Chapter 5
Chef pushed into the kitchen after making his evening table rounds. The pristine white apron came off, and the stained one went on. He left the puffy toque on his head as he prepared to make his station rounds.
He said something to O’Connell. She looked panicked, nodded and scurried off.
“Oh, fuck me,” Stevens complained at whatever it was Chef was going around telling people.
“Way to keep things quiet, Stevens.”
He grunted and turned his attention to his cooking.
Les kept an eye on Chef as he circulated through the kitchen, eerily quiet. Small conversations, no barking of orders, no unrealistic demands.
Les prepped his cart. He would make two or three rounds of the dining room before returning to the back and resetting. The dessert cart was never to look meager or empty. He had everything ready to go, except Chef hadn’t gotten to him yet. If he headed out now, it would be another hour before he had a chance to find out what the hell was going on.
“Why are you just leaning against the table?” Chef asked as he finally got to Les’s station.
“I’m waiting for you.”
Chef grunted. “You’ve got that right.”
“So what’s the hubbub, bub?” Les asked.
“Cyan del Fuego has a guest. They are in the dining room.”
Les shrugged. “So?” Why was it so hush-hush that the owner was eating in the dining room? She’d already done that a few times, it wasn’t the secret Chef was treating it as. And as far as her guest was concerned, Les had already heard the buzz from housekeeping. The man didn’t bother to put a robe on when late night champagne was delivered after he arrived.
“They are going to want to take a tour of the kitchen when they are done.”
Les shrugged. That didn’t seem so terrible.
“I’ll be out there,” he reminded Chef.
“Right. Then don’t talk to them, everything goes through Ms. Del Fuego’s assistant, Madyson.”
Les nodded. Cyan wasn’t much different than other crazy rich people they’ve had stay at the hotel before. Or at the hotel he worked at in Napa before that one burned down. To Les it was an odd combination of an ego feeding, ‘recognize me’ need with a big budget buying up all the surrounding space so no one can get close. Almost like they wanted to be admired like a big cat in a zoo but kept separated. Look but don’t touch.
Les had no problems staying away. He didn’t want to get mixed up in anything Ms. Del Fuego might be doing. Pushing the dessert cart out, he took a wide circuit around the dining room. He was prepared to avoid their table when Madyson started twitching and making faces at him.
She caught his attention and made a very deliberate nod. Les had been summoned. Letting out a sigh, he directed his little dessert cart to her side.
“Are they going to be interested in dessert?” he asked that assistant.
“Yes, Ms. Del Fuego will have?—”
“Mr. Hernandez, come here Les. Oh, leave the cart for later, come, come.” When Cyan del Fuego summoned, he knew to answer.
Les pressed down on the front of his apron. “Ms. Del Fuego, how are you this evening?”
“Come now, Mr. Hernandez, I thought we were friends?”
Les let out a soft chuckle. The big man seemed to growl.
“How was your meal, Cyan? It looks like you had the wild mushroom risotto and your dining partner had?—”
“Roast duck,” the man stated.
“Viktor, this is Les Hernandez. He is a relation of Nando’s little Melinda. You remember her?”
The big man, Viktor, gave Les an assessing look over.
“You don’t look like a wu…” he left the sound trail off.
“And you don’t look like a creature of the night. Play nice, Viktor Kilbride,” Cyan cut him off. “What desserts would you recommend for us?”
“I have an acorn squash crème br?lée, with rather surprising fall notes that would put the finishing touches on Chef’s roast duck, beautifully. Don’t let the thought of squash put you off, it’s a nuttier take on pumpkin.”
Les knew how to do his job, very well. He knew what flavors worked with sweets and what sweets wrapped up a good meal.
“And for the risotto? I believe you mentioned you specialize in cheesecake?”
Les tilted his head to the side. “Following the creamy risotto, you might find a cheesecake to be too rich.”
“Or exactly perfect. Thank you, I will have cheesecake.” Cyan dismissed him with a nod.
Les turned away from the couple and plated their dessert selections.
“What wine shall we have now?” Viktor asked. The table already had a selection of open bottles, none of which were empty. And none that would be finished, from the looks of it. The waitstaff were going to have some good drinks tonight.
“Our Sommelier can help you with a wine selection far better than I can.” Les gestured to the man who was hovering by Madyson, and then stepped aside.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
He grabbed his cart and made a beeline straight back to the kitchen. He grabbed one of the waiters, “You take the cart around. I’m out.”
He pushed into the kitchen. Tossing his toque, he crashed out the double doors to the loading dock. As he paced back and forth in the cool night air, Les tried to run through every single word Cyan had said to him, every word Viktor said. Nothing seemed off, it all seemed so very normal. But something in his gut said nothing about that exchange had been normal.
Damn it. He wasn’t one of Morgan’s investigators, but he was going to have to let him know what was going on. Two daywalkers had taken over the top floor of his hotel. Daywalkers with their teeth filed down, and who weren’t afraid of hiding.
