ponytail. “They’re in the kitchen and they want to speak to someone. Now.”
Bernie groaned. She closed her eyes for a second, and opened them again.
“I probably should have told you this before—” she began, but Libby cut her off.
“No kidding. This is about that friggin’ oven, isn’t it? Well, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But I’ve been hoping…”
“Hoping what?” Libby asked.
Bernie took hold of Libby’s arm and started steering her toward the stairs. “I’ll tell you on the way down.”
Sean caught a glance from Clyde.
“Why don’t your dad and I continue talking?” Clyde said.
Bernie threw him an absentminded kiss. “That’ll be great.”
Sean watched as Amber, Libby, and Bernie headed out his bedroom door.
“Not good,” Clyde commented.
“Not good at all,” Sean agreed.
He didn’t know what Bernie was going to tell Libby, but he did know that it wasn’t going to be good. Anything having to do with building inspectors and kitchens never was. They rarely came around to tell you what a good job you were doing. They only came around to tell you how bad you were screwing up.
Chapter 6
Libby stepped into her kitchen ahead of Amber and Bernie.
“They’re over there,” said Amber, pointing to the two men chatting in front of the cooler. One was dressed in a parka and knit slacks, while the other was wearing jeans and a windbreaker.
“I can see that,” Libby replied.
She loved this room, she thought, as the guy in the knit slacks broke off his conversation and headed toward her. She remembered when her mom had set this kitchen up, and she hadn’t changed anything in it since she’d taken over the business, at least not in any meaningful way, and she’d been right not to, given what had happened when she’d let Bernie talk her into making changes.
It was perfect the way it was. She loved the tile floors, the large window overlooking the back, and the pots hanging down from the ceiling, the stacks of flour on their shelves, the bags of sugar next to them. The rack of her mom’s knives lined up next to the prep table and the scales she used to weigh the ingredients. They all felt good in her hands.
Her mom had always told her that this was backstage, whereas the place where they waited on people was the performance area. Everything started from here.
Libby’s eyes reflexively swept the kitchen for possible health code violations, but everything was okay. The sinks were clean, as were the scrubbies. No food was lying out. Everything that should be in the cooler was.
The cleaning products were on their own shelf. All food products were off the floor. Amber and Googie were wearing hats, something Googie had a tendency to forget about. Libby watched the guy in the knit slacks walk toward her. Definitely the building inspector. She’d bet money on it.
She wondered what had happened to George. She’d liked George. He was a nice guy. Probably gone down to Florida to live with his children. He’d been talking about it for years. This one was young. That wasn’t good. His bearing was stiff. That wasn’t good either. And, even worse, he had a grim expression on his face. Executioner grim.
Given what Bernie had just told her as they went down the stairs, she could understand why. Although she had to remind herself it could be worse. She took a deep breath. She’d like to strangle her sister, but this wasn’t the time or the place. Maybe later. No. Absolutely later. One thing was sure: Bernie created chaos wherever she went. Maybe someone could study her. She could be like a science project. Libby was thinking about what kind of science project when she realized that the building inspector guy was talking to her.
“So your sister told you, right?” he asked.
Libby tried not to glare at Bernie. “I’m afraid she hasn’t had the chance,” Libby said.
Their dad always said never admit, never deny, and that was what Libby intended to do.
“We’ve had several emergencies,” Bernie added.
The building inspector shrugged. “They have nothing to do with this.”
“What happened to George?” Libby asked.
“Went down to Florida a couple of months ago.”
“That’s nice for him.”
“If you like bugs. And heat. Which I don’t.”
Libby followed his eyes as he glanced around the kitchen. She felt a burst of pride at its orderliness and cleanliness. Bernie coughed. Libby’s gaze shifted to her.
“I was going to tell her,” Bernie explained to him. “I was just looking for the right time.”
Libby decided to ignore her, mostly because she didn’t trust herself to speak to her sister yet, at least not in what her mother would have called a civil manner.
“You have a name?” Libby asked the building inspector. “A card?”
“The name is Peter Hager.” He slapped his pockets. “Sorry. No cards. Must have left them in the office.”
“I haven’t seen you around before,” Libby observed. She felt an overwhelming desire for a piece of chocolate.
“That’s because I’m new.”
Libby shuddered inwardly. The new ones were always the worst. They had something to prove, whereas the old guys were more inclined to honor the spirit rather than the letter of the law. Not that she wasn’t punctilious, because she was. No one had ever gotten sick from food from A Little Taste of Heaven, and as far as she was concerned they never would.
Libby watched as Peter Hager folded his arms over his chest. His expression got even grimmer. “You need a bigger venting system with this new oven.”
“You’re kidding,” Libby heard herself say. They were tight on money these days. The roof had to be fixed and they were going to need a new vehicle soon. The van was in the shop more than not.
“Nope. Your new oven is putting out a lot more BTUs. Sorry, but I don’t see any way around it.”
Peter uncoiled himself, extended his arm, and pointed to the new oven. “And you need to have your oven tethered to the wall because it’s on rollers.”
“We’re just waiting for the clamp to come in. The one they gave us didn’t work. Anything else?” Libby asked.
Peter smiled. Libby reflected that his smile wasn’t pleasant.
“Well, I’m not a hundred percent sure,” he continued. “I’ll have to go back and consult the codebook, but I think you might need a sprinkler system.”
