by Hillary Avis
Fancy broke the silence. “Come by the souvenir shop in the train station sometime if you don’t believe me. I’ll show you the negatives.”
Bethany nodded. “I believe you.”
Fancy looked gleeful, and something about her wild expression made Bethany’s skin crawl. Revulsion must have shown on her face, because Fancy leaned toward her and spoke softly. “Everybody’s out for something in this town. Mind your own business so you don’t get burned.”
Bethany took a step back and bumped into someone behind her. “Sorry,” she said automatically.
“You better be,” Alex Vadecki growled. “Are you bothering customers now?”
Bethany sighed. Of course it was Alex, the one person she was trying to avoid. “No, I’m just leaving.”
“I’m really sorry you were disrupted by an employee, ma’am,” he said to Fancy. “Your meal is on the house.”
“I wasn’t bothering her!” Bethany crossed her arms as Fancy scooped up her camera and went to order at the counter. “We were just talking.”
Alex grunted. “Just what I need: bad press.” He opened the door for her and pointed to the sidewalk. “Out!”
Bethany rolled her eyes and stepped outside. “Press?”
Alex followed her out and closed the door behind him. “I know that lady. She sells her pictures to the paper sometimes. Or she turns them into postcards and sells them as Newbridge souvenirs. I don’t want her getting the wrong idea about the restaurant from you! Not when I’m this close to sealing the deal.”
Bethany frowned. The deal? Was that why Alex was meeting with Don Hefferman—a restaurant investment? She hadn’t realized Don was talking to other restauranteurs, but now that she thought about it, of course he was. She really couldn’t miss the groundbreaking now, not if she wanted a chance at partnering with Don. Not if she was competing with seasoned restaurateurs like Alex Vadecki. He seemed lost in thought, chewing his lip and staring at the brick wall behind her.
“Can I ask you a favor?” Bethany asked meekly.
Alex rubbed his forehead. “What now?”
“You know I’ve been dating that real estate guy, Todd? Well, he asked me to cater a party for him tomorrow, and I was wondering if maybe I could do the prep here at the Grotto. It wouldn’t be until after closing time. And I’ll do all the cleanup—you won’t even know I was here.” She smiled, trying to look cute and cheerful, but it came out more of a grimace as she braced herself for his reply.
“Is that the groundbreaking party for the new condo development?”
She nodded.
“Absolutely not. I’m attending that party, and I’m not interested in having my business associated with your amateur hour.”
That stings. “I’ll be catering the party whether you let me cook here or not,” she said coolly, even though she was burning with indignation on the inside. “I guess I’ll see you there.”
He pointed a finger at her and narrowed his eyes. “Don’t you dare mention my name or my restaurant. I don’t want you using your connection to my business to promote yourself. If you do, you can kiss your job goodbye.”
Chapter 8
Tuesday
“YOU HAVE AN APPOINTMENT?” Todd’s administrative assistant looked over the top of her turquoise glasses and sized up Bethany. Then she scanned the desk calendar in front of her, sliding a matching turquoise fingernail down the daily schedule. “I don’t see you here.”
Bethany grit her teeth. Her stomach was already roiling from her argument with Alex, and this lady wasn’t helping it settle. But she didn’t want to come off like a crazy girlfriend, either, demanding to be let into Todd’s office just because they’d gone on a few dates.
“Um, I’m catering the party tomorrow?”
“Oh, sure.” The admin assistant tapped her nails on the calendar as if rendering a final judgment. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Thanks so much.” It was everything Bethany could do to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Glad I passed muster.
A few minutes later, Todd emerged and held out hand to her. “Come in, come in! Did Shirley give you a hard time?”
Shirley shot Bethany a look, and Bethany shook her head. “No, it’s fine.”
“She’s just doing her job. I need a pitbull on the front desk.”
Of course, he didn’t tell her that I’m his girlfriend.
