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The folder is empty. Not a single entry. I click on the day before, and the day after. The files start again the next day around six, with the early morning files also missing. The day before is complete.
I chew my bottom lip, curse, and lock the computer screen back the way it was. Did the police confiscate it? Was it deleted? Is it in evidence? Was it a liability?More questions. So many more questions.
Pressing my ear against the door, I listen for the sound of Evan’s voice and edge the door open a crack. Nick is still occupied with several customers at the bar. I slip out, quick andnonchalant, letting it close softly behind me just as Evan rounds the corner.
“I couldn’t find Giana,” He states, glancing around. “I didn’t see Marjorie either.”
I shrug. “I think Giana is on break. I’m not sure, though.”
Evan nods. “Marjorie has my contact info.” He reaches out and takes a pile of silverware from me. “Come on, let’s take this back to Ryan. Then I’ll have Mia introduce you to the lemon slicer.” He moves into the kitchen, and I follow.
“You were right about the business here. It’s not even the weekend, and it’s packed. I haven’t figured out your secret sauce yet, but it’s working.” A shameless ego stroke.
He smiles. “We have a consistent model across all of our businesses. You have to know what people want, and give it to them.”
“What is it then? What do people want?”
“Beyond the obvious sustenance needs, they want an experience. They want something they can’t get at home. Something unique, like an addictive high that keeps them coming back for more.”
“The fish taco appetizer?” I offer, and he laughs.
“Here, maybe. It’s fantastic. But at the clubs, like Aurora, they’re looking for something different. Something hot. Something sensual.”
“Aren’t we all?” I’m not entirely joking.
His gaze sweeps over me as if weighing my words. “Learn the Sandbar, and I’ll consider cross-training you like I’ve done with Natalie and Raven.”
“What have you done with Natalie?” Natalie asks, walkingup to us. She glances uncomfortably at our proximity, her lips hardening into a thin line. Oh, I’ve hit a nerve.
“I still need another floating cocktail server for weekends at Aurora. I may start training her if she works out here.”
Natalie nods stiffly. “She’s got a long way to go.”
“Then it’s good you’re here to help her,” Evan adds. “Table 15 is waving at you.” He points into the dining room, and she reluctantly strides off. He glances back at me, lowering his voice. “You’ll like her when you get to know her.”
“I can feel the bestie potential radiating from here,” I muse sarcastically.
Evan cracks a smile and nods toward the kitchen. “Mia’s at the back table. See if you can help them catch up the sidework.”
I wander over to the stainless steel prep table where Mia stands assembling the slicer. She glances over at me, then drops the top of the slicer like a guillotine to test it. It lands with a loud metal thud.
“I’ve got tables, but I’m going to help you. Can you grab the lemons from the walk-in?”
I agree and head for the cooler. Once the large metal door is closed behind me, I glance around to make sure I’m alone, then pull the section chart out of my back pocket and unfold it. I see Paige’s name at the top left section of the deck. Mason. Rhonda. Mia. And Natalie. The bartender that night was Jax. I glance up, thinking. I’ve only seen Nick at the bar. But one of those people may have some insight into what happened.
I fold the chart back up and grab the bucket of lemons, pushing the door open and returning to Mia.
She sets the slicer down inside a Lexan on the table and grabs alemon from the bucket. “Super easy, see?” She sets the lemon down at the apex of the blades, then pushes the top part down, slicing the lemon into wedges. Katrina calls her name from the window, and she looks up. “Shit, I’ve got to run this food real quick. I’ll be back.” She jogs off through the kitchen doors, and I stare at the metal chopper, wondering if I’m about to lose some fingers.
I emulate her example, positioning the lemon in the middle and pushing the slider top down. It only cuts through a quarter of the way. I push against it, and it starts to smush the lemon instead of slicing it. I curse, pushing harder.
“You have to slam it.” I don’t need to look up to know who it is.
“I thought I was, but I’m just making lemonade.”
Zaden chuckles. “Like this.” He pulls out my smushed lemon and places a fresh one inside, pulling the top of the guillotine all the way to the top. His shoulder brushes against mine, and I can feel the friction of it all the way to my toes. Then he slams it down, splitting the lemon cleanly into pieces. “It’s all in the drop.” He grabs a squeeze bottle off his table beside the grill. “Also, these tracks can get oxidized after they’re washed sometimes. But if you put a little liquid butter here, and here.” He adds a drop to each side, then moves the top a few times before pulling it up and letting go. “It smoothes it out.” He looks over at me.
“I’ve always cut lemons with a knife,” I explain, setting the lemon inside, pulling up the top, and dropping it swiftly down. It cuts perfectly the first time, all the way through. I smile. “Cool.”
