Rest in Pizza by Chris Cavender Page B

over the place?”
    “It’s tempting,” I said, “But I can’t let Cindy down. We need to do everything in our power to salvage her grand opening. Come on.”
    We left the pizzeria together, locked up, and then stared up and down the promenade.
    I tried to hand Maddy her key back, but she refused. “You keep it. I know it’s more than just a key to you.”
    “Just take it, okay?” I wasn’t in the mood to argue with her.
    My sister did as I asked and took the key back, albeit reluctantly, and then said, “Thanks.”
    I just nodded. As I looked around, I said, “You take one way, and I’ll take the other.”
    Maddy glanced up and down the broad expanse, and then said, “That’s fine by me. I’ll head this way, and you go the other.”
    “Call if you find him,” I said.
    “You do the same.”
    I headed in the other direction, and decided that while I was out anyway, I might as well stop in at Paul’s Pastries and see if the owner had seen the wayward chef since he’d stormed out of the bookstore. Paul was a good friend of ours, and besides supplying us with buns for our sandwiches, he also catered to our sweet tooths.
    What I didn’t expect was to find Chef Benet himself inside, arguing about beignets, of all things.
    “These are dull and lifeless,” Benet snapped as I walked in. He tore one of the donut treats between two hands and looked disgusted by what he saw. “Look at this. They should be light, fluffy, and full of air, not little brick missiles to hurl through windows.”
    “If you want to see a brick, I’ll show you one,” Paul said as he started to step out from behind the counter. Paul was an accomplished baker, something he was rightfully proud of and passionate about, and I knew that he’d defend his pastries to any extent he felt necessary.
    “Take it easy, guys,” I said as I stepped between them. “It’s okay to have a difference of opinion.”
    “Do you actually know this joker, Eleanor?” Paul asked as he stared Benet down.
    “Of course she knows me, you fool. Ask anyone. I am Chef Benet, king of the kitchen.”
    “What you are is delusional,” Paul said.
    I interjected. “He’s doing a signing and a demonstration for Cindy at the Bookmark for her grand opening today,” I said. In a lower voice, I added, “She really needs this, Paul. Can you back down just a little?”
    I was counting on my friend’s support of a fellow shop owner on the promenade to trump his indignation.
    At least I was hoping it would.
    “Just get him out of here,” Paul said in a softer voice as he retreated to the other side of the counter.
    Benet must have overheard him, though. He said, “I would be delighted to leave. In fact, it will be the most pleasant part of my experience meeting you as far as I’m concerned.”
    Paul grinned wickedly at the man as he said, “Right back at you, chief.”
    “It’s Chef,” Benet corrected.
    “Sure. Whatever you say, Chef.”
    I could see Benet bristle at Paul’s comment, so I decided to get the chef out of there before more than a beignet was destroyed.
    Once I got Benet on the sidewalk, I asked, “Do you have to alienate everyone you meet?”
    I doubted the chef even knew that I was displeased with him, and even if he did, I knew in my heart that he didn’t care. “If that man can’t deal with the truth about his inferior products, he shouldn’t try to push them on unsuspecting customers.”
    “I like Paul’s confections,” I said, defending my friend.
    “Then again, you run a pizza stand,” he said, his feelings about my livelihood coming out strong and clear. “Your opinion hardly matters.”
    I felt my blood pressure spiking, but I couldn’t let this pompous blowhard bother me, at least not until after the signing. “Here’s a thought. Why don’t you go to the Slice and wait until it’s time for your presentation. No one will bother you there, and you can compose yourself before you’re due to go on.”
    “I don’t need to