“Gotta keep out the riffraff.” Bethany smiled sweetly as they walked down the hall, but the fake smile made her cheeks felt like they were going to crack. She slid into one of the guest chairs in Todd’s sleek, gray office and slumped in the seat.
Instead of going behind the desk, he sat down beside her. “What’s up? You look terrible!”
“Gee, thanks.” She sat up straighter and smoothed the flyaways into her bun, suddenly conscious that she’d just come from a grueling shift. She probably stank like fried fish! No wonder the front desk lady was so hesitant to let me in.
He put his arm around her and leaned in for a hug. “You know what I mean. You usually have a smile on your face. Was Shirley really that bad?”
“Nah.” She sighed. “It’s just my boss. We had a fight at the end of my shift because I was talking to a customer. Fancy Peters. I assume you know her? She’s probably all up in your business about the development.”
Todd nodded and loosened his necktie a little. “Historical society? Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Why’d you happen to talk to her?”
Nervous about something, Todd? She shrugged. “I just thought she might have seen something related to the arson on Hosanna Street. She was there that night.”
Todd stood up and walked to the window, then pulled up the blinds so he could stare out into the distance. His view from the fifth floor of the office building was almost as good as the view from Bethany’s cottage. “You can see it from here. The development, I mean.” He pointed to the northeast, where the bell tower of the historic church was just visible above the leafy treetops. “See?”
“Mhm.” What she didn’t see was Amara Caldwell’s house. She should have had a view of that, too, but it was gone, and the thought made her heart squeeze. She crossed the room to stand behind Todd and gazed out the window over his shoulder. “Did you really give Kimmy’s aunt the money to build her swan porch addition?”
Todd glanced over his shoulder and rushed to shut the office door. “Shh! Not so loud! Did Fancy Peters tell you that?”
“Who cares who told me! Did you or didn’t you?” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. Lie to my face, Todd—I dare you.
He sighed sheepishly as he looked out the window toward the church again. “I might have given some cash to people on Hosanna Street so they could afford improvements. Just so they could spiff up their exteriors a little.”
Bethany took a deep breath. Reserve judgment. Don’t jump to conclusions. He might have a valid explanation. She closed her eyes for a second as she waited a beat to calm her voice and then opened them again. “I guess I don’t understand why you did that.”
“It’s part of my job!” Todd flashed his teeth at her, the same fake smile that he wore in the headshots on his shiny new website. “I don’t expect you to understand the ins and outs of real estate development, hon.”
A little condescension isn’t going to derail me, mister. Bethany fake-smiled back at him, gritting her teeth. In a syrupy-sweet voice, she asked, “Maybe you could explain it to me?”
“Let me see if I can put this in terms that will make sense to you.” He sat down in his desk chair and spun around. “You can take a piece of fish, right? And sell it for five bucks. Or you can dress it up with...I don’t know, parsley or something? And sell it for fifteen bucks. Follow me?”
Yes, because I’m not an idiot, Todd.
“Well, basically, if you serve five dollar fish, the fifteen-dollar customers won’t come to that restaurant. They want the parsley. Get it?”
She nodded, even though she wanted to say that a parsl
ey garnish would add two bucks to the price of the fish, not ten. “You think you can charge more for your condos if the houses on the street look nicer?”
“You were paying attention!” Todd gave her a thumbs up, and Bethany wanted to scream.
“So it wasn’t to decrease the historic value of the neighborhood and fast-track your development project?” She used the same syrupy-sweet voice as before, a sugary blade. Her words had their intended effect—his cheeks flushed and his sleazy smile vanished.
“They didn’t have to take the money.” He tipped back in his chair and propped his shiny loafers on the desk. The soles were surprisingly clean even though the heels were worn. Leave it to Todd to wash the bottoms of his shoes. “It’s not my fault if they didn’t do their due diligence and get the projects approved by the historical society.”
“Convenient for you. They accidentally skip the bureaucracy and suddenly you get to skip it, too. You knew they wouldn’t go through the proper channels!”
