Getting Rich (A Chef Landry Mystery) (7 page)

a steady flow of fat paychecks in my future

I walked into the restaurant, fighting against the wind to close the door, and slipped out of my parka. From the back of the room where he’d been setting a table, Jake came to a full stop, giving me an appreciative stare just as Charles came out of the kitchen. “Oh. My. God. You look amazing.”

“I do?” I said, hoping he’d say it again.

He strode over. “You are
hot
,” he gushed, opening his arms for a hug, and squeezing until I squealed. This was an even better reaction than I’d had from Mitchell. “Hey, Jennifer, guys,” he called over his shoulders. “Nicky’s here.” He stepped back, studying me closely. “You should always wear your makeup that way.” I guess Mitchell’s smooching hadn’t erased
all
of it.

He and Toni were two of a kind, forever trying to convince me to glam up. Since the ad campaign, using my before and after pictures, I was making more of an effort. I now routinely wore mascara and lip gloss, but that was as far as I would go. As far as I was concerned, spending hours putting on makeup when it would only melt away in our hot and steamy kitchen was a complete waste of time.

“Enjoy it while you can because I refuse to spend half an hour painting my face every morning.”

The guys came pouring out of the kitchen, staring at me as if I were some new dish they were considering for our menu. Jennifer walked over, staring closely at my makeup.

“She looks great, doesn’t she?” asked Jake, nodding his approval.

“You sure do,” said Jennifer. “I wish I could do my eyes that way.”

I swear, I was liking that girl more all the time.

Marley and Jake gathered round. “Way to go.”

“You look hot.”

Toni waltzed in from the back, still wearing her shrink-wrap dress. “You won’t believe the buzz from our interview. The phone has been ringing off the hook. We’re booked solid for the next month.”

Jake grabbed the reservations book, setting it on a table and pulling me a chair. “It’s true. Look.”

I sat and he flipped page after page, and indeed many of the spaces were filled. “I wouldn’t call that booked solid. There are what, ten or twelve dinner reservations a day?”

“That’s already twice as many dinner customers as we usually get,” Toni said.

“And the calls are still coming in,” added Jake. “I bet by the end of the day all the spaces will be filled. You’ll see.” He started toward the kitchen and stopped. “Before I forget, Edna Jamieson called.”

The name sounded vaguely familiar. “Who’s she?”

He shrugged. “She’s a regular, comes in at least three or four times a week. I’m sure you must have noticed her. She’s middle aged and tiny—under five feet tall. She has gray hair and tends to wear tweeds and jeweled brooches.”

Toni’s eyebrows rose. “I think Edna could use a fashion consultant.”

I frowned. “What does she want?”

He shrugged. “All I know is she’s nuts about our brownies. She asked me for the recipe but I wouldn’t give it to her. And then she insisted on speaking to you personally. Maybe she thinks you’re a softer touch and will give in to her.” He handed me a piece of paper with her name and telephone number.

I groaned. Patrons often asked for our recipes. There was no way we would share them, but I should still give her a call. I stuffed it into my pocket, intending to give her a call later.

“That’s not all,” Charles added. “You also got a call from the
Toronto Daily.
They want you to call them back.” He raised his eyebrows, announcing dramatically, “I bet they want to write an article about the restaurant.”

Toni gasped. “You didn’t tell me that.”

He grinned. “I wanted to tell you both at the same time.”

“Oh my God. We’ll be rich.” Toni looked as if she’d just won the lottery, which was ridiculous considering she already was rich.

I was envisioning the steady flow of fat paychecks in my future, and then, “Oh my God, we’ll be so busy,” I blurted, horror-stricken as I thought of all the difficulties our little business could encounter if it grew too fast.

Over the past few months, business had improved enough that we’d added four more tables to our original six, almost doubling our seating capacity. But even with all those extra customers, we were still no more than a small neighborhood restaurant. Sure, we got lineups at lunch, but our dinner clientele still lagged. In the aftermath of today’s television interview and its ensuing rush, however, that just might change. I couldn’t help but wonder if being more successful might not bring as many problems as advantages.

