Page 26 of Mafia Beast

“No.” He shakes his head, almost as if he’s angry with me.

I’m not used to being refused by the staff here. “No?”

“No. Crepes cannot be shipped. That would be a sin.” I see. He’s not angry. Just passionate. “They must be made fresh and served immediately. Come. I’ll show you.”

“You’ll show me how to make them?”

“Yes. Of course. Come.” He goes to the wall, pulling a black apron that matches the one he wears down from a hook. He hands me the apron. “Mr. Bachman is very fond of the boysenberry ones.”

There’s no way in this world I’ll ever be cooking for the Beast. I pull on the apron, tying the strings together.

“Is he?” I ask, being polite.

“He is. I was surprised when he hired me over a Greek chef, thinking he’d want meals from his homeland, but no, the man has excellent taste in food. He went with France.” He flashes me a grin.

“He chose well. That’s for sure.” I love how much pride this man takes in his work. And, so far, I love his food.

He gets right to work, showing me how to whisk the thin batter. I follow his orders and soon we have a plate of boysenberry crepes. He lets me use the sifter to snow powdered sugar over their tops.

“Perfect,” he says, taking the plate from me. “I’ll send these to the master of the house, compliments of you, Miss Charlie.”

“Oh!” Is that a good idea? Sending food to Nikolaos would give him the wrong impression of my intentions. Especially after what we did this morning. “Oh! I don’t know—” But Remy’s already handing the plate to his assistant, sending him on his way.

Ashely comes in, looping her arm in mine, rushing me from the kitchen. “Miss Charlie. We thought you’d like to see the gardens and the greenhouse. Mr. Bachman told us you’re fond of flowers.”

“I am. That would be wonderful. Thanks.” She tours me around the lush gardens filled with lots of evergreen plants, but many things are dormant this time of the year so I have to use my imagination to fill in the fruits and vegetables that will be budding here in the spring.

“So as you saw, the garden is mostly hibernating for the winter, which is why we have this.” We step out from behind the brick wall of the garden to find a greenhouse, almost as big as the boathouse. We step inside and the air is warm and wet, humid like a summer day. Ashely closes the door, shutting out the cold. “What do you think?”

“It’s amazing.” I walk slowly down the rows of tables where beautiful flowers are growing in their pots. Geraniums, their little floral bunches not only in red and white but apricot and yellow as well. Gazania treasure flowers in vivid shades of orange and pink. Burnt orange and bright yellow chrysanthemums. I spot the popcorn flowers growing on the left-hand side of the greenhouse, the ones that fill the foyer. Then there’re more exotic blooms as well, orchids and hibiscus, and Chef Remy has his own herb garden with lemon verbena, pineapple sage and sweet basil, each of their names clearly labeled on black stickers. “It’s like springtime in the dead of winter.”

“Isn’t it just magical?” She glances at her watch, then back up at me. “And now we have to get you back to your rooms for a light lunch as well as dinner preparations.”

“Dinner preparations? Will I be cooking again?”

She gives a little laugh. “Absolutely not. Chef was happy to show you how to make crepes, but dinner? That’s his domain and no one other than his assistant is allowed in the kitchen when he’s cooking his courses. Not even me. Besides, Nikolaos would have our heads if we put you to work.”

That little flush creeps back in her cheeks at the mention of her boss. I don’t think I’m imagining it… there’re feelings there, I’m sure of it. How deep they run, only Ashely knows.

Back at my rooms, I find a spread enough for five women. Champagne nestles in a silver bucket, buried in ice. Little sandwiches line a three-tiered tray, their crusts cut off. Fresh fruit sits in bowls and slivers of beef and different cheeses have been laid out beautifully on plates.

I look at Ashely. “All this for me?”

“Yes. Have all you want but don’t worry. Whatever you don’t eat the girls—” Her face goes blank, and she quickly corrects herself, “thestaffwill snack on later. Mr. Bachman feels very strongly about not wasting food. Something to do with his life before all this…”

She doesn’t elaborate further. I wonder if he faced the same neglect I did as a child. I also want to know why she said “girls” originally instead of staff, because I know his team is coed. Something fishy is going down on this island. It’s like they’re purposely keeping me busy…

Are they?

Taking me on all these little tours and errands, keeping me away from the one place I need to go.

The boathouse.

Call me shallow but my detective work is put on the backburner when they bring in the gowns. It takes three staff members to roll in the cart that holds all of the dresses. Gorgeous, bright flowery patterns burst from the fabrics. I flip through the gowns, smiling at each one.

There’s one little sleek black dress hiding in the middle of all the colorful dresses. The neckline plunges low, the back even lower. There’s a slit up the side of the gown. The dress is basically sex on a hanger.

I can’t help but imagine his face when he sees me in this. My fingers glide over the silky fabric. “This one. This is the one. Please.”

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