Page 20 of The Devil She Knows
“Sam.”
“All right! All right!” She had to hurry to keep up with Melissa’s much longer stride as she dragged Sam through another, narrower hall and through an archway and into a smaller room. “Hold your horses. Where are we even going?”
Unlike the last one, this roomvaguelyresembled a grocery store. With goods displayed individually on pedestals like art in a museum, it called to mind the Kardashian family’s ultra-minimalistic, all-beige aesthetic.
Melissa clearly knew where she was going, leading Sam down the centermost aisle, flanked by chest-high shelves sparsely stocked with tiny tins of caviar and jars with only enough olives floating inside for max two martinis. “Funny.”
Oh sure, Sam was a real hoot and a half. “Not to put too fine a point on it, Mel, but I’m sort of having the literal day from hell here. Don’t get me wrong, things are starting to look up, but I don’t think I have it in me to put out fires that aren’t mine right now. If you know what I mean.”
Melissa frowned at Sam over her shoulder. “Are you drunk?”
“Am I—No.” Though she was starting to think she’d have liked to be. “I had one glass of champagne.”
With a hum like she didn’t believe her, Melissa dragged Sam from one room to the next, where—Lord have mercy, the smell of moldy cheese was so pungent that she, lover of even the bluest, stinkiest of Roqueforts, had to breathe through her mouth. Tiny yet odiferous hunks of cheese sat atop pedestals throughout the space. “Please tell me we’re getting close.”
Melissa grunted and Sam didn’t know whether it wasmeant to be an affirmative, but she chose to take it as one. Her shins ached from speed walking, and the backs of her heels had started to burn, skin rubbed raw, her loafers—new, just like her suit—not yet broken in. The sooner she got this side quest over with, the sooner she could find Hannah.
One room bled smoothly into the next, all identical except for the food presented. From the fromagerie, Melissa led Sam through a room containing nothing but a fifty-five-gallon drum of olive oil and another with only a tiny cut of Miyazaki Wagyu beef on display. The best Sam could tell, the place was laid out like a doughnut—food stalls encircled the grand atrium at the center with a narrow hall in between.
They passed through a room that smelled faintly of almonds, and Sam did a double take as Oslo and Felix, twin brothers from Buffalo and Glut’s two best bartenders, fell into step beside them. Melissa didn’t even break stride.
“Oslo. Felix,” Sam greeted them, a touch breathless, then frowned at their outfits. They were dressed in the same white jacket and bow tie as Daphne and the other cater waiters. “What are you doing here?”
She wanted to know if they still worked at Glut, but she couldn’t exactly come right out and ask that, could she? No, not without everyone thinking she’d lost her marbles. Or, hell, more of them.
“Good one, boss,” Felix said, andthatwas going to take some time to get used to.Boss.
So they were still working at Glut. Good to have another something to add to the list of what she did know, even if the scales were still tipped in favor of what she didn’t. Why were Oslo and Felix dressed like cater waiters? Why were any ofthem attending the grand opening of Coco Duquette’s fancy food hall when not one of them could stand her? Where was Melissa taking her and why the urgency? Why, for a food hall, was there so little food on display? Where were all the price tags?
And for the love of God, what was this about a crocodile?
The distant sound of polite applause carried from the atrium.
Oslo jogged ahead and turned to face them. “Coco wasn’t supposed to give her toast for another ten minutes.”
Melissa’s mouth flattened into a red slash. “Sam let her go.”
“I’m sorry, I did what?”
Felix dropped his head back and groaned. “You were supposed to distract her, Sam.”
Distract Coco? Why? And why her? Surely, if Coco needed distracting for whatever reason, there was someone better suited for the job than Sam.
“And whose brilliant idea was that?”
Felix looked at her sideways. “Yours.”
She tripped forward, grabbing Melissa’s arm. “Mine?”
“Is she drunk?” Oslo asked, and Melissa shrugged.
“She says she isn’t.”
“Because I’m not!” Sam cried, frustration reaching fever pitch.
“You didn’t have one of those mushroom canapés, did you?” Felix asked. “See, Oz, I told you those weren’t matsutakes.”
A shriek pierced the air and Melissa sped from a jog to a near sprint.
