“Good night,” Conrad replies as the younger waiter finally takes his eyes off his phone. “Hope you enjoyed it.”
I try to assess their body language. If they’re guilty, they don’t betray it, nor do they seem disgruntled over not being rewarded with a tip. Within seconds they are schlepping the trolley and cooler out the side door to the van.
I return to the living room, where Guy can tell from my face that something’s wrong.
“Bryn? What is it?”
“One of them took it,” I say in a rush. “Or maybe they did it together.”
“Took the money?”
“Yes. All the twenties I had in the drawer are gone.” At that moment we hear the van pulling out of the driveway. Reflexively, Guy looks in that direction.
“I can’t imagine they’d risk their jobs by stealing,” he says. “I’m sure the money will turn up.”
“It’s more than the money, though. Come, I have to show you.”
I start back for the kitchen with Guy trailing me. As fatigued as I am from the long evening, I feel electrified with anxiety.
“Did they break something?” he asks from behind me.
“No, worse than that.”
When we reach the office, barely big enough for both of us, I point to the box that I’ve dropped on the desk and the burnt matches scattered around it. “They left this for me.”
“They probably didn’t know where the matches belonged,” Guy says. “I’m sure one of the waiters used them to light the candles in the dining room.”
He’s clearly not getting it, that there’s a sinister intent here.
“But all the matches are burnt.”
“It was probably the younger guy, the one who looked as smart as a shoe.” He shakes his head in displeasure. “The matches should have been doused with water after they were used.”
“Guy, I don’t care what the fire marshals might think. These aren’t even the kind of matches we have in the house. Whoever took the money clearly wanted to rattle me. They must know about the accident, about the car catching on fire.”
Guy’s mouth parts as he finally comprehends. He reaches out with one arm and pulls me toward him in an embrace.
“Honey, I know this must have thrown you,” he says, “but there has got to be a reasonable explanation. Even if one of the waiters pinched the money, what reason would he have to try to rattle you? How would he even know about the accident?”
I look off, considering his comment. Is there another explanation, one I’m just too wigged out to see?
“Well, the chef had a motive,” I say after a pause. “She seemed miffed that I spoke to her about the table.”
He cocks his head, doubtful.
“Look, I know there was an issue with her tonight, but I can’t see her jeopardizing a client relationship with a prank like that. Maybe one of the waiters always carries matches with him when he’s working and stupidly likes to stick any used ones back in the box. But tonight, during cleanup, the other guy spotted them, thought they belonged here in the house, and dropped them in the desk drawer.”
“And, seeing the money, just snatched it?”
“Possibly. Though, like I said, I think the money will materialize. There’s a decent chance you put it someplace else and just don’t remember right now.”
“Um, maybe,” I say, wondering now if I’ve blown this whole thing out of proportion. Perhaps my instant dislike for the chef has made me project, jump to a ridiculous conclusion.
“Why don’t we head up?” Guy says, putting an arm around my shoulders. “We can try to sort this out tomorrow.”
While Guy’s in the bathroom brushing his teeth, I dig out my wallet from my bag and check it. The twenties aren’t there.
Later, in bed, I can actually hear Guy descend into sleep: the soft sigh as he lets his body settle into the mattress, the deeper and deeper breathing, and finally the sound of light snoring.
For once, I’m not felled by exhaustion. I’m perfectly wide-eyed, caffeinated from agitation. I can’t chase the burnt matches and missing money from my mind. On the one hand, Guy’s right: the idea that one of the kitchen crew would leave the matches behind as a kind of mindfuck doesn’t make sense on any rational level. But something keeps gnawing at my gut, telling me my first assumption wasn’t wrong.
Even if Eve didn’t know about the accident before tonight, she could have overheard Guy’s comment to me about bed rest and then Googled me from her phone. I have to figure out who did this, but I have no idea how.