by Becky Clark
“All of it?” I made an apologetic face. “And I hate to be that person, but I think I might be allergic to fennel.”
Jerry’s face fell.
“Continental breakfasts, right?” I asked.
He nodded.
“And for lunches, since it’s so … um … rainy and dismal … what about a few huge pots of tomato soup with make-your-own-sandwich stations?” I knew it would screw up the timing of the day to have three hundred people making their own sandwiches, but it was better than fielding three hundred complaints about fennel tacos.
Orville and Lily nodded encouragingly, hoping Jerry would agree.
He spoke slowly. “People don’t want to make their own food when they go out to eat. They want—”
“They want autonomy,” I offered.
“Control!” Lily added.
“Something that tastes good.”
Lily and I shot Orville a look.
“He means,” I explained to Jerry, “something they feel comfortable with. After a hard day of learning, people want comfort food. Hey, I know! We can speed things up by having your staff—since you’re the boss now—slap together, er, make peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches to go with the tomato soup. Everybody likes those.”
“Some people are allergic to peanuts,” Lily said. “And we’ll need some gluten-free bread. And sugar-free jelly.”
I glared at her. “For anyone with dietary considerations, we can have them make their own sandwiches.” I turned to Jerry. “Would that work okay?”
“Sure, I guess. But I really thought those tacos were an excellent choice. I’m almost positive it’s why Chef had all that fennel. I don’t know what I’ll do with it now.”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Lily said.
I was equally sure he would. But it wouldn’t taste good.
Jerry brightened. “Besides, there’s still both banquets.”
“Yeah, about that. I had a thought,” I said. “What if we did the banquets family-style? You could make each table a tuna-noodle casserole and they could serve each other.”
“That’s a great idea!” Lily clapped the tips of her fingers together.
“The wife buys ready-made stuff at Costco when we have the family over. Lasagna, enchiladas, twice-baked potatoes, fried chicken.”
“Orville, that’s genius!” I turned to Jerry. “That would be so easy!”
Jerry frowned. “No, it wouldn’t. How would I pay for that?”
“Good point.” I thought for a moment. “Could you and I go see what’s in your freezer? It must be full if the chef was getting ready for this conference.”
Jerry shrugged. “I don’t think he’d ordered everything yet. He was probably going to do it the day he got fired.”
“Then how were you going to make all this?” I swept my hand across the table.
“Oh, I made some substitutions. You know, just to get a feel for it.”
Ah, that explained why the Blanched Egg and Coconut Home Fries tasted like carrots.
“Can I please take a peek in the freezer?”
“I guess.”
We helped him clear the table.
When we finished, I loaded my pile of T-shirts and patches into Lily and Orville’s arms. “Please put these in the workroom for me. Then find Clementine and any other volunteers or friends of the conference you see.”
“Friends of the conference?” Lily asked.
“People who may not be technically volunteers but they come to all the Stumptown Writers’ events. People who know stuff. People who know people. People with nothing to do.”
Lily nodded knowingly.
Orville adjusted the Velcro on his shoe.
“We need to finish stuffing those bags,” I said. “But first, organize the faculty packets with their workshop schedules so they know where they’re supposed to be—assuming they get here before the storm hits. But first, call that travel agent. And make some signs so everyone knows which room each workshop is in. But first, see if you can find any documents about the workshops. Some of the rooms might need projectors …” Oy vey. We had too much to do today. I shooed them away.
Jerry and I went to the kitchen, where he showed me the walk-in freezer. I wondered again at the abrupt timing of the firing of the chef. Hadn’t Jack said this was the hotel’s biggest conference? Why would they fire their chef right before the big event? I couldn’t imagine in what way, but could his firing have had anything to do with the kidnapping? The timing was so coincidental.
I shook the thought from my head and pulled a small notepad from my bag. “Just start calling off what’s in there and I’ll write it down.”
