Read Online Turn up the Heat by Jessica Conant-Park, Susan Conant - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jessica Conant-Park, Susan Conant
Ads: Link
decided to call Adrianna. Predictably, Snacker felt the urge to flirt with beautiful Blythe. And when Snacker felt an urge, he always succumbed to it.
Gavin sat alone. Ever the social work student, I decided that it was no time for him to be by himself. Consequently, I pulled out a chair, sat down, and adopted my best therapist posture, legs and arms uncrossed and relaxed, ready to receive what the client had to say.
Simmer’s owner looked at me sadly, blew his nose, and reached for a glass he’d managed to sneak from the bar. I could smell the alcohol from my chair. “I really, really cared about Leandra. I’m not sure we were in love yet, but we were definitely heading there.” He blew his nose again and wiped his sleeve across his eyes. “And to top it all off, this could really hurt Simmer. I’ve got great plans for all of us. I know we’ve got a few kinks to iron out, but the seminars I’ve been attending on restaurant management all say that the staff may take a while to be trained properly. I cannot stress enough how important it is to have exact methods for taking inventory and keeping track of everything. It might seem like petty stuff, but it’s all about crunching numbers. There are so many ways to lose money that we’ve got to be on top of everything.”
Gavin was talking more to himself than to me. He was, I thought, struggling to focus on anything but his girlfriend’s murder. Denial. Typical defense mechanism. And a helpful one in getting him through this crisis. So I wasn’t worried about Gavin’s mental health. Simmer’s finances didn’t worry me, either. I assumed that the servers’ hourly rate was pretty low—it always is—so Gavin himself wasn’t losing a lot of money by overscheduling the front-of-the-house staff, whose principal source of income was tips. What really concerned me about Simmer was what Wade had described: namely, the effect of Gavin’s number crunching and management efforts on the servers’ tips and on the morale of everyone who worked at Simmer.
Gavin suddenly switched to speaking directly to me. “And you know what? Josh is the best chef around. Never mind what anyone says. What does a GM know about food or running a kitchen anyhow?”
Huh? I thought Wade really liked Josh. More often than I could remember, I’d heard the GM gush about how delicious Josh’s specials were, how hard Josh worked, and how great it was to have an executive chef of his caliber at Simmer. Now, come to find out, Wade had been bad-mouthing Josh to Gavin? The hypocrite! Instead of plastering his hair with all that gel, he should’ve used oily, greasy goo so he’d look like the slimeball he was.
Gavin took a large gulp from his glass. “We ought to be open today. Not only can we not afford to be closed, but Leandra knew how much this place meant to me. I know she’d want us to be open. What the hell happened, anyway? Leandra shouldn’t have been alone. What was she doing? Where was everyone? It was Wade and Kevin who closed last night, I think. I think that’s who it was.”
“That’s what I heard. Would it help you to talk to them?”
“I’d feel better knowing that they locked up and that nothing happened to Leandra in the restaurant. I’ll never forgive myself if what put her in danger was a security issue here.”
Gavin beckoned to his GM and his bartender, who came over to the table. Both wore tight black Simmer shirts. The too-tan, too-well-groomed, oh-so-Newbury Street look they shared was out of keeping with a murder scene as well as with the time of day. Both of them were, I thought, creatures of the night. Wade, with his perfectly gelled hair, at least looked ready to face the day.
Kevin had the same lean, muscular build Wade did, but Kevin was older than Wade—I guessed early thirties—-with wide sideburns that ended in points midcheek and thick hair that had been slicked cleanly and firmly off his face. Kevin’s pointy sideburns weren’t meant for
Gavin sat alone. Ever the social work student, I decided that it was no time for him to be by himself. Consequently, I pulled out a chair, sat down, and adopted my best therapist posture, legs and arms uncrossed and relaxed, ready to receive what the client had to say.
Simmer’s owner looked at me sadly, blew his nose, and reached for a glass he’d managed to sneak from the bar. I could smell the alcohol from my chair. “I really, really cared about Leandra. I’m not sure we were in love yet, but we were definitely heading there.” He blew his nose again and wiped his sleeve across his eyes. “And to top it all off, this could really hurt Simmer. I’ve got great plans for all of us. I know we’ve got a few kinks to iron out, but the seminars I’ve been attending on restaurant management all say that the staff may take a while to be trained properly. I cannot stress enough how important it is to have exact methods for taking inventory and keeping track of everything. It might seem like petty stuff, but it’s all about crunching numbers. There are so many ways to lose money that we’ve got to be on top of everything.”
Gavin was talking more to himself than to me. He was, I thought, struggling to focus on anything but his girlfriend’s murder. Denial. Typical defense mechanism. And a helpful one in getting him through this crisis. So I wasn’t worried about Gavin’s mental health. Simmer’s finances didn’t worry me, either. I assumed that the servers’ hourly rate was pretty low—it always is—so Gavin himself wasn’t losing a lot of money by overscheduling the front-of-the-house staff, whose principal source of income was tips. What really concerned me about Simmer was what Wade had described: namely, the effect of Gavin’s number crunching and management efforts on the servers’ tips and on the morale of everyone who worked at Simmer.
Gavin suddenly switched to speaking directly to me. “And you know what? Josh is the best chef around. Never mind what anyone says. What does a GM know about food or running a kitchen anyhow?”
Huh? I thought Wade really liked Josh. More often than I could remember, I’d heard the GM gush about how delicious Josh’s specials were, how hard Josh worked, and how great it was to have an executive chef of his caliber at Simmer. Now, come to find out, Wade had been bad-mouthing Josh to Gavin? The hypocrite! Instead of plastering his hair with all that gel, he should’ve used oily, greasy goo so he’d look like the slimeball he was.
Gavin took a large gulp from his glass. “We ought to be open today. Not only can we not afford to be closed, but Leandra knew how much this place meant to me. I know she’d want us to be open. What the hell happened, anyway? Leandra shouldn’t have been alone. What was she doing? Where was everyone? It was Wade and Kevin who closed last night, I think. I think that’s who it was.”
“That’s what I heard. Would it help you to talk to them?”
“I’d feel better knowing that they locked up and that nothing happened to Leandra in the restaurant. I’ll never forgive myself if what put her in danger was a security issue here.”
Gavin beckoned to his GM and his bartender, who came over to the table. Both wore tight black Simmer shirts. The too-tan, too-well-groomed, oh-so-Newbury Street look they shared was out of keeping with a murder scene as well as with the time of day. Both of them were, I thought, creatures of the night. Wade, with his perfectly gelled hair, at least looked ready to face the day.
Kevin had the same lean, muscular build Wade did, but Kevin was older than Wade—I guessed early thirties—-with wide sideburns that ended in points midcheek and thick hair that had been slicked cleanly and firmly off his face. Kevin’s pointy sideburns weren’t meant for
Similar Books
