All in One Place (7 page)

“Yes.”

“You can change in the ladies' can. Helen will bring you up to speed.”

I tried not to let my mouth flop open. I'd worked for some pretty desperate bosses, but I'd never been hired on the spot before.

“Great. Thanks,” I said as I got up.

“Welcome to the Harland Café,” Lennie said, giving my hand a quick shake. “See how you make out today, and we'll talk wages
tomorrow.”

I knew it wouldn't be a princely sum, but if today was any indication of how busy it would be, the tips should more than balance
out the minimum wage I would probably be getting.

Lennie brushed past me, and I stood there a moment, letting it sink in.

I just got a job.

All I had to do now was prove myself before wind of my recent trouble with the law got out.

Five minutes later I was busing tables that looked as if multiple parties had sat at them back-to-back. I tried to ignore
the rumbling of my stomach as I piled one plate with a half-eaten piece of pie on top of another plate full of fries smothered
in ketchup and dumped them both into the plastic container.

“Nothing like jumping in with both feet,” Helen said as she walked toward me, a coffeepot in one hand and two plates of food
balanced precariously in the other. “May as well start you off easy. You can take table eight. The two older men. Cor DeWindt
will have coffee, Father Sam will have tea, and pie for both. Tell Father Sam there's no more banana cream, but we've got
lemon so Cor will be happy.”

I glanced over my shoulder, trying to figure out where table eight was, then saw two older men sitting by the window.

I wiped my hands on an apron that was now as grubby as Lennie's and snagged a half-f pot of coffee.

“Good afternoon,” I said as I came near the table. “My name is Terra, and I'm your server.”

The heavyset man had thinning hair. A pair of bright yellow suspenders lay against an orange plaid shirt that strained over
his generous stomach. When he frowned, his eyebrows obscured his eyes. “Where's Helen?” His rough voice held the hint of an
accent I couldn't place.

“I just started here, so for now, I'll be serving you.”

“Looks like you have someone new to practice your flirting skills on, Cor,” the other man said with a laugh.

Cor. That meant this man, the one with the laughing eyes and dark hair sprinkled with gray, was Father Sam. He wore blue jeans
with sandals, and a ratty-looking T-shirt covered by a canvas jacket.

He looked nothing like any priest I'd ever seen.

Of course, the only priests I'd ever seen were the ones on television, so my experience was, you could say, rather narrow.

“Would either of you like coffee?” I asked, wondering how one was supposed to behave around a priest. Considering the fact
that I'd messed up so royally with Leslie's family, I figured I'd better walk the line.

Cor pushed his cup toward me. “Where did you come from? I've never seen you around town before.”

“Actually, I hitched a ride in,” I said as I topped off his coffee.

His eyebrows crawled closer together, two fuzzy caterpillars of disapproval. “That's dangerous, you know. A single girl like
you shouldn't be doing that. You are single, aren't you?”

Like I was going to answer that question. I reached over to fill Father Sam's cup, but he laid his hand over his cup. “I'll
have some tea instead, please. Earl Grey.”

“I'm sorry. I forgot.” First slipup. “I was also supposed to tell you that there's no banana cream pie, but there is lemon.”

“Hmm. I'm not sure I want tea, then,” Father Sam said.

“Oh, c'mon.” Cor turned his attention to Father Sam. “You can at least have tea.”

“Not without pie.”

“Then have lemon pie.”

Father Sam seemed to consider, then shook his head.

Cor slapped the table with a large, meaty hand. “Don't be such a hidebound traditionalist. You can't beat lemon pie for freshness.”

Father Sam lifted his shoulder in a vague shrug. “You'd like lemon pie. Its tart flavor is very symbolic of your Calvinistic
world and life views.”

“What? Lemon pie is sweet. Like us Calvinists,” Cor said.

“Only because Mathilde redeems the flavor by adding copious amounts of sugar. Which you shouldn't be having.”

Theology and pie? These two were a little on the strange side.

Cor harrumphed, then turned to me. “Two pieces of lemon pie. I'll eat his if he doesn't want it.”

“And I'll have Earl Grey tea after all,” Father Sam said.

“Hey, Terra,” Cor called out just as I was about to hurry off to fill the order, “what do you get when you cross an elephant
and a kangaroo?”

