Fearless Love

by Meg Benjamin

  Dietz squeaked, his arms flailing. After another moment, Joe released his hold, throwing him back against his car. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket “I’m calling Nando Avrogado. You so much as move, and I will push your nose through the back of your head.”

  Dietz stared at him, wide-eyed, then sagged back against the side of the car.

  It took a few minutes to reach Nando and another half hour or so for a cop to arrive to collect Dietz. The kid looked barely old enough to drive, even though he was wearing a Konigsburg police uniform. His name tag said Delaney.

  He gestured toward the three tenderloins in Dietz’s trunk. “That’s the meat?”

  Joe nodded sourly. He had a feeling he knew what was coming next. “That’s it.”

  Delaney narrowed his eyes, his mouth sliding into a slow grin. “You know that’s evidence.”

  “Right. You have a freezer at the station?”

  Delaney nodded. “We do. Also a grill.”

  “Don’t even think about it. At least not until you get this asshole convicted.”

  Delaney was still grinning when he left with Dietz and the tenderloins.

  Joe stalked toward the kitchen without looking back. With any luck, he might be able to throw a punch at somebody else tomorrow because it had taken all the self-restraint he had to avoid stuffing Dietz into the trunk along with the meat.

  Chapter Twenty

  MG sat at her kitchen table, trying to savor Joe’s crème brulée. Or rather Darcy’s crème brulée, which Joe had taken out of the freezer before coming to the house. She’d have had fewer problems with the savor part if Joe himself hadn’t been sitting across from her, still almost vibrating with fury.

  “Goddamn fucking son of a bitch,” he muttered for probably the tenth time. He wasn’t eating any dessert himself, maybe because he wasn’t in the mood for sugar.

  She spooned up more crème. “Why meat?”

  He rubbed a hand across his face, trying to calm down. “Protein’s the most expensive part of any meal. When I do the menus, I figure the per plate costs around the protein that’s the centerpiece. Stealing meat and seafood is way more profitable than stealing produce. Although stealing liquor and equipment can also add up to a tidy sum. Kit’s going to inventory the wine stock again tomorrow.”

  “And he stole beef tenderloins? Are those that expensive?”

  Joe nodded. “That’s filet. I can make a lot of forty dollar dinners out of a single tenderloin. And the packages weren’t all tenderloins. Turns out he also had a stack of porterhouse, which would have brought in even more.”

  She reached across the table, touching his hand. “So it’s over now, right? Good guys win, bad guys gone, final credits and close.”

  Joe grimaced slightly, then brought her hand to his lips, closing his eyes for a moment. “Part of it is over. And I’m sorry for dumping all of this on you.”

  “You didn’t dump it on me.” She ran her fingers lightly along his cheekbone. “I’m glad you told me what was going on. What part isn’t over yet?”

  He shrugged. “I still need to have a little talk with Fairley. You ready to take your job back?” He arched a brow.

  She sighed. “I don’t know. I mean, I like working in the kitchen with Darcy and I could really use the money. But I need time to rehearse and I’ve got the two standing gigs at Oltdorf now. I don’t know if I can work six days a week, eight or nine hours a day and still do at least two shows a week too.” Plus, of course, Fairley still hated her for some reason.

  Joe nodded slowly. “We could probably give you fewer hours for a while at least. I’m going to put Placido on prep, but I don’t think it’ll take him long to get up to speed. And we’ve got the extern, for what he’s worth. If you wanted to come in after breakfast and work until after lunch, we could probably put you on five days, say Tuesday through Saturday, like before.”

  “That could work. What about the eggs?”

  “I’ll take the eggs with me when I leave like I’m doing with them now. Hens should start laying again now that they’ve finished the molt.”

  He gave her that quick grin that made her toes curl. Okay, so you’re going to be here to take the eggs in for a while. Interesting. She scraped her spoon through the ramekin, trying to decide how to ask the next question. “What are you going to do about Fairly?”

  “Talk to him, like I said.” Joe blew out a breath. “He needs to answer some questions.”

