A complete rout and we never had time to fire a shot.
Chapter 4
It took a minute to get Jill back up and for me to catch my breath again. When we finally got settled down, I turned to face the pretty young blond woman who’d spoken.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, biting her lip, probably to keep from laughing at the ridiculous scene she’d just witnessed.
“Uh, no, we’re not scared,” Bebe said feebly. “Just surprised. We, uh …”
“We came to look at the beautiful water feature,” I explained quickly. “And we didn’t want to get in the middle of an argument, so….”
“So you hid in the bushes.”
Now she really was laughing. Dressed in a light green uniform which said “Italian Kitchen” on the pocket, she looked like a waitress on her way to work. Her long straw-colored hair was swept back and held with a net, and her eyes were shining with amusement. She had the look of someone who enjoyed a good joke.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not going to turn you in.”
“Hey, thanks,” I told her. “We did see the sign, but….”
“But you ignored it. Naturally. Anyone would have done the same.”
“I’m afraid our attention was riveted on the passing parade as you came on the scene,” Jill said. “We don’t often get front row seats like that. Very instructional.”
“Ah yes, Carlo and Marguerite. Quite a pair, aren’t they?”
“Uh…sort of.” Bebe smiled shakily. “Do they do this sort of thing often?”
She nodded, waving a hand dismissively. “All the time. But don’t worry. Marguerite can more than handle herself.”
“Yes, she almost looked like she was trained for combat. If that roundhouse had connected, I hate to think of what poor Carlo’s face would look like now.”
She raised a questioning eyebrow. “Do you know our esteemed chef?”
“Not really,” Bebe said. “I’ve been here for lunch with friends a few times and I’ve been introduced. But I don’t really know him.”
“I suppose you’ve heard he’s magic in the kitchen.”
Bebe’s eyes widened enthusiastically. “Yes, I’ve eaten evidence of that. Really special stuff.”
The waitress smiled. “So you’ve come to try a dinner?”
“That’s about it.”
“Good,” she said. “I’m Sandy Lancer.”
Bebe stuck out a hand and they shook firmly.
“My name is Bebe. I own Miyaki Farms, that large patchwork of flower fields that spreads out below us here.”
I almost elbowed her for that one. Weren’t we supposed to be incognito? Oh well, so much for that. Either she’d forgotten all about it, or she’d been charmed by this Sandy person into ignoring the rules we’d agreed to.
We all turned to look down into the valley at the area Bebe was pointing out. The view was spectacular. The land was laid out like a patchwork quilt in front of us. I’d seen it before but it never failed to make me draw in a sharp breath. It was so beautiful—the green vineyards, the white and pink flower fields, the newly tilled earth, the red tile roofs, the lacy evening fog filling the low spots. The neighbor taking a shortcut through our back yard and stopping to pick a few flowers on his way.
“Hey!” Bebe said indignantly as she spotted him.
It was always kind of a shock to see how anyone with binoculars could look right down into our lives below.
I shivered and turned back, sticking out my hand in turn and introducing myself and Jill to Sandy. “It looks like you belong here,” I said, nodding at her uniform.
“Actually, I’m a student at UCST,” she said.
“That’s a long drive for a commute,” Jill noted.
“Oh, I’m only down there three days a week. The rest of the time I live up here.” She gestured toward the cottages. “I’m working my way through college, waiting tables, just like they did in olden times.”
“Good for you.” I smiled at her. “Jill and I did a bit of that ourselves when we were going to U.C. Santa Barbara.”
That led to the usual cross talk and questions, but we didn’t have time to really get into it as she was glancing at her watch, obviously due at work.
“Are you coming in?” she asked as she turned to go. “I’ll give you some guidance on our best menu items.”
“Thanks,” we called after her, and she hurried off with a wave.
In a few minutes, we were in the restaurant ourselves, and seated near the huge window with a panoramic view of the valley very much like what we’d been gazing at from the courtyard.
