He sighed and shook his body as if he was trying to chase off a chill. “What’s wrong with the onions?”
“May I?” I took the knife from him and held the remaining part of the onion tightly, keeping my fingers just out of the cutting zone. I started to chop fast, shearing off thin slices of the onion in a fraction of the time Ainslie had spent making thicker chunks.
“Oh, wow,” he said. “Let me try that!”
I placed the knife down on the chopping board – safer than handing it over – and made a flourish of a gesture towards it, indicating he should give it a try. I held back my wince and pulled my hand behind my back, clasping it out of the way as I watched Ainslie try.
“That’s good,” I said. “Do you have all the onions you need for tonight?”
Ainslie looked at the pile at the edge of his chopping board. “I think so. I still need to bring the garlic out, though.”
I patted him lightly on the shoulder. “I’ll do that,” I said. “I need to familiarize myself with the storage system here, anyway.”
“Thanks!” he exclaimed – Ainslie was already coming across like the kind of person who used a lot of exclamation marks – and I headed off to the storage units where I could get a moment to myself.
I already knew where the garlic was; I had spotted it earlier, on our whistle-stop ‘tour’. I took a deep breath of the somewhat fusty air of the storage – it smelled like potatoes and wheat and cool temperatures, as well as fresh fruit and vegetables on the lighter side of the scent.
I reached into my pocket and took out the small baggie I’d put there. I used to carry the pills around in a bottle, but bottles rattled. I’d found it was quieter and less obtrusive to just stick a few in a bag and shove that into my pants pocket.
I took out two pills and swallowed them dry, waiting a moment for the familiar wash of sensation to settle in. It only took a short time. They were good pills.
“Oh – Chef,” someone said, and I swung around quickly. One of the waiters – the Russian-looking one; Nikolai, I remembered – was standing in the doorway.
“Hi,” I said. I gave him a loose grin. “Just trying to find – oh, there it is!” I reached forward and grabbed a bunch of garlic from where it sat right next to his elbow.
“Right,” Nikolai said. “I’m getting some fresh napkins for the tables. Do you need to find anything else? I can probably help.”
I shook my head. “This was all we needed,” I said. “Hey, you’ve been here a while, right?”
Nikolai gave me a wide-eyed, sideways look like he was afraid of what I might ask. “Yes. Why?”
“Did you know the last chef?” I asked. I leaned against the wall, not quite next to him in the doorway but almost.
He took a moment as if he was analyzing my question for a trap, but he nodded. “Jesse. I was here when he started.”
“Oh, so you knew him well,” I commented. “So, why’d he leave?”
“He started his own bakery,” Nikolai said.
It had the smell of a party line. Said just a little too quickly, a little too rehearsed.
“That’s what everyone else says.” I shifted a little. “Why’d he really leave?”
“He always planned to go when he had enough experience,” Nikolai said.
“Hm.” I wasn’t asking the right questions, clearly. “Why did he choose to leavenow?”
Nikolai swallowed and glanced over his shoulder. He lowered his voice. “Well, you know, he was in a committed relationship.”
“And?”
The glance over his shoulder again. He was definitely afraid of someone overhearing. “And people in committed relationships who don’t want to cheat don’t always last long around here.”
I tilted my head to the side. I thought it over. Grey Monaghan had flirted with me during my interview, and he’d flirted with me today. And when I flirted back, I’d caught a murderous look on Rafael’s face.
“Grey,” I said.
Nikolai nodded and lowered his voice to a whisper. “Jesse didn’t want to sleep with him.”
