Authors: Meg Benjamin
Now Joe leaned against the hostess desk, flipping through the thin stack of waiter applications. After a moment he paused, staring at one. “This guy works at Brenner’s?”
Kit nodded. “Bryson Mitchell. I talked to him this morning. He’s my top pick.”
Joe shook his head. “He’ll never come here. He’s got to be making more at Brenner’s than we’d pay him.”
“I thought about that.” She stared down at the application. “I told him the job was for a head waiter. And I boosted the pay by a buck fifty an hour.”
The corners of his mouth quirked up. “Did Mabel okay that?”
“Not yet. But I’ll make sure she does.” Actually Kit wasn’t all that sure about how Mabel would react, but it was the best idea she’d come up with.
His jaw tightened. “You tell her I okayed it. I’m in charge of the goddamn restaurant, not her. If she doesn’t stop screwing around with this place, I’ll string that bitch up by her toenails.”
Kit put a hand on his arm. “You can do whatever you want to her—she probably deserves it. Only please, please, please wait until after the wedding. I’ve got too much on my plate right now. I can’t deal with another crisis.” She managed to keep the panic out of her voice, but it wasn’t easy.
Joe glanced at her, then shrugged, grimacing. “Okay, darlin’, I’ll leave her alone until after you’re done. But you tell me what she says. If she doesn’t come through on this, we’re gonna have words, her and me.”
“Oh good,” she muttered as she watched him stalk back to his kitchen. “Something else to look forward to.” She checked the dining room, confirming that the last few customers were getting ready to go, then headed up the hall toward the office.
Mabel didn’t look particularly delighted to see her, but that wasn’t any surprise. She shuffled a stack of papers on her desk. “What is it, dear? I’m really swamped this afternoon.”
Kit gave her a slightly rigid smile. “I just wanted to let you know I’ve found another waiter. He’s very experienced, currently with Brenner’s. He’ll be just what we need in the dining room.”
Mabel shrugged. “Fine. Have him fill out the paperwork and drop it off whenever he starts.”
Kit licked her lips.
Now for the fun part.
“Since he’s experienced, I offered him a slightly higher salary than the one we were paying Phillip. He can serve as head waiter, which means he could double on the hostess stand in an emergency.”
Mabel narrowed her eyes, all pretense of a smile sliding away. “How much higher?”
“A dollar fifty an hour. It’s on par with what the other fine dining restaurants in town are paying.” She felt like crossing her fingers since she had no way to prove that was true. But it didn’t sound unreasonable.
Mabel drummed her fingers on her desk for a moment, her gaze remarkably flinty. “I suppose that will be acceptable for the time being. We’ll review it when we review the Rose’s operation next month.”
“Review?” Kit felt the familiar drip of ice water down her spine. “Review what exactly?”
“Expenses.” Mabel shrugged. “I’ve already mentioned the Rose’s high operating expenses. I believe it’s dragging the rest of the inn’s earnings down. We’ll need to find ways to economize if we’re to keep the Rose open at all.”
Kit blinked, her chest tightening. “You’d really close the Rose?”
Mabel shrugged again. “It may not come to that. It probably won’t. But it’s a possibility I’ll explore with the inn’s management. Now, if that’s all?”
Kit managed to push her lips into a tight smile, then turned and headed for the event center. At least she could make sure the wedding went smoothly, even if her own job was apparently hanging by a thread.
She spent the afternoon checking with the florist and decorator to see that the event center was set up for the rehearsal, while keeping tabs on tomorrow’s reservations with call forwarding and frequent checks on her laptop. Sooner or later she’d have to tell Joe what Mabel had said, but given her choice, she’d opt for later. She had a feeling the battle would be long, bloody and loud. And she wasn’t sure who’d win in the end.
Just get through the wedding. Just get through the wedding.
