Scrumptious by Amanda Usen Page B

who had left them for Las Vegas and the lure of a World Series of Poker bracelet.
    Her mom reached up to catch a renegade curl. “I’d much rather play with your hair, babe. Would you like a glass of wine?”
    Marlene blanched. “Hungover,” she explained.
    Her mother poured herself a glass of white zinfandel from the fridge and began assembling her tools. She ran her fingers through Marlene’s hair. “Nice and dirty.”
    “Hey!”
    “It’s a good thing, baby. Now relax, and let your mama work her magic.” She began to rub Marlene’s neck in smooth, hard strokes, and Marly groaned, giving herself up to her mother’s brand of tender, loving care.

Chapter 7
    Joe gathered up empty pans and exchanged them for clean ones in the dish room, stopping to grab a bucket of garlic mashed potatoes from the reach-in. In spite of the chaos Keith had left in his wake that afternoon, they had breezed through dinner service. It had been an easy night, as smooth as any he’d ever had, although he couldn’t quite banish the image of Marly floating in a tubful of vanilla-scented bubbles. She’d left soon after Jacques arrived, thoughtfully leaving a diagram of the station and a prep list on his cutting board before she hit the door.
    The warm air in the cooler registered just as he slammed the door shut. He checked the gauge. “Hey, kiddo, your cooler’s going down,” he called to Olivia. “Or up, actually. It’s headed for sixty degrees.”
    “I’ll call the repairman,” she said, groaning.
    He circled to the back of the unit and reached behind it. “Don’t bother.” He held up a length of electrical cord. “The plug fell out.”
    Her relief was visible. “Good eye. You just saved me a hundred bucks, at least.”
    “Excellent. You can buy me a beer.” He filled all the slots in his workstation with fresh prep, then spread a length of plastic wrap over the top. He dropped the lid with a bang. “We all set up here?” he asked, looking around. The kid doing salads had left when the orders slowed down. The waiters were gone too.
    “Just about.” She was on her knees with her head stuck in the refrigerated bottom of her station reaching for something in the back.
    “Mind if I go through the walk-in?”
    “Be my guest. I’d love it,” she replied.
    Joe had been too busy watching Marly in the walk-in that afternoon to notice the refrigerator was a hellhole. He emerged to grab a rolling cart and began to fill it with half-empty, unlabeled containers lined with blue and green fur mold, red spotted dairy mold, and trailing sprouts of delicate, black spores. It was an impressive collection of death in plastic buckets.
    He turned to the tall racks that lined the other wall of the cooler, trying not to judge. What the hell had been going on around here? For Christ’s sake, somebody had put the chicken on top of the lettuce. He pulled the dripping box of raw chicken breasts from the middle of the rack and placed it on the bottom shelf, popping his head out of the walk-in just as Olivia entered the back room.
    She surveyed the cart. “Looks like you found Keith’s special shelf.”
    “Among other things.” He pointed at the lettuce. “Do you guys always store chicken breasts above the lettuce?” he asked, unable to keep the “comma, stupid,” out of his voice.
    “Nope, bottom shelf, on the left,” she answered.
    “Yeah, well, this time it was parked above an entire case of romaine. Unless you want to cook it, that lettuce is garbage. Got a recipe for lettuce fritters? Veggie burgers?”
    Olivia grimaced. “Trash it.”
    Joe nodded. Honestly, he wasn’t that surprised by the mold — par for the course where Keith Watson was concerned — but after finding the dishwasher gone and the cooler unplugged, the misplaced chicken was one too many unhappy coincidences. “Hey, kiddo, did you check the safe in the office after Keith left this afternoon?”
    She turned white. “No, I called my lawyer, and then the