Fed Up - By Jessica Conant-Park & Susan Conant Page 0,32
so to speak. So it’s not going to be smooth sailing.” He paused. “Maybe if the television station makes a public statement? If we can really clear up what happened, then things might blow over for the show. I don’t know.” Josh exhaled deeply. “Oh, and then Leo called the restaurant an hour ago to get your phone number.”
I wrinkled my brow. “He wants to talk to me?”
Josh nodded. “He said he wants to talk to you about Francie. I hope it’s okay, but I gave him your number.”
Ugh. If Leo wanted to hear about Francie’s last moments, what could I possibly tell him? “Yeah, that’s fine.”
“There’s more. He told me that it turns out that Francie had definitely been poisoned and that the police are involved. So it wasn’t food poisoning. It wasn’t something I did or bought. I knew that, but it’s a relief to have it confirmed.”
“So she was poisoned! What was it?” I nearly shouted. “This means Francie was murdered for sure. Who did it? Have the police talked to you?”
“Leo didn’t say what the poison was. He said that the police are investigating who could have done it. A detective called me earlier, and I’m going to talk to him tomorrow morning, but I’m pretty much in the clear since practically every second of that day is on film. And I don’t have any motive. So I’m not worried.”
Josh might not be worried, but I was—and would be until Francie’s murderer was locked up in a cell. Why would someone murder Francie? And during Josh’s cooking episode?
“I have to get back to the kitchen. Gavin made me send home all the hourly employees, so I’m alone except for Santos tonight. I’ll go make your salad and get that out to you in a few minutes. Love you.” Josh kissed me again.
“I love you, too.”
I took a big drink of my lemonade and tried to process what I had just learned: Francie had been poisoned. Someone had intentionally killed that poor woman and let her die a painful, grotesque death. I shivered. Lost in thought, I jumped at the sound of a dish breaking behind me.
“Your job isn’t that hard. It’s quite simple, really.” Gavin’s voice echoed throughout the restaurant as he marched across the floor. “Pick up dishes. Take them to the kitchen. Seriously, it’s not tough. Break another dish, and I’ll take it out of your check.”
I spun around on my stool. Standing before Gavin was a young Brazilian busboy who held a plastic tub filled with dirty dishes. The busboy hung his head while Gavin continued his tirade.
“Do you know how much those dishes cost? Do you? Clean up this mess and get out of my sight.”
Aha! I finally got it. To my surprise, I realized that Gavin was drunk. I could hear it in his voice. Josh’s boss wasn’t normally my favorite person, but he and I had no problems with each other, and he had always been pleasant to me. According to Josh, Gavin could be tough to work for, but Josh had never mentioned anything like what I was seeing and hearing now. Yelling at a busboy? Creating a drunken scene that was bound to drive customers away? Never. Or never before.
“Like I was saying,” Wade said as he refilled my lemonade, “best to stay out of Gavin’s way today.”
After what I’d just witnessed, I was hardly going to get in Gavin’s way. Avoiding him was evidently going to be easy, since he was continuing to ignore my existence. When he appeared a few seats down from me at the bar and leaned over the counter to grab some lime slices for his drink, he barely looked my way before dropping lime into his cocktail and again disappearing.
“What’s going on with him?” I asked Wade.
“Oh, you know, typical owner bullshit.” He spoke while he adjusted his gelled hair in the mirror that walled the back of the bar. “Josh must have told you some of it, though, right? Gavin has been hanging out here after hours with customers, drinking free from the bar, going home with college girls, snorting a little here and there. He’s become a pain in the ass.”
What? I’d heard none of this from Josh. And using cocaine? Stupid, stupid. “No wonder he’s so moody, then, huh?”
Wade leaned against the bar. “No kidding. We can always tell when Gavin’s been here late at night, because we open the restaurant to find dirty glasses, spilled drinks, half-finished beers.