Oh, yeah. She broke him.
“No, the fuck you don’t.”
Just before I walked out, he asked, “What’s going to happen to me?”
“Sheriff Humbly is on his way to arrest you for the murders of Felix Kolby and Joann Martin.” I smiled at him. “You’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison.”
He began to stammer. “No, no. I’ll get a lawyer.” I shook my head and left.
We could still hear his screams in the elevator.
Chapter Thirty-One
Angel
Six months later. One week before Christmas.
“Good morning, Chef.”
I looked up from my prep work, smiling at Alex and Monty. “Good morning. How did last night go?”
Alex rolled her eyes. “Marg is still deciding between the blond one and the tall, hot one.”
Monty clicked his tongue, humming in agreement. “The blond woman has a good resume, but Mr. Tall Dark and Please Fuck Me into a Wall? I believe he’s exactly what this place needs.”
“Uh-huh,” I laughed, continuing to chop up the carrots.
“This place or you?” Alex deadpanned.
“Hell, you too. I don’t mind sharing.” Monty strutted around the prep table to stand beside me. “I’m still waiting for this beauty to share her hunk with me.”
“My hunk?” I parroted in disbelief, gaping at him.
Monty grinned. “I’ll only want him for the night, babe. You can have him back. He looks like the commitment type, and I’m not for that.”
“Shouldn’t you all be working instead of hounding our new sous chef on her first day back?” Marg asked, giving me a wink. Everyone dispersed, leaving me alone with her. “Settling back in all right?”
I smiled. “It’s like I never left.” She watched me work for a few moments, and when I finished cutting the carrots, moving onto the onion, she whispered, “He’d be proud of you, you know.”
My eyes started to sting. “Yes, I know he would.” I set the knife down and wiped my hands on my apron. “He’d be proud of both of us, actually.”
Marg’s face split into a smile, deepening her laughter lines. A sign of a life well lived. She reached up, patting her head in search of her reading glasses, and slipped them on. “I miss that boy,” she muttered, pulling out tonight’s menu. “Now, are you set on the main dish? Do you have enough fish or do I need to send Monty down to the docks for more?”
“Why am I being sent to the docks?” Monty screeched from somewhere in the empty dining room. He burst into the kitchen, eyes wide with fear. “Two things, Marg.” He held up two fingers, each decorated with thin silver and gold rings. “One, I work front of house. My job is to ensure your guests are comfortable. Two, I will never in my life touch a fish. Alive or dead.”
“You wouldn’t touch them,” Alex deadpanned, emerging from our locker room. “Mac will give you a cooler. You just have to bring it back the next day.”
“You’re bat shit crazy if you think I’m going to do that.”
Marg leaned close to me. “We’ll send Alex if you run out.”
“Sounds like a plan. If we push Monty too much, he’ll run away.”
“Can’t have that, can we?”
She turned to walk away. “Uh, Marg?”
“Hmm?”