  She stared down at her hands. “He really doesn’t like me. He won’t be glad to see me back. Plus he won’t be happy if he has to back down over me being a wine thief.”

  “Fairley’s got his own problems to worry about.” He pushed his ramekin away. “I’ve got solid proof that Dietz was the thief. The SOB is under arrest. I figure Dietz framed you. If Fairley doesn’t agree, fuck him.”

  MG put her hand on top of his. “It should be okay now, right? You found your thief. Now the kitchen settles down.”

  “Here’s hoping.” He sighed, slumping back in his chair. “Crap. Like I said, I didn’t mean to drop this all on you. Anyway it’s over, pretty much.”

  “Hey, at least you brought dessert.” She picked up the two now-empty ramekins and headed for the sink.

  “Don’t wash those. I’ll take them with me tomorrow and Plac can throw them in the dishwasher.”

  She shrugged “I’ll just soak them a little.”

  He caught her hand as she came back. “When are you playing next?”

  “Tomorrow night. At Oltdorf.”

  “What time?”

  She shrugged. “A little later than before, I think. Dewey said probably around eight since it’s Friday night. He’s hoping to get more people in.”

  “Maybe I’ll try and get over there.” He gave her a tired smile. “I want to hear you sing again. Hell, I need to hear you sing.”

  MG turned back to him, looping her arms around his neck. “Honey,” she murmured against his ear, “you can make me sing any time you want.”

  Joe closed his eyes, pulling her down on top of him, his lips running a line of heat from her earlobe to her shoulder. She sighed in his arms, relaxing against him, trying to ignore the small voice at the back of her mind that tried to tell her nothing this good could last.

  Joe sat behind the desk in his office, watching Fairley’s jaw go rigid. He’d just dropped the bombshell about Dietz’s arrest, and he was really curious, in a kind of detached way, about how Fairley would take it. A lot of what happened next would depend on how his sous chef reacted.

  “He never had any problems when we worked together at La Mansion,” Fairley said flatly. “So far as I know.”

  Joe leaned back in his chair. “Did La Mansion have problems with theft?”

  Fairley shrugged. “All restaurants have theft problems. You know that.”

  “Yeah, but there’s a difference between walking off with some extra chicken that might get thrown out and walking off with frozen tenderloins.” Joe managed a half smile. “To say nothing of framing other kitchen staff to get rid of them. That sort of puts him in a special category.”

  Fairley’s ears turned slightly pink. “You think Dietz framed Carmody?”

  “I’m certain Dietz did.” His half-smile disappeared. “If he didn’t, I’d have to figure out who else in the kitchen might have had it in for MG. You’re not going to hang onto the idea that she stole that wine, are you?”

  He held Fairley’s gaze for a long moment until he looked away. “Maybe not. But it was a legitimate assumption.”

  “I don’t agree. But there are some other things we need to talk about.” Joe leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk.

  Now Fairley looked wary. “What things?”

  “You switched trash collectors without clearing it with me or Kit. Want to tell me why?”

  Fairley licked his lips. “I found a better deal. Why should I check it with anybody? I assumed that was part of my job.”

  “You make a lot of assumption
s, Fairley,” Joe said slowly. “And a lot of them don’t pan out. So what’s your definition of a better deal? Far as I could tell, this bunch didn’t offer anything our old trash collector didn’t. They weren’t cheaper. They didn’t have any more pickups. What was the attraction?”

  Fairley raised his chin, giving him a mutinous look. For a moment, he reminded Joe a lot of Dietz. “They were easier to work with, easier to contact. There’s more to the job than just cost and collection.”

  “They also provided opaque trash bags.” Joe narrowed his eyes. “Our previous collector provided clear ones. Like ninety-nine percent of the other trash collecting companies.”

  Fairley stiffened, staring back defiantly. “So?”

  “Oh, don’t give me that crap, Fairley,” Joe growled. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Opaque bags make it easier to smuggle stuff out of the kitchen. Clear bags make that a lot harder. That’s why most of us use clear. How long did it take you to find somebody who provided opaque?”