Todd turned the charm back on. “Come on, Bethy. How could I know that?”
She stamped her foot. “Because most of the people who live on Hosanna Street are older! They aren’t up on all the rules and regulations—they just want to live in the neighborhood where they raised their kids and their families have lived for generations!”
Todd chuckled. “They’ll be crying all the way to the bank when their property values skyrocket because of my development. Let it go, kiddo. This is a win-win.”
Let it go?! She didn’t think so. Hands on her hips, she asked, “Was the arson a win? Because it seems like it paved the way for instant approval of the development. Now my friends’ lives are destroyed, and you’re going to be a big guy, rubbing elbows with the muckety mucks of Newbridge at the party! But I mean, who cares about Amara’s little house when you get to hang out with the mayor, right?”
He waved his hand. “Just an ugly coincidence.”
She narrowed her eyes. “If the fire is just a coincidence, then I’m surprised you’re not concerned about an arsonist loose on Hosanna Street. Doesn’t seem like that will exactly make property values skyrocket. I doubt anyone will want to move into a new condo if they’re afraid to go to sleep at night, either.”
“Don’t talk like that!” He frowned at her, his mask of charm and professionalism falling away. “Especially not at the party. Negative publicity could ruin the chances of the condo project finding good tenants. If people start associating the neighborhood with criminal activity, that’ll be the end.”
Bethany snorted derisively. “Heaven forbid you don’t instantly make millions of dollars. Then you might have to be a regular person like me.”
“Are you jealous of my success? Maybe I should get someone else to cater the gala. Someone who wants me to succeed.” His eyes welled up, and he blinked furiously. “I’m just trying to help you, Bethy, like I was trying to help out the people on Hosanna Street. I thought I was being a good neighbor. I didn’t think anyone would get hurt.”
Did he really think she’d feel sorry for him when he was so callous about the fire?! Bethany threw up her hands. “If you really want to be a good neighbor, then you should be marginally invested in who did this! Come on!”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and grimaced. “I am, I am. Don’t get the wrong idea. I’ll ask around the office and see if anyone knows anything. Maybe they saw something when they were in the neighborhood that afternoon.”
“You were in the neighborhood then, right?”
Todd stood up abruptly and frowned. “I don’t remember. Maybe. I go up to Hosanna Street a lot.”
“Did you see anyone hanging around Amara’s house?”
Todd shrugged. “I don’t know if it was Saturday or Sunday, but the last time I remember going by Amara’s, her neighbor—old guy, maybe eighty?—was outside mowing the yard. Kept glaring over his shoulder at her place like it had spit in his coffee or something. I tried to talk to him, but he just ignored me and kept mowing.”
“Must have been George,” Bethany said, remembering her conversation with him earlier. What had he called the condo developers? Oh yeah, Stinking Bob, the weed that looked pretty but took over everything around it.
“That’s right. George Washington. Not a name you forget easily. He’s one of the ones who doesn’t really like us being in the neighborhood. We try to butter those people up, but he didn’t want any part of it. We’re inviting the whole street to the gala tomorrow, though. A little wining and dining and they’ll see we’re not so bad. Your food will win them over.” Todd smiled at her awkwardly.
“Should we talk menu?” she asked.
He shook his head. “I trust you! You’re a superstar in the kitchen. I know you won’t let me down—you want this as much as I do.”
“Right. But like how many people, sit down or buffet, theme, stuff like that?”
He ticked off on his fingers. “Between the historical society, the city council, the neighborhood residents...I think three, four.”
She gaped at him. “Hundred?”
“Yeah, hundred. Not three or four people. Come on, Bethany. This is a big deal.”
“I know, I know.” Her brain was buzzing. She’d expected a more manageable number—sixty or seventy, tops. “How am I supposed to prep for and serve that many people all by myself?”
“How everyone else does. Hire someone! Sheesh.” Todd shook his head and slid open the desk drawer. He got out a check book and waited, pen poised over it. “How much do you need?”