As it was, the restaurant was closed only one day a week—Mondays. And we each took a turn taking nights off. This meant I worked six days a week, five of which I finished late, leaving me only one full day off for personal chores and errands, and one evening free for my private life. If we got any busier, when was I supposed to find time for love? The success of this restaurant was, of course, my priority. But on my list of important things, romance came in a close second. I sighed. It was a good thing Mitchell lived right next door and worked from home, otherwise we’d never find time to see each other. We’d have to start planning breakfast dates. I had a quick image of myself in a sexy peignoir, serving him eggs Benedict or omelets. I walked into the kitchen, smiling secretly.

I grabbed my chef’s jacket and glanced at the daily menu board posted above the plating counter. Today the specials were butternut squash soup and a pear-and-walnut salad with gorgonzola dressing. I went to the walk-in refrigerator, picked up a crate of squash and hefted it to the counter. I set to work, chopping the squash into cubes, tossing them with nutmeg, salt, pepper and oil, and then popping them in the oven to roast. Meanwhile, I silently continued my internal debate about the whole lifestyle versus financial success question.

More business meant more money. With more money, we could hire more staff. And more staff would translate into more time off—time I could spend with Mitchell. Now,
there
was an incentive. It also meant I could pay off my bills sooner. That would be really nice too.

Suddenly, the bell above the door chimed as the first customers arrived. Jake hurried out front to greet them, and soon our kitchen became a madhouse. Pots were boiling. Pans were sizzling. Charles and Jennifer cooked and stirred over our hot and steamy stove, bumping into each other with every move. Meanwhile Marley chopped and diced as fast as he could. His dreadlocks, tied in a bun under his hairnet, were bouncing along with the rhythm of his knife. And even with Scott pitching in with the food preparation, we could still barely keep up.

I glanced around. “Where’s the gorgonzola dressing I just made? It was on the plating table a minute ago.”

“Oh, you mean this?” Charles pointed to a jug near the dishwashing sink. “I thought it was old gravy, ready to throw out.”

I sighed deeply and raised my eyes to the ceiling. “God, give me the patience.”

Charles burst into laughter. “Just kidding.”

“That was about as funny as a kick in the butt,” Jennifer said, pulling out quiches from the oven.

“She’s right,” I said. I placed a hand on my racing heart. “You nearly gave me a heart attack. Okay, enough with the funny stuff. Get back to work, everyone.”

As they returned to their feverish pace I looked around, trying to imagine more workers in our already tight kitchen. I couldn’t see how it was possible. Maybe we could cram in one extra helper, but we’d be really tight.
Sigh
. So much for the idea of more staff.

Suddenly, Toni grabbed me by the elbow, pulling me to the swinging door. “Take a look at this,” she said, pushing it open a crack. “Have you ever seen anything so wonderful?”

Our dining room, which we’d decorated on a shoestring budget, was bright and inviting. The walls were covered with a multitude of old gold-leafed mirrors. Some were chipped, some were cracked, but the flaws only added to the charm of the place. We’d painted the ugly, eighteen-foot ceiling a velvety black, against which the crisscross of rusty old metal pipes overhead seemed to disappear. The tables and chairs were a mishmash of styles, which we’d coordinated by painting them all fuchsia, adding a welcome splash of color against the black-and-white tiled floor.

The room looked amazing. It was twelve-thirty—the peak of lunchtime rush hour—and it was filled to capacity.
Amazing.
And still more customers stood at the entrance, waiting for an available table.
Totally amazing!

I was taking all this in when Toni nudged me with an elbow. “Imagine, just a couple of months ago we were on the verge of bankruptcy. Now, we have to start thinking about opening a second location.”

“What!” I swiveled to face her. “No way—we’re finally starting to make money. I haven’t even caught up on my credit-card debt. I don’t want to open a second restaurant and risk what little success we’ve already achieved.”