  Fairley sat still, his jaw rigid. “Are you accusing me of being in on Dietz’s theft?”

  Joe shrugged. “I can’t prove anything, as you’ve probably figured out. On the other hand, you hired the SOB and you provided him with the means to smuggle his swag out of the kitchen. And you got rid of the one person who might actually have seen him doing it. That’s a hell of a circumstantial case.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Fairley said stiffly. “I was just doing what any other competent sous chef would do. I was trying to improve the kitchen.”

  “And you ended up making it easier for a thief to walk off with several hundred dollars worth of meat. That’s not much of an improvement.”

  Fairley blinked. “So what are you saying?”

  Joe sighed. “I’m saying you’re out of a job. I can’t prove you did it, but I’ve still got a gut feeling you were involved.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Plus you’re a pain in the ass, and everybody in the kitchen is pissed at you, including me. Get your stuff together and get out. We’ll send your last paycheck to whatever address you gave Kit.”

  Fairley pushed his chair back, snarling. “You can’t fire me, I quit.”

  “Whatever. The main thing is you’re gone. If I were you, I’d head back to Austin. Any recommendation I gave you would be lukewarm, believe me.”

  “I wouldn’t take a recommendation from this dump,” Fairley spat out. “I don’t want my name associated with yours.”

  Joe stepped forward, towering over him for a moment. “Don’t push it, Fairley. I’d really like to punch you out, but I’m restraining myself. Now move it.”

  Fairley drew in a breath, as if he were readying himself for a final insult, then thought better of it. He stalked out the door without a backward glance.

  Joe rubbed a hand across his face. Now he needed a sous chef. Fortunately, he knew just where to find one.

  Thirty minutes later, he watched Darcy’s expression move from suspicion to triumph as he filled her in about Fishhead and the Beav.

  “And Fairley could have made sure the inventory matched the invoices so you wouldn’t see any losses. Hell, he was the one who wrote the damn inventory.”

  “So,” he said finally, “you want the job?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You going to stick me with running lunch?”

  He shook his head. “I’ll take lunch. It was a mistake to leave that to Fairley since it’s our biggest meal. You get to run dinner.”

  “So what’s my schedule?”

  He managed not to smile. Trust Darcy to avoid actually saying she’d take the job. “I’ll take breakfast and run lunch. You cook at lunch and run dinner. And you keep track of prep.”

  One eyebrow arched. “You going to be around at dinner?”

  “Some of the time.” Whenever MG didn’t have a gig, mainly. He’d already decided she wasn’t going to Bleeker again without him.

  “Okay. Starting today?”

  “Yep. I’ll stick around for the first hour or so and then I’ll leave you to it.” Which meant he could get to MG’s place early tonight. A definite plus.

  Darcy folded her arms across her chest. “You ever going to tell everybody else what Fairley was doing?”

  He blew out a breath. “Nope. And you can’t either. I’ve got no proof.”

  “And Dietz?”

  Joe allowed himself a grin. “Dietz is being charged with theft. He’s sitting in the Konigsburg jail. We’ll need a new prep assistant, so I’m moving Placido up. Albert takes over cleanup. He says a new set of cousins should be showing up from the valley any day now to make up his crew.”

  Darcy grinned back. “Good deal. Plac is smarter than Dietz and about as honest as the rest of us.”

  Which was to say somewhat. But lifting some leftovers from dinner to eat with your Significant Other was different from stealing entire tenderloins for resale. Darcy started to move out of her chair, but Joe held up a hand. “One more thing.”

  She slid back, frowning slightly. “What?”

  “This goddamn contest. I don’t trust Fairley not to have already sold the information about what we were going to do, plus I didn’t like the menu we came up with all that much in the first place. Which means we need a new menu ASAP.”

  “How long have we got?”

  He gave her a hard smile. “Around ten days.”

  Her frown deepened. “How many courses?”

  “Three.”

  “And who are we up against again?”

