like the Beav has it in for you.”
“You think he told Dietz to grab me?”
Darcy shook her head, grimacing. “I don’t think anybody has to tell Dietz to be an asshole. It comes naturally. But it looks like the Beav has been keeping his eye on the situation. And he’s not doing it to keep Dietz in line.”
“So he wants to fire me?”
“Possibly.”
MG stared at her. “Why?”
Darcy shrugged. “Got me. Maybe he wants Dietz to get more hours.”
MG blew out a long breath. “So I’m screwed.”
“No you’re not.” Darcy stood up again. “You’re doing okay, considering you started at ground zero. And Joe won’t let the Beav fire you for no reason—he’s the one who hired you in the first place. Just do your job. And stay away from Fishhead.”
MG’s lips edged up. “Fishhead?”
“Hey, works for me. The Beav and the Fishhead. Natural pair.”
As they headed back into the kitchen, MG realized it was the longest conversation she’d ever had with Darcy. Also, it was the first time Darcy had ever treated her as something other than a speed bump on the road of her life. Maybe there was hope for her yet.
Joe knew something had happened in the kitchen, but he didn’t know what. And it was driving him nuts. He’d seen Darcy and MG go outside to the picnic table, but they didn’t look like they were taking a break. The conversation was too intense. Then he’d heard Leo muttering something to Jorge that included the word pendejo. Joe’s Spanish included a wealth of insults, and he knew that one.
It was the first time he could remember that something had been happening at the Rose he didn’t know everything about. From the time he’d arrived at the restaurant he’d been in the kitchen for almost every meal—although since they’d only been open for lunch originally, that hadn’t taken all that much of his day. One of the reasons he’d found a sous chef was that he didn’t want to do that anymore. Actually, it wasn’t so much that he didn’t want to as that he couldn’t if he wanted to stay sane.
Having already gone off the deep end once in his career, he wasn’t all that eager to take the plunge again. Better to give himself time to get all the extra stuff done—the menus, the meetings with visiting VIPs, the promotional work—and let somebody else look after the kitchen and do the basic ordering for part of the day.
Still, it meant he wasn’t around for a big chunk of the restaurant’s serving time, and he had a feeling something was going down he needed to find out about.
He pulled Fairley aside after lunch service was over. “What happened?”
“Happened?” Fairley looked confused. “When?”
“In the kitchen during lunch. What was it?”
Fairley’s forehead was still furrowed. “Nothing. Lunch service was fine.”
“Horseshit. Something’s going on in there.” Joe folded his arms and drew himself up to his full six three. Fairley stood maybe five ten, and Joe wasn’t above using a little unsubtle intimidation.
Fairley shrugged. “There was a blow-up during lunch prep, but it didn’t amount to much. Your runner yelled something at Kevin. The prep cook took her outside to cool off.”
“Yelled something? Why?”
Fairley shrugged again. “Who knows? Pressure, most likely. Sometimes people who haven’t been in a kitchen environment aren’t used to that kind of stress. They can break down if somebody pushes them too hard.”
Joe narrowed his eyes. MG was a novice, but she hadn’t struck him as the type to blow under pressure. She hadn’t had any problems up to now. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Then again, maybe she’s feeling threatened—Kevin’s done prep work for a lot longer than she has. She’s pretty much an amateur. And it shows.”
Joe’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t sure whether that particular dig was meant for him or for MG, but whichever it was, he didn’t like it. He gave Fairley a long cool stare. “She’s doing okay. Everybody starts somewhere.”
“Right.” Fairley gave him a faint smile. “Absolutely right. I’ll keep you informed about anything else that comes up.”
“Do that.” He watched Fairley head back toward the kitchen. Family meal was still underway, although several people had already left. He could stay where he was and have a great view of anybody else leaving.
MG came out maybe five minutes later.
“Hey.” He walked toward her, trying for an easy smile. No use making her think he was a stalker right off the bat.
She gave him a tired smile. “Hey.”
“So how’s the kitchen treating you?”
It might have been his imagination, but her smile seemed to dim slightly. “Okay. I’m just a little beat.”
“Yeah. End of the shift.” He gestured toward the wicker chairs at the end of the veranda. “Take a load off.”
She looked at the chairs longingly. “I should get home and feed the chickens.”
“I’ve got beer,” he said, putting his hand on her elbow to move her closer to the chairs.
She gave him a long look. “What kind?”
“Odell. From Colorado. Good stuff.”
MG gave him another look, then collapsed onto a wicker settee. “You’re on.”
Joe grabbed two bottles from the mini-refrigerator in his office, thankful he’d remembered to reload it for once, then carried them back to the veranda.
MG gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks. Just what I needed.” She took a long pull from the bottle. “Oh, man, that’s good.”
Joe took a swallow from his own bottle, letting the cool, hoppy brew slide down his throat. He limited himself to one beer a day, but he appreciated the good stuff. “Yeah, they do good work. So—first week in the kitchen. What have you learned?”
She frowned briefly, rubbing a hand across her forehead. “I have sucky knife skills. I’m not sure I know the difference between broccoli and broccolini. Pasta water is a gift from the gods. And people around Konigsburg seem to eat salad by the truck full. That about sums it up.”
Joe took another pull on his beer. “All true. And the difference between broccoli and broccolini is that broccolini is actually broccoli’s first cousin on its mother’s side.”
MG did a double take, then laughed. The late afternoon sun shone through her hair, turning the gold to red. He felt a quick kick of heat, which he ruthlessly suppressed. Do not hit on the exhausted prep cook. “So everything’s working for you?”
“Yeah, sure. Thanks for bringing me on here. It’s been great.” But he caught the momentary tightening of her lips.
Hell. He figured there wa
sn’t any real hope that she’d tell him what was bothering her, but he had to ask. “Any problems?”
She shook her head, then took another swallow of beer. “Nope.”
He blew out a long breath. This was going really well. Screw it. “You interested in a gig tomorrow night?”
She blinked at him in confusion, suddenly wary. “What?”
He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. When exactly had he lost the ability to talk to women? Or not all women, just this particular one. “There’s a wedding reception here tomorrow night—we’ll need people to get the food plated so the waiters can get it out on the tables. We can’t pull anybody off the dinner line, so we need people from the breakfast line to come in. You could pick up some extra money working in the kitchen.”
She was nodding before he finished. “Oh, okay. I see what you mean. Yeah, sure. I’m interested.”
“Good. Tell Darcy. She’s in charge.”
She nodded. “I will. Thanks. Well, I’d better get home now.” She pushed herself up from the wicker, then turned back to him. “Um…see you, I guess.”
“Right.” He nodded and watched her head down the veranda toward the back stairs, wondering just why the word gig seemed to make her so nervous.
Chapter Seven
Banquet plating was another adventure, MG discovered. The reception took place at the Woodrose event center, which had its own, considerably smaller kitchen. Darcy and Leo were in charge, along with a busboy named Travis they’d dragooned into helping. She and Travis stood with hotel pans of fingerling potatoes and grilled vegetables, along with a tub of greens, carefully but swiftly arranging everything on the plates to Darcy’s exacting standards. Leo plated the entrée at the end and did a quick swirl of basil oil before passing the plates to the event center waiters who arranged them on their trays.
Both the salads and the desserts had been assembled before they’d left the main kitchen. Still, it felt like they’d put together at least a thousand plates, which would have been a considerable feat since there were only around a hundred and fifty guests. MG stuck around after the dinner service to help unload the trays of dishes the waiters brought back and then load the desserts. Finally, around nine or so, she headed for her car.