by Meg Benjamin
He figured she knew how beautiful she was—how could she not? But she didn’t seem to be overly obsessed with it. She didn’t strike him as a woman who expected tributes, although she probably got more than a few.
He liked her. He’d like to get to know her better. He’d also like to know who the guy at the bar was who looked like he was wishing Joe instant death.
Judging from the way Kit avoided even a glance in his direction, Joe figured there’d been a relationship there at some point. It didn’t seem to be current, though. If it had been, he’d have backed off. He hated being somebody’s revenge fuck, not that it would be the first time that had happened.
Right now, he was just enjoying the moment, and the fact that he was interested in Kit Maldonado. He’d had a couple of years in the recent past when he wasn’t interested in much of anything beyond finding the ultimate white truffle and the ultimate hit of cocaine.
He sighed. “Normality. Ain’t it great?”
Kit’s brow furrowed, “What?”
He could have kicked himself. No point in dragging her into his drama, even if it wasn’t all that dramatic anymore.
The door to the kitchen flew open and a tiny brunette cyclone sped toward their table. “Joe,” the cyclone yelled. “Jesus, look at you!”
“Clemencia!” He wrapped his arms around Clem’s small waist when she got to his chair. Seated, he was almost the same height as she was. If he stood up, he’d have to bend over almost double to give her a hug.
She dropped into a chair beside him, running her hands through her short, spiked hair. At least she’d gotten rid of the neon-blue highlights she’d had the last time he saw her. She still had at least six earrings in each ear, though, plus another one through the eyebrow.
“So how are you?” She grinned at him. “You’re in luck tonight. I’ve got some ranchero sauce that’ll blow a hole in your palate. I’ve been serving it over chicken, but I can whip up some huevos if you want. Fresh queso fresco from a farm up by Mason.”
Joe grinned back. Clem had one of those contagious smiles that only a dedicated depressive could ignore “I’ve got a hard on for one of your burgers, darlin’. You think maybe you could put a little of your ranchero on that?”
She nodded thoughtfully. “Right. And a little quesco fresco on top. Then run it under the broiler for a minute or so.”
“Oh yeah. And then lettuce and tomato. Maybe some red onion…”
“Hey, I’ve got some roasted ancho chilies, too, just to give it a little bite.”
He nodded. “Maybe chopped up in the burger.”
Clem rubbed her hands together. “Yeah, it’ll work. If it doesn’t take the top of your head off, I might even add it to the menu.”
“Hell, even if it does, it could be worth it.”
Clem laughed again. “You want to come back to the kitchen and dish? You can dice the anchos.”
Joe shrugged. “Maybe next time.”
Clem glanced in Kit’s direction. “Hey Kit, I didn’t really forget about you, honest. You want a ranchero burger too?”
Kit shook her head, smiling. “Just a regular burger is fine. I need to get to sleep tonight, and I have a feeling that ranchero burger might fight me.”
“So what is this?” Clem turned her bright black gaze back toward him again, looking a little like a hungry grackle. “A date?”
Joe managed to keep his smile in place. “You do get to the point, don’t you Clemencia?”
She shrugged. “No time to be subtle. I’ve got burgers to fry.”
“We’re planning the menu for Allie’s reception. I got the event center, just like you suggested,” Kit said quickly.
A little too quickly, by his calculations. She seemed kind of eager to make their non-date status clear. All of a sudden he found himself wondering just how recent the relationship with the guy at the bar had been.
“Great.” Clem slapped a hand on the table. “Let me go fix you some food and then I can kibitz.” She pushed herself up in one quick motion, turning toward the kitchen as she did.
There was a beat of silence at the table after she’d left. “So how do you know Clem?” Kit asked, her smile a little too bright all of a sudden.
Joe shrugged. “From New Orleans. She was an intern at the hotel where I was chef, not in the same restaurant, though. We hung out together some.” Actually, it was more that Clem had hung onto him, or tried to. She’d done her best to stop him from sliding down to disaster, but it wasn’t a slide she could have prevented. Only he could have done that for himself.