“The next time I come up here I’m going to bring along a pair of opera glasses,” Bebe said.
“Whatever for?”
“So I can see what’s going on in our yard. I have a feeling there’s all kinds of things I could learn.”
We laughed. “We can see that without coming all this way up here,” I noted, but she was too busy enjoying herself to consider that.
“Garlic, olive oil and parmesan cheese,” she said dreamily, sniffing the air as we began to study our menus. “I hope this is what heaven smells like.”
We snickered at her again, then paused as Sandy came over to tell us which of tonight’s dishes she thought were especially right for us.
“You might want to start with some white truffle bruschetta, or the duck confit salad. The sea bass is very fresh tonight. Tenderloin steaks are our specialty, but the Frutti di Mare is a gift from the food gods.”
We oohed and aahed and she added, “Save room for the wine poached pears for dessert. You won’t regret it.”
Another waitress came up and she turned to give her access to us. “This is Gwen. She’s our head waitress and she’ll be serving you tonight. I have to help with a special party in the banquet room.”
We thanked her and she gave a wave as she moved toward the kitchen. Gwen pulled out her tablet to take our order. A very pretty strawberry-blond, solidly into middle age and slightly greying, her looks were handicapped by what seemed to be a permanent sneer on her ruby red lips, but she was friendly enough.
“So you’re friends of Sandy’s?” she asked.
“We just met her,” I said. “But we have things in common.”
“Ah.”
“Actually, we were sort of trespassing,” Bebe offered. “We wanted to see all the new construction—the courtyard and the cottages.”
Gwen nodded, looking pleased. “Gorgeous, isn’t it? It’s gotten so that I consider that the best thing about this lousy job.”
She seemed to be having a bad day. I stared down into my menu, and then Bebe started a new topic, sounding breezy in her friendly way.
“So you live in one of the bungalows, too?”
“Oh yes.” She sighed, tablet poised as she gazed out at what you could see of the courtyard from the large window. “Most of us old timers do. We all worked together in Santa Barbara and when the boss decided to buy this place and move our operations, a lot of us came with him.” She twisted her mouth, looking even more cynical for a moment. “One big happy family,” she said with more than a touch of sarcasm.
I exchanged glances with Jill while Bebe went on talking to her, asking about the water and how it was routed and whether it was reused--all without actually bringing up where exactly it came from.
Gwen seemed annoyed with life in general, but she was quite forthcoming. She didn’t seem to realize that there might be any controversy about the subject. A moment later she went off to fill our drinks order, and I winked at Bebe.
“I think you’re getting a handle on this undercover stuff,” I whispered to her. “Only—we forgot to use cover names.”
Bebe gave me a look of pure boredom. “Since they all drive by our house every time they go into town, trying to pretend we are someone else could get awkward,” she pointed out.
I shrugged. “Oh well. It would have been fun.”
“You can still pretend to be someone else,” Jill s
aid. “You introduced me but you never said your own name. So you’ve still got your options open.”
“Great,” I said smugly. “I just have to think of a good cover. Let me get back to you on that one.”
We munched on antipasto and waited for our meal, feeling warm and happy to be about to eat some very special food.
“Worried about the water situation?” Jill asked me softly as I frowned down at the view of our little home below.
“I’m more worried about Sami.”
“Sami’s still missing? Or should I say, ‘again’?”
I turned to give her a fiercer frown than I’d given the rest. “Don’t say ‘again’ as though he does it all the time. He hardly ever does it. And he’s been so lovey-dovey lately, I can’t believe he would just go off.”
“In other words, you think he was cat-napped.”
I drew my breath in sharply. I guess that was what I did think. But hearing her say it so starkly really shocked me.
“I…I just don’t know. I miss him so much!”
Jill shrugged. “You’ve still got Silver.”
Silver, who thought he was the most beautiful cat alive and so didn’t have to lift a paw for anything. All he wanted to do was eat and sleep in the sun.
“That’s different.”