Thoughts of Cyan and Viktor plagued him all night. He didn’t sleep well. Les didn’t have to be in the kitchen until early afternoon. Knowing what he needed to do, and liking it were not mutually exclusive. He rolled out of bed before his alarm clock went off. He walked over and turned it off so the annoying beep beep beep wouldn’t assault him when he was drinking his coffee.
He stumbled across the floor of his overpriced studio, which had been advertised as a ‘cozy loft,’ and set the electric kettle on.
He rinsed the coffee press in hot water and pulled the pack of pre-ground coffee out of the freezer. Just because he liked good coffee and was willing to take the steps to make it, it didn’t mean he had time to grind the beans every morning.
He scooped in a couple of tablespoons and waited for the kettle to let him know it was ready. The boiling hot water went in and he stirred. Leaving the coffee to sit, he finished getting dressed, and packed his work clothes into a duffle just in case he ended up at Mission Run all morning.
The French press had sat more than long enough by the time he returned and gently pressed the filter down. Resting his hand on the plunger, gravity did the work. His first cup was always black. The bitter and the undiluted caffeine hit his system first. He poured the rest in a blender and added everything that bastardized the coffee into a milkshake. He didn’t care. It tasted better with the good stuff, and after the caffeine, the hit of sugar was appreciated.
He hated morning traffic. And it was worse since he could have gotten up at any other time, left his apartment at any other time, and not been stuck in the commute.
Connie was still cooking breakfast when he sauntered into the kitchen.
“Hola, Tia,” he said before getting in close and kissing her on the cheek.
“What brings you here so early, Mijo?”
Les snagged a couple of strips of bacon. Why did everything his aunt made taste better than anything he could cook? Except for pastries, his ego wouldn’t concede there, she ruled in the kitchen. Even her bacon tasted better. And this was just fried in a cast iron pan. She wasn’t being fancy and cooking over the mesquite. Now, when she did that, the bacon was even better. He grabbed a few more pieces. And hopped up on the counter.
“You know the breakfast is still set up in the morning room, you could go in there and have a proper meal, and not steal from in here.” She smacked his knee where he sat.
“Food tastes better in this kitchen.” He looked around, he could eat, and it looked like Connie was finishing up. Some of the older students were already working on the other side of the kitchen, scraping dishes and loading the commercial dishwasher.
He remembered those days. Elite private education, realistic life skills, like cleaning up, laundry, kitchen duty. He liked the kitchen best because Tia taught him how to bake. When he first started living here, she was home for him. This kitchen became an extension of what he missed. It still was.
Now, home was a one-room apartment. He no longer fit in with all of his primos back in Sacramento, and Mission Run still felt like a boarding school, and not a home base.
“I need to see Morgan about something.” He jumped off the counter, gave his aunt a quick side hug, and grabbed more bacon before heading out.
“Hey, Les!” Some of the kids called out as he made his way into the morning room. He waved and tried to remember everyone’s names. Half of the buffet chargers were hanging open, empty. He scrounged enough to make an egg and bacon sandwich on dry toast.
He waved as he left and headed down the hall toward the household offices. Jinx had a little command center there, it was a space shared with security cameras and extra keys. And it’s where he thought he would find Remi.
“Hello Les,” Remi’s voice boomed. His voice was always bigger than life. “What brings you by this morning?”
Remi knew him well enough to know that Les didn’t just swing through Mission Run without a reason.
“Is Morgan around?”
“I’m sure he’s here somewhere. He is in residence, if that’s what you mean?”
Les nodded. Remi had a way of being overly formal that made Les feel as if he weren’t living up to his potential.
“Have you stopped by his office, or rooms?”
“I was headed there now. I thought I’d stop in and save myself the trip if he wasn’t around, you know?”
“You can always call, first,” Jinx, the household manager, said.
Les shook his head. “This isn’t an over the phone conversation. Besides, I can see Tia this way.”
Morgan’s office was deeper into the house, and his rooms were upstairs and in the opposite direction. He had a fifty-fifty chance at going in the wrong direction. He stood at the bottom of the stairs and yelled, “Marco.” Les didn’t actually expect anyone to answer.
“Polo,” someone responded at the top of the stairs.
“Who is that?” Les asked.
“I’m Polo, you’re Marco. That’s how this works.” JoJo bounced into sight as she made her way down. “Hey, Les. You don’t know if breakfast is still set up?”
“Yeah, there wasn’t much left. Clean up as started. You’ll find something.”
“Thanks.” Her high pigtails swayed, and she bounced down the hallway.
“You haven’t seen Morgan this morning, have you?” He called after her.
“No, but I could hear the twins. They are not having a good morning.”
He took the stairs two at a time. If the twins weren’t having a good morning, Morgan was either there helping, or Honey needed help, and she would know where Morgan was.
