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I winced. I didn’t want to think of Harvey that way. I didn’t believe that he was inconsiderate, not if he was Holly’s brother. Yes, siblings could be very different, but I didn’t think they would be total opposites.
I stared at my kitchen, my arms tired from scrubbing, my hair hanging around my face in frizzy wisps. I don’t think my kitchen had ever been so clean. The back door opened, and Ricardo came in, shaking the rain off his jacket.
“Whoa, you might want to open the back door and get some fresh air in here. That stuff is pungent.”
“Really?” I sniffed. “I guess I’ve been breathing it so long I don’t even notice anymore. Crack the back door and reposition that back fan to blow out.”
“Sure. Why are you cleaning again?”
“Because I’ll be damned if someone else is going to get sick from something in my kitchen.”
He was positioning the fan and glanced back. “You ever think that it might not be the kitchen, but the food?”
“Of course, I have thought of that, but do you hear of any other patrons getting sick at other restaurants? It’s not like any of our suppliers only supply us.”
He nodded. “Didn’t the Health Department say they were going to close us for two weeks if anyone else got sick?”
“Yes, and I’m doing everything I can to make sure that doesn’t happen. We need to stay on top of everyone. I want people to scrub their hands like they are about to perform surgery and clean uniforms and aprons every single day. I’m not taking any chances, Ricardo. I can’t afford to.”
“You’re doing all that you can, Ali. What does Randolph say?”
“He’s worried, but he thinks I can handle it. Says that I should keep doing what I’m doing.”
“What is he going to do if they close us down for two weeks?”
I shrugged and sighed. “I have no clue, but I have a feeling I’d be looking for a new job.”
Ricardo squeezed my shoulder. “That won’t happen. I think after the scrubbing you gave this kitchen, the patrons could eat off any surface they wanted to without any issues.”
We both laughed, and then a few other people started to arrive. I went back to the employee restroom and washed my face, brushed my hair, and changed out of my t-shirt into a camisole that I wore under my chef’s coat. Twenty minutes later, I was in the center of the kitchen and preparing for another busy night.
Around eight-thirty, amid our busiest time, there was banging at our back door, and before David could answer it, Anton rushed into the kitchen with a paramedic and a policeman.
“What’s going on?” I asked him as I sprinkled seasoning over the dish in front of me.
David’s voice raised as he yelled from the back door, “Chef!”
I turned to see several cops coming down the hallway toward us. “What the hell is going on?”
One of the police officers was on the phone and said, “Which one?” He paused and then nodded. “Yeah, I got him.”
Two police officers walked over to Ricardo, who started sputtering. “What are you doing? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“What the hell is going on!” I shouted, trying to get someone to tell me something.
The paramedic rushed to my side. “I need to know what he was cooking and who got it?”
“What?” I grabbed the cop's arm as he started to pulled Ricardo away. “Wait! Will someone just tell me what the hell is going on, please?”
The cop looked pointedly at my hand and then at me; I let him go but didn’t back down, and he sighed. “This man was seen on camera putting something into the food.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, and then it dawned on me, and I automatically glanced at the camera at his station. “Who called you?”
“We got a call from your security company, ma’am.”
The paramedic stepped forward. “You can help yourself out a lot here if you tell me what meal you poisoned.”
“Wait! You think Ricardo did this? No! He’s my sous chef! He would never do this!”