“I don’t even know. I have to totally rethink how to approach this!” Her voice rose a little at the end, panic seeping into her words. Professionalism. Stay calm. This is just like a real catering gig. She took a deep breath before she continued, keeping her voice level. “I’ll put everything on a credit card and you can reimburse me afterward. I know you’re good for it.”
Todd’s shoulders relaxed and he grinned broadly at her as he shut the checkbook back in the desk drawer. “That’s my girl. You got this. Don’s going to be so impressed with you. Heck, the whole town is going to know both our names after this event!”
Despite the panic still surging through her veins, Bethany couldn’t help cracking a smile at that idea. “I hope so. Don’t forget to ask around about Amara’s house, OK?”
“What?” A blank look replaced his grin.
“If anyone saw anything on Sunday,” she reminded him.
“Oh, yeah. Will do.” Todd stared out the window in the direction of Hosanna Street, barely glancing her way to say goodbye. He must be as stressed about the event as she was.
As she walked down the hall, past Sylvia, and toward the exit, she gave herself a mental pep talk. I can do this. I can do this. Three hundred people. Four hundred hungry people. Big investor. Tomorrow.
Her stomach knotted as she strode out of the building toward the bus stop. She’d head home, plan the menu, and wait for Kimmy to come home from her shift at Café Sabine. She would know what to do, and the only way Bethany was going to get through this was if she called on every friend she had.
Chapter 9
Tuesday Night
“OK, I GOT YOU THREE of my part-time waiters to pass apps.” Kimmy put down her phone and propped her elbows on the kitchen table. “It isn’t a full staff for an event that size, but you can have a buffet-style setup so people can help themselves, too. Plus that’ll draw them to you, and you’ll get to make some connections, hopefully.”
Bethany felt some of the weight fall away from her shoulders. “You’re so good to me. I’m so sorry to bug you about this and keep you up late when you are dealing with so much.” She looked over at the sofa where Kimmy’s great-aunt was snoring lightly, her head tilted back and her arms crossed. Sharky perched on her abdomen, chewing on a ham bone Kimmy had brought home from the café. The little dog rose and fell with every breath Amara took.
“It’s no trouble.” Kimmy’s eyes were tired, though, and Bethany knew it was a strain. “What are you
going to make?”
“I’m thinking something summery and easy to eat without utensils, so we can skip renting silverware. And not too many dishes so I have time to execute.”
“Smart.”
Bethany scanned the notes she’d made on her phone. “What do you think of corn chowder?”
Kimmy looked thoughtful. “Maybe playing it a little safe? Plus you’d need a spoon to eat it.”
“Well, I could serve it in a shot glass. I’ll add a drop of basil oil to make it interesting. And then a little grilled veggie skewer—I can rent a grill and cook them on-site—and cherrystone clams on the half shell. They’re in season, and my guy Jim down at the fish market will shuck them and make platters on ice for me. And Todd is taking care of the champagne so I’ll just have some lemon-cucumber water to drink.”
“Yum! That all sounds amazing!” Kimmy said.
“I just need to talk Alex into letting me make the soup at the Seafood Grotto. I don’t know if he’s going to go for it. If he doesn’t, I’ll grill something instead of making the chowder.”
“If all you need to do is the soup, I can totally squeeze you in at the café. I’ll be prepping for dinner service at the same time, but I can clear a counter and a burner for you.”
“Would you? Won’t your boss mind?”
“Monsieur Adrian’s in France sourcing cheese right now, so he doesn’t even have to know.” Kimmy still looked tired, but her eyes twinkled mischievously. “Speaking of cheese, I brought home some leftover chèvre and honey tarts. Want one?”
Bethany giggled. “Have I ever turned down a dessert? Did you make them?”
Kimmy shook her head. “Ordered from the Honor Roll. Olive is such a good baker that I don’t even bother trying anymore. Almost all our desserts come from her.” She started to stand up, but Bethany waved her back into her seat.