On the other hand, she hadn’t treated his slide into the abyss as some kind of spectator sport, the way his other so-called friends had. He owed her for that.
“So…” Kit licked her lips. She looked like she was trying to find a discreet way into the menu discussion.
He decided to cut her off at the pass. “So what brings you here to Konigsburg anyway? Allie?”
She shrugged. “Not exactly. I mean having her here was a draw, but it wasn’t what really made me come. I just like the place.”
“You’re not from here?”
Her lips spread in a cautious grin. “Nah, it’s like that James McMurtry song, ‘I’m not from here, I just live here’.”
He chuckled. “True for most of us, I guess. So where are you from?”
“San Antonio. My family owns a restaurant there, down in the Southtown area. Or they used to, anyway. My dad just sold out to a new owner.”
“Was that unexpected?”
She sighed. “It was for me. I thought I might work there for a while, after I finished up my degree at UTSA. I was hoping maybe I could get into front-of-the-house stuff that way. It’s probably just as well that I moved on, though. I mean, I started clearing tables there when I was eight. Maybe I needed to widen my horizons a little.”
“Best way to learn the business. Be part of it from the ground up.”
“Maybe.” She glanced at the guy at the bar and back to him again. Definitely something going on there.
“My dad spent his life running that restaurant after he grew up in his parents’ restaurant in Brownsville,” she explained. “Our whole family sort of revolved around Antonio’s Fine Mexican Cuisine. I’m looking for a job that goes in a different direction.”
Joe let some of his incredulity show. “Like hostessing at the Rose?”
“Technically I’m managing the Rose.” Kit shrugged. “Like I said, the Rose has terrific potential. I’d like to help make it the kind of restaurant it should be.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Good luck with that. I have the feeling Mabel will fight you every inch of the way.”
A waitress stepped up to the table, pencil and pad in hand. Joe blinked. She was almost as gorgeous as Kit. Holy crap, what did they have in the drinking water around here?
She smiled, upping her bombshell quotient by another twenty percent. “Hi, Kit. Can I get you guys something from the bar?”
Kit smiled back, and Joe suddenly felt as if he were a judge at the Miss Universe pageant. Except that he’d never be able to judge a contest between these two.
“Hi Deirdre, do you know Joe LeBlanc? He’s the head chef at the Rose.”
The Most Gorgeous Waitress In the Known Universe turned her smile on him, well-nigh frying his synapses. “Hi, Joe. I’m Deirdre Brandenburg. I own the coffee roaster next door. Would you like something to drink?”
“Um…sure.” He blew out a quick breath. “Maybe a Coke.”
Deirdre turned back to Kit. “How about you, Kit? Lonestar?”
Kit shook her head. “Not tonight. I’m being a wedding menu planner—better keep a clear head or we’ll end up with sweetbreads or something.”
Joe placed a hand over his heart. “While my sweetbreads have been known to bring grown men to tears, I think I can promise to avoid them for Miz Allie’s wedding reception if that’s your wish.”
“Oh.” Deirdre slid down into the chair next to Kit. “You’re menu planning. Co
ol. Can I help?” She waved a hand at one of the other waitresses. “Marilyn? Could you bring over a couple of Cokes when you’ve got a minute?”
Joe gritted his teeth. “Sure. Join right in.”
Clem pushed through the kitchen door carrying a tray and headed straight for their table. She plopped burger baskets in front of each of them and then took the chair opposite Deirdre. “So. Menu planning. Let’s get to it.”
Joe picked up his burger. Visions of a tête-à-tête with Kit Maldonado were fast evaporating, but at least he could eat some first class Tex-Mex. He glanced around the table. Deirdre Brandenburg with her heart-stopping eyes. Kit Maldonado with hair like black silk. Clem Rodriguez, not in the same class, but someone you couldn’t ignore. How did he end up with three women when he’d come in here hoping to focus on one?
