Dead Girl Running (Cape Charade #1)(11)
Sheri Jean flung herself around.
The data scrolled in Kellen’s mind.
CARSON LENNEX:
MALE, 64, IRISH/SPANISH, 6’3”, 200 LBS., IRON GRAY HAIR, HAZEL EYES (CHANGEABLE), TANNED, SWIMMER, AMAZING WHEN SEEN IN A BATHING SUIT CLIMBING OUT OF THE HORIZON POOL. ACTOR, MOVIE STAR, FORMER ACTION-ADVENTURE HERO. MARRIED TWICE. DIVORCED TWICE. LIVES ALONE IN A YEARNING SANDS TOWER SUITE. LEAVES CAPRICIOUSLY. RETIRED. ALOOF.
Sheri Jean smoothly made the transition to guest experience manager. “Mr. Lennex, good to see you back! I hope you enjoyed your vacation.”
“I had never visited Machu Picchu. Words cannot express the magnificence.” Carson nodded coolly to Kellen and spoke to Sheri Jean. “The Shivering Sherlocks are arriving this afternoon.”
“Yes, Mr. Lennex. We look forward to them every year.”
He included Kellen in the conversation. “The Shivering Sherlocks are six ladies from Alaska who come to Yearning Sands for a murder mystery weekend.”
His deep, Irish-accented voice melted away Kellen’s irritation with Sheri Jean. “They have a lovely reputation here at the resort.”
“I’ve grown to know them over the last few years, and this year I’m the author of the murder mystery script.” He laughed a little, a laugh so warm and smooth Kellen wanted to bottle it. “I’m nervous.” He turned back to Sheri Jean. “I’m hosting the welcome party in my suite. I wanted to make sure we have appropriate killer foods.”
“I’ve spoken to the chefs, Mr. Lennex,” Sheri Jean said, “and they assured me they had the appropriate hors d’oeuvres in mind.”
“Wonderful.” Mr. Lennex rubbed his palms together. “I can’t wait to see what they concoct.” With a nod to them both, he strode toward his private elevator.
Kellen realized she had been holding her breath. She let it out slowly. “He’s never spoken to me directly before.”
“Don’t let it give you ideas,” Sheri Jean snapped. “The last assistant manager got reprimanded for thinking she would make him a good trophy wife.”
“Sheri Jean, do you see this?” Kellen circled her own unsmiling face. “This saw combat in Afghanistan and Kuwait. This has no illusions left, and you do not comprehend what you’re challenging.”
Sheri Jean took a step back.
Kellen continued, “In fifteen minutes, I’m scheduled to speak to Chef Norbert about tonight’s menu and I know he, also, will be testing my fitness to run the resort in Annie’s absence. After that, I speak to Chef Reinhart, who will be irritated that I spoke to Chef Norbert first. Both of those gentlemen will also have to be reminded that after several tours into the world’s war zones, I was wounded and then honorably discharged from the US Army as a captain, and I am fit to lead this resort.”
Sheri Jean’s mouth opened, then closed without a word.
“It’s a good thing we’re currently running only a skeleton crew. If I had to repeat that too often, I would grow irritated. I’ll see you at two fifteen.” With military precision, Kellen turned back to the view and waited while Sheri Jean’s heels clicked away across the tile.
The men and women Kellen had led could have warned Sheri Jean not to challenge Kellen’s authority. In Afghanistan, in her first deployment, superior officers and soldiers had taken one look at her and assumed she would be a pushover. They hadn’t realized how fiercely she would push back, and why.
She would never be abused again.
When Annie had interviewed her for this position and asked about Kellen’s goal, her answer had been “A home.” But it wasn’t as simple as that. The deaths of her parents had left Cecilia orphaned at nine. Her aunt and uncle had taken her in and given her stability, but they weren’t her own mother and father. Only Cousin Kellen had made her feel a true part of the family with wholehearted generosity of spirit.
Then Gregory happened; he had successfully dug into her psyche and undermined her strengths. Looking back, she recognized that and knew, too, that Cousin Kellen had saved her; Cousin Kellen had died for her. So that was what this Kellen wanted, to find a place in this world where she could be safe, where she could bring her friends, raise them up and give them security. She wanted to be to her friends what Cousin Kellen had been to her: the person who had the strength to make the world better, the person who created a safe haven for lost souls…like herself.
With two minutes to spare, Kellen strode into the restaurant kitchens. The two chefs’ hulking forms stood opposite one another.
CHEF NORBERT/CHEF REINHART:
BROTHERS, 47 AND 46. WHITE, BOTH 6’5”, 240 LBS., BLOND, BLUE EYES, VIRILE, IMPOSING. RECENTLY IMMIGRATED FROM GERMANY. MASTER CHEFS. FIVE-STAR FOOD IN TWO RESTAURANTS. LOUD. ARROGANT. RIVALS.
Kellen’s appointment with Chef Norbert ran over by five minutes and cut into her time with Chef Reinhart. Chef Reinhart was irritated, throwing a fit that included pacing and arm flailing. With knives.
Chef Gabriella arrived holding a restaurant-sized cake pan. She paused and glared at Chef Reinhart.
He subsided and backed up, muttering what sounded like prayers.
CHEF GABRIELLA:
FEMALE, PORTUGUESE, APPROX. 35, 4’11”, 125 LBS. MASTER CHEF IN RESORT’S LARGEST, MOST CASUAL RESTAURANT. PLACID UNTIL PROVOKED. NORBERT/REINHART COWER.
The conference between Gabriella and Kellen took five minutes. Kellen approved the layering of pecan cookies, vanilla cream cheese pudding, chocolate cream cheese pudding and whipped cream covered with chocolate shavings. Gabriella slapped Chef Norbert’s hand when he reached in to steal a bite, and sent an ample portion with Kellen when she moved on to her next meeting with the roofing contractor.