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A lanky guy with an army buzz cut wearing a white chef’s coat is bent over a pot. “This is Justin. He replaced Gerry. You remember Gerry, don’t you, Bitsy?”
Despite the down coat that promised to keep me warm in thirty below temps, I’m growing chilled. “It’s Liz,” I inform Mary. “Everyone calls me Liz.” No one is allowed to call me Bitsy. That’s Leka’s name for me.
“Is that right? All grown up and now you’re calling the shots?” She laughs and pinches my cheek way too hard to be cute. “Anyway, Bitsy, like I said, this is Justin. Justin, honey, come over here and meet Leka’s little girl. He raised her since she was a baby and she’s just come home from boarding school.”
Justin jerks back in surprise. This is obviously the first he’s ever heard of Leka having a kid. Don’t let that bother you, I counsel myself. This is Leka’s way. He never wanted me to be around his work.
I use the opportunity to get out from under Mary’s arm and move forward to offer my hand to Justin. “Call me Liz, and I’m not Leka’s child. Obviously, I’m too old for that. We grew up together.”
The man’s brows crash together in obvious confusion, not sure who to believe. “Uh, okay. Nice to meet you, uh, Liz.”
Score one for Elizabeth Moore. I make a point of not waiting for Mary to take charge again and introduce myself to the rest of the kitchen crew. The tatted sous chef with the shock of red spiked hair is Brady. He’s been here for three years. The two line cooks, both of them short and round and looking a little like Porky Pig, tell me their names are Otto and Jannik. Everyone seems friendly.
Otto makes me a spiced cider and Brady fires up a pan to make me chicken alfredo. “Best you e’er had,” he declares.
Mary stands off to the side, arms folded under her envious rack, carefully watching every move. Does she think I’m going to announce to everyone that she murdered the last chef? I’m not that naïve. I never was.
Jannik grabs me a stool and helps me take my jacket off.
“Never knew Leka had family,” the man says as he toddles over to the back to hang the coat on one of the empty hooks that line the rear wall. “You don’t look much alike.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” Mary agrees.
The kitchen looks the same even if the people are different. There are two stainless steel tables. One is speckled with floor. A plastic container full of dough sits to the side. Along the front wall are the cooktops—one large gas-fueled one and one long flat metal surface. Underneath are the ovens. It smells good back here—warm and inviting.
“Priest never does talk much about anything. Hell, the guy could have his own stable and none of us would know,” Otto replies and then shoots a guilty look in my direction as if I might tell Leka the men mentioned bad things in my presence. It makes one wonder what Leka does that inspires such a reaction. Of course, I never ponder this in Leka’s presence because I know it would bother him.
“Shut up and shred those carrots,” Justin orders.
The line cooks fall silent as Chef Justin turns up the music to, I suppose, mask the dirty talk the two are exchanging. Priest? Is that his nickname now? Better than Monkey, although, I’ve never heard anyone call him that.
This nickname implies a certain…celibate lifestyle which means his practice of staying away from women still exists. Delighted, I hunch over the cider, breathe in the spicy cinnamon and nutmeg scent, and hide my smile. This is all going well. Leka’s not had any serious relationship while I’ve been gone. No one seems particularly dangerous—except for the viper in the corner. But I know what she’s capable of and all I need to do is keep an eye on her.
The long day catches up with me and I blink sleepily over the mug. Driving can really wear a person out. It’d be nice if Leka could show up soon and take me home. I could shower off the grime of the drive and then sleep in my bed—alone, sadly, but I’ll convince Leka to join me soon enough.
The back door opens and I jolt upright only to slump again when I see Beefer, followed by three more men I don’t recognize. There’s been a lot of turnover in the last four years.
“Mother Mary, is that you, Liz?” Beefer booms. “I haven’t seen you since you were yay high.” He gestures at his waist.
I climb off the stool. “I was at least to your chest.”
“Nah. You weren’t more than a babe when Leka took off with you. Come here and let me take a look at you.”
