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“I’m not sure I can eat again,” said Ian.
“Suck it up. Take one for the team,” laughed Miller. “At least have coffee and toast. Table for two, please.”
“Sure thing,” said the young man. “You mind sitting at the counter? You get a good view out the windows, see all the foot traffic and crazies.”
“I think that works,” said Miller. Both men ordered more coffee, this time only getting something small for breakfast. Despite claiming he was full, Ian ordered a large caramel pecan sticky bun.
“That’s what you order when you’re not hungry?” frowned Miller.
“What can I say, I love a good sticky bun, and this shit looks amazing.” Miller asked the waiter if they could speak to the chef, and a few minutes later, a middle-aged woman came from the back. She was short, with short dark hair covered in a bandana.
“Morning. Tommy said you wanted to speak with me.”
“Yes, ma’am. First, everything is delicious.”
“Glad to hear that,” she smiled. “I’d hate to think I left my kitchen to get a complaint. What can I do for you?”
“We’re working with local farmers and distributors. Just wondered if you’ve had any issues with food spoiling. We heard from a few places that it’s happening on and off.”
“You know, I thought it was just me, but my eggs have been rotten a few times. I order them from a local chicken farm, and they drop them at the farmer’s market. Come fresh every morning at four a.m. I’m not sure how you gather eggs, and they go bad in the same day.”
“Did they get into the food?” asked Ian.
“Oh, hell no. I learned in pastry school that you crack your eggs in a separate bowl. Believe me, you know when one is bad. You can smell it.”
“No other issues?” asked Miller.
“None. Happy to call you if I have any more, but we’re being really careful. Got my whole life tied up in this place.”
“Well, you’re doing great,” said Ian. “This is the best sticky bun I’ve ever had.”
“Thanks,” she smiled. “I’ll send one home with you. On the house. Have a good day.”
She disappeared to the back, and a few moments later, the waiter returned with his spare sticky bun. Leaving the restaurant, Ian let out a loud belch, then raised his brows at Miller.
“Sorry. I’m so full I’m about to die.”
“Well, walk it off. We have to eat at a few more places.”
“Can’t we just ask the question and leave?” asked Ian.
“Why would we do that when we can eat all day without our wives yelling at us?” Ian looked at him, grinning, then pointed to the next restaurant.
It was all day. All day of entering a place, eating something, asking questions, and moving on to the next. Eleven restaurants total. All of them with some sort of food issues. This wasn’t just La Fromage. It was all of them. Someone was doing something to the produce, meat, and fish.
The question of the day was, why? Why would someone be sabotaging all of the restaurants in the area? Did someone get kicked out of all of them? Were they denied a private room for something?
“I’m glad you’re home,” smiled Faith, hugging her husband. “I’ve made your favorite for us tonight. Lasagna.” Ian turned a little green, then held up a finger, running toward the bayou where he leaned forward on his knees.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked Kari. Miller just laughed, shaking his head.
“Well, our assignment was a bit rough today. We had to visit almost a dozen restaurants and eat at every one of them. I mean, we didn’t have to, but it would have looked suspicious had we not. We may have overeaten.”
“Great,” frowned Faith. “Do I want to know what you ate?” Miller grinned at his friend’s wife.
“Nope. But it was everything.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
