“I’m sure it’s not, but I admire both your sister’s cooking and her flair for food presentation. Whether she’s making one dish or one hundred dishes, her food always comes out without losing its aesthetically pleasing look. That’s not an easy task. Most chefs, like me, can prepare one perfect dish at a time. It takes a special chef to make two hundred plates with the same consistent high-quality look. No matter how hard I’ve tried, I’ve never mastered high-end mass production. With the events we’ve had this past week, Emily has given me a crash course.”
She jerked her head up with more than a quizzical look on her face before she could control herself. Perhaps Marcus’s fears about Thomas’s motivation for hiring Emily were justified. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were a chef.”
Thomas mimicked being a witness swearing on a Bible. “Guilty as charged, but not at the same level as your sister or Marcus.”
Sarah waited, hoping he would tell her more about this new wrinkle in his background.
“Uncle George wasn’t too pleased with either Cliff or me when it came to our academic prowess. We both bounced around a bit during our first year of college. The difference was Cliff hung in there until he flunked out while I withdrew three weeks into my first semester, came home, licked my wounds, and signed up for junior college classes for the next term. I took just enough of the same cooking courses Grace has been taking at the junior college to get the basics under my belt. At that point, I realized restaurant and hotel management, rather than cooking, was my calling. The next year, I was accepted at a four-year school from which I earned dual bachelor’s degrees in business and hotel/restaurant management.”
“I had no idea.”
“Most folks don’t. Instead of listing my degrees, I usually say I’m the hotel’s highest-paid janitor. I balance customer satisfaction against keeping my eye on the bottom line, but on an everyday basis, I deal with everything from the wine served to the cleanliness of the beds and silverware. The buck stops with me. Speaking of which, I better change my hat from thinking about the kitchen to making our special guests feel welcome.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
During the time she’d been talking to Thomas, the massive ballroom had begun to fill up. Caught with the rag still in her hand, she hurried to hide it behind the bar and pick up the tray of special Howellian Catnip drinks the bartender readied for her. She recognized many of the guests she offered a glass to from the society pages as Birmingham business leaders and philanthropists, but she was surprised at how many of the “beautiful” Wheaton people who’d attended YipYeow Day were here mingling tonight, too. If they were here, it meant the rank-and-file volunteers were the ones, she hoped, filling the Southwind Pub.
She doubted Marcus would be disappointed with a salt-of-the-earth turnout for more than the first few minutes. Although the Wheaton group gracing the Howellian, if rezoning went through, would eventually be regulars at Southwind’s fine-dining restaurant, it was the everyday neighborhood folks who were going to make or break the pub.
“Excuse me, waitress. Would you bring that tray of drinks over here, please?”
For a moment, Sarah didn’t realize she was the one being spoken to. She’d gotten so lost in checking out the crowd, she’d forgotten to do her job. “Of course, Anne.”
Sarah hastened to offer a Howellian Catnip and napkin to Anne Hightower. As Anne handed her glass to the gentleman she was talking to and took another, Sarah realized from the glacial stare Anne gave her that Sarah had committed a second error as a server by using Anne’s Christian name instead of referring to her as Ms. Hightower. “Is there anything else I can get you, Ms. Hightower?”
“No, thank you.”
Sarah perceived a light of recognition in Anne’s eyes.
“Sarah? What are you doing here?”
“Emily asked me to help out as a server.” Sarah flashed a smile as she tried to retreat from Anne and the gentleman she was speaking with, but Anne put her hand on Sarah’s arm.
“Sarah, I’d like you to meet Linc Adams. Linc is a lawyer and political guru here in Birmingham. Linc, this is Sarah Blair. Normally, she works for Harlan Endicott, but today she was the mastermind behind our very successful first annual Wheaton YipYeow Day.”
Linc extended his hand, but between Anne still grasping her arm and her balancing the tray with its remaining glasses, she couldn’t take it. He dangled his hand in midair for a moment before returning it to his side. “Blair? Any relation to Bill Blair?”