The door to the large suite that was Morgan and Honey’s rooms was open. Loud wails came from inside. Les wandered in, uninvited.
“Need some help?”
Honey took one look at him, and held out a crying toddler. “I’ll be right back.”
“Hey, buddy,” Les said as soon as the child was in his arms. He wasn’t sure which of the twins he held.
“Pol fell, and Cas thinks he’s the one who got hurt,” Honey said when she reappeared.
Morgan followed her out from the other room, a sniffling Pollux in his arms. He had a band-aid across his forehead, and over his chin. Cas started to settle down as soon as his brother was in the same room.
Honey took the crying boy back.
“Your timing is impeccable. Have you considered being a manny? You have the magic,” Honey stated.
“Manny?” Les asked.
“Male nanny. But you’re like Mary Poppins, arrive just when needed, leaving just when wanted.”
“That’s Nanny McPhee,” Morgan said.
“The British have far too many magical nannies. I need one,” Honey said.
“How do you know Nanny McPhee?” Les asked.
“Same as you, the movies,” Morgan said with a nod.
“I take it that means no, you aren’t here to be some kind of super-nanny?” Honey joked.
“Sorry, not today.”
“Then you’re here to tell me about Cyan del Fuego,” Morgan made it a statement, not a question.
“Why did I even bother to come here if you already know about her?” Les asked.
“Cyan did me the favor of letting me know she would be in our territory for a while. Think of it as professional courtesy.”
Les rolled his eyes. He could have slept in.
Morgan took one of his son’s from Honey, and followed her out of the suite and down the hall. Les trailed behind.
“You know she’s bought the Vista Antigua in St. Helena?”
“I didn’t know that, but it doesn’t surprise me. She likes boutique hotels, owns quite a few of them up and down the Coast. As I understand it, she prefers to stay in the properties she owns.”
Les shook his head. “I told you I wasn’t one of your investigators. As soon as I think I have something to tell you, you already know it.”
“I appreciate you taking the time to come over and fill me in.”
Morgan and Les stopped outside the nursery as Honey continued inside, and then returned to take the boy from Morgan.
“I’ll see you later, babe.” She kissed him before heading back inside the room that Les thought of as the home base of chaos.
“Come on,” Morgan cocked his head to the side, and began walking. “All I know is what kind of property Cyan likes to build and acquire. I’ve worked on a project or two for her. What I don’t know is why did she pick wine country?”
“Then you don’t know about the big guy she’s hooking up with?”
Morgan stopped and turned to look at Les. One eyebrow went up. “Oh really? You know I never put much thought into the kind of guy Cyan would be interested in. I always assumed she’d go for the skinny goth, pretty boy type.”
“Viktor Kilbride is about as far from skinny goth as it gets.”
“Kilbride? Viktor Kilbride. Shit, why is he here?” Morgan turned and grabbed Les by the arms. “Listen to me very carefully, I don’t think Cyan del Fuego is hooking up with Viktor Killbride, he’s basically her political equivalent for vampires north of the Canadian border. I know you keep saying you aren’t one of my investigators, but I’m going to need you to keep your ears open when you’re around her. And if you’re ever near when Killbride is around.”
Les chuckled and brushed Morgan’s hands from his arms. “You’re way over reacting, dude. Trust me, Cyan and Viktor are having a hook-up. Half the staff is already aware of it. But I’ll keep my ears open, in case anything more interesting than a porn soundtrack comes out of their room. If you know what I mean.”
Morgan ran his hand through his hair, all while shaking his head. “I guess I didn’t expect that of Cyan. She’s so… so…”
“Intimidating as fuck?” Les suggested.
“Yeah, that,” Morgan agreed.
Les followed Morgan until they reached his office.
“Do you think you can check in next week?”
“What? You think because I came over to tell you Cyan del Fuego has a monster of a man boy toy that I’m going to be making reports?”
Morgan sat and pulled something from his desk drawer.
Les glanced down at the box Morgan placed front and center. He shook his head. Not that again?
“You just made a report. I’m not looking for anything official, just keep an eye out for anything unusual. Let me know if Cyan makes off requests.”
“Like raw oysters after midnight?”
“Like black out shades in all the rooms, mysterious deliveries after hours. I don’t really know,” Morgan said.
The box sat there, drawing in Les’s attention. He would ignore it as long as Morgan did.
“Just keep tabs on her.”
Les nodded. He pushed off the door where he had been leaning. “I can do that. I’ll swing by as it fits my schedule.”
“One last thing,” Morgan started. He held up the box.
Les stood up and took a step closer. “I don’t, you?—”
“Just take it, hold on to it. If you change your mind, you can take the test and send it in. Or you can put it in your medicine cupboard and let it collect dust.”
Les reached out and took the box. He’d take it as long as it kept Morgan off his back. The Palatines really weren’t much different than the Hernandezs, they were all pushy and up in his business.