  “Clem from the Faro, Lee Contreras from Brenner’s and whoever the hell Tolly Berenger hires at the Silver Spur. From what I hear they haven’t found anybody permanent yet.”

  Darcy blew out a breath. “Clem will cover the low-end stuff—enchiladas or burgers, most likely, although she’s got a killer chicken ranchero she might throw in.”

  He nodded. “Right. We can’t do that as well as she can—better not even try it. If I had to guess I’d say Lee will do Gulf seafood. That’s his specialty.”

  “Most likely.” She narrowed her eyes. “He’s got some fried oyster sliders that rock. Which leaves the Silver Spur. If Berenger’s smart, they’ll stick to beef. They haven’t got anything else on their menu except frozen salmon.”

  Joe shrugged. “Of course, that assumes Tolly’s smart, which I wouldn’t argue for. But I think beef’s a good bet. Anything else and he’s out more money for ingredients. Plus he might have to put it on the menu, and he’s not going to go for anything that isn’t meat.”

  “What were you thinking of doing before the Beav took off?”

  “Smoked tenderloin with fingerlings.” He grimaced. “Fairley’s idea.” Apparently Fairley had a tenderloin fixation.

  Darcy shook her head. “Not all that exciting.”

  “Nope. It’s probably a good thing we aren’t going to do it anyway.”

  “You have any ideas?”

  “Yeah.” Joe tapped his fingers on the desktop. “Quail. I found a supplier in Bandera. Stuffed with mushrooms and pecans. Maybe with a mango reduction.”

  Darcy nodded slowly. “I’d go with pomegranate. That way we could say it’s local. What do you want to put it on? Foie gras like we do on the menu?”

  He sighed. “Probably. It means going outside local. Far as I know the only ones doing it are in the Hudson Valley now that California made it illegal.”

  Darcy’s lips spread in a grin. “You could add some goat cheese to that stuffing—god knows there’s a lot of that around here.”

  “I want goat cheese in the appetizer. Maybe a mixed beet salad.”

  “With hazelnut vinaigrette and some arugula. Very nice.”

  Joe nodded slowly. “We’re getting there. Any ideas for dessert?” Since that was Darcy’s specialty, he was inclined to leave her to it.

  “Let me think about it.” She pushed herself up out of her chair. “You going to tell everybody or you want me to just go in and start bossing people around?”

  He grinned. No doubt she’d get a
kick out of the latter. “I’ll make an announcement. Short and sweet.”

  “Okay.” She paused at the door. “What about MG?”

  His eyes narrowed. “What about her?”

  “Is she coming back to work?”

  “Part time. Starting next week.”

  Darcy gave him a quick nod. “Should work. Thanks, Chef.” Her lips spread in the widest grin he’d ever seen her give, and then she was gone.

  Joe sighed. Why exactly hadn’t he just hired her as sous chef in the first place?

  There was a smattering of applause when MG walked onstage at Oltdorf. She glanced up in surprise. Dewey hadn’t even introduced her yet—she was just getting set up. A few faces in the audience looked vaguely familiar.

  Fans. Could she possibly have fans? For a moment, she felt as if she’d swallowed ice cubes, and jagged ones at that.

  Maybe because of the ice cubes, the show started slowly. She forgot the lyrics to the Tim O’Brien song she’d added to lineup and got the wrong key for another, but slowly she began to settle down.

  She hadn’t really noticed before how warm the sound was at Oltdorf. Maybe she’d needed to hear her voice bounce off the ceiling at Bleeker to appreciate what a really nice venue Dewey had here. Now she settled in, comfortable, letting herself dance over the lyrics to “Mockingbird.”

  The crowd was friendly, with a few claps even at the beginning of songs if they were ones they recognized. It was still a little stunning to realize some of them had seen her often enough to recognize something she sang.

  Fifteen minutes into her first set, she glimpsed Joe at the back of the room, leaning his broad shoulders against the wall. She fought down the impulse to break into an idiot grin, but switched the next song to “The Right Guy,” with new lyrics she’d been working on over the past week.