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Ruth began to unload the goat cheese into the cooler, no longer looking at the cook. “Did Carol get in your way? She knows to do food prep at the side of the kitchen, well away from the stove.”
The cook looked sour, as if she were beginning to understand that Ruth wasn’t going to accept her complaint at face value. “She had to grill the bread, didn’t she? That uses the flat top.”
Ruth straightened, wiping her hands on a towel. “Were you using the flat top at the time?”
“That’s not the point,” the cook snapped. “She could have gotten in my way. I won’t have it.”
Ruth sighed. She looked exhausted. “I’ll talk to her. Maybe we can work something out.”
“Nothing to work out. My kitchen, my rules. Nobody in there but adults.”
Ruth opened her mouth as if she had something else to say, then closed it and nodded.
The cook turned on her heel and stalked back through the kitchen door.
Ruth turned back to him, shaking her head. “Sorry. Barbara Jean shouldn’t have done that in front of you.”
He took a quick survey of the room and realized he was the only customer left. He shrugged. “It’s okay. She seems pretty salty.”
“She’s not happy here. And it shows. I wish we had an alternative, but we don’t unless I start cooking, which is really all I need to make my life complete. I don’t even have time to look for a replacement, and there aren’t too many available cooks running around Antero at the moment.”
She gave him another rueful smile. “Did you want anything else? We don’t have house-made desserts right now, but there are some packaged things.”
He shook his head. “The sandwich was enough. It was great. Tell Carol I said so.”
“I will. It may be her swan song as a sandwich maker.”
On his way back down the street toward the tavern, he found himself wondering just how Carol planned on getting around her mother’s biggest problem. Because no matter how much he might like to get together with her, it didn’t look like Ruth had any time to spare, even for him.
…
The next morning, he worked for a couple of hours at the brewery. The grilled tomato and goat cheese sandwich was still on his mind. He wished he could grab another, but he wouldn’t have time before heading to work.
“What kind of beer would you serve with Ruth’s cheese?” he mused.
Bec glanced at him, frowning. “They don’t have a liquor license.”
“I know. Indulge me. What kind of beer.”
She paused, tapping her fingers against her chin. “Hard to say. Maybe a wheat or a pilsner.”
“Sounds routine.” Ruth’s cheese deserved something equally extraordinary.
“That’s just off the top of my head.” Bec narrowed her eyes. “When did you taste her cheese?”
“I had lunch there yesterday. Carol fixed me a sandwich.”
“Carol did?” Bec shook her head. “Usually Barbara Jean does the cooking, although I don’t think she likes goat cheese all that much.”
Which raised the question of why exactly she was working in a deli that featured goat cheese, but Liam let it go. “Barbara Jean came out later and complained. She didn’t like sharing the kitchen.”
“She probably doesn’t like the fact that even Carol’s a better cook than she is.” Bec shook her head. “She’s a freakin’ disaster, but she was the best Ruth could get after Honoria quit and moved to the big time.”
“It sounds like Ruth’s doing some of the sandwich making.” He watched Bec take a quick pH reading on the mash tun. “On top of everything else she’s in charge of over there.”
Bec shook her head, handing him the pH meter. “She’s going to run herself ragged doing that. Making cheese, making sandwiches, trying to ride herd on Carol, although Carol runs the cash register half the time, which is at least one less thing for Ruth to be in charge of. What do you think of this level?” She nodded toward the meter.
Liam checked the numbers absently. “They look okay. Is it ready to transfer to the brew kettle?”
“Not yet.” Bec recorded the numbers in her notebook. “Give it another hour or so.”
