Page 6 of Colorado Christmas Carol
He beamed. “My father made me take it up. He said it would teach me not to be afraid of people.” He laughed apologetically. “I guess it sort of worked.” The smile faded. “That’s where he met my stepmother,” he added, “at a dojo.” And his face closed up.
His stepmother must be awful, she thought,judging from his expression. But she didn’t say it. “What sort of workshop are you here for?” she wondered, because there were three this coming weekend.
“The forensic one,” he said excitedly. “It’s being taught by a forensic expert from the crime lab in Denver. I can’t wait! I love forensics.”
She smiled. “I do, too,” she said. “I never miss those crime dramas.”
“Some of them are pretty good, but there’s no substitute for the real thing,” he said with enthusiasm. “You can learn so much from even a few hours in a class. And this one has a reconstruction expert.”
“You mean those people who use skulls and clay to reconstruct a face for identification?” she asked. “That’s an amazing skill!”
“It really is.” He hesitated. “Are you coming? To the workshop, I mean?”
She grimaced. “I really would like to, but I just don’t have time,” she said sadly. “I’m the head chef here. And it’s the holidays, so I stay pretty busy.”
“Oh, you cook! Wow! I wish I could!”
She smiled. “Anybody can cook, honest. It’s just learning the steps. Forensics, that’s hard! Do you work in law enforcement?” she added.
He smiled oddly. “Well, yes, in an affiliated way. It helps with my work.”
“Lucky you.”
“No, lucky you! I love food. I just can’t make it!”
She laughed. “It was nice to meet you . . . ?” She couldn’t remember his name.
“Dean,” he supplied.
“Dean,” she said.
“And you’re Essa.”
She nodded. “Yes. I’ll see you around the hotel, I expect?”
“Yes, you will,” he said, and smiled from ear to ear.
She smiled back and waved as she went down the corridor. She didn’t realize that he watched her every step of the way.
* * *
The next morning, she was up to her ears in breakfast with her helper, Mabel, who could make the best sausage and scrambled eggs she’d ever eaten, and the two maids, Jessie and Jennie, who took orders and served.
There had been a sous chef until last week, when he got into an argument with the manager and was fired. So now Essa was doing it all. She hoped a replacement would be forthcoming. There was also an ex pastry chef, so the hotel was leaning heavily on the local bakery for desserts. So many people these days had an attitude problem. The manager didn’t. He was nice.
“How in the world do you make a biscuit?” Mabel grumbled as she worked. “Honestly, I’m fifty, and I’ve spent twenty whole years trying to make one that didn’t bounce. And here you are, and you don’t even measure anything, and you make the most wonderful biscuits on earth!”
Essa laughed. “The secret is to watch someone make them, someone who knows how. The second trick is heat. It takes a very hot oven to cook biscuits properly.”
“Well!”
“I just love to . . .”
“Where the hell is my daughter?” a deep voice boomed.
“Oh, no, not again,” Essa wailed softly while Mabel gaped at her.
The big, blond barracuda was back. He stormed into the kitchen. “Where is she?”
