Yuck!
I glanced up at the menu. It was divided into three sec-tions. Soups, salads, entrees. The soups made me shudder.
Stuff like Asparagus Delight, which was an oxymoron if I ever heard one, Lentil Stew, Split Pea, Mushroom Barley, Forest Mushroom. I shuddered.
I’m sorry, but anything grown in a forest should stay in a forest. My gaze moved onto the salad menu. If I were a salad person, it wouldn’t be too bad. There was Dandelion Green Salad, Mandarin Spinach Salad, Portabella Mushroom Salad, and Vegetarian Antipasto. Unfortunately, I was a cookie dough kind of person.
The entrees ranged from burgers—Tofu Mushroom, Super Soy, Black Bean, and Turkey—to wraps such as the Five Mushroom, Hummus Leek, and Turkey Spinach. There were other dishes such as the Tofu Taco, Mushroom Pot Pie, Tuna Mushroom Melt, and Mushroom Ragout.
This explained why I never ate here.
The cost was amazingly affordable, most items under five dollars. I could see why the place was so popular to healthy eaters.
There was a lot of money to be made here.
And a lot to be stolen . . .
Behind Riley there was a pass-through to the kitchen, where I could only see hands working quickly and lettuce flying. No sign of Bill.
Down a long hall in front of me, just beyond the restrooms, a door was marked employees only. I assumed Bill’s office was back there . . .
136
Heather Webber
I looked up as someone came out of the swinging door at the end of the hall, pushing a mop bucket. As she came closer I realized I recognized her.
“Noreen?”
Dark circles hovered under her Sally Jesse glasses. Her eyes narrowed while she apparently searched to put my name to my face, then widened in recognition.
“I didn’t know you worked here,” I said, inanely. How would I know?
A small gold tag on her black shirt read noreen, manager. “Nepotism at its best,” she said with no inflection at all.
Ahh. I remembered what Bill had said when I’d first met Noreen.
Work.
That’s how Bill had known Noreen.
She looked me up and down. “Not eating?”
“Picking up my son.” Technically he wasn’t mine, but I couldn’t quite get my heart to accept that. “Riley.”
“Oh, Bill’s nephew.” There was a look on her face I couldn’t quite place.
I smiled. “Nepotism at its best.”
I thought I saw the corner of her mouth lift into a small smile, but it could have been my imagination.
“Good kid,” she said.
“Thanks. How’s Greta holding up?” Maybe this was my way into seeing her. Noreen seemed to be the reasonable sort. And if she could get me in with Greta, I silently promised not to call her Mrs. Potato Head anymore. I’d even make it a commandment and everything.
“Still refuses to see anyone.” Blunt cut bangs swung as she shook her head. “Shouldn’t be alone at a time like this. It ain’t right.”
137
“Grief does funny things to people.”
“She should be celebrating.” She twirled the mop in the bucket. She must have seen my startled look. “No, I’m not sad he’s gone. None of us here are. Especially Bill.”
I perked up. “Oh?”
“He and Russ have differing management styles. There was constant staff turnover on the days Russ managed.
Everyone loves working for Bill.”
“Including you?”
She shrugged. “Better than Russ. Made me manager.
Can’t argue with that. After a year of working for Russ, I was still on the registers.”
It seemed to me that pushing a mop around wasn’t a step up from the registers.
