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Previously published as Fear in February. |
Ally McKellar loves owning and running her own restaurant, Belle Rose. After working in a busy New York restaurant, managing her own kitchen is like a breath of fresh air. Even better, it’s rapidly becoming the local favorite place to go in the quaint, mountain town of Calendar. But if people knew about Ally’s recent past, her customers might not be so keen to sample her delicious dishes. When the local newspaper’s food critic makes a reservation to try out her new menu, Ally knows she’s got to nail every course to ensure good publicity. There’s only one problem: the critic dies during the second course and everything points towards food poisoning. Suddenly, Ally’s success as an entrepreneur is in jeopardy while her past is hastily dredged up, threatening to destroy the new life she has recently managed to create. With the help of Jack Harper, her handsome sous chef with a questionable past of his own, Ally must discover the real killer or risk losing not only Belle Rose, but her desire for a happy new life as well.
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CHAPTER ONE
"Ally McKellar, you are going to make this restaurant a success, even if it kills you!" I looked up at the new sign that Nate, my handyman, had just installed at the front of the restaurant and smiled.
The sign was a huge improvement on the simple, stenciled lettering that was temporarily posted for Belle Rose when I opened the restaurant a few months ago. After tedious months of doodling and research, I finally settled on the branding; and when Nate showed me the beautiful, town-council approved font, intertwined with yellow roses, I knew it was the right one in an instant. Now my restaurant looked just as much at home on Main Street as the rest of the attractive shops and businesses. The new billboard was artfully suspended above the doors, in subtle shades that were also approved by the town council. They worked hard to maintain our pretty town’s curb appeal, especially when it came to the stores and businesses that framed Main Street and the town square.
Belle Rose might have been clinging to the edges of the popular tourist shopping and quaint eateries, but it didn't escape the Calendar treatment. With a new coat of dark green paint on every external wall, and tasteful, yellow roses etched into the windows, I felt like it belonged. Not only did my restaurant finally fit in the town, but so did I. I took a deep breath and smiled again. That sense of belonging had been a long time coming. "Belle Rose is going to be the best restaurant in the whole county, maybe even the state," I said, trying not to laugh at my audacity and fanciful hopes.
"That's right," said a deep voice behind me.
I jumped. I was so busy feeling proud, I failed to realize I had company, but I'd know the voice anywhere. Most of my working hours over the past few months were spent conversing with its owner. I turned around, smiling at Jack Harper, my assistant chef, who stood a few feet away. He wore a thick, padded jacket, perfect for the cold February weather. In a matter of minutes, it would be exchanged for his chef whites. He ran a hand over his short, dark brown hair and his green eyes roved from me to the restaurant. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he said, looking up at the sign and giving it an approving nod. "Why are you talking to yourself?"
"Pep talk," I told him, suddenly realizing how cold it was. I eyed his jacket enviously and wished I'd thought ahead long enough to wrap up in my own thick coat. In my haste to see the sign go up after the long-anticipated end of a snowy then rainy January, in favor of a simply cold February, I neglected to throw it on. Now I was paying for the oversight with shivers and goosebumps that traveled down my arms under my thin, cotton t-shirt. I tugged my sleeveless cardigan a little tighter and tried not to hop from one foot to the other in the vain pursuit of not becoming a human icicle.
"Ally, shouldn't you be doing that in front of an audience?" Jack smiled, then winked mischievously.
"Nope, it was just a pep talk for me. You're here a bit early."
"I thought I'd get started on the cold desserts; then I can help you with whatever else you need doing."
I smiled, pleased at his thoughtfulness and dependability. I encouraged an all hands on deck policy in my kitchen. If something needed to be done, I expected everyone to pitch in and help if they could. One thing I'd grown to hate about my previous career was my boss's insistence on establishing a hierarchy. Everyone was required to know their station in the kitchen and to stick to it exclusively. All that resulted in was backbiting and sarcastic verbal swipes in the kitchen. I believed in a policy of working together to create the best food we could. "Thank you," I said.
I knew hiring Jack was a good choice and this was just the latest confirmation. He was the last sous chef I selected when I decided to open my own place. I'd only been back in my hometown, Calendar, a pretty, little town nestled near the base of a mountain range, a few weeks when I noticed the restaurant was up for sale. I just about emptied my entire bank account for the down payment on the small business. Its previous incarnation was as a pizza place run by an Italian couple that decided to retire after two decades. Thankfully, they were happy to throw in the simple furnishings and the kitchen equipment. All I needed to do was refreshen the paint inside and out, put up a new sign, order crisp, new linens and get to work on a killer menu. After climbing my way up the ladder to become head chef at a New York kitchen, running my own place was certainly a change of pace. On one hand, it was great to make all the necessary decisions; and on the other, terrifying to think that all the responsibility lay with me. Plus, I had to sacrifice my own salary now in order to help keep the cash flow positive. However, the restaurant came with a small apartment above it so my living costs were significantly lower than they were at my fancy apartment back in New York. The previous owners used the space as little more than a storage room. With some hard work, and lots of help from my family, I successfully turned it into a comfortable, if small, home.
"I better get to work," said Jack, nodding toward the front door. Over winter, when the weather became particularly bad, he parked around back and used the kitchen entrance. I figured he must have walked today. "I'll leave you to talk to yourself."
"I am not talk..." I trailed off, noticing his cheeky wink before he headed into the restaurant, laughing to himself. "Fine. I will talk to myself," I said, the irony not lost that now I really was doing that. I stepped back, taking in every aspect of the new frontage and nodded my approval again. The restaurant finally had the ambience I wanted: special, pretty, inviting, but not so pompous or ostentatious that the locals would assume it was too expensive to eat in.