“I’m not sure why.”
“It just is.” Sami was our for-real cat. Silver was just sort of a visitor.
“So,” I asked Bebe softly. “What do you think? Any insights into the water situation?”
“Nothing that’s going to satisfy the boys down at the lodge.”
Gwen brought out our entree and we went into serious ecstasy once we began to taste the food. It was pretty wonderful. I was in awe.
Gwen came back to see how we were doing at the same time waves of cheering and laughter came from the area off the main dining room. From her frowns, I assumed she didn’t approve of all the noise.
“Is it always so lively around here?” Bebe asked her.
“Lively,” Gwen said from behind clenched teeth as she refilled our wine glasses. “Or deadly,” she added under her breath as she turned away.
My eyes met Bebe’s startled gaze, and we each shrugged, but before we could react to that strange comment Jill had gone into a semi-swoon herself.
“Try the bread,” she whispered, tugging on my arm. “It’s to die for.”
I gave her a look. Was it catching? First Gwen, now Jill. It almost seemed as though the atmosphere was filled with foreboding. But I forgot about that fast once I’d put a piece of thick sourdough crust into my mouth. “Oh!” I cried.
She was right. To die for.
Sandy stopped by to see how we were doing, then the chef himself arrived to take a bow.
“This bread!” I said, waving a piece under his nose. “Where do you get your bread?”
“We bake it right here, fresh every day,” he said. “We have a clay oven out back.”
“Carlo’s a master with the breads,” Sandy said, then waved and went back to her banquet responsibilities as Gwen arrived to clear off used plates. Right behind her, Carlo was back checking on how his food was being received.
I hadn’t been too impressed with him at first when we’d seen him out fighting with the manager, Marguerite, but somehow my opinion had improved. Maybe it was the food that did it. That old culinary magic.
He wasn’t very tall but he had a tough, muscular appearance. His dark, curly hair was exactly right, his dark eyes knowing in a way that could bring on shivers in some susceptible young ladies, and a dreamy, handsome look right out of a romance novel.
Bebe introduced him to me and Jill. He had a courtly way of touching your hand as though he wished it were your lips.
“Carlo, Carlo,” Jill sang out, still swooning from all the fabulous goodness of the food. “Where have you been all my life?”
“Right here, waiting for you,” he teased, but he was looking at me. I couldn’t imagine why, but I didn’t mind. He was a handsome devil.
“So this is the wonderful lady who finds all the murderers,” he said, smiling at me. “I was hoping I would get to meet you someday.”
“Me?” I could feel myself flushing and I tried to appear nonchalant.
“Yes, you.” He leaned a little closer and gave me a truly sexy smile. “Join me for lunch someday soon. I think we’ll have a lot to talk about.”
I gulped. Yes, I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I gulped, right there in front of everyone, and I’m sure I turned bright red.
He seemed to find my reaction vastly amusing and he grinned as he turned away. “Ladies, I hope you are enjoying our humble repast.”
We all said nice things at once. He beamed.
“I’m so glad you approve.”
“We’re looking forward to the pears for dessert,” Bebe told him. “They come highly recommended.”
“Ah!” He kissed his fingertips and promised to make them the best pears we had ever eaten. Meanwhile I noticed that he’d draped his arm around Gwen’s shoulders and she’d given him a poisonous look before ducking away from him. One big happy family, huh?
“Everybody’s mad at poor Carlo,” Jill whispered to me as we watched them both move on to another table.
I gave her a wink and finished my wine, sighing with pure satisfaction. Everybody might be mad at Carlo, but I’d marry him in a New York second if I could get a meal like this every night.
So we ate like kings and then sat in stupefied happiness. What a meal!
But Bebe was beginning to feel guilty, as though we were cadging free food under false pretenses. She leaned close and whispered, “It’s about time for one of us to make a move.”
“What kind of move?” I said out loud.
“Shh!” Both of them shushed me, looking around as guilty as puppies chewing slippers.