When Jerry was finished, we toured the rest of the kitchen to see what he already had on hand. I added it all to my list. He explained what he knew about how the kitchen worked, what he could order and get right away, and how and where all the prep and cooking was handled.
We made some notes, ending with a plan we could both live with.
Once the food was organized, I wondered again about the chef’s firing and why Roz had apparently been caught completely by surprise by the news. It made no sense.
“So, Jerry, any more info about why the chef was fired?”
He shook his head. “Not a word.”
I returned to the Clackamas Room. Lily was dealing with the faculty travel issues, Orville and Clementine were designing and printing signs on the computer. Actually, Clementine was designing and printing signs. Orville was adjusting his Velcro and occasionally pointing out a spelling error.
The mountain of swag for the attendees’ bags remained piled on the table just as I’d left it the night before, so I again circled the table, dropping items in the bags and arranging bags in the corner.
It was hypnotic, brainless work and my mind drifted. The ACHIEVE acronym popped into my brain. Of course, I got stuck on the A. Like yesterday, again today all I could think of was agility. Forget the other letters.
I pulled out my phone to check my notes. A was for ability. Duh. I glanced at the entire acronym, then clicked away. But my thoughts were on Hanna, not my keynote speech. Maybe I could apply ACHIEVE to the kidnapping, perhaps finally making sense of it.
Ability—who had the ability to kidnap Hanna?
Courage—I hoped Hanna was being brave and not freaking out, wherever she was.
Hocus-Pocus—if Hanna was bound, I hope she could figure out how to remove the duct tape or whatever was securing her.
Imagination—I need to think outside the box if I want to figure anything out.
Editor—I need help.
Voice—If Hanna screamed, would anyone hear her?
Earnings—Was there a ransom note? Would the police have to get involved if there was a ransom? Surely Viv would have told me if she’d received a demand from the kidnappers since the original call. I made a mental note to ask her. If she’d got one, I could talk to Lance again. If it really was a kidnapping, not involving the police was a mistake. Why couldn’t Viv see that?
I went up and down and over and through the scant information I had. Why had I offered Viv my help? I barely had enough information to form questions, much less any answers. She’d said Hanna was kidnapped. She’d said her relationship with her daughter was complicated. But she’d never told me why anyone would want to kidnap Hanna. Viv owed the IRS money. She said the police couldn’t be involved. She didn’t get food poisoning when all her key conference volunteers did.
Jack told me he didn’t know Hanna, but Viv had said they were friends and I overheard Jack and that girl mention Hanna’s name. Was it a different Hanna? If so, that was a mighty weird coincidence on this particular weekend.
All these disjointed facts—if they even were facts—swirled around my head while I shuffled around the table stuffing swag into bags.
At some point Orville began helping me, but I didn’t notice until I ran into him when we both dropped our filled bags into the corner. I looked around the workroom and saw that Clementine had set up an ironing board and was attaching conference logo patches to T-shirts. Lily was working on her laptop and quietly singing off-key with the iPod playing on the table next to her.
Before I placed another load of empty bags on the table, I took a moment to stretch. I raised my arms straight above my head and did a swan dive to touch my toes. I held the pose until the tightness in my back and legs disappeared. When I straightened, I checked the time. “Ohmygosh. It’s almost two.”
“I’m starving,” Orville said, abandoning the bag in his arm.
Lily’s eyes got wide and she pointed at her iPod while singing along to the lyrics, which coincidentally involved cheeseburgers and paradise. She stopped the music but her eyes remained surprised.
Jimmy Buffett’s song wormed its way through my brain and I wiggled my hips. “I could eat.”
“You know how Viv does all that volunteer work?” Clementine said without looking up from her ironing board. “You might not know it, but she’s as generous with her money as she is with her time. If she were here, she’d probably require us to stop for lunch.” She turned her head and looked at me.
I couldn’t tell if a smile danced around her eyes. Probably not. Was she trying to guilt me into buying them lunch?
