Page 53 of Crossroads Magic
“Not that, but we get by,” Trevalyan said, heading for the buffet with an eager expression. “I could smell the warm maple syrup out on the street.”
I figured he was exaggerating.
When I had cleaned up after breakfast, I took the plastic tub full of scraps that I’d saved, that included burnt bacon and toast, out onto the greenway through the back door of the inn.
The back door was under the stairs, just as the kitchen door was. A ten-foot-wide deck had two wide steps down to the flat, weed-free earth behind the inn. And twenty yards away, a monster-sized Dumpster sat, as advertised. Behind the dumpster were the backyards of a row of five houses, all of them filled with dried out weeds from the summer, and derelict trees and bushes.
The windows in every house were blank, curtainless. No lights showed. Dawn had broken, yet daylight was dim in a way that December never got in L.A.
There was a trail across the ground to the greenway, which ran alongside the hotel and into the trees beyond the row of houses. On the other side of the greenway, the trees started much closer to the town for the cleared ground ended just beyond the hall.
It didn’t feel right to dump the food in the middle of the greenway. Hikers used the road. So did animals, most likely.
I crossed the road, so that I would be closer to the trees, and found a flat area beside the road that was free of weeds. There was a dusting of snow covering vague lumps and bumps on the ground, and I realized I’d found the place where my mother had been putting the food.
Pleased, I emptied the tub. The animals that had learned to look for food here would find it.
I went back to the kitchen and finished cleaning up. I also did some basic preparation for lunch, which was a challenge, because there were few fresh supplies. Today, everyone would have to put up with grilled sandwiches, with not much in them beyond cheese and some soggy peppers.
I would have to do something about the supplies. There would be a grocery store in Edwards. I would check with Hirom. But first I should make a menu for a week or even a few days, so that any shopping would be economical. I didn’t know how much the kitchen would cost to run, and my flat fee per customer might not cover everything. I would have to do some figuring.
Also, I would tackle Olivia again on who could take over the cooking for the inn when we left, which would surely only be another day or so. The coroner would release his findings concerning my mother’s death, then we could go back home. I could have her will executed in L.A.
I heard the muffled sound of a slow-revving heavy truck through the kitchen walls and paused from wiping down the counters with a bleach solution and cocked my head. The sound seemed to be coming from behind the inn.
Hirom pushed open the door. “Good, you’re still here.” He came over to me, grabbed my wrist and slapped folded money into my palm. “Slip that to the bastard just before he leaves.” He grimaced. “Anddon’tthank him.”
Chapter Sixteen
Hirom went back to the bar, while I moved to the back door, for the vehicle noises were definitely coming from the back of inn. I stepped out onto the deck beyond and watched a covered truck finish backing up so that the rear doors were close to the bottom of the steps. There was no signage on the side of the truck.
A man hopped out from the driver’s seat, moved around to the doors and worked the bar latch system to open them both up wide. Then he turned to look at me. His eyes opened wide. “You’re not the old woman.”
“My mother died a few days ago,” I told him with a stiff tone.
“Sorry,” he said flatly. He was tall, I judged, although it was difficult to tell, standing at the top of the stairs and looking down. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, and very solidly built, but he was also carrying a fair amount of extra fat. The fat had built up around his neck and his cheeks, making him round-faced. He had a deep crease in the bridge of his nose, and his brow jutted over his eyes, giving him an unfortunate mean appearance. I told myself to ignore the first impression he gave.
Then he hooked his thumb toward the inside of the truck. “Can you hurry it up? I’m on a schedule.”
I felt my jaw unhinge, as I glanced at the interior of the truck. Cartons sat on the floor close to the door, full of grocery bags. I counted at least eight cartons, but couldn’t see all the way into the interior.
“You want me to carry them?” I asked.
“I’m not stepping foot in your place,” he said flatly. He folded his arms and leaned against the side edge of the truck.
Slip that to the bastard just before he leaves,Hirom had said. And don’t thank him.
I squeezed the folded bills in my hand. I was starting to understand, now. I pushed the money into my pocket, and moved down the stairs. I was strong and healthy. I could carry a few boxes without issue.
The man didn’t move from beside the truck for the full ten minutes it took me to carry the fifteen cartons into the kitchen and place them on the now-clear counters. He watched me with a suspicious expression—and it wasn’t just the natural narrowness of his eyes, either.
I was strong and healthy, but those damn cartons were heavy. I put the last three on the deck. I’d carry in the bags individually. How had my mother coped with this work? It was outrageous.
The man didn’t seem to think so. He swung the doors shut on the now empty truck, which made me wonder what schedule it was that he had to keep. Then he turned and looked at me expectantly.
I dug in my pocket and he held out his hand.
I slapped the money into it and silently told him to choke on it.