“He was my ex-husband.”
“I’m sorry about your loss. He was a fine guy. We had a number of business dealings together.”
Thinking having business dealings with the rat wasn’t much of a reference, Sarah muttered a thank-you.
Anne pointed out Sarah was Bill’s ex, not his widow. Linc said something mollifying his previous statement, but Sarah wasn’t listening. On the pretext of needing to serve the rest of the drinks on her tray, she extricated herself from Anne’s grip and from hearing any more praise for Bill.
Spotting her mother, Cliff, and Mr. Rogers talking in the corner of the room, she went up to them and offered them the remaining two Howellian Catnips on her tray. Her mother grabbed one. Cliff passed, but Mr. Rogers took the last one.
“Cliff, I’ll be glad to get you one of tonight’s signature specials.”
“No thanks. I don’t drink.”
“Would you like something else, a tea or soda?”
“I’ll wait until we eat.” He turned toward his uncle and Maybelle. “I see the buffet line is open. Would the two of you like to get some food and grab a table together?”
Maybelle drained her glass and handed it back to Sarah. “Would you get me another one of these, please? I’m not hungry. George, here, ruined my appetite.”
“Now Maybelle, all I said was Southwind should stay where it is. Running the pub location will keep Emily and Marcus plenty busy. They should drop all this nonsense about changing our neighborhood.”
“That’s not all you said.”
Considering Maybelle and Mr. Rogers had been on opposite sides of the rezoning issue for months, Sarah didn’t understand why they were fighting now, in the middle of the Howellian party. With a raised eyebrow questioning what was going on, she glanced at Cliff.
He shrugged. “I don’t know exactly what they’re fighting about tonight. They were going at each other like this when I walked up to them.”
Sarah glanced at her mother and waited for an explanation.
“George accused me of being a fool with my money. Told me women don’t understand the real world of finance and I should keep my pretty little nose out of business deals.”
If Mr. Rogers had said anything close to that, Sarah knew her mother would consider them fighting words.
“It’s one thing to disagree about rezoning Main Street, but it’s another thing to attack me or my family personally. Sarah, are you going to get me another drink?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Sarah went to the bar and exchanged her tray for a full one. She tried making a direct beeline back to her mother and Mr. Rogers but was stopped by people removing glasses from her tray. By the time she reached Maybelle and gave her the requested Howellian Catnip, Sarah wished she hadn’t had one left on her tray. Her mother’s belligerent tone, as Cliff vacillated between calming her mother and his uncle down, made Sarah realize this might not be her mother’s second drink of the evening.
“I’m sure my uncle didn’t mean it the way it sounded. He’s always told me how much he admires you.”
“But apparently not my business prowess.”
Sarah couldn’t decide if her mother’s flushed face was from whatever was in the Howellian Catnip special or anger, but she had no question how agitated Mr. Rogers was simply by looking at the way his bow tie bobbed against his Adam’s apple.
“Maybelle, that’s not what I said. What I specifically said was that backing Emily and Marcus in changing the big house into a restaurant is like f
ool’s gold. You’re going to have to spend a fortune to bring that house up to code. I can’t see you or anyone pouring money into that folly.”
“If you remember, they said Alaska was a fool’s folly. Personally, the only fool I see in this room tonight is you.”
The lights blinking in the room interrupted any further discussion. Thomas Howell strolled to the center of the room, in front of the buffet line. He raised his Howellian Catnip in the air. “On behalf of the Howellian and the Wheaton Animal Shelter, welcome to Catapalooza. We can’t thank you enough for being here tonight. Your generosity, as well as support of our silent auction, has made this the highest grossing fund-raiser the Wheaton Animal Shelter has ever had. On behalf of the animals you are helping, who cannot speak for themselves, I raise my glass to all of you for making a difference this afternoon and this evening.”
