What Doesn't Kill Her (Cape Charade #2)(77)

“It does seem that way.” Max didn’t release her hand.

Arthur gestured at the young woman peeking around the corner of the winery building.

She scurried forward and bowed.

“Let me introduce our new chef, Pearly Perry.”

PEARLY PERRY:
FEMALE, ASIAN (TIBETAN?) ANCESTRY, 5', 100 LBS, 40 YO. STRAIGHT BLACK HAIR KNOTTED INTO A SEVERE BACKSWEEP. BROWN EYES. SKIN RIPPLES WITH BURN MARK FROM LEFT FOREHEAD TO LEFT CHIN; LOOKS LIKE MARKS FROM FLAMETHROWER, PROBABLY A KITCHEN ACCIDENT. FLUENT IN FOUR LANGUAGES. IMMACULATELY DRESSED. THRILLED AND NERVOUS.
“What happened to our old chef?” Max asked.

“One Foot in the Grape Winery stole him.” Arthur viewed Pearly with obvious respect and delight. “Not to worry, sir. Pearly has experience in a number of international cuisines as well as European foods—German, French, Italian and the typical foods to accompany the wines.”

“That seems overkill to have a chef who prepares cheese and charcuterie plates,” Max said.

“She’s proven herself able to adjust at a moment’s notice to please our Japanese, Malaysian and Thai visitors. Of whom we have many. The tour buses come in, the biking clubs arrive...” Arthur sounded quite sure of himself.

Max nodded as if dazed.

“Also, sir, you have the guest suites and the small kitchen you use to prepare their breakfasts. I think it not inappropriate to imagine a future with an expansion to include a small distinguished restaurant and a use of the elevated patio as a dining area for weddings, anniversaries, birthdays, special occasions.”

Kellen turned to Pearly. “I’ve seen reality television and those cooking shows. It seems difficult. Do you really want to be a chef in charge of a restaurant?”

Pearly looked down, veiling her eyes and her expression. “I have worked hard these last twenty years to find the peace within myself to embrace the confines of the kitchen and seek satisfaction in the small chores that enhance lives. I know how to create marvelous cuisine and I know how to direct a staff.” She looked up, and her smile transformed her scarred face. “If I were to become a famous chef, called from my kitchen to the applause of my customers, I would not object.”

Kellen nodded, waggling her head. “Okay.” Being in charge of a kitchen didn’t sound like fun to her, but Pearly clearly knew what she wanted.

Max and Arthur had walked on, and she hurried to catch up with them.

“Our waiters,” Arthur said. “These two gentlemen, while serving wines and eatable accompaniments, have doubled the size of the Di Luca Willamette Valley Wine Club.”

MATEO COURTEMANCHE:
MALE, SPANISH/FRENCH ANCESTRY (BASQUE?), LATE 30S. BROWN HAIR, BROWN EYES, SMOOTH BROWN SKIN. FLUENT IN THREE LANGUAGES. IMMACULATELY DRESSED. THRILLED AND NERVOUS.
TAKASHI TIBODO:
MALE, AFRICAN AND JAPANESE? KOREAN? VIETNAMESE ANCESTRY?, 50 YO, 6'2", 160 LBS. CURLY BLACK HAIR, LARGE BROWN EYES, LASHES AND MOUTH AND... HANDSOME MAN. FABULOUSLY HANDSOME MAN. FLUENT IN SEVEN LANGUAGES AND CAN STRUGGLE ALONG IN THREE MORE.
“Good Lord.” Max shook the two men’s hands. “That’s extraordinary. About the wine club, I mean. How do you do it?”

“The wines speak for themselves, sir,” Mateo said. “And when Takashi sings, he summons the money from their wallets.”

Takashi smiled modestly.

“Takashi, you sing?” As handsome as he was, that seemed almost too many gifts to Kellen.

“Yes, Miss Adams. I was trained by one of the greatest teachers of all time, Maestro Emil Kinsie. He taught me everything, and I dedicate myself to preserving his heritage.” Takashi glanced toward Arthur, straightened, then focused on Kellen once more. “I listened to his music online.”

“Someday I would enjoy hearing you sing,” she said.

He inclined his head. “I would love to sing for such a gracious lady.”

At some unseen signal from Arthur, the two waiters removed themselves and returned to work.

ARTHUR WALDBERG:
EXTREMELY ORGANIZED. A MANIPULATOR OF HIGHEST SKILL, DIRECTOR OF A STAFF THAT DOES HIS BIDDING WITHOUT QUESTION.
Max viewed the whole operation and said mildly, “Your new employees seem well accomplished and I’ll be interested to sit down with them and discuss the possibility of permanent employment.”

“They would love that, sir.”

“I did notice it’s skewed toward the male gender.”

Arthur hung his head. “Yes, sir, I’m sorry. I wanted to start out with people I knew without a doubt would be knowledgeable and reliable, and those people are mostly male. I was lucky with Pearly—she was free at exactly the right time and came at once. I’ll do better in the future.”

“Where are they all from?” More than once, Kellen had seen a band of compatriots like Arthur and his people. She had been a part of a band like this, in the Army, honed and gathered by battle. She recognized that somehow, under some heat and pressure, these people had been formed into a cohesive unit. They supported each other. They depended on each other. They had the same goals, and the same leader—Arthur Waldberg.

How interesting.

Arthur folded his hands at his waist. “When I hire them, I’m not allowed to ask that kind of personal question.”

“But where did you find them?” Max asked. “The competition for good winery help is fierce, and in less than a week you’ve stocked the place with accomplished workers. Do you personally know these people?”