Page 74 of The Reaper
Finn appeared like I’d summoned him, wiping his hands on a bar towel he’d somehow already dirtied again. “Trash door’s spring-hinged,” he said. “No wedge. Short swing and a mean slam. And I watched linens this afternoon—guy didn’t sneeze without me noticing.”
Dean’s mouth twitched. “That a professional courtesy or a kink?”
“Only on Tuesdays,” Finn shot back, then sobered when he clocked our faces. “What happened?”
“Another note,” I said.
He didn’t swear. He didn’t breathe for a beat. Then he nodded once, business sliding over him like a coat. “Okay. So, we start with the obvious. Who had eyes on the hostess stand in the last thirty minutes? Me, Alba, and Michael. Carly did a water run. Michael dropped the check on two. I grabbed a bottle from the back. You were here the whole time.” He looked at Caleb. “You?”
“In the room,” Caleb said. “I would’ve seen an unknown get close.”
“Unless they didn’t read as unknown,” Dean said. “Guest who wandered. ‘Just looking,’ hand on the card stock.”
“It’s possible,” Finn admitted. “Dining room’s not Fort Knox. People drift.”
My tongue felt thick. “I don’t want Fort Knox. I want a restaurant.”
“Then we make people the fortress,” Caleb said. “Eyes. Habits. Traps we can set without anyone noticing.”
Trish interlaced her fingers like she was knitting calm out of thin air. “Start at the beginning. Who would want to spook you, sweetheart? Competitor? Jilted someone? A critic with a sense of humor and no taste?”
“If it were a critic, they’d have sent the nastiest adjective in the English language already,” I said. “Pretentious. They live for it.”
Finn snorted. “Or ‘derivative.’ I’ll throw myself into the harbor if I ever hear that in here.”
Dean’s tone was blunt. “Enemies, Meggie. Say it out loud.”
I thought of the week’s irritations and let them slide across my tongue like a tasting flight. “Former line cook who quit in a huff—Darryl—because I wouldn’t let him put truffle oil on everything. A vendor I dropped when he started cutting corners. A chef across town who thinks I stole her pastry hire. A neighbor who hates garbage trucks at 6 a.m. An ex who thinks I should have smiled more and cooked less.” I rolled my eyes. “It’s a long list if we’re counting bruised egos.”
“Name the ex,” Caleb said, too casual.
I arched a brow. “Jealous?”
“Thorough.”
“Elliott Marks,” I said. “But he’s not the note-writing type. He’s the ‘send me ten paragraphs at 1 a.m.’ type.”
“Okay,” Caleb said, filing it away in whatever mental armory he carried around.
Dean pointed with two fingers. “And the man you saw at the benches?”
“I didn’t see his face,” I said. “Just the shape of him. The way he didn’t move.” The memory scraped, cold and slick. “Like he had all the time in the world.”
Caleb’s jaw went taut again. “Could be the same. Could be unrelated. Could be someone clocking doors for later.”
“Later for what?” Trish asked, very softly.
“Access,” Caleb said, just as soft. “To leave a calling card. To prove they can.”
“What does he want then?” I asked. “He’s not asking for anything in the notes. He’s not threatening. He’s just … announcing.”
“Presence is power,” Dean said. “You announce enough, people start shaping their lives around the announcement.”
“I can’t do that,” I said, too fast. “I can’t start building my days around someone else’s shadow.”
“No one’s asking you to,” Trish said, squeezing my hand. “We’re asking you to let us help you make sure the shadow stays outside.”
Caleb’s thumbs pressed together like he was aligning a thought. “We do three things. One—map the flow. Every service, who touches the front, who lingers, who has reason to be there. I’ll watch the feeds tonight and pull stills to run against staff and regulars. Two—change the rhythm. Put decoys on the hostess stand. Rotate placements. Control where people can wander without making it feel like control. Three—outside. I’ll walk the block every hour tonight. Check bench sightlines, alley lines, parked cars with condensation on the windshield. Anyone who’s sitting to sit, I talk to. Anyone who’s sitting to watch, I make sure knows he’s been seen.” He looked at me. “And you don’t lock up alone again. Full stop.”
