“I want you to take care of the restaurant and kitchen staff. Make sure everyone is accounted for. I’m going to check on my family. If anyone is missing, text me.”
“And I’ll let everyone in your family I run into know that you’re looking for them.”
He nodded absently and walked away.
Hendrix found most of the waitstaff huddled in the shade of a palm tree. The kitchen staff had retreated to a shady area across the street. Hendrix made sure everyone had gotten out safely and were accounted for. She made a list of everyone and let Donovan know they were all safe. She saw Miss E. talking to the fire captain and texted Donovan to let him know where she was.
“What happened?” she asked the kitchen manager when she approached him.
Pablo Gutierrez was a tall, slim man with jet-black hair and gray streaks over each ear. He’d worked in the kitchen for twenty years, working his way up from dishwasher to line cook to manager. “Hell if I know. One minute I’m prepping for the dinner crowd, checking the inventory to make sure I have everything. The next minute I hear a muffled explosion and flames start shooting up to the ceiling from one of the stove burners.” He frowned, perplexed.
“That’s kind of an odd place for a fire to start.” Most kitchen fires started in or around the deep fryers when volatile hot oil was splattered.
Pablo scratched his head. “I don’t know. We’ve never had a fire before. Mr. Jasper runs a clean kitchen, and we had barely received any violations before. But in the month since Miss E. took over we’ve been cited for more violations than in all the years I’ve worked here.”
“Are you saying this is Donovan’s fault? Or Miss E.’s fault?” Hendrix frowned. She knew Donovan worked overtime to keep the kitchen working properly, making sure the fire extinguishers were where they needed to be, the prep areas were sanitized properly, food was stored according to health department guidelines and all appliances worked flawlessly.
He shook his head. “I came in to work a couple months ago and found several of the refrigerators propped open and the temperatures way below standards. The health inspector was standing in front of one of the refrigerators writing a citation for improper temps. He held the door open for almost two minutes and then took the temperature. I’ve never seen anything like that before. He timed me washing my hands. First time he watched me, he told me I had to wash my hands for fifteen seconds. This last time he cited me for improper hand washing because I didn’t spend forty-five seconds washing them. I don’t know, but something strange is going on around here.” He paused, glancing around. His voice dropped to just above a whisper. “Someone cleaned out our first-aid kits again. Donovan has filled up the first-aid kits six times in the past two weeks. And someone is playing hide-and-seek with the thermometers. And twice now someone has removed the evacuation plans from the display case. All of this seems to happen just before a surprise inspection by the health department.”
Hendrix had already started carrying medical supplies herself. The first-aid kit in her kitchen had been empty yesterday. For a change her fire extinguishers were in their slots and she didn’t have to tear the kitchen apart looking for them. All these little incidents worried her.
“A lot of people could lose their jobs, if things keep going on like this,” Pablo said. “The health department will shut us down. And then where will we be?”
Hendrix said nothing. It was obvious...someone didn’t like Donovan.
Chapter 9
Miss E. sat in her recliner, her face tired and worried. Scott and Hunter sat on the bench behind the dining table. Donovan leaned against the tiny counter in Miss E.’s RV. Nina was dealing with the press conference. Lydia would have come but was at a meeting at Maya’s school. In the twenty-four hours since the fire, everything was on hold. A number of guests had checked out, the casino was only half full when usually weekends were the best days. And the kitchen was closed.
“What do you guys think is going on?” Miss E. asked quietly.
“I’m not paranoid,” Scott said. “You know I like to think the best of people.”
Donovan locked glances with Hunter who rolled his eyes.
“Someone,” Scott continued, “isn’t happy that you own the hotel, Miss E.”
“I can’t imagine who.” Miss E. rubbed her eyes. “Captain Boylan did tell me that the fire looked suspicious.”
Scott nodded. “He found the remains of a rag on the stove over a lit burner. He sent the ashes and leftover fibers to the lab for analysis. He thinks the rag was soaked in something. With the odor and scorch patterns, it could be arson.”
“What about the security cameras? Didn’t you see anything.”
Scott shook his head. “The cameras in the kitchen shorted out just before the fire. We appear to still have some security issues.”
“Fix it,” Miss E. ordered. “How long before we have the kitchen back in operation?”
Donovan glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting with a contractor at four.”
Miss E. nodded. “Even if they have to work 24/7, I want that kitchen back open as soon as possible.”
“How are we going to handle the cooking?” Hunter asked.
“The diner kitchen is operational and limited for food prep because it’s small, but with a little reorganization, we can feed our guests.”
“Is there any place we can borrow space to accommodate diners while the main kitchen and dining room are under repair?” Miss E. continued.
“Kenzie’s ski shop,” Hunter said. “The space is finished, but she hasn’t put up the displays or the racks yet. Also, it’s right next to the diner. We can move tables and chairs into it and at least feed most of our guests. But room service is canceled for the time being and people aren’t going to be happy about that.”
“Kenzie is not going to be happy to have her store turned into a dining room when she gets back from Vermont.”
“She’s not here to veto the idea,” Hunter replied.
