Granted, I didn't let other people close enough to do it, most of the time.
"Try to act normal. Got it," he said with a nod of his head. "Um, what is that again?"
The smile on his face was half amusement, half panic. Eyes flicking back toward the seating area.
"When I figure it out, I'll let you know," I quipped. "I think it means do your job and don't panic."
"Work and don't panic," he said slowly. "Okay, I can do those." He seemed relatively certain of that at least.
"You should probably stay in the kitchen too,” I added. "The less he sees of us, the better."
"Unless—" Cass started to say.
"Chef St. James." Getzoff appeared at the kitchen door.
"Detective Getzoff," I said with more enthusiasm than I felt. "How nice to see you again."
I was lying through my teeth, but that was a small crime compared to other things I'd done, so I figured the universe might let it slide.
"What brings you here?" I asked.
My heart thumped too hard in my chest. Almost to the point of pain. Not the good kind either, worse luck. Not like when Jules fucked me, so perfectly hard.
Was Getzoff was about to accuse me of something? Maybe the death of Lionel Gammage? Maybe feeding victims to my customers. Maybe…
I couldn't think of anything else. My mind was racing too fast.
"I enjoyed your food so much the other night, I thought I'd pop in and try the food here," he said lightly.
"That's very flattering," I said sincerely.
I didn't have to bullshit my way through this one. I was proud of my cooking. I'd worked hard to develop my skills. This was a compliment I could comfortably accept, even from someone who gave me the creeps.
"I'm sure Shelly will be more than happy to show you to a table and take your order," I said, which was a not-so-subtle hint for him to step away and leave me to my work, both in the restaurant and after hours.
"You're not going to show me around yourself?" he asked, his tone slick, like he'd put too much butter on his personality bread.
I must be hanging around Boner too much. That was the kind of observation he'd make. Along with something like, 'It's never a good idea to overdo the lubrication. Or underdo it.'
I almost heard his voice in my head, saying that and laughing. If he was here right now, he'd defuse the situation so much better than I could.
I forced a smile. "There's not much to see. This is the kitchen. That's the seating area." I gestured from one to the other.
"So I see." Getzoff took another step further inside, scanning the kitchen with his intense blue eyes, as if he could see through the cabinetry, or past the fridge door to the contents. As if somehow the dishwasher would reveal something incriminating about me.
"We passed our health inspection the other day," I said, pretending to assume he was checking for cleanliness before he sat down to eat.
I won't lie, I have had customers insist on inspecting the kitchen before they committed to a meal.
"I'm sure you did," he said, his eyes stopping on Cass for a moment before returning to me. "I'm sure you thoroughly clean your workspace."
He said it so carefully, deliberately, I was ready to choke on air.
Apparently so was Cass, since he had a sudden coughing fit. He threw his hand over his mouth and leaned away into the corridor that led to the back door of the restaurant.
"Our hygiene here is second to none," I said firmly. "You could eat off the floor."
I had a sudden vision of Getzoff, chained to one of the tables, doing just that. Begging to be released. Insisting he wouldn't arrest and lock us up.