“Something to do with water I would think.” I sighed. “Okay, I’ll go first.”
I rose from the table, pretending to need the ladies’ room, and slipped away. I decided to play dumb and went directly down the wrong corridor, away from the busy kitchen, to see what that might get me. I ended up on the side of the restaurant where I could see the business offices were situated. The first two doors were closed but just ahead, a door was ajar and I went in, prepared to pretend I thought it was the little girls’ room I was looking for if I had to.
But right away I hit pay dirt. The name on the brass plate on the desk was Nigel Champaine, the wealthy restaurateur and entrepreneur who had bought up the property and established The Italian Kitchen, along with the residential compound attached. I’d never met him, but I assumed the large oil portrait behind the desk was probably a flattering version of the man. And even so, he certainly was a knock-out. He looked vaguely over middle aged, but in a good way, with silver at his temples, a trim beard, piercing blue eyes and a strong, vigorous look to his body—like a man who had a yacht moored in Balboa and a house on a cliff in Malibu might be expected to look.
There was a large map on the opposite wall, a reproduction I would guess-- of something drawn when Spanish conquistadores rode horseback through these valleys. I was just starting to study it for water information when I heard someone coming down the hallway. I looked around quickly. There seemed to be a room attached to this one, and I slipped through the doorway and pulled the door almost closed between the rooms. My heart was beating fast now and as the sound of steps striking flooring rang through the room, I realized I should have stayed where I was and toughed it out. Now I was actually hiding. Not much you could say to excuse that, was there?
The woman who’d arrived in the main office was doing something—she seemed to be opening drawers in the desk, one after another, as though she was looking for something. I didn’t have time to guess what that might be before a second woman arrived.
The voice was low but deadly and full of venom. I thought I recognized the feisty Marguerite.
“What the hell are you doing here, Sandy? Snooping, as usual?
”
Sandy’s voice was lower, less angry. “You’re wrong Marguerite. As usual,” she said, echoing what the older woman had just said and twisting it. “My hem is coming down and I need a quick fix. I was looking for a stapler.”
“Here’s one. Have at it.”
I heard the sound of a stapler being employed on fabric.
“Thanks. Now I’ll get right back to work.”
Marguerite let out a phony laugh. “Work! Ha! You seem to have forgotten what that means. You’re looking to get fired, lady. I’m bringing it up to Nigel the next time I see him.”
Someone threw down the stapler with unnecessary force and then slammed the drawer for good measure.
“Nigel doesn’t need advice from you.”
“Are you kidding? Without me holding this operation together, this restaurant would be flat on it’s back by now. We need to weed out some of the weak employees. I’m keeping Nigel informed.”
“Maybe if you, as manager, had the employees’ interests more at heart, you’d get better cooperation,” Sandy said right back.
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about employee cooperation,” Marguerite responded nastily. “You won’t be here long enough to put that to good use. I’ve got my eye on you and a couple of others who need to go. Rotten apples spoil the barrel, you know. Best to clean them out before they get a chance to fester.”
Ugh! What a way to put it. This Marguerite person was not exactly the loveable sort, was she?
“Thanks for the warning,” Sandy said in a voice that sounded muffled.
“No problem. Now get back to what we pay you for. The party in the banquet room wants a little more consistent attention to their needs. Why don’t you just go along and provide that for them?”
“Your wish is my command,” Sandy responded dryly as she left the room.
It sounded like Marguerite followed her out but I waited a beat or two before I dared take a look. Yes, the office was empty again, but I didn’t think I was going to spend any more time studying the map at this point, and I left too, veering in the opposite direction, passing right by the banquet room which seemed to be filled with a somewhat rowdy bunch. I peeked in to see a buff young man in a plaid shirt and jeans trying to convince Sandy to dance with him to the piped in music. She was laughing, looking as though her encounter with Marguerite hadn’t dampened her evening at all.
Murder and the Secret Spring Page 3
