Read Online The Pot Thief Who Studied Escoffier by J. Michael Orenduff - Free Book Online

“Only for an hour. I was freezing when I woke up. But that was good because I was sober. So I walked home.”
    “When was that?”
    “About one o’clock.”
    “Did you see anyone around the truck as you left?”
    “No. It was the middle of the night.”
    “No one outside the garage maybe?”
    “Why all the questions?”
    I lied. “Something is missing from the Bronco.” Yeah, an explanation for why a dead man was in it, I thought to myself.
    At that point, Scruggs stuck his head out and told us everyone was gathering in the dining room.
    Molinero announced that the police had informed him that Barry Stiles had passed away. No one gasped. Molinero told us the cause of death had not yet been determined. An investigation was ongoing. He asked for a moment of silence. When the moment had passed, he said we would close for the day in honor of Barry and be back at work the next morning.
    As people began to rise from their chairs, I blurted out, “Excuse me” more loudly than I had intended. When everyone turned to me, I said, “I’d like to say something.”
    They sat back down. Molinero looked perplexed.
    I cleared my throat. “The Titanic had thirty two cooks. When it sank, thirty one of them died. They were not fellow employees of Auguste Escoffier, but he published their pictures and biographies in his magazine. He also raised money for their families. I think we need something other than a moment of silence for Barry Stiles.”
    They were staring at me as if I were an idiot. I didn’t blame them – I felt like one.
    “What do you propose?” asked Molinero.
    “I don’t have a specific proposal. You knew him better than I did. Did he have a family? A favorite charity?”
    Dead silence.
    Alain Billot said to Molinero, “If you like, I could look into the matter and make a recommendation.”
    Molinero looked relieved. “Thank you, Alain.” He looked around the room. “Does everyone find that satisfactory?”
    A few heads nodded. A few faint yeses were murmured.
    “Fine,” said Molinero, “see you all in the morning.”
    As people dispersed, I went to my workplace. I put the test piece with my experimental glaze in the kiln and stared into the kiln as the elements began to glow.
    “That was very nice of you.”
    I turned to see Maria Salazar in the doorway.
    “It felt awkward,” I said.
    “But you spoke up. That’s the important thing. I don’t think people liked Barry very much, but he was a colleague, and we should do something.” She hesitated. “I don’t know what.”
    “Me neither. Maybe Alain will come up something.”
    “Maybe.” She took a couple of steps into the private dining room. “I saved you a seat next to me when I saw you had been trapped by M’Lanta at the first few meals. But then you sat next to Jürgen. Maybe you two are pals?”
    I laughed. “I guess we are now. Last night…”
    I remembered I was not to tell anyone Barry was found in my Bronco, and telling her about last night would lead in that direction so I changed course and said, “Actually, I sat by him because he’s Austrian, and I figured he could explain what we were eating.”
    “I could do that, too. I have to know all the dishes. I’m the saucier.”
    She said it like she meant it.
    “What will you do with your day off?” she asked.
    “Well, I can’t go home because my truck …”
    Oops. Can’t go there either, I thought. She must be thinking I have early Alzheimer’s and can’t finish sentences.
    She smiled. “Won’t start? I noticed you walked to work this morning.”
    “I like walking, although it’s cold today.”
    “But the sun is out. Would you like to go for a walk with me?”
    “Sure. Let me get my jacket.”
    We walked to the Plaza, our hands in the pockets of our jackets. She asked me how I knew about Escoffier and the cooks on the Titanic, and I told her I’d been reading his memoires. She asked me about my work. She didn’t know anything about Indian pottery, so I pointed