“She’ll understand,” Miss E. said. “And it’s only temporary.”
“Let’s do this,” Hunter said.
Scott nodded.
It would be tough, but it could be done. He wished his kitchen had been far enough away to avoid the smoke damage. The fire marshal had closed his kitchen, too. He wasn’t certain what Hendrix would do, but he’d find a place for her. Going without dessert was going to have even more diners up in arms.
* * *
Donovan found Hendrix in his office. She appeared cranky.
“There’s nothing wrong with my kitchen...I mean your kitchen,” she snapped. “Why did the fire marshal have to close it, too?”
“That’s his job?” Donovan stayed out of reach.
“How are we going to feed people?” She turned around.
“The diner kitchen is small, but adequate. It will take work and cooperation, but we can still manage to get meals out. We’re temporarily moving the dining room to the empty area Kenzie set aside for the ski shop.”
“And what about me?”
Donovan sighed. “You don’t need to be on the premises to make your desserts. I was thinking an industrial kitchen.”
She shook her head. “I can do the baking at home, it will just take longer. And I’ll need some sort of van to transport everything. My VW bug isn’t big enough to hold more than a dozen cupcakes.”
“Are you sure? I can find something else, something bigger. There are a number of industrial kitchens available. I just need to do some research.”
“If I’m going to be out of my comfort zone, then I want to be in my own kitchen which I know is up to code.” She glanced around, her eyes sad. “This is so frustrating.”
“Rein in the cranky.” He put an arm around her and pulled her close. “We’ll solve this. This is not an insurmountable problem.”
“I know.” She leaned her head against him. “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“I know I tend to live in my own little world when I’m baking, but even I can see something is going on. The fire extinguishers, the empty first-aid kits, the broken temperature gauges and the broken mixer? During the years I worked for my grandmother, we had only one mishap. The refrigerator broke down and needed to be replaced. It was twenty years old, but she had equipment even older that kept right on ticking.”
Donovan didn’t know what to say. “I don’t want to use the word sabotage, but it feels like it. Scott installed more security cameras and still accidents keep happening. I don’t know, Hendrix. I just don’t know.”
She slid an arm around his neck and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “How do we find out?”
“That’s Scott’s job. And he will find out.” Donovan just wished it would happen quickly.
They walked out into the lobby.
A desk clerk pointed at Hendrix and a man in sweatshirt and jeans walked into Donovan’s office. “Hendrix Beausolie?”
“That’s me.” He handed her a business-sized manila envelope. Hendrix accepted the envelope, frowning. “What is this?”
The man shrugged. “You’ve been served.” He turned on his heel and rushed out the lobby doors.
“Served? What?” Hendrix stared after the man’s rushed departure.
Donovan took the envelope from her and opened it, skimming the document. She peered at it, frowning.
“This isn’t good,” he said.
“What is it?” There was a tremble in her voice and fear in her eyes.
“You’re being sued by Susan Baxter-Wilson and Lisa Baxter for theft of proprietary recipes, specifically a champagne cake recipe you developed while employed by Mitzi Baxter of Mitzi’s Cake Magic.” He read through the second document. “And this is an injunction preventing you from selling champagne cake in any variation.”
Hendrix stared at him, her mouth wide open, her eyes glazed with shock. “I don’t understand this.” She took the papers from him. “They think the champagne cake recipe belongs to them?” Outrage filled her eyes.
He was surprised at how angry she’d become. But then again this lawsuit went to the heart of her and understandably. “I think they’re implying you stole the recipe for champagne cake from Mitzi Baxter. I’m not a lawyer, but I think you’re going to need one.”
“I didn’t steal the recipe from anyone. It was my grandmother’s. I just improved it. And I can’t afford a lawyer.”
“Don’t worry about a lawyer. The hotel has a lawyer on retainer and we’ve been named in the lawsuit, as well.” He wanted to comfort her, but her coldness gave him hesitation.
She glared at him, waving the documents in the air. “I didn’t steal anything.” She read the injunction again. “They can do this? They can stop me from doing my job?”
“What we need to do is talk to a lawyer. I don’t know how to answer your questions.” He ran a hand down her arm in an attempt to soothe her.”
“Has this ever happened to you?”
“Every chef in Paris knows how to make coq au vin. If we were to start suing each other over recipes, every restaurant in Paris would be shut down and there would be anarchy.” Not that there wasn’t a dirty under-the-radar war that went on between chefs, but it was a silent agreement to keep it out of the press and away from the dining public.
“But...but...” She gripped the paper as though planning to tear it in half.
Donovan rescued the documents. “These are official. More than likely this is just a nuisance suit, and I think they are going to have a hard time proving you stole their recipe when I know it never tastes quite the same twice. So you can’t make champagne cake. Try something new. Black Forest cake. Red velvet cake. Hell, if you wanted to bake a cake with tequila, you could make it work.”
Her big eyes bored into him. “Do you believe...”
