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“Sorry again for the inconvenience,” Mike improvises. “Rocko would kill me if he knew I’d messed up. If you want to show me where to bring in the stuff, I can get out of your hair.”
Betty Jean’s mouth sets in a grim line. I’m still not out of the hot seat because in her mind I should have called to excuse myself, but at least she can’t accuse me of lying to her.
I walk Mike through the kitchen and out to the back parking lot. He’s right. There are too many cars to allow him to get his truck in here. “I got a dolly I can put the supplies on. No big deal to unload the truck where it is and haul the stuff in that way.”
“Thanks. And um, thanks for backing me up out there.”
“Hey, we all have our secrets.”
“Hardly. It’s…complicated but suffice it to say I was supposed to be somewhere last night and used your delivery service as an excuse.”
“So I was probably the last person you wanted to see this morning, huh?”
“Not necessarily. We’re running low on chocolate chips.”
He chuckles. “You’re funny, Lucy.” He looks at me longer than necessary causing my cheeks to go warm. He’s a big guy. Not fat, but solid. His nose is crooked like it’s been broken and didn’t heal well.
“Where’s Rocko? He’s okay, isn’t he?”
“He’s on a…long overdue vacation.”
The hairs on my neck tingle. This is a lie, but it’s not a big one. Maybe it’s private family business, so I shrug it off.
He goes out to the truck and comes back with a loaded dolly. “Where do you want all this?”
I show him the pantry. Mike puts away all the supplies, cuts down the boxes, and even offers to haul a load of trash out to the dumpster, which is so not in his job description, but he insists. After he takes out our trash, he lingers for a few minutes like he doesn’t want to leave just yet, so I offer him a cup of coffee.
“What was all that about you being a hero?” he asks.
I flush. “Oh, that.” I give him the short version of how I solved Abby’s murder and nabbed a serial killer at the same time.
Mike looks impressed. “Remind me not to mess with you, Lucy.”
“Oh, you’re safe from me. Unless you’re planning on killing someone?” I tease.
“Not today,” he says with a straight face.
I laugh at his joke and then because I catch him ogling a batch of pumpkin spice muffins cooling on a rack, reach over and hand him one.
He takes a bite of the muffin and makes what I like to call the yummy face, except on Mike it looks funny on account of his crooked nose. Still, I can’t help but feel pleased.
“You made this?”
“I make all the muffins and the baked goods and some of the sandwiches. Sarah makes all the rest. If you’re a mac and cheese kind of person, you won’t find any better than hers.”
He glances around the kitchen. The dining area in The Bistro has a beach theme—brightly colored walls with murals of dolphins, but the kitchen is all business. High-end stainless-steel appliances and three industrial ovens. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“Culinary school, but I’ve been hooked on baking since my first job washing dishes at The Harbor House.”
“That’s my next drop off.”
“I bet they get some big orders, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess. So you like working here?”
“I love being my own boss. And I love baking. And I really like interacting with customers. The only downfall is the four-thirty a.m. wake up call. Otherwise, it’s pretty much perfect.”
