Spoiled Rotten by Mary Jackman Read Free Book Online Page A

professional-looking. Well done , I thought, wondering where Rick found a replacement chef so quickly. It didn’t matter, Rick has his own resources and as long as he was happy, so was I. I wanted to ask what restaurants the man hailed from, but decided not to interrupt while I still had a slightly swollen jaw and a gauze bandage on the top of my head. Wouldn’t want to give the new help the wrong impression.
    The office answering machine light was blinking. I recognized the caller’s name and reached out to play the message back when someone knocked at the door. Detective Winn walked in, took two steps forward, and stopped cold. Surprise, or perhaps it was disgust, crept across his face as he took in the surroundings. I was the first to admit the office was messy and yet somehow I never felt like cleaning it up. Stacks of file folders and paper receipts covered the desk. Tools of every sort, more plumbing parts, plastic totes full of electrical doodads, and a roll of pink insulation dominated one end of the floor. It was a necessary environment of flux and flow that I found comforting.
    Instead of artwork, I have ten years of past menus nailed to the walls, a few in frames, and the others laminated. The only similarity between them over the last ten years was the hamburger. Even the Dijon mustard, the only condiment served along with it, was the same. Never fear, ketchup was just a simple request away, with our waiters always happy to oblige. Well not always. I’m told they sometimes lie and say we’re all out, but not when I’m around.
    Before I finally relented and purchased a deep fryer, the burger was served with potato salad. The salad was good, but not nearly as good as the shoestring fries we serve now. Kudos to the inventors of deep fryers, without which my weekly craving of deep fried calamari would go unfulfilled. One thing the restaurant lacks is a microwave and unless someone buys me out or kills me, it shall remain forever so.
    Detective Winn caught me staring at him and he blushed. I thought that that was adorable for a big guy like him and smiled.
    He snorted. “Ms. Walker. That jaw looks sore. Maybe you should have stayed off your feet for a few more days.”
    â€œI can’t rest. Too hyper. I’m lucky to get a good night’s sleep when life is normal. With all this excitement, I just hover above the bed. Might as well be at work. Want a coffee? It will just take me a minute.” Jeepers, I was chipper.
    A small Gaggia espresso machine that was about a hundred years old was kept in the office. It used to be housed in the restaurant, but it’d had its guts repaired so many times that I couldn’t afford to repair it anymore. Besides, the original parts, which the importer brought over from Italy fifty years ago, were all used up. I baby it now.
    â€œThat would be great, thanks,” he replied. “While we’re waiting, I wanted to ask you some questions about the business.”
    I swung a chair around for him, brushing off a few crumbs that were stuck to the seat. “Why, you thinking of getting into it?” I asked. “I think you make a better-looking cop than a maitre’d.”
    â€œI’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.” He blushed again and sat down.
    â€œNeither am I. Sometimes I have no idea what I mean.” I cleared my throat, wondering why I was picking on the guy and asked him, “If you’re so surprised to see me, then why exactly are you here?”
    â€œI understand Richard Best is the executive manager for the restaurant. I was hoping he could give me some information about Daniel. A resumé could be useful if you still have one around.”
    I rummaged around in a desk drawer and pulled out a file marked “Chefs.” Someone’s resumé with the name of Philip Sutherland was on top. Presumably it belonged to the new guy Rick was showing around downstairs. Daniel’s