The room burst into applause as Thomas, with a flourish, lifted his glass. When it died down, he pointed to Bailey, who stood at the far end of the buffet. “Come over here, Bryan.”
Bailey shook his head and raised his hand in protest.
Thomas laughed. “For those of you who don’t know, Bryan Bailey, who is too shy to come up here, is probably one of the most important people here tonight. Not only is he our friendly Wheaton banker, and a creative wonder at financing construction, including this gorgeous hotel, but he’s been the chief fund-raising finance person for this YipYeow event. According to him, we’ve raised a tad over twenty thousand dollars for the Wheaton Animal Shelter—and that doesn’t count what, thanks to you, we’ll be adding to the total from tonight. Again, my thanks to Bryan Bailey and you.”
When someone shouted out a thank-you to Thomas for hosting Catapalooza, Sarah wondered about the number Thomas had quoted. She didn’t know what his reference to a tad more meant. Because Bailey and she already had over twenty thousand dollars in corporate sponsorship money before the day began, the adoption fees and donations in the fishbowl, registrations, and T-shirt proceeds, should have put the total for today a few thousand dollars over her original goal. She didn’t know if Thomas was unsure of the exact total or if either Bailey, Amanda, or Eloise had shorted today’s numbers. She would have to investigate the numbers tomorrow, but, for tonight, she needed to focus on her floater responsibilities and Thomas’s smooth patter.
“It isn’t often we can make a difference. That’s why your money is appreciated. Please remember, tomorrow you’re invited to bring your pets to the Blessing of the Beasts at the Little Brown Church. If you don’t have a pet, feel free to stop by the shelter and adopt one before the service.”
Everyone laughed.
“In the meantime, enjoy yourself this evening. Not only do we have food and drink available here in the grand ballroom, but the other parts of the hotel, including the jewelry shop and art gallery, are open for your viewing pleasure. Fifteen percent of anything you purchase in the hotel tonight will also be donated to the shelter.” Thomas took a sip of his drink and walked from the center of the room to where Emily stood near Bailey. He handed his glass to Emily, put his arm around Bailey, and the two men left the room.
Sarah held out her empty tray toward Emily. “Would you like me to take that glass, ma’am?”
Emily placed it on the tray.
“What’s with those two?”
“I don’t know,” Emily said. “I had no idea they were so chummy.”
“I had no idea Thomas trained as a chef before he went into the business side of the hotel business.”
“Neither did I until this afternoon. He had me showing him how to plate something and he used some terms that made me tease him about talking like a chef. That’s when he told me he is.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t tell you before today.”
Somehow, Emily looked smaller than ever to Sarah. “I think it slipped out. I don’t think he ever planned to tell me. Sarah, I’ve been such an idiot!”
“How?”
“All week, Thomas has been asking me questions about what I’m doing and how Marcus and I do things at Southwind. He’s been so nice, I thought he was simply being polite. You know, trying to put me at ease with my new boss.”
“So, you answered, in detail, everything he asked?”
“Yes, but now, I think Marcus was right.”
“What are you going to do about it? Will you quit?”
“I can’t. I gave my word to work for six months or until he finds a new executive chef.”
“Maybe you can argue he is the executive chef?”
“No. He may be a slimy fox, but he’s no executive chef. Besides, if I don’t stay, I won’t get paid for the six months, which was the reason behind agreeing to do this job.”
“But circumstances have changed. You’d be better off sharing fewer secrets and putting your energy and reputation into Southwind than staying here.”
“I made a promise. Integrity means something to me, even if I’m not sure at times how much it does to other people. Here, give me that tray. We’re done serving appetizers and drinks to the entire group. Most of the guests already have gone through the buffet line. It’s time for you to float.”
“Speaking of floating, when you’re out of the kitchen, keep an eye on Mom. One of those more alcohol than food nights. What did you put into those Catnip drinks?”