I didn’t take the bait. “Hey, yeah. Want me to go get Jerry’s samples? I think there were plenty left.” I pretended to leave the workroom.
“No, that’s okay,” Lily piped up. “We’ll order something.”
“Don’t tell the wife.” Orville plopped into a nearby chair and pulled the Velcro from his shoe. Riiiiiip.
“I know just the place.” Clementine pulled out her phone. As she scrolled for a number, she said, “Watanabe’s.”
“Ooh, I love that place!” Lily clapped her fingertips together.
“So. Not cheeseburgers.” I reset my taste buds. “Fine.”
Twenty minutes later, a grim-faced Jack ushered a tough-looking twenty-something guy into the workroom carrying a large open box filled with brown bags, tops folded over and stapled. Biceps bulged. He announced, “Delivery. Watanabe Yatai.”
Jack crossed his arms and waited near the door.
Lily and I hurried over to help collect the food. We placed the box on a table while the man handed the bill to Clementine. She placed the credit card slip on the nearest table and I saw she signed her name “Clement!ne Sm!th.”
How adorkably hipster. It hadn’t been Lily’s overly enthusiastic notation after all.
The delivery guy lifted each bag from the box, announcing the items as he did so. “Okonomiyaki, sometimes called As-You-Like-It-Pancake. But it’s more like pizza to me. This one’s shrimp, this one’s pork. Takoyaki, like doughnut holes, but with octopus, ginger, and scallions. Yakisoba, which is noodles, pork, and vegetables. Fish cakes. And last but not least, two large ramens.”
He ran a hand through the hair that had flopped down on his forehead. I suddenly recognized him. He was the guy I’d watched from my balcony having a fight with his girlfriend.
He collected the credit card slip, removed a handful of paper-wrapped chopsticks still in the delivery box, and then left with the empty box.
Jack turned to follow him out, but he stopped when Lily whispered, “Sweet potato pancakes, he’s cute.”
Clementine nodded. “Michael Watanabe is as important to his parents’ restaurant as the food is.”
Jack shook his head. “Watch out for him. Even though he claims he doesn’t use anymore, we call him Michael-What-A-Druggie. He’s bad news.”
I opened up the bag with the shrimp okonomiyaki and inhaled deeply. “Someone who makes food this delicious simply can’t be bad news.”
“He’s a small-time hoodlum drug dealer when he’s not delivering food. He gets kids hooked. One of them was my best friend from high school. Made her do awful things.” Jack’s voice cracked.
“He must be small-time if he’s still driving around delivery orders.” Clementine handed out the sets of chopsticks.
“Just watch out for him. Oh, and I’m supposed to tell you that you’re not allowed to have outside food sent here. We have a restaurant, you know.”
“Yes, we know,” I said. “Want some?” I held out the container of octopus doughnut holes.
Jack reached in and pulled one out. “Yes, please. Just one, though.” He took a bite and turned for the door before spinning back for another. “Okay. Maybe two.”
After we ate our fill and ponied up cash to reimburse Clementine, I excused myself, telling everyone I’d be back in a little bit.
“Good idea! Why use a public restroom when you can use the one up in your suite?” Lily clapped her fingers together again.
“Sheesh, Lily. Can’t a girl tinkle in secret?” I had my hand on the doorknob when I heard Clementine clear her throat in the way people clear their throats when they really just want to get your attention without saying anything. I glanced back at her.
She jerked her head toward the pile of T-shirts and iron-on patches. “You could take these with you now, so you don’t forget.”
I almost said, “But I want to forget.” Instead I said, “I’ll get them later.”
Clementine’s eyes were hot enough to brand me.