Oh, brother. One of those kinds of customers.

“I give up.”

Cor snickered. “Great big holes all over Australia.”

I laughed politely, then rushed off to fill the order. I was aiming for a cross between efficiency and politeness—pleasing
the customer and keeping the boss happy.

I almost collided with Helen on the way into the kitchen.

“You're back quick,” she said, ringing her order in. “Cor didn't try to pull you in on his biweekly theological discussion
with Father Sam?” She pointed to a large glass cooler beside the cash desk. “Pie's in there.”

“I did get to hear something about Calvinistic something or other,” I said as I slid a magazine-ad-worthy piece of pie onto
a plate. The meringue was picture-perfect, lightly browned, artfully swirled. The flaky crust and creamy smooth lemon filling
made saliva pool in my mouth. “He told me an elephant joke.”

Helen groaned. “He must have gotten a new joke book.”

“Is there any chance I can grab a bite to eat?” I asked.

Helen pulled me behind the partition dividing the kitchen from the rest of the restaurant. A little table holding a sugar
container, cream cups, ketchup, and napkins was pushed against the wall.

“You can keep your coffee here and any food or snacks you manage to scam when Mathilde isn't looking.”

“Who?”

“The cook.”

“I thought Lennie was the cook.” Light flashed off Lennie's flailing knife as he cut and sliced. His assistant walked a wide
circle around him en route to the large walk-in cooler at the back of the kitchen.

Helen rolled her eyes. “He does the morning shift and maybe, when we're stretched, flips burgers at noon, but that's about
all the General will let him touch. He thinks he's the best line cook that ever whipped on a hairnet, but every time he works
the grill, he drags the side orders. Hasn't mastered the ‘everything hot at the same time’ concept so vital to quality restaurant
fare.” Helen glanced at the clock. “If you're lucky, you might be able to grab something before the General comes.”

“The General being?”

As the words left my mouth, the back door flew open, and in strode a short, stocky woman.

“Let's get going,” she threw out as she tugged off her coat. Her dark brown hair, liberally streaked with gray, was already
stuffed into a hairnet. “Lennie, you were supposed to be done with that hours ago,” she called out as she stripped off a shabby
green coat revealing a full-length apron, striped green-and-yellow stockings, and bright yellow Crocs. “You been fooling with
that useless computer again?”

“Behold,” Helen whispered as she eased her way out of the kitchen, leaving me to face down Mathilde's beady eyes alone.

“Who's that?” she snapped with a sharp jut of her chin in my direction.

“Terra. I hired her this morning,” Lennie replied.

Mathilde's eyes became as small as an iguana's. “You lazy, girl?”

“Not usually.” I couldn't come up with anything snappier, but from the set of her jaw and her pursed lips, I guessed I was
better off with bland and basic anyway.

“Lennie tell you that if any of your customers skip, it comes out of your pay?”

He didn't. Nor would he meet my surprised gaze. I'd worked for a few other restaurants that did this. It was a pain, and it
wasn't fair.

But I wasn't in any place to complain.

“You make sure you try to up-sell whenever you get the chance. No campers except for Father Sam and Cor, and punch your orders
in right the first time.” Mathilde's eyes swept over me as she delivered that pithy advice before turning her attention to
the order screen. “Useless computer is more trouble than it's worth. We're already behind, people,” she snapped. “Time is
money, and the money belongs to me.”

Lennie flapped his hands at me in a
Get going
gesture. He pointed to Mathilde and made a slicing gesture across his throat.

I ran into Helen as I left the kitchen, balancing two pie plates in one hand.

“I thought Lennie owned the place,” I whispered as Helen handed me Father Sam's teapot.

“He does, but it's Mathilde's cooking that brings the people in. You want to be best friends with Mathilde. Make her mad,
and your tips will be spare change instead of nice, crisp bills. You'll figure her out. If you stay long enough.”

Helen's last few words had a faintly ominous tone. Did she mean if I could cut it or if I decided to stick around?

I'd never worked for a cranky boss longer than I had to. But I needed this job. So I would have to put up with whatever Mathilde
gave me.

Cor and Father Sam were locked in a heated debate.