Donovan placed his finger gently to her mouth. “I don’t believe one word of this. You are the most talented pastry chef I’ve ever known. You take the most common items and turn them into a celebration of life. Right now, there isn’t a thing you can do. Let’s just turn this over to the lawyer and get back to doing our jobs.” He kissed her on the forehead and took by the hand. “Let’s go find Miss E. She always knows what to do.”
* * *
Hendrix was furious. She slammed cake pans down on her worktable and paced back and forth, unable to concentrate on baking. Lisa and Susan were the worst kind of people—they were parasites expecting everyone else to dance to their tune. She couldn’t believe Mitzi, who was wonderful and fun, had raised such mean-spirited women. She had to do something to salvage this mess.
She poured batter into the cake pans and slid them into the oven. Even though she liked chocolate cake, her champagne cake was more open to variations. Her grandmother had given her the original recipe and she’d changed it and molded it into something more modern in flavor. That Lisa and Susie were claiming they owned the recipe absolutely floored her.
Could someone own a recipe? She didn’t think so. Recipes were readily available. Restaurants guarded their recipes because many of them had secret ingredients. But champagne cake? She’d done an internet search once, and found over a thousand variations on one simple champagne cake recipe.
The front doorbell rang and she ran down the hall wiping her hands on her apron, conscious of the flour billowing around her.
Miss E. and a strange woman stood on the doorstep.
“This is Vanessa Peabody,” Miss E. said. “I keep her on retainer for the Mariposa.”
Vanessa Peabody was beautiful with a narrow face surrounded by dark brown hair. Her eyes, the color of Jack Daniel’s, were serious. She wore a gray silk pantsuit and yellow blouse and carried a Coach tote. Everything about her was classy. Hendrix was too aware of her quirky retro capri pants and white T-shirt. If this case went to court, Hendrix would have to change how she dressed in order to camouflage her eccentricities.
“May we come in?” Vanessa asked in a calm, serene voice.
Hendrix, aware she’d been staring, stepped back. The two women entered and Hendrix directed them to the back of the house toward the kitchen.
Vanessa sniffed the air. “What smells so wonderful?”
“Just plain, old chocolate cake,” Hendrix groused.
“Nothing about Hendrix’s cakes are plain,” Miss E. explained.
Vanessa set her tote down on the counter and dug out a tablet computer. “I believe one chocolate cake is my fee.”
“How about a cake a week for the next year?” Hendrix said. “My choice.”
Vanessa’s eyes narrowed as she studied Hendrix. “Maybe one a month. And one dessert party when this is all over.”
“Done.” She loved dessert parties. Just the thought sent her thoughts racing over what she could make.
Vanessa sat on a tall stool. She looked calm and elegant. Hendrix found her anger abating.
Miss E. leaned against the counter, her eyes on the cakes already done and cooling on their racks. “Do you have any brownies?”
“Always,” Hendrix said with a laugh. She opened the refrigerator and drew out a pan of brownies which she proceeded to cut into squares. She pulled small white plates out of the cabinet and arranged a brownie on each one. Then she sprinkled powdered sugar over the tops. “What’s the plan?”
Vanessa tapped on her tablet computer. “The burden of proof is on Lisa and Susan. As the plaintiffs they have to prove beyond any reasonable doubt that you developed the cake while working at Mitzi’s Cake Magic. If they can prove the recipe was a trade secret then they might have a case. Proving something like this is going to be extremely difficult.”
“Are you saying I
shouldn’t be worried?”
“Oh, no. If you get the wrong judge on a bad day, you could still be in trouble. If I do a lousy job, I could have proof signed off by the Supreme Court and we still might lose. And if this ever gets before a jury, juries often vote in favor of the attorney they like the best. Clearly, this is a nuisance suit, but even nuisance suits have ended up in court.”
Hendrix felt her shoulders slump. “I have about ten variations I do over and over again, and even then the taste is altered depending on how much of one ingredient is present. Baking isn’t an exact science.”
Vanessa bit into the brownie, chewed and took another larger bite, an expression of bliss moving across her face. “I have a friend whose husband is a color chemist who has a patent for a gray paint pigment.”
“Really?” Hendrix asked, intrigued, even though it sounded dumb. Why patent a color? And what did that mean?
“He develops house paint,” Vanessa continued, “and while the color itself isn’t patented, the process for making it, including the ingredients and their percentages are.”
Who knew? Hendrix thought.
“May I have another, please?” Vanessa asked with her best Oliver Twist accent while holding out her plate.
Hendrix set another brownie on the plate and watched as Vanessa studied it.
“She makes darn good brownies,” Miss E. said. “Just give them to the judge and you’d win.”
“I’ll second that,” Vanessa said. “All we have to do is prove that you’ve used it in other places before going to work for Mitzi’s Cake Magic.”
“My grandmother gave me the original recipe. I don’t know where she got it, but I’ll call her.”
Vanessa made a note on her computer. “You do that and I’ll start researching legal precedents for food patenting and information about this recipe’s origins.”
Hendrix pulled glasses out of the cabinet and set them on the table. She had made sweet tea earlier. She poured the mixture into the glasses.
Bet on My Heart Page 10