"This looks great, Nate," I told the handyman as he headed towards me. Finding Nate Minoso was a singularly lucky moment. His card miraculously slid underneath the door just as I finished deciding how I wanted my restaurant to appear. I called him the same day for a quote and we agreed on a date for him to start after he had a good look at the building. "You finished up so fast too."
"It was an easy job," he said, tossing an empty paint pail into his pickup, the last of his equipment. "Thanks for settling the bill so quickly. I wish all my clients were like you."
“Any trouble?" I asked, wondering.
Nate shook his head. "Nah. I took this job because it is no trouble."
I reflected on my previous career and how much it had changed. "I hear you," I said, struggling to keep the sigh from my voice.
I waited until Nate got into his truck and waved before taking off, presumably for his next job. I returned the wave and went back into the restaurant. I didn't need to add that I started my own restaurant in my home town because I didn't want any trouble either. Back in New York, I'd had enough of that to last me a lifetime. Maybe even two lifetimes. That was one subject I hoped I never had to speak about or discuss again.
"Ally?" I turned at hearing the sound of my voice and saw Sara Cutler hurrying towards me. She wore a wide caramel-colored scarf, which she wound twice around her neck, and it complemented her brown eyes and caramel highlights rather nicely. As head librarian, Sara should have been leading a rather quiet life but she'd recently gotten caught up in a murder case. If anyone wanted the quiet life, it was probably she. Although I hadn't had much opportunity to speak to Sara, I found her very nice. "I'm so glad I saw you," said Sara, coming into a stop in front of me. "Do you have a free moment to talk?"
"Sure," I replied, "but let's go inside. I'm not sure I can feel my arms out here."
"This looks great," said Sara as we stepped through the glass-plated doors. "I used to come in here pretty often when it was a pizza place, although the food wasn't the best. But you've done wonders with the new décor! I might have to make a reservation for dinner."
"Please do. Call anytime or take a look at our website and make your reservations via email." I handed Sara a business card from the new stack at the hostess desk. I briefly considered telling her that the business cards, which boasted the same yellow roses and font to match the new sign, were brand new and only delivered this morning. In the end, however, I decided she might think I was unprofessional. She studied it for a moment, then tucked the card into her pocket. "How can I help you?" I asked.
"I'm planning some new events at the library. Now that the renovations are completed, we can host some more popular events. I was thinking about doing some pop-up foodie affairs. Maybe supper clubs with a special literary theme." She looked at me hopefully.
"I've done various gigs like that. Foodie festivals, tasting menus. I went to a supper club in a guy's home once. He squeezed ten of us around his kitchen table and cooked the most amazing three-course menu on little more than a hotplate." I smiled at the memory, which seemed so old now. I couldn't recall the last time I'd attended a dinner party as a guest; although I'd catered quite a few since I came home while I was choosing what to do next.
"The renovations included a small but professional kitchen. It would be such a waste to only use it for coffee and cake, much as I love them both. Would you be interested in catering some events if I could generate public interest? I know it's too early to plan anything for Valentine’s Day, and I'm sure restaurants are already very busy at that time of year, but maybe starting from next month and the occasional one after that?"
"I'm sure we could work something out," I said, wondering how feasible it would be to turn Sara's idea into reality. There was plenty to think about: transporting and preparing ingredients, whether or not we could make some dishes at the restaurant and what we needed to have assembled at the library. The challenge of preparing dishes to match a theme sounded more than a little interesting.
"There won't be much profit in it," said Sara, wincing a little as though she were afraid that information would put me off. "But the diners would pay for most of the costs. We already have the space so most of the profit would be yours. I hate to say it would give you good exposure but I think we could introduce Belle Rose to new customers too, which is always good for the library."
"I agree! It would be, and exposure isn't a completely dirty word," I laughed. "I'm interested in learning more. Why don't we get together some time and discuss it further?"
Sara visibly relaxed. "I would love that. Thank you for not saying it's just a crazy concept."
"It isn't crazy. Actually, I love it. I'm glad you thought of me too. That is, Belle Rose." I scribbled my personal number on the back of another business card and Sara left with a promise to call me soon.
Alone in the restaurant, I rubbed the circulation back into my arms. I couldn't help smiling at how well the day was going. Not only did the restaurant now look like the kind of smart place where people would want to eat, but Sara had offered up a plan that would help Belle Rose get even better known and quickly. Starting a restaurant business wasn't easy. Despite all the overhead costs, it wasn't always possible to convince people to try a new place when most of them already had their favorites. Even when they did give it a try, the challenge of ensuring their return was ever present. When I put the offer in to buy it, I expected lots of hard work to start, but every tough day got me a little closer to my goal. And, said the little voice in my head, another day further away from my previous life.
I scanned the reservations book, noting the restaurant would be sixty percent full tonight. Hopefully, a few walk-ins would arrive later too and make up the slack in numbers. Next week was Valentine's Day. Like Sara surmised, the most romantic night of the year would be busy. Despite Belle Rose being only a few months old, almost all of the tables were already booked by local couples. I was hoping for a full night and plenty of happy customers that would want to come back for birthdays, anniversaries and date nights throughout the year.
Plenty of new customers who knew nothing about my past. I shook that thought away as fast as it came. It was something I didn't want to think about. I wanted to make Belle Rose a major success.
More than anything else, I hoped to never think about New York again.
Out now!
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