“They’re basically wine spritzers with a nip of wine and a dab of food coloring. Knowing Mom, she’d have to drink a tray of them before she might get tipsy. What did she have before she got here?”
“I have no idea, but she’s in rare form.”
“Great! Another thing to make this a perfect evening. At least it will be over soon.”
“What makes you say that?”
“See how the room emptied out after Thomas spoke? Because we’re not serving an open bar and the Howellian Catnips hardly have any alcohol, people ate, stayed for his remarks, and are either checking out the hotel or leaving to spend the evening doing something more fun.”
Sarah glanced over Emily’s shoulder. “Don’t look now, but I think if you don’t get out of here right now, your evening is only going to get worse.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Emily didn’t even turn around to find out what disaster might be looming. She took off for the kitchen. Sarah, having spotted Anne and Thomas in heavy discussion walking in their direction debated whether to follow Emily’s lead or make like a fly on the wall to overhear what the two were talking about. Because of Sarah’s instinctive curiosity, the latter won out.
She sidled over to one of the large trays on a folding stand placed near the tables to be filled with dirty dishes. This tray was empty. She knew she couldn’t simply stand there and eavesdrop. Happily, the table closest to Anne and Thomas was recently abandoned by its guests. Without rushing, she went to the table and, with her back to Thomas and Anne, slowly began stacking the dirty dishes and silverware. Meticulously, she scraped the food from each plate onto a master plate, instead of merely taking her stack to the big tray and having them dealt with in the kitchen.
At first, she thought Anne and Thomas were arguing but soon realized that wasn’t the case. They were discussing the merits of rezoning and what the various properties could be used for other than restaurants. Sarah failed to hear every word, but it sounded like Anne might be softening. She was listening intently to Thomas describe how shops, an antique building, a bed-and-breakfast, and yuppie apartments could also fit into the existing buildings with limited remodeling.
It was all Sarah could do to keep her mouth shut as Thomas waxed eloquent, without mentioning any of the high-ticket items usually associated with remodeling old buildings. Things like replacing wiring, asbestos removal, bringing things up to code, or paying for permits were left unsaid. Anne seemed to be buying in, especially when he said he thought he had almost all the property in the bag. Sarah assumed he counted his uncle’s house in the “we got you” column.
This time, when Anne spoke, her voice was lower. Unable
to hear her clearly, Sarah moved closer, gathering the dishes from the other side of the table. She caught a glimpse of Anne’s face. Rather than the relaxed but intent listener from moments earlier, the lines of Anne’s face were tight. More like when she went in for the kill during a council meeting. Each word was clipped and enunciated.
“Thomas, my father always taught me not to count our chickens until they hatched. Too many developers have been left with egg on their faces because they owned all but one piece of land. You may sweet-talk well, but my family’s position hasn’t changed. We’re fundamentally against what you’re proposing. It isn’t to our city’s benefit to destroy what we have for the sake of making people like you rich. Bring me a plan with some merit and I’ll listen. I pride myself on being open-minded but honest. My decisions reflect what I believe is in the best interest of the people of Wheaton.”
“The people or the Hightowers?”
“That’s not the way to make friends, Thomas. And you want friends. Bailey tells me you’re fairly leveraged.”
“I’m covering all my debt plus some.”
“True, for now.”
“Touché. Want another Catnip special?”
“Catnip?”
Thinking it best to move on, Sarah picked up her stacked plates but, rather than leave them in the dining room for someone else to bring to the kitchen, she decided to take them herself. Her back was to Anne and Thomas when she heard Thomas call for Emily. Sarah turned toward Anne and Thomas as Emily came out of the kitchen.
With one hand holding her chest, a flush-faced Anne pointed at Emily with the other. “Do you know what catnip does to someone with a heart condition? Thomas, I’m going to hold you and her responsible for trying to kill me.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Sarah froze in place at Anne’s words. She took a quick peek at her sister. Emily looked as stunned as Sarah felt. “Emily?” Sarah waited for her sister to say something.
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