Deirdre flicked a quick glance at the bar and then back, her smile widening, her eyes dewy with innocence. All of a sudden, he had a feeling she and Clem hadn’t exactly dropped in by chance. More and more he wanted to know the identity of the guy at the bar.
“Have at it ladies,” he growled. “I live to serve. Or to cook, in this instance.” He took a bite of his burger. Damn, that ranchero sauce rocked!
Nando was home by ten thirty, cold sober and disgruntled. He’d had a good enough dinner. Deirdre was right—Clem’s burgers were superlative. But then he’d had to sit and watch the guy at the table hold court with the three most interesting females in the place. And he said this knowing that Clem’s interests weren’t fastened on men at all, not that it was any of his business whom she pursued.
He considered getting a bottle of Shiner from the fridge but rejected the idea. Drinking alone every time he saw Kit Maldonado wasn’t exactly the path to mental health.
He headed down the hall, pursued by Guinevere, then dropped into bed and managed to get to sleep after a half-hour or so of tossing. When he started dreaming of Kit he wasn’t exactly shocked.
He was going through the same I love you routine when her cell phone began ringing.
“Answer it,” he muttered, but she ignored him.
“C’mon Kit, answer it.”
Dream Kit narrowed her eyes. “It’s not my phone.”
The ringtone finally woke him, and he glanced at the clock. Five. He groaned. What sadist called at this hour of the morning? Outside his window the early morning sunshine leaked lemon-colored light through the pecan tree in the backyard.
He flipped the phone open, recognizing the number. “Yeah.”
“Better get down here,” Toleffson’s voice rumbled. “We got another one.”
Chapter Nine
Not the least of the annoyances associated with the newest burglary was the fact that it screwed up Nando’s plans for one of Allie Maldonado’s breakfast scones and coffee. Of course, it had screwed up Allie Maldonado’s plans a lot worse since it was her place that had gotten hit.
Now she stood in the doorway to her café, staring at the chaos littering the floor of Sweet Thing, one of Konigsburg’s most popular breakfast and lunch places.
Nando took a quick survey of the two rooms. The damage in the dining area seemed to be confined to overturned tables and chairs, but there wasn’t much in that room besides tables and chairs anyway. A few bud vases had been smashed, and it looked like some silverware and plastic water glasses had been tossed against the wall. Still, it could probably be cleaned up in a couple of hours.
The bakery retail section, with the empty pastry cases and the cash register, hadn’t fared as well. Several jars of jelly and honey from a display cabinet at the side of the room had been smashed in the middle of the floor, forming a sticky, glutinous mass that smelled vaguely like peaches and sparkled with shards of glass. The cash register had been wrenched away from the wall and tossed into the gummy puddle. A chair from the other room lay on its back in front of one of the pastry cases. Judging from the cracks in the glass, the burglar had tried to smash the case with it.
The door to the kitchen stood open behind the front counter. Nando guessed the situation in there wouldn’t be much better.
He turned back toward Allie. “I assume you don’t leave money here at night, right?”
She shook her head. “I do a bank run after the lunch crowd leaves. There’s no money here after closing. Hell, they couldn’t even get any food. We lock the walk-in before we go home for the day.”
“So what was taken?”
Allie rubbed the back of her neck. “Looks like some of the kitchen equipment is missing—a stand mixer and a couple of copper bowls. There may be some other stuff gone too. I’ll check everything more thoroughly once we can clean the place up, but that’s what I can see right now. I can’t think of too much anyone would want to take from here, anyway.”
Nando sighed, then stepped behind the counter and through the door into the kitchen. The floor seemed to be covered with a find dust of white powder. Flour, he guessed, although they’d have to check it to be sure. Some pans, spoons, and rolling pins had been tossed around, along with a couple of chef’s knives, but the chaos didn’t seem to be as extensive, or as destructive, as it had been at the bookstore. He frowned, keeping to the rubber mat that ran alongside the sinks. Behind him, Delaney was taking pictures, the flash catching the gleaming metal surfaces of pots and pans on the shelves.
