Getting Rich (A Chef Landry Mystery) (8 page)

“Not even close. Lunch was so crazy busy we didn’t have a minute to start.”

“Well then,” I said, grabbing my chef’s jacket. “Let’s get this show on the road, people.”

In the walk-in refrigerator I found a large cardboard box full of eggplants and preselected cheeses. And for the next hour, everybody sliced, diced, chopped and grated until we had a dozen large casserole dishes ready to pop into the oven. By the time the first batch was ready, and dinner customers were walking in, I kept expecting the crazy woman of the night before to come storming in.

Hopefully Charles had been right—nothing to worry about. But for some reason, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that we hadn’t heard the last from her.

i call it rabbit food

It was ten forty-five and the kitchen was clean, dishes were washed and stacked neatly on the stainless steel shelves. The floor was swept and the counters sterilized. With nothing left to clean, we waited patiently for our last customers—who were taking their own sweet time—to leave.

Jake nudged the kitchen door open a crack and sneaked a peek. “They haven’t even picked up the bill yet.”

Marley glanced at me. “Maybe Jake should go over and pick up the bill folder. That should give them the hint.”

I turned and stared at him. “Sorry, Marley. We run a classy joint here. We don’t want our customers to feel rushed.” And then taking pity on them, I added, “But you, Scott, Jennifer and Charles can leave.” They sighed with relief and headed for the swinging door.

“Not through the dining room,” I whispered. “Use the back door.”

Scott, Jennifer and Charles almost ran out—no doubt worried I might change my mind.

“You can go too, Marley,” I said.

He shook his head, looking embarrassed. “I’m waiting for Jake.”

Jake grinned. “We just moved in together.”

I’d known about their relationship for a while now, and was happy for them. Lately it seemed that love was all around me, everybody happy. I felt a shiver run down my spine, as if thinking such a happy thought would bring bad luck. How silly of me, I thought, shrugging off the ridiculous thought.

Now, he peeked through the doorway again. “Yesss!” He pumped the air with his fist. “He just pulled out his credit card.” He waited another minute and, adopting a regal bearing, entered the dining room.

A minute later I joined the couple as they rose. “I hope you enjoyed your meal,” I said, escorting them to the door.

“It was delicious,” the woman replied. She was an attractive middle-aged woman with caramel-colored hair and intelligent eyes. “I can’t believe how good the food was, considering this is a diet place. My husband was certain he’d hate everything on the menu.”

He gave me an embarrassed smile. “I don’t usually go for diet food.”

She chuckled. “He calls it rabbit food. I had to plead with him to come.”

He went on, sounding surprised. “But everything you served tasted normal.” I laughed, and he quickly explained. “I mean, who’d expect to see pasta on a low-cal menu?”

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed your meal. And I hope we’ll see you again.”

“You can count on it.”

I retrieved the last two coats for them from the rack behind the cash register. At last they turned to leave. I opened the door, standing aside for them. “Thank you for coming.”

“You’ll see us again,” she said, giving a small wave.

I shut the door behind them, glowing from the compliments. Jake appeared with both our coats.

“Did you hear what they said?” I asked. “They loved the food.”

He handed me my coat. “You say this like it’s a surprise.”

“I still have to pinch myself that we’re doing well.”

“Well, get used to it. If you think you’re working hard now, I predict business is only going to get busier.”

“Knock wood.” I rapped the nearest table with my knuckles. In my experience, whenever everything went too well, something bad was bound to happen.

*

The weather had grown progressively worse all day, until now the wind howled like a wolf, and the light snow of earlier had turned into a wet drizzle. I crossed the street, holding my coat tightly against the storm and glancing around nervously for the crazy woman. There was no sign of her. I breathed a sigh of relief and made a mad dash to my car. I stopped ten feet away.

“Oh, shit.” My tiny smart car was completely covered in a mound of crusty snow. Just a few days earlier I’d purchased an ice scraper and snow brush for just such an emergency, but they were now neatly and uselessly stored
inside
my car. A fat lot of good they were doing me there.

