Killer Gourmet by G.A. McKevett Read Free Book Online

stove, stood Ryan and John. They appeared to be in a face-off with an enormous hulk of a fellow, dressed in what even Savannah recognized as a chef’s uniform—a white double-breasted jacket with black buttons and black piping. His long, curly silver hair was pulled back into a ponytail and his head was covered with a toque, the traditional hat worn by chefs the world over for hundreds of years.
    Although Ryan Stone was exceptionally tall, this man was even taller. Savannah guessed Chef Baldwin Norwood must be six foot six or seven, weighing in at a tidy 350 plus pounds. His round face was flushed an alarming shade of crimson.
    The last time Savannah had seen someone whose face was so red, that person had fallen at her feet a moment later, dead from a heart attack. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the chef had suffered the same fate there on the spot in front of them all.
    Granny Reid would have described his condition as “pitching a conniption fit.”
    In spite of the fact that the chef had an enormous knife in his hand, Ryan stepped closer to him, until the two men were nearly nose to nose.
    â€œChef Norwood, we must ask you to gain control of yourself immediately,” Ryan said in a calm, but stern, voice. “We won’t have you endangering the staff and upsetting our guests.”
    â€œThen get out of my kitchen and stay out!” Norwood shouted.
    In an instant John had slipped beside Norwood and wrenched the knife from his hand. The chef howled from pain as his wrist was twisted.
    He raised his fist and shook it in Ryan’s face. “And now you attack me? You injure me? I’m just about to leave this establishment and take my team with me. Let’s see how you do then! I will not tolerate any form of disrespect in my own kitchen!”
    â€œMay I remind you, sir,” John said in his thick, aristocratic British accent, “this kitchen belongs to my partner and me. We are the employers and you, for all your expertise and grand reputation, are the employee. You will not resort to violence in this place, or you will be arrested. Do you understand, sir?”
    Norwood gave a derisive snort and lifted his chin. “You’re going to tell me how to run a kitchen? You two have been in the restaurant business, what, thirty minutes? And you’re going to lay down the law to me? ”
    Dirk stepped forward and flipped open his badge, showing it to Norwood. “How about if I lay down some laws for you? When I stepped through that door just now, you nearly took off my head with a metal pan. You assaulted a police officer, dude. And if my friends here didn’t need you to cook dinner for all those people out there, you’d already be facedown on the floor wearing handcuffs, lickin’ tomato sauce off the tiles.”
    Ryan reached over and laid a hand on Dirk’s shoulder. “Thank you, Detective Sergeant Coulter. But I think Chef Norwood has a much clearer understanding of the situation now than he had a few minutes ago when he threw that pan at you.”
    John nodded. “And I believe we all understand that the important thing is, we get this dinner service under way. We have a room full of hungry guests out there who are not going to be speaking well of this establishment”—he gave Norwood the infamous, full-on Gibson glare—“or its celebrated chef come tomorrow morning. We must turn things around straightaway unless we want to wake up to hideous reviews.”
    As the men continued to talk sense to the chef, Savannah watched the petite young woman in the red-trimmed coat as she stood and readjusted the red bandanna that held her mass of dark curls away from her face. Pretty in a girl-next-door, no-nonsense sort of way, she walked over to the two men kneeling behind the vegetable crates and gave them each a nudge on their shoulders. “Come on,” she told them. “The excitement’s over, and those stations