“If there was something about the food or the service that you didn’t like, I wish you’d raised it last night. That way I could have addressed it.”
“It’s not about the meal or the service.” I reach into my bag and pull out the matches. “These were left in my desk drawer last night.”
She doesn’t accept the matches, just glances down at them. I watch her face and her body for a reaction, but she gives nothing away.
“I’m sorry,” she says after a moment, though there’s not a sorry-sounding note in her tone. “I’m just not following.”
“I’m wondering who on your team put them there.”
“On my team? We use lighters, not matches.” I see a tiny smile form at the corners of her mouth, as if she’s amused. “So you’re more than welcome to them.”
“They’ve all been used. And it’s actually more complicated than that. A hundred and sixty dollars is missing from the same desk drawer.”
The smile vanishes, as if it were never there.
“Are you suggesting that one of my waiters stole the money?”
“Yes, it’s a definite possibility. The cash was there before dinner, but when I opened the drawer again at ten thirty, it was gone.”
“I’ve never had a single problem with either of the guys I used last night. They’re incredibly trustworthy.”
“Then where do you suppose the money went? And who left the matches?”
She crosses her arms over her chest and looks off for a split second before bringing her eyes right back to mine.
“I’d suggest you try asking your husband.”
Chapter 6
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I say. I can’t believe this. Is she crazily accusing Guy?
She tightens her gaze, saying nothing for several beats. Then her lips part.
“It means you should ask him about the people he invited—one of them could have taken it.”
I shake my head in disbelief, but her comment reverberates in my mind. Should I have actually considered that?
“I saw one of the women use the bathroom,” she adds. “And I heard someone else go in there later.”
I was upstairs for about ten minutes toward the end of the dinner, so I don’t know what female guest she means. But I did run into Nick in the hallway. The powder room is across from the kitchen, just before my office. And I’d mentioned over cocktails that my office was downstairs. But it makes no sense to think one of the guests would be responsible.
“None of them would have had a reason to steal a hundred and sixty dollars. Frankly, I’m surprised at your response. I thought you’d want to know that someone who works for you might be a thief—and not a very nice one.”
Her back is up, I can tell, but I see something begin to shift in her demeanor. She doesn’t want a problem, not with the wife of an executive who hires her regularly.
“Why don’t I look into it,” she says. “I’ll speak to the waiters and get back to you.” She’s all business now.
“I’d appreciate that. And if the person admits it, I’d like to know the reason the matches were left in the drawer.”
Of course, if it was Eve herself who did the deed, I’ll never find out.
I turn and leave, striding quickly back through the large open kitchen. The two helpers keep their eyes lowered, but I hear their movements slacken as I pass, the chopping and the whipping losing speed. They’re wondering what’s just happened in the back office.
They’ve seen this before, I think as I tug the door closed behind me. Not necessarily someone complaining about stolen money or rogue kitchen matches, but the occasional disgruntled client, offended by Eve’s less-than-ingratiating attitude. Probably mostly women, because it’s hard to conjure up Eve playing the bitch card with a male client.
I don’t go straight home. Instead, I drive downtown to Broadway, the main street through town. It’s lined with well-preserved, four-story brick buildings from the early 1800s, with shops on the ground floors selling everything from honey to olive oil to guitars, as well as a seemingly endless number of cafés. Unlike many old northeastern towns, Saratoga has enhanced its historic charm over the years—its fortunes bolstered in part because of the racetrack and Skidmore College. Some of the buildings are unpainted, but others have been given a coat of moss green or beige, and most have an awning on the lower level—in blue or green or garnet.
I park on Broadway, right by one of the cafés. Though the morning is on the cool side, tables have been set out on the sidewalk, and I take a seat at one of them and order a latte.