As I crossed the lobby I saw Jack and a young woman, who still wore a maid’s uniform of dark blue scrubs with her exotic headwrap, deep in what seemed to be a serious conversation. They were in a quiet corner of the restaurant. I wondered if it was the same girl I overheard talking with him yesterday. It certainly was the same girl I saw arguing with Michael Watanabe from my balcony. I veered away from my path toward the elevator and made a beeline for a stack of free newspapers on the counter outside the restaurant. I picked one up and pretended to be fascinated by an article on page three. They were too far away for me to hear their conversation clearly. Maybe she was the friend from high school Jack had mentioned.
Hugging the edge of a long, built-in planter overflowing with ivy, I inched closer and closer with my back toward them until I could make out a few words here and there. Their conversation seemed unimportant and a tad ridiculous until I heard Hanna’s name again. That couldn’t be a coincidence. Not twice, anyway. I still didn’t know why Jack had lied about knowing Hanna, but it was time to find out.
Keeping my back to them, I folded the newspaper and tucked it under my arm so I could pull my phone from my bag easier. I walked back into the lobby, but turned around as soon as I was out of sight. I returned to the restaurant, put the newspaper to the top of the stack, and headed straight for them with my phone at my ear.
“Oh, there you are!” I said to Jack as I faked hanging up. “Viv asked me to ask you to call Hanna. She’s having car trouble and needs help.”
Without thinking, Jack pulled his phone from his pocket saying, “I wish she’d get a better car. That one is always breaking down.”
“Aha!” I pointed my finger at him. “That was a trick! You said you didn’t know Hanna.” I stared down at them.
Jack and the girl exchanged a quick look, but neither said anything. Silence wasn’t really an option for me. Not part of my plan, such as it was.
Jack held his phone in midair. “So she’s not having car trouble?”
“No.”
He pocketed his phone and glared at me. After a bit his face softened. “Fine. Yes, I know her. Hanna and I have been friends since eighth grade. Viv got me this job.”
“Why did you tell me you didn’t know her?”
“I don’t know you, and I didn’t know why you wanted to know.” Jack cocked his head. “Still don’t.”
This put me in a bit of a bind. I wanted to know everything he could tell me about Hanna, but I couldn’t let on s
he was missing. If Hanna really had been kidnapped, Jack would worry and might do something rash. If Hanna wasn’t kidnapped, and this was some weird scam by Viv, Jack shouldn’t know that either. And if Jack was somehow involved, I didn’t want him to think I suspected anything. I had to come up with an acceptable fib.
“I was just making small talk. I heard you say her name, so I was curious. I’m a writer, remember? I’m curious about everything.” I glanced at the girl’s headwrap. “Actually, now that I think about it, it was you who said Hanna’s name, not Jack. Do you know her too?”
The girl cut her eyes at Jack and didn’t answer, instead attaching a name tag to her navy blue scrubs. Nervous? Buying time to consider her answer? She adjusted her name tag one last time, then lowered her hands and looked at Jack.
I leaned a bit closer to read her name. “Sarah, yesterday didn’t I hear you say that Hanna isn’t getting her way about something this time?”
She looked at me but didn’t respond. I suddenly felt conspicuous standing there at their table.
“It’s pronounced saRAH,” Jack said.
“What?”
“You put the emPHAsis on the wrong sylLABle,” Jack explained.
Portland really is weird, I thought. But I said, “Am I being punked?”
Instead of answering, Jack said, “Why do you want to know about Hanna?”
I contemplated my response. “Viv hasn’t heard from her in a few days and she’s worried. When was the last time you heard from Hanna?”
Another look passed between Jack and saRAH, and they had an entire conversation with their eyebrows.
Finally Jack said, “The last time I talked to her—must have been Monday or Tuesday—we got into a huge argument.”
“About what?”
In a quiet voice, saRAH finally spoke. “About me.”
“Like I said, Hanna and I have been friends since eighth grade.” At my raised eyebrows, Jack added, “Nothing like that. Just friends. But she’s very protective of me and didn’t want me to date saRAH. She thinks she’ll break my heart.” Jack took saRAH’s hand. “We’re in love, so we’re keeping our relationship a secret from her. Just for a little while—”
