The Chosen

therefore it was my job to have him taken care of.’’

“Hey, my people took care of him. Relax.”

“Bullshit, Kyle! The second-floor suites are mine, and you know it! Don’t you ever do that to me again!”

“Jesus, Vera,” Kyle said, still not wiping off his grin. “The guy checked in late, you weren’t around, so I—”

“That’s a bunch of shit! I was right there in the restaurant! You should have come in and gotten me!”

Kyle shrugged, but the smartass grin never waned. “I didn’t want to interrupt your dinner with Mr. Feldspar.”

How did he know about that? And who had told him? Was it Feldspar? And if so, what did he say? The flood of insecure questions clogged in her head all at once. She couldn’t think of anything sensible to say. “And what about the convention?”

“What about it?”

“Feldspar told me last night he was going to a convention in Maryland today.”

“You mean Mr. Feldspar,” Kyle snidely corrected. “And what are you all bent out of shape about? He was going to go to the convention, and then he changed his mind. So what?”

Vera steamed. “He changed his mind? Without telling me?”

“Why should he tell you?” Kyle laughed. “You’re just the restaurant manager.”

Vera’s rage swamped her. “Just…get out of here.”

“Sure, but hey—” Kyle’s grin flared over his shoulder. “How about you and me going for another swim tonight—”

“Get out!”

She heard him laughing in the hall, which made her even more angry. Punk! she thought. She tapped her pen on her invoices. Just as she was beginning to settle down, Dan B. walked in, his chef’s apron tight around his considerable midsection. “Hey, Vera, we’re about out of Frangelico, so I won’t be able to run the Mushrooms Cracow with Hazelnut sauce for the special.”

Vera felt weary. “Do the Morels and Pheasant Mousse then.”

“Okay,” he said. “And we’re fresh out of avocado butter.”

Fine! I’ll order more goddamn avocados! she wanted to yell. “Just try to make do without for tonight. I doubt anyone’ll order it anyway.” But with my luck, everyone will. She felt frazzled, but why? Kyle? she wondered. She hadn’t slept well, and the dreams had returned, the seamy yet titillating dreams of The Hands…

And then she remembered something else.

Who she’d seen, or thought she’d seen, in the hall.

“Dan B.? Has, uh…”

“Has, uh, what?” Dan B. asked, looking at her a bit funny.

Vera squinted. “Has Donna been acting—you know—a little weird lately?’’

“No, not at all. Why?”

Why? she asked herself. I must have dreamed that stuff last night. What, Donna sleepwalking downstairs in crotchless panties, nipping at hidden booze? It seemed too absurd