“I’ve got a question for you—well, several really.” Hope leaned on the prep counter and stared down at her hands. She didn’t want him to feel nervous about this. She wanted him comfortable, ready to share in the story that he was hopefully ready to tell.
“You got it.” Patrick smiled at her and wiped his hands clean on a towel before tossing it over his shoulder. “Hit me.”
Hope grinned at him. “Tell me what’s going on here.”
Patrick narrowed his gaze at her and shook his head. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Something is going on at Riverside Plaza. I think it’s something out there. I think the kitchens are safe from it, not sure on that one yet, but something is going on.” Hope folded her hands together and looked Patrick directly in the eye, his light brown eyes that were full of youth but not so much innocence.
Patrick sighed, his gaze flitting around the room. “Nothing’s going on.”
“I’ve been in many hotels in my life, staying in them and fixing them up.” Hope paused, giving Patrick enough time to absorb that information and realize that she wasn’t going to back down from this line of questioning. “What’s going on here?”
The noises in the kitchen were loud. Chefs calling orders, pots and pans crashing against each other, plates rattling, voices chattering. Patrick held his breath. Hope could see it. His cheeks turned red before he sucked in a gasp. “I don’t know what happens in the hotel, Chef.”
“But in the kitchen?” Hope asked. “Is everything above board?”
“Yes, Chef.”
“And elsewhere in the hotel?” Hope prodded. Patrick had to know something. Someone in this kitchen had to know something. Because as separate as the two were, they were also so intertwined that it was impossible to separate them.
“I don’t know, Chef.” Patrick’s cheeks reddened. “I don’t know.”
“Have you heard rumors? Gossip?” Hope looked around the kitchen, realizing far too late just how close they were standing and how odd it’d look to anyone else nearby.
“Nothing, Chef.”
“All right. I’ll take you at your word on that.” Hope straightened up. “But if you do hear anything, let me know first thing.”
“Yes, Chef.” Patrick skittered off exactly like she’d expected him to.
She stayed right where she was, observing everyone in the kitchen. Who could she pick on next to talk to? And then who would she set her sights on as soon as she worked through the staff here? She was already creating a mental list. She snorted lightly—she probably sounded far more like Angelica in this moment than she should.
A burst of flames from the stove caught her attention as a rattled noise whooshed through the kitchen. “Shit.”
Hope snagged a large pot as she rushed toward the stove. Turning it over, she set it on the fire to snuff it out. Clenching her jaw, Hope looked around to see what else was wrong. But nothing was.
“You good?” she asked everyone.
“I burned my hand.” Brianna held her hand tightly.
“Right.” Hope led her by the arm over to the sink and stuck it under cold water to ease the burn. “Keep it there, it’s going to get cold.”
“Not my first rodeo, Chef.” Brianna breathed deeply and gritted her teeth.
Hope had to hand it to her for that. She was strong. As much as she wanted to work her way through the rest of the staff, she had to focus on this right now. She was just about to step back to get some ice when Brianna grabbed her arm tightly and pulled her back.
“You need to talk to Cole.”
“What?” Hope wrinkled her brow in confusion.
“Cole. He works housekeeping.”
“Right.” Hope bit her lip. “Thanks.”
Stepping away, she went to grab the ice to set on Brianna’s hand before she wrote up the report and sent Brianna off to the doctor. Hope filed away as much information as she could while she kept the kitchen running.
They might have this mystery solved before the end of the night, if she was lucky.