“He leave any kind of physical evidence this time?” Toleffson’s voice rumbled from the doorway.
Nando shook his head. “Not that I’ve seen. He just grabbed some kitchen equipment, so far as Allie can tell. She’s going to go over the place more thoroughly when she cleans up.”
“How’d he get in?” Toleffson leaned against the doorway, watching Delaney’s careful steps around the kitchen.
Nando nodded at the back entrance. “Broke the glass in the door. Just like he broke the window at Docia’s, only this time he stuck a hand through and unlocked the door.”
“Fingerprints?” The chief raised an eyebrow.
Nando shook his head again. “I checked. Door’s been wiped clean.”
Toleffson nodded absently. “Probably won’t find anything anywhere else in here either. And out in the restaurant and the bakery, you’ll have fingerprints from half the town.”
“You want the county forensics lab to come in again?”
The chief took a deep breath, then blew it out. “Doesn’t seem worth it. This looks more like a routine break-in, except for him tossing stuff around. Might not even be the same guy.”
Yeah, right. Nando kept that opinion to himself. He figured the chief didn’t really believe it either.
Toleffson stood again, his expression grim. “You and Delaney process the scene. I’ll catch anything that comes in while you’re here. Do it right, but see if you can finish by the end of the day so Allie can get her kitchen back.”
“Got it.” He watched the chief walk back into the sales area. After a moment, he followed him.
Allie still stood where he’d left her, staring around the room with what looked like a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. “What on earth was he after, anyway? It looks like all he did was throw things around.”
“That might be most of what he did.” Nando shrugged. “Could be simple vandalism. Maybe kids broke in hoping to find some money or something to eat, and then got pissed when they couldn’t.”
The door to the restaurant opened and Nando turned, ready to send civilian gawkers on their way.
Kit stood in the doorway, her eyes wide.
Nando took a deep breath while his pulse kicked up a notch, telling himself to cool it.
“Aunt Allie!” Kit started to walk toward her aunt, then paused, staring down at the goo-covered floor.
“This way.” Nando took hold of her arm, walking her carefully around the edge of the room. Her skin was warm against his hand, her eyes staring up at him, wide and liquid. Like dark, rich coffee.
Do not go there, asshole!
“Here you go.” He handed her across to Allie.
Allie took a breath, then turned her face against Kit’s shoulder and let out a sob. Nando suddenly felt totally useless.
Toleffson shook his head. “Process the scene. Get pictures. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he left something.” He turned to Allie. “We’ll try to get out of your hair as soon as we can, but you’ll probably need to stay closed for a couple of days.”
“A couple…” Allie turned stricken eyes toward him.
“Maybe. We’ll see. We’ll do our best to get out of your way.” He tipped his hat hurriedly and stepped out the door, heading for the cruiser.
Nando’s jaw tightened as Allie turned those stricken eyes in his direction again. If she started crying, he swore he’d head for the walk-in cooler, lock or no lock. “Would it help if you had the kitchen?”
“Had the kitchen?” Allie’s forehead furrowed.
“If we processed the kitchen first, you could maybe get in there and clean up so you could use it later today. If you wanted to use it, that is.”
“But what…” Allie shook her head. “Even if I could use the kitchen, I don’t have any place to sell what we cook.” She gestured at the sticky lake of jam in the middle of the floor, the cash register jutting out of the center like an island volcano. “I’ll probably have to have a professional cleaning crew come in to take care of that. And I don’t even know if the cash register is still working.” Her lower lip began to tremble again.
“But if you had the kitchen, you could do your restaurant orders. And the orders for the B and B’s.” Kit put her arm around Allie’s shoulders. “You could at least do something, Aunt Allie. And then you’d be ready to go once the cleaning crew took care of everything else.”
“Oh god.” Allie sighed. “Would you believe I forgot all about the restaurant orders? The B and B orders were delivered last night, but the restaurants pick up around nine or ten. I can’t get anything to them today. I’ll have to call them.” She pressed a hand to her lips.