Page 1 of Canapés at the Beach House Hotel
CHAPTER ONE
Early one sunny September afternoon, my business partner and best friend, Rhonda Grayson, and I sat in our office at The Beach House Hotel in the town of Sabal on the Gulf Coast of Florida.
We’d just received a call from Vice-President Amelia Swanson giving us a heads-up that the Italian Ambassador to The United Nations in New York City had called her asking for a recommendation of a hotel in Sabal, Florida.
“I told him there’s no better place than The Beach House Hotel, “Amelia said.“If he calls for a reservation, please pamper him, maybe put him in the Presidential Suite.Can you do that for me?It would be most helpful.”
“Of course,” I said, holding back a sigh.Doing favors for Amelia had always gotten Rhonda and me in trouble.I didn’t think this would be any different, but what could we say?Our hotel had hosted many interesting, sometimes famous people.Some were easy.Some were not.
“Thank you both very much,” said Amelia.“Hope to see you when I’m next in Sabal.”
The call ended, and I turned to Rhonda.“Let’s go for a walk on the beach.I need some fresh air.I have a feeling this will involve a lot of extra work for us.”
We eagerly left the office.
As we walked through the luxurious lobby of the hotel, Rhonda nudged me.“Hey, Annie, see that young couple sitting at the bar?I greeted them the other day, and the man said he liked to taste-test our canapés.I know we own an upscale hotel, but that sounded like a fancy name for appetizers.What’s up with that?”
“Canapéshas an elegant ring to it, don’t you think?”I said, throwing my arm around her.Rhonda and I were as different as two partners could be.She grew up in a tough, Italian immigrant neighborhood in New Jersey, and I was raised by a cold, proper grandmother in Boston who would’ve fainted if I’d ever dropped an F-bomb, one of Rhonda’s favorite words.
“Sounds like B.S.to me,” grumped Rhonda.
“Oh, but I love the idea of offering upscale food to our guests,” I said.“Let’s go talk to that couple and see what they’re up to.”
We walked into the bar and over to the two who seemed to be in their early thirties—the same age as our two grown daughters.He was swirling his white wine in a glass and sniffing its bouquet, while the woman sat beside him and looked out through the windows, which offered a dynamic view of the adjacent beach.
The woman, a small, pretty one with strawberry-blond hair and green eyes, touched his arm as we approached, and I heard her say, “Chet, I think the owners want to speak to us.”
The man beside her swiveled on the barstool to face us.“Ann Sanders and Rhonda Grayson, I believe,” he said, getting to his feet to greet us.“Nice to meet you.I’m Chet Waring, and this is my friend, Harper Lewis.”
Of above average height and with broad shoulders, Chet stared at us with startling topaz eyes.His dark hair flopped an errant curl onto his forehead.
“Rhonda says she’s seen you here before,” I said.
“That’s true, we met the other day,” said Chet.“I love checking out the appetizers and canapés.You can tell a lot about a restaurant from its offerings.I’ve heard of Jean-Luc Rodin, of course, and wanted to see for myself the operation he runs and how he manages to maintain his outstanding reputation.
“The real way to sample his food is by eating dinner here,” said Rhonda.“That’s where he shines.”
“We’re both looking for jobs and wanted to see if The Beach House Hotel would be a workable fit for us,” Harper said.“That’s why we’re checking it out, among other places.”
Rhonda and I exchanged surprised glances.Most people wouldn’t bother with comparisons.We treated our employees very well.
“What work are you looking for?”I asked.
“Well, I’m a chef with a story, and Harper is very versatile in any restaurant setting,” said Chet, smiling at his companion.
“We can’t work for just anyone,” said Harper.“There must be a great deal of trust between the employer and employees.”
“Why don’t you two come to our office to talk further?Maybe tomorrow afternoon?”I said, glancing around to make sure no one else could hear.We were very private about certain discussions in public in our hotel, all part of the commitment to protect the privacy of our guests.
“I want to talk more about those canapés you keep referring to,” said Rhonda.
Chet looked at Harper.“Should we do it?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied and turned to us with an apologetic look.“We don’t mean to hesitate.It’s just that we’ve had a bad experience.”
“I’ll explain it to you when we meet,” Chet said.
“Okay, see you tomorrow,” I said, curious about them.