“You know what I always say,” she said. I braced myself for one of her clichés. She gave me a gleeful smile. “‘You can’t steal second base and keep your foot on first.’”

Just once I wished I could come up with a smart retort when I needed it, instead of hours later.

At that moment, Jake came bursting through the door, almost knocking Toni off her feet. “Oh, uh, sorry. Where’s that Skinny Fettuccine for table three?” he demanded, looking harried.

“Coming right up.” I rushed back to the stove, glancing at Toni over my shoulder. “It might be a good idea to take care of the restaurant we already have before you start making plans for a second one, wouldn’t you say?”

She smiled knowingly. “Just think about it. You’ll see I’m right.” She returned to plating, humming happily.

By midafternoon, the welcome lull arrived at last. The day was not half over and we were already damp from exertion.

Toni grabbed a paper napkin and, lifting her hair, wiped the back of her neck, managing to make the gesture seem sexy. How did she do that? If I were to do the exact same thing, I’d only look sweaty and unattractive.

She glanced at her watch. “Good grief, we’ll hardly have time to recover before we have to start getting ready for the dinner rush.”

“So much for the joys of success,” I said. Bah, who was I kidding? The busier we were, the more I loved it, even if it did mean more pressure. It was all good stress, the kind I thrived on. “By the way, Toni, I didn’t tell you what happened after you left last night—a woman barged in and threatened to kill us.”

“What?” Her eyes grew wide as I told her what had happened. “Do you think she meant it? Shouldn’t we call the police and report her?”

“I thought about it, but what are they going to do? Take a statement and then forget about it.”

“You’re probably right.” She shrugged and made a big show of looking at her watch yet again, this time her eyebrows giving an exaggerated jump. “Uh-oh,” she said. I’d seen that fake surprised look before. And sure enough, a fake apology followed. “I hate to do this to you, sweetie. I know how busy you are, but I really have to run. You can cope without me for one evening, can’t you?”

“Not so fast.” I planted my hands on my hips. “Where do you think you’re going? Your night off isn’t until Thursday. Besides, you already took the whole day off yesterday.”

She planted her hands on her hips, in a mocking imitation of me. “Tell you what—
you
can take two nights off next week. How’s that?”

I groaned. “It’s not a question of keeping count. It’s just that we’re busier than we’ve ever been. We need all hands on deck. You have a date, don’t you? A date with Steven?”

She shook her head. “No, with Judy.”

“Have you told him about her yet?”

“No,” she answered abruptly.

I wrinkled my forehead. “Is everything all right between you and Steven?”

She flipped back a lock of blond hair and smiled. “All right? I’ll say. That man has one thing on his mind. Sex! He wants it when he wakes up. He wants it in the middle of the day. He wants it before bedtime and even in the middle of the night.”

By now, the guys were frozen on the spot, no doubt waiting for more juicy details.

Jennifer walked by with a pot of something that smelled delicious. She winked. “All I can say is I hope his right hand is getting a really good workout.”

This time Toni hooted. “That’s a good one.”

I stifled a laugh. Toni had just met her match. I threw Jennifer a grin. She did likewise.

Without another word, Toni slipped into her coat, grabbed her bag and waltzed out. “See you tomorrow.”

I stared at the door. “Well how do you like that?”

Charles joined me. “Off to play with her sister again, is she? It’s like she’s trying to catch up with the childhood they didn’t have.”

“I think you hit the nail on the head,” I said, and then brought the subject back to the here and now. “So what did we decide would be the special tonight?”

“Eggplant Parmesan—remember? I just perfected a two-hundred-and-fifty-calorie version that tastes divine.”

“Oh, right.” We’d gradually added a number of wonderful low-cal dishes to our repertoire until we now had a different dinner special for every night of the week. We often tested our new recipes on our lunch crowd, moving them onto our dinner menu when they rated high with everyone. “Sounds yummy—is everything ready to go in the oven?”