Page 18 of Caper Crush
“Six years now,” Kimberly says.
“That’s amazing,” I say. On the wall to our side are two framed children’s drawings; one saysFor Mommyin big, hand-scrawled crayon letters.
“It really is. I feel blessed that we’ve been so successful. I wanted to cook on my own schedule, and this has been a dream come true.”
William is right that it’s not worth risking your dream for money. But maybe catering was her dream before, but now it’s a nightmare.
“But isn’t it hard to do all this cooking and be in people’s homes and give up your evenings?” I ask. “Most of my jobs are at night, and I sometimes regret missing out on that time to hang out with friends.” On the flip side, I get paid while out at the party.
“No, it’s perfect,” she says. “It allows me to be with my kids during the day, cooking, and then I can work evenings when they’re asleep or with their dad. It’s really worked out even better than I could have expected.”
The room darkens as the sky outside turns gray. She puts on a light in the corner.
“So even if you won a million dollars, you’d still do it?” I ask.
She tilts her head and furrows her brow.
That question did not come out smoothly.I can’t do this.I’m too emotionally involved.
“Is that a requirement to cater for your party?” Kimberly scratches her head.
William looks at me, eyebrow raised, as if to say, “Now what, Sherlock?”
“No,” I say. “But if I can’t choose between all the caterers because you’re all good, I’d rather support the one who’s pursuing their passion. Painting is my passion, so I’m all for supporting that person.”
If you did steal Playing Around 1:30, please know that it’s not merely canvas with paint.
She nods. “I’d still cook. Cooking is my passion. I might write a cookbook if I won a million dollars. I’d probably cut down on the catering jobs.”
That is an honest answer.
William changes the subject. “And do you provide waitstaff too?”
“Yes, we have two people available to serve as waitstaff—Lena and Miju.”
“How long have they worked for you?” he asks.
“Since the beginning. But they’re freelance. They’re both actresses, so I can’t promise they’ll be available. They have other gigs. They also work for Star Catering.” Star Catering is a big, well-known outfit. Even I was on their part-time roster. “Why are you so interested in how long my employees have been with me?” She sits across from us at the table.
“I need to know that whoever is in my apartment is discreet and trustworthy,” William says.
“I vouch for my employees. Believe me, it’s my name on the company.” She pushes her chair back, away from the table. “And I don’t know what you mean by discretion, but believe me, I don’t need business so badly that I’m willing to take jobs that require any extra discretion if you’ve got weird, kinky habits or something. I’m not sending my waitstaff into that kind of situation. They’re like family.”
William sits up straight. “We do not have any weird, kinky habits. I’m letting people I don’t know into my apartment, and I want to make sure I can trust them. I think that’s a valid question.”
“Do you mind if we confer for a minute?” I ask.
“No, go ahead.” She retreats to the far counter, leaving us at the dining table, and moves the quiches into glass storage containers. The exhaust fan is on, so I don’t think she can hear us, but I still pull my chair closer to William’s.
I whisper, “I don’t think she did it. I think we should tell her and explain that it’s my dream painting.”
“You don’t think she did it, and yet you want to invoke her sympathy in case she did do it?”
“Exactly.”
He understands.Didn’t expect that.
“That doesn’t really make sense.” His brown eyes seem to be laughing at me.
