Page 52 of Capture
Freddie: We need help downstairs. With Betty gone, we need someone to manage the staff. Any suggestions?
Me: I’m coming down to help.
The first person in mind was Annika, whom I could potentially train for the role, since she was family, but I needed to discuss this with Mikky later. I ran downstairs instead of using the elevator and poked my head into the kitchen to ensure that everything was okay. It was the lunch shift, so it was flat out, andMikky was there, plating up for Annika, although the staff would assume it was for him.
Retreating from the frantic kitchen, I went down to the office area and found Freddie at his desk, working on the computer. “Oh, good. Here is this week’s order from the green grocer and butcher. You have to call it through by three PM so it’s here first thing tomorrow morning.”
“No problem. I’m happy to help,” and sat at Betty’s desk, noticing that her stuff hadn’t been cleared. I guess she had to flee on the fly.
I called the butcher, the green grocer, and the organic food store and placed our large order, which was already written out. Then, I went through Betty’s drawers, looking for her black diary, which she used for note-taking and staff meetings.
“So, we have a chef who failed to show,” he informed me.
“Failed to show. Didn’t even call in sick?” I was always annoyed when staff didn’t adhere to the standards we set. However, there could be a perfectly reasonable explanation, but that didn’t help us.
“Nope. I’ve called around, but no one is available, so I told the wait staff to tell the guests that there is a slightly longer wait before food is served,” he explained as my stress levels rose slightly, but this was hospitality.
“Offer the members drinks on the house to sweeten them up. I’m not much help in the kitchen, but I’ll help where I can,” I informed him, opening Betty’s desk drawers. “Where does Betty normally keep her diary and laptop?”
He shrugged, “I don’t know. The diary is either on the desk or in her hand, as it was too important to lose,” he replied, standing up. “I have to go back to the bar.”
The bar area was his territory, and he rarely spent much work time over this side of the club, so I wasn’t offended when he hadto go back to work. Someone appeared in my peripheral vision, and it was one of the reception girls at the front.
“Where’s Betty?” she asked with flushed cheeks. “I can’t get the card machine to work.”
“Betty isn’t here and won’t be returning,” I told her flatly, as I stood up to follow her to the front desk. “From this point onwards, come to me if you have any problems.”
“Okay, does it have something to do with her disappearing that day?” she innocently asked, and I realized that she was the girl who told me that Betty had gone home to get something and never came back.
“Yes and no,” I said, then concentrated on fixing the card machine that had paper caught in it. Betty said we needed to upgrade the system. Well, I could understand what she meant.
I apologized to the member who was waiting for us to process his card, then, after he left, I asked her, “Do you know where Betty’s diary is?”
“Um, she usually carried it with her,” she replied as another member and his wife walked in, who had a table booked for lunch.
I allowed her to serve the members as I scanned the reception area for the extensive black diary, and then wondered if it might be somewhere in the casino area. It crossed my mind that there was possibly another traitor in our midst.
I crouched down and opened every drawer and cupboard, but couldn’t find it. I assumed she took it with her, but it was the club’s property.
“Does it have to do with Mr. Yarmouth?” the reception girl asked after the guests departed and was about to head down the hallway again.
“Mr. Yarmouth? The toymaker? Does he still come in?” We hadn’t heard from him in a while after we made a deal with his lawyer after he was found handcuffed to the wall in one of thebondage rooms and was left there for hours. I assumed that he was happy with the deal and was too ashamed to come back.
“Yeah,” she stated, “The toymaker. She organized to have him humiliated, so he’d sue the club.”
“How do you know this?” I snarled.
Her cheeks burned red again as if she had regretted saying anything, but luckily, she chose wisely. “I heard them talking about it.”
“Them? Who was the second person?” I pressed sternly, and she looked as if she was about to vomit. “Don’t hold back, now. Tell me who the second person was.”
She swallowed, took a deep breath, and then said quietly just as another couple came in for lunch. “She was a chef.”
“Name,” I pressed her even more firmly.
“Carrianne,” she finally replied as the members came up to the reception desk and she turned her back.
I stormed out of the reception and down the hall to find Freddie had gone from his desk. Then I thundered across the empty casino floor and saw his dark head at the bar, checking the stocks of liquor.