“Here's your order,” I said when Cor took a breath. “And your tea,” I said to Father Sam, carefully setting the teapot in
front of him. “Enjoy your pie.”

Father Sam sighed and picked up his fork. “If I must, I must,” he said quietly.

“Think of it as penance for some obscure sin you don't even realize you committed,” Cor said, winking at me. “And we're out
of sugar here, Terra. Can you get me some more?”

“I'm sorry.” I was about to get a full container from the table beside them when Father Sam touched me lightly on the arm.

“Terra, my friend Cor shouldn't be having regular sugar. He's diabetic.”

“Don't listen to him,” Cor said, shoving aside the small ceramic tray full of artificial sweetener packets.

Father Sam looked at me expectantly. I was caught in the middle. On the one side sat Cor, the customer. On the other side,
I didn't know if I wanted to fall afoul of a priest. After all, he had connections to realms I respected but didn't know much
about.

“I do this out of brotherly love, Cor,” Father Sam said, turning back to his friend. “Not just to raise your blood pressure,
which, by the way, is probably not good either.”

“You're not my mother,” Cor grumbled, “or my wife.” He glowered up at me, but in the depths of his blue eyes I caught a glimmer
of humor. “You look like a smart girl. Do you think I should listen to this man?”

Now he was going to pull me into this? “I was taught that the customer is always right.”

Father Sam held up a finger. “Yes. But which customer?”

“Just get me the sugar and no one will get hurt.”

“That's my line, Dad.”

The gravelly voice behind me sent apprehension dancing down my spine. The timbre and tone were unmistakable and, unfortunately,
unforgettable.

I shot a quick glance over my shoulder. And there was my friend Jack. The cop. He was in plain clothes today, but he still
had that cop walk, that air of authority.

Those intense eyes.

“Jack, sit down.” Cor slid over to make room. “You want some pie, son? Coffee?”

“Hello, Father Sam,” Jack said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Father Cor.”

“He's such a joker,” Cor said, slapping Jack on the back before saying with an expectant tone in his voice, “Jack, have you
met Terra? She's new in town.”

“I've met her,” Jack said. His expression was serious, but I caught the faintest twinkle in his eyes.

Was he laughing at me?

“Nice to see you again, Jack.” I pivoted, ready to make my dramatic exit, then stopped mid-spin as the coffeepot I carried
reminded me of my job.

I pivoted directly back. “Would you like some…?”

“Could I bother you…?”

Politeness put a stranglehold on our conversation as we stopped, each waiting for the other to speak and then, as if orchestrated
by the conversation conductor, started up at precisely the same moment.

“Would you…?”

“If you don't…”

Again with the pause, but this time I barreled right on through to the finish line: “—like some coffee?”

“That'd be great,” he said, his smile carrying a bit more warmth and, added to that appealing voice, a bit more electric current.

A handsome policeman. Man. Bad, bad combination.

The words clanged in my mind as I poured the coffee, concentrating to make sure I didn't let any slop over the rim. I was
determined to show Jack that I was a capable and efficient woman able to support herself by working as a waitress for whatever
Lennie was willing to pay me.

Not an irresponsible lush with a penchant for trouble.

Plus, I could use any tip he might be inclined to drop on the table. Waitresses do not live by wages alone.

“And how was your date last night?” Cor asked, pressing his fork into his pie. “Nice girl?”

“I didn't go,” Jack said, his glance flicking over me before returning to his father. “I got a call.”

I needed to get moving, not stand here finding out about Jack's love life. I had a good impression to make and limited time
in which to make it.

“Do you need anything else?” I asked, ready to leave.

“I'm fine for now, thanks.” Jack didn't look up at me, which shouldn't have bothered me because I wasn't supposed to like
him.

“Order up.” I hurried to the kitchen where Mathilde pushed two plates at me and added a glower just in case I thought she'd
gotten soft in the few minutes I was gone.

Helen rushed up just as I took the plates from under the warming lights. “I need Arnie and Elizabeth's special on the fly,”
she called out. “And where is Anita? Don't tell me she's a no-show again.”

“Guess you girls will be running today,” Mathilde said. Did I imagine the note of glee in her voice?

“Good luck keeping up with me, no matter how fast you punch orders into that stupid computer. You'll have to call the orders
out the old-fashioned way.”