“I need to make some money before the bar blows away, so I’m not going to waste time eating mini quiches and sipping vino with you all,” she stated with her usual frankness. “I’d come if there was work to be done, but the chief dropped the ball big-time this week.”
For a moment, Olivia almost explained why the chief had failed to send the group his chapter, but then thought better of it. Let Rawlings keep the anniversary of his wife’s death to himself. He would have to explain his involuntary sabotage of tonight’s meeting to the writer’s group in person. “May your tip jar overflow,” Olivia told Millay.
It didn’t take long for Harris to call and bow out too.
“You don’t need to explain,” Olivia said as soon as she heard his voice. “Everyone else is jumping ship. Honestly, I doubt Rawlings will be ready for next week’s meeting either. With the storm’s arrival and the clean up afterward, he won’t have a second to catch a breath, so we’re going to skip his turn and let Millay go next. She assured me her chapter was almost ready and she’d e-mail an attachment to the group late Sunday evening.”
Harris grunted. “She’d better send it in the morning. I’ve got a Facebook friend who works for the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration and he says that Ophelia’s going to double in width over the next twenty- four hours. We’ll lose power by dinnertime.” Pleased to share the insider information, Harris went on to tell Olivia the other natural disasters his cyber-friend had accurately predicted. “I’m glad I live in an apartment away from the water. No need to worry about flooding or downed trees. The power outages will be a drag, but I’m charging two laptops in preparation. After they die, it’ll just be me, a case of Slim Jims, some not-so-cold brewskies, and a fierce game of Risk between me and the guys in 4C.”
It was impossible to be gruff in the face of Harris’s boyish enthusiasm. “Good luck in your pursuit of world domination,” Olivia said. “And don’t underestimate the value of Australia.”
“Never!” Harris agreed. “I will capture the continent in your honor, fair maiden.” He paused. “On a serious note, be careful. If the road from the Point to town floods, you could be stranded for days.”
Touched by his concern, Olivia resisted the urge to lecture him on her high level of self-sufficiency. “Never fear, my friend. I have food, a generator, excellent company, and a five-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle of the Sistine Chapel to work. If Michelangelo hid any codes on that ceiling,” she joked, “I’ll have plenty of time to find them.”
“Man, you are so cool,” Harris declared before hanging up.
Olivia wasn’t ready to hunker down until conditions notably worsened, so she and Haviland drove to The Boot Top. Normally, she’d mill about the restaurant greeting diners and offering wine recommendations. Tonight, however, the hostess had called in sick and Olivia didn’t have enough wait staff to spare.
“I’ll have to be Madeleine for tonight,” she told Haviland apologetically. “And no getting underfoot in the kitchen. Health code violations and all that. You stay in the office if you want to be fed.”
Haviland seemed to focus on the latter phrase. Licking his lips, he trotted into the office and sat on his haunches, gazing with expectant adoration at Michel.
“Madeleine isn’t ill,” Gabe, the barkeep, said to Olivia as he stepped out of the walk-in fridge carrying a tray of lemons, limes, and oranges. “But she’s scared. She has family in Wilson and wanted to drive west before the rain got heavier.”
“It’s a reasonable excuse, but an irritation all the same,” Olivia answered, following Gabe to the bar. “Now I’ll have to man the podium and I don’t possess an ounce of Madeleine’s charm.”
Gabe slid a tumbler filled with Chivas Regal across the polished wood bar. “This might help.” He smiled and Olivia accepted the glass with gratitude. Gabe, who was in his late twenties and looked every inch the sandy-haired surfer that he was, had attracted a loyal following the moment The Boot Top opened its doors. At first, the area’s well-to-do women filled all the barstools, eager to flirt with the hunky barkeep. But soon enough their husbands came too, enjoying Gabe’s affability as much as their wives.
Because much of the restaurant’s profits were dependent on the sale of liquor and wine, Olivia paid Gabe well above the going rate. As a result, he took great pride in his job, viewing the bar area with its leather chairs, padded barstools, and tasteful nautical decor as his treasured domain. No one’s snack mix bowl ever stayed empty and no one’s drinks ever ran dry. And though Gabe could have his pick of the majority of The Boot Top’s female staff and clientele, he never allowed the line between his professional and personal life to blur.
Of all Olivia’s employees, Michel was the most likely to get entangled in an ill-fated romance. He’d been involved with a married woman before, and though it had wreaked havoc on his emotions, it seemed as though he was ready to repeat the agonizing experience.
“I think I have a serious crush on your Laurel,” he confessed, his face flushed from the heat of the kitchen.
One of the sous-chefs stopped chopping mushrooms and gestured at Michel with the tip of his knife. “His accent got much thicker when she was here. He actually sounded like a real Frenchman.
Michel glowered at his subordinate. His Parisian accent was nearly undetectable and only surfaced when he was angry, drunk, or flirting with a pretty woman.
Olivia put her hands on her hips. “Do you have amnesia? Your last affair with a married woman was ruinous! You went on a champagne bender and your cooking was way off. You used far too much salt and your meat was overdone. I don’t think any of our customers will stand for that again.”
Shaking a raw shrimp at her, Michel smiled. “But ah, the passion! It is worth all the pain.”
“Forget about Laurel.” Olivia’s eyes flashed a darker blue. “She has enough to juggle without adding a crush to the mix. Set your sights on someone else. Join a gym. I’m sure you could cajole someone into committing adultery between spin and yoga classes.”
Michel tossed the shrimp into a frying pan coated with sizzling butter and browned garlic. “Laurel is special. She has a pure heart and believes that love can overcome all things. She is a rare flower, an orchid in a greenhouse of daffodils.”
“Spare me.” Olivia crossed her arms. “I don’t see how you arrived at this conclusion after spending thirty minutes with her.”
“She was here longer than that,
“That’s enough, Michel,” Olivia retorted. “Why don’t you focus your energy on cooking? I believe that is what I hired you to do.”
Michel gave her a dreamy smile. “Tonight, my food will taste like nectar and ambrosia. Every drop will be filled with visions of Laurel, my muse. Beware, those who are brave enough to order my chocolate torte. It will be such exquisite torture!”
Olivia shook her head. “You’re hopeless. I’m going out to seat our patrons. Try not to burn the place down while you wallow in inappropriate fantasies.”
A party of four awaited her at the hostess podium and Olivia smiled at the mayor, his wife, and two children. “Sorry to keep you,” she said and led them back to the mayor’s favorite table.
The mayor glanced around the nearly empty dining room and frowned. “Do you think the out-of-towners are all gone?”
Olivia nodded. “They’ll be back for the Cardboard Regatta. I’m booked for three nights from five until eleven at night.” She swept an arm around the dining room. The flickering candlelight, the bud vases filled with sprays of wild chrysanthemum, and the pumpkin-colored napkin fans created an atmosphere of sophistication and warmth. “Your family and the couple enjoying the shrimp scampi linguini won’t be dining alone this evening. We’re expecting a decent crowd tonight, though some may cancel due to the inclement weather.”
The mayor’s wife laughed. “You’re the only person in Oyster Bay who’d call a category three hurricane ‘inclement weather.’ ”
“Ophelia’s been upgraded?” Olivia tried to recall the wind gusts of a category three. She didn’t need to tax her brain, however, as the mayor’s son looked up from his menu, rubbed at his glasses with his napkin, and spoke in