“Oh shit,” I repeated, grappling through my purse for some kind of a tool. I came away with my maxed-out Visa card. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than nothing. A good ten minutes of scraping and wiping later, I had removed enough ice to reach the handle and after another ten minutes or so of struggling with it, I finally got the door open.

I climbed in and rubbed my hands together for warmth. My card was ruined. Not that it made any difference. I wouldn’t have been able to use it until it was paid off in at least another few months. I turned on the motor and waited for the defrost button to kick in. Gradually, its warmth melted the ice on the windshield until I could use the wipers to push off the rest of it.

I slipped my hand in my pocket and felt a piece of paper. I pulled it out, recognizing it as the one Jake had given me, with that client’s name and number. I’d been so busy all day, I’d clear forgotten to give her a call. Tomorrow, I told myself.

At last, I put the car in gear and slip-slided along the icy streets until I pulled onto the parking pad behind my house.

Only then did I realize how tense I’d been during that short drive. As much as I loved my smart car—lime green on a silver body and cheap on gas—it was not designed as a winter car. On the other hand, it was only November, for God’s sake. Who the hell expected Toronto to get five inches of snow at this time of year? One of the reasons I’d moved here from Montreal six years ago was because everybody knew Toronto winters were so much shorter and milder.
Hah!

I lumbered through the melting snow, which was now the consistency of creamed corn, and pounded my feet on the frozen outside mat. I walked into the mudroom, closed the door and was instantly assailed by the yipping and yapping of the two puppies.

“Sit,” I ordered, and two little butts hit the floor at the same time. I punched in my alarm code and fished some doggie treats from the bowl on the parson’s table by the door. “Good doggies, yes, you are such good doggies.” I praised them, feeding them each an itty-bitty piece. “Where’s your mama? How come she’s not taking care of you?”

Jackie Chan was lazing on the oversized cushion in the corner.

“Come, Jackie.” She looked at me blearily. “What’s the matter, little girl? Are you finding it tough being a full-time mama?”

She gave me a you-don’t-know-the-half-of-it look.

“Too bad, but you’re getting no sympathy from me. You wanted to go gallivanting around? Well, now you have to pay the piper.” She buried her nose under her front paws, another attempt no doubt, to elicit sympathy. I walked right by and picked up the phone—no messages. My heart sank. The long day had left me tense, and I would have loved to hear Mitchell’s voice. I glanced at my watch and calculated. By this time tomorrow he would be in New York.

I hung up and returned to the mudroom, thinking about that crazy woman again. Perhaps because last night I’d been anxious about the upcoming television interview, I hadn’t given much thought to her threats. But tonight I couldn’t get her out of my mind. She had sounded insane, going on and on about us stealing her restaurant. I only hoped Charles was right about her not being dangerous.

I turned to Jackie, who had been watching me motionless since I’d come in. “What do you think, Jackie? Was that lady dangerous or just crazy?” She tilted her head, looking puzzled.

“Want to go for a walk?” Now, this, Jackie understood. She went into immediate hysteria, jumping and barking for joy. If she could have done cartwheels, she would have. “Okay, but only for two minutes. It’s cold out there.”

I zipped her into her winter coat and clipped on her leash. “Honestly, Jackie, you are sorely trying my patience. If you don’t stop wiggling, we won’t be going anywhere.”

I gave her my most serious look, but she called my bluff. That dog knew damn well I wanted to go for that walk even more than she did. The truth was that I wanted to walk past Mitchell’s again, even knowing all I’d see was a house bathed in darkness, and that it would only amplify my feelings of loneliness.

careening toward me at a dizzying speed

The next morning I woke up feeling optimistic. I hadn’t slept much more than six hours but it was all I’d needed. After obsessing about that crazy woman’s threats for a while, I’d finally put the whole episode behind me. It was silly to keep worrying about her. The confrontation had been two nights ago and since then, nothing.

Today was going to be a good day. It was shopping day. Twice a week I headed for Saint Lawrence Market, one of my favorite places in the world. Every trip there was a treasure hunt for some interesting new ingredients to flavor our recipes.