Wonder was supposedly bringing the judge with him and Allie, and Kit figured the rest of the wedding party could find their own way to the Woodrose. The family wasn’t due in until tomorrow, even though her father was giving Allie away. They’d find someone to stand in for Papi at the rehearsal, sort of a substitute Dad.
She blew out a breath. Just as well. She still hadn’t decided what to say to Papi exactly about her job at the Rose. Or whether she was going to introduce Nando.
At four, she looked up to see Allie wandering through the rose garden outside the event center. She frowned—her aunt wasn’t due until five and Wonder was supposed to bring her. After a moment to smooth her hair, she headed into the garden herself.
“Hi Aunt Allie,” she chirped.
Geez could you sound any phonier?
Allie glanced at her, and Kit caught her breath. Her aunt’s face seemed drawn tight, her eyes shadowed, deep lines etched around her mouth as if she hadn’t slept for a couple of nights. “Allie,” she said quietly, “are you okay?”
“Sure,” Allie replied quickly, then paused, rubbing a hand across her mouth. “Well, sort of, I guess. I’m just tired. Really, really tired.”
Kit put a hand on her arm. “Come here. Sit down in the shade.” She maneuvered her onto a stone bench under a spreading pecan. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing,” Allie said stubbornly, but she closed her eyes. After a moment, she shook her head. “He wants me to sell the house.”
“Steve? Your house?” Kit licked her lips, trying to decide what to say. She’d sort of taken it as a given that Allie would want to sell her house. “You don’t want to?”
“It’s my house,” Allie said softly. “When I bought it, I knew I’d finally made a home in Konigsburg. Finally gotten where I wanted to go.”
“But…” Kit took another breath. “Steve’s house is nice too.”
“Steve’s house is great. But it’s not my house.” Allie’s voice sounded like a mechanical toy that was wound a bit too tight. “I don’t want to give up my house.”
“Allie.” Kit leaned forward, resting her hand on her aunt’s knee. “You don’t have to think about this now. You can work it out after you and Steve get back from your honeymoon. You’ve got enough things to worry about at the moment.”
Allie nodded. “I do have a lot of things to worry about. This is one of them.”
“Let me get you some tea,” Kit said quickly. “Why don’t you come inside the event center? I think we’ve got some of Joe’s appetizers left over from lunch.”
“I’ll come inside in a little while. Right now I want to walk.” Allie stared out at the roses, not looking at her.
Kit licked her lips again. “Aunt Allie…”
“I’ll be all right. But I need to be by myself for a while.” Allie pushed herself to her feet. “Don’t worry about me. Just go on doing whatever you were doing before.” She stepped away from the bench, then headed toward the inn, her back a rigid line against the blooming rose arbor.
“Crap,” Kit whispered as she watched her walk away. “Crap, crap, crap.”
Allie wandered along the graveled garden path, not really paying any attention to where she was going. She’d have to tell him. Now. Before the rehearsal. Because, of course, there was no point in having a rehearsal for something that wasn’t going to take place. She’d have to tell him she couldn’t marry him before this went any further.
Her heart seemed to contract, almost as if someone were pulling it tighter with a string.
Steve.
She caught her breath in a gasp.
She loved him. She’d loved him for years, ever since he’d taken her to the Liddy Brenner Festival the first time. She knew all his faults, all the reasons she shouldn’t love him, but it didn’t seem to matter. The sarcasm. The thinning hair. The hornrims. The slightly pot belly that would probably turn into a true gut by the time he was fifty, given his affection for German beer. None of it bothered her. She knew the character underneath it all, the kindness, the intelligence, the loyalty.
She loved him. She did. And she couldn’t marry him.
Breathing was becoming more difficult. Her throat seemed to have closed up. Her jaws ached. She wanted nothing so much as to find a quiet corner somewhere and cry her eyes out.
She’d suspected for a while that she couldn’t do it, couldn’t carry off a wedding, but she’d always managed to talk herself out of it before. Now suddenly the whole thing seemed to be landing on her shoulders with a crunch. Maybe she could write him a note and just leave town for a while.
