Night Shift(77)

“What’s on your mind, Lenore?” Madonna had never wasted time on casual conversation.

“You probably know I have a cook coming from Davy to help with breakfasts for everyone, and then someone else comes to cook lunch and dinner for the residents. The nonresidents have to fend for themselves.”

Madonna nodded, and everyone at the table scrambled to say something to each other so it would appear they weren’t listening.

“Well, my morning cook is still fine. But my lunch and dinner cook is about to quit. Since we only have four residents at the moment, I think I can do lunch. Soup and sandwiches, that kind of thing. I was hoping you’d agree to do the dinners.”

“For the residents, only.”

“If that works out, maybe we could talk about supplying something for the transient guests? A few stay for weeks since they’re doing contract work at Magic Portal.” Magic Portal, the large company east of Midnight which manufactured games, was a major employer in the area and also responsible for the great Internet connections available in Midnight. Plus most of the hotel’s clientele.

“But I’m just starting off with the residents. How would we convey the food? Four extra meals won’t make much difference to my workload, I figure.”

“I have a cart that Harvey can wheel over. Do you have plate covers? Cloches?”

“I have some in back, yes. Previous owner left ’em. They’re very old, but usable.”

“So I propose that Harvey would come to get the dinners for the residents at five thirty. We would have given them their choices earlier in the day.”

“Harvey will also return the dishes?”

“Yes, he’ll return them the next day by lunchtime.”

“I’ll give you an answer tomorrow. I’ll have to figure out what to charge for this.”

“Let me know. I’m really, really hoping you’ll say yes.”

Madonna nodded. When Lenore had gone back to the hotel, Chuy said, “You gonna do it, Madonna?”

“Hell, yeah,” she said. “That’s gonna add up. I might have to work an hour longer, but the money should be worth it. I’ll have to do some figuring.”

Nothing else exciting happened during the meal, though Madonna did ask all of them where Fiji was. “She hasn’t come in here in days, and that’s not like her,” Madonna said, with a smile that struck Quinn as off. He also noticed that Olivia looked down, guarding her expression.

When they’d all eaten, Quinn told his son he’d see him later, and the boy left for his job, a smile on his face at the prospect of seeing Marina, Quinn figured. Quinn paid at the same time as Olivia, and when she left he followed her to the pawnshop. As she was about to go inside, he hailed her.

“You following me, tiger?”

She didn’t seem alarmed, but mildly irritated.

“It’s not hard to walk in the same direction as someone, in Midnight,” Quinn said. “But I have to say that I’m really curious. What is the big secret between you and Fiji, the one about Madonna?”

He hadn’t hit the mark exactly, Quinn told himself, judging Olivia’s reaction.

“Big secret?” She smiled. “I don’t know any big secret. I’ve always been curious about the Reeds. Haven’t you?”

“You mean how they manage to keep the restaurant open? Of course, but there’s something else about them. Something that seems significant to you.”

“I don’t know what that would be,” she said. She went inside.

Quinn watched her go, and then spun to face the shop across the road. Before he could convince himself it was none of his business, he ran across. His feet made almost no sound when they touched the pavement.

Fiji had just finished her supper and was washing up when Quinn knocked at her back door. “Quinn,” she said. “Hi. Come on in.” She took the chain off the door. Mr. Snuggly, who adored Quinn, appeared instantly and began basting himself against Quinn’s ankles.

“Snug, stop it,” Fiji said.

“I don’t mind. Hi, little brother.” Mr. Snuggly did not reply, but he did purr.

“Please have a seat.” Fiji sat down in her accustomed place at the kitchen table and gestured at the chair opposite. Quinn worked himself into the small space and looked at her with frank appreciation. “Looking lovely,” he said, and she made a little derisive sound. He ignored it. “I’m going to ask you some questions,” he said, “and I hope you answer them. If you don’t . . . okay.”

“Let’s have the questions.”

“Is there a reason you haven’t been to Home Cookin in a few days?”