I parked my car in the lot across the street from the cavernous old building that had been home to the market for over a century. After arming myself with half a dozen recyclable bags, I spent a leisurely hour strolling from booth to booth.

The place was a feast for the senses. There were countless stalls overflowing with a plethora of wonderful foods. And each was a jumble of colors and textures—bright reds, fresh greens, rich purples and dazzling oranges. And the blend of odors, some sharp and savory, others sweet and fruity. Each visit was a heady experience.

Nosing around a cheese counter, I uncovered a feta from France.

“Would you like to taste it?” the old man behind the stall asked. He cut off a small piece, which he offered on the end of his knife. I placed it on my tongue, waiting for the explosion of flavor on my taste buds. It was milder, the texture creamier, just perfect for a new dish I was working on. I bought a large chunk of it. A few stalls further I bought farm-fresh eggs and aromatic herbs.

There was something almost spiritual about these shopping expeditions. I always returned to work in a good mood. Soon, my bags were full and even loaded with their weight I felt reenergized.

I zipped back along Queen Street and—talk about being lucky—after circling the block only twice I found a parking spot so tiny, only my smart could fit in. And, joy of joys, it was only half a block from work. I cranked my steering wheel and backed in.

A few minutes later I was crossing the street, my arms full of groceries. I was already conjuring ways I could use the gorgeous black trumpet mushrooms I’d scored.

Suddenly somebody shouted, “Watch out!”

The woman was frantically pointing down the street. A car was careening toward me at a dizzying speed. For a split second my legs froze, my feet glued to the asphalt.

I was about to be run over.

All at once, I broke into a sprint, but on the slippery road I felt like I was running in place. The car was only a few yards away and bearing down on me fast. I glanced at the sidewalk, eyeballing the distance to safety. It was only a few feet away. I could do it. I
had
to do it. In a last burst of adrenaline, I made a desperate leap, legs stretched in midair like a pole-vaulter’s. But, just as I thought I was out of danger, the car hit me. I went rolling over the hood of the car, and over its roof, and then I came crashing down on the ice-covered ground.

I lay on the icy road, numb, something warm running down my face. Oh, no. I was bleeding. I brushed a hand over my forehead. Thank God, I could move. I expected to come away with it covered in blood, but my hand was yellow—egg yolk. So maybe I wouldn’t die. I glanced down at myself. I had feta crumbled all over me, crushed tomatoes, oregano, basil—hell, I was a tossed salad.

Suddenly Charles appeared over me, his eyes filled with worry. “Are you all right? I saw everything from the window.”

The fall had knocked the wind out of me. I struggled to catch my breath. “I—I—”

“Don’t try to move. I’ll call an ambulance.” He fished through his pocket, pulled out his cell and punched in a number. “I need an ambulance, corner of Queen and Niagara. Someone’s just been hit by a car.”

I struggled to sit up but a sharp pain tore through my ankle. “Aaarrhhhh.”

“I told you not to move.” He pushed me back down.

By then a crowd was beginning to form. Witnesses were recounting what they’d seen. Bits and pieces of what they were saying drifted over.

“That driver was aiming right for her.”

“The car sped up just before it hit her.”

“Did you get the license plate?”

“It was a big black sedan.”

“It was an old beat-up car.”

“No, it was brand new.”

From the pitch of their voices, they could have been talking about a great movie they’d just seen.

“Charles,” I muttered through my pain. “Will you call Toni? I don’t think I’ll be able to work today.”

“How can you think about work at a time like this?” Suddenly Jennifer appeared at my side with a rolled-up tablecloth, which she gently placed under my head. Shock must have been settling in because I couldn’t stop shivering. She hurried back to the store, returning again, this time with a coat that she threw over me. I was still lying there, gritting my teeth and counting the seconds until the ambulance arrived. Taking one of my hands in hers, she leaned over and whispered, “You’ll be all right. Don’t worry.”

How could I not worry? I wanted to ask. Somebody had just tried to kill me.