She pressed her hand across her mouth, fighting back a sob. How could she not marry him? He’d be so hurt. But how could she marry him? How could she give away everything she’d worked for? How could she give away herself?
Everything will change. All the things I worked for will slip away. My house will be gone. And then I’ll be gone. I won’t know myself anymore.
She took another shuddering breath and sank down on another stone bench. Somewhere nearby she heard the sound of garden shears snipping.
Great. I’m going to embarrass myself in front of the groundskeeper.
She took another breath, raising her head in what she feared was a very shaky imitation of normal.
The snipping came closer. A man in a gray uniform was silhouetted briefly against the rose bushes where he was clipping off deadheads. The nametag on his shirt read “Didrikson.” He paused when he caught sight of her. “Something I can help you with, ma’am?”
Why yes. Could you go tell my fiancé I can’t marry him?
Allie pulled herself upright. “No, that’s all right. I’m just enjoying your garden.”
The gardener stepped closer, clipping another rose from the bush. “Enjoy away.”
She sat very still, staring at him as he put down the clippers to gather the dried flowers into a trash bag. Something about that voice. Deep. Gravelly. The body was familiar, too, now that she thought about it. There was something about the set of the shoulders. And the uniform. Something about the uniform.
She squinted at him again. The face. She knew the face.
She pushed herself a bit shakily to her feet. “You have lovely roses,” she said in a voice that sounded totally artificial even to her.
The gardener watched her carefully, letting the trash bag with the dried roses slip through his fingers to the ground.
Allie licked her lips, giving him another shaky smile. “Well, thank you for…your beautiful garden. I’ve got a wedding rehearsal to get to. I guess I’ll just head back to the event center now.”
Almost before she knew what was happening, the gardener grasped her arm, yanking her toward him. “I guess you won’t.”
“I…” She was appalled to hear her voice shake.
Pull it together.
“What are you doing? Let me go. Right now.” She jerked back hard, trying to pull free of that iron grasp.
“What am I doing? I’m saving my life.” He gave her a smile that was more like a grimace. “And my freedom, Ms. Maldonado.” He wrapped one arm around her waist like a vice, pulling her tight against him as she struggled.
Allie dug in her heels, drawing a breath to scream. But he slapped his hand across her mouth, his other arm still tight around her waist. “No screaming now. We can both still get out of this alive if you stay smart. You could actually prove useful.” He began to drag her backward, half carrying her toward a service door.
Allie struggled against his arm, trying and failing to jerk her head free. He cuffed the side of her head, sharply. “Knock it off, Maldonado. I don’t want to hurt you, but I know how.”
For a moment, her head swam. She heard his shoulder hit the door behind her, heard the swish of the door itself opening, then felt the coolness of air conditioning washing across her skin as the sunlight dimmed. She closed her eyes, shaking her head limply, trying to dig her heels into the slick surface of the floor as he dragged her back up the hall.
Damn! Oh damn, damn, damn!
This was worse than wedding nerves. So much worse. And it was her own fault. She’d been the one who’d wandered off to the rose garden instead of staying where she should have been.
Because she’d been off sulking in the garden when she should have been meeting Steve, she’d just been kidnapped by Chief Brody.
And then the door slammed shut behind them.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nando took one last look at the file open on the desk in front of him. The Rangers’ report on Brody didn’t tell him much he didn’t already know. He’d been hoping they might have included details about Brody’s various bank accounts, information that Brody himself might possibly have needed or wanted to find. But a cursory read had confirmed that the accountants were much too smart to put that kind of data in a report anybody could read. There probably was a report with greater detail somewhere, but he doubted it was in Konigsburg.
He shook his head, leaning back in his chair. Whatever Brody had been searching for was at the heart of this. Somehow it had to be. But he hadn’t a clue as to what that something was.