Dying for a Taste Read Online Free PDF Page A

told me about the knife, and asked if I’dtalk to them. I figured it would look really bad if I didn’t . . . so I did.”
    God, it did sound like a TV show. Shaking my head, I sat down and poked with a fork at my rapidly cooling omelet. Classic cop tactics: Scare ’em into talking to you before you have time to think you might want to consult with a lawyer first.
    “So,” I said, “it looks like, at least for the time being, there isn’t anything else for you to do. You’ve told them all you know, and now they just have to do their job.” The melted Irish cheddar cheese, I observed, had hardened and congealed against the plate. “Look, Javier, speaking of jobs, there’s something I need to ask you. About the restaurant. Do you think you could take care of things—you know, act as manager—until we figure out what’s going to happen with it?” After talking with my dad, I’d realized that I was going to have to be the one to deal with this. I could tell he didn’t want to have anything to do with Javier, or Gauguin.
    “Uh, I guess so. I kind of do already, at least sometimes. When Letta’s gone, which has been a lot, lately, I pretty much do everything.” I heard what sounded like a bottle being tossed into the recycling and another being opened and then the clicking of a lighter. “So yeah, I could do it.” He took a drink of what I now figured was beer and then a puff off his cigarette. “How long will the restaurant be closed, ya think?”
    “Well, when I was down there this morning, I got the impression the cops would be done with their investigation by the end of the day. But that doesn’t mean they’d allow us to reopen right away. And even if they did allow it, I’m not sure we’d want to. I mean, maybe it would be best to just closedown for a while, give everyone some time to get their bearings?” I realized I had absolutely no idea how stuff like this worked or what happened when the owner of a business died.
    No, didn’t just die—was brutally murdered, and on the business premises. “I dunno,” I went on. “What do you think?”
    “I think Letta would want the place reopened right away,” Javier answered. “For everyone to—how do you say it?—mount back on the horse as soon as possible. And I know for sure she wouldn’t want it to stay closed just ’cause we thought that was the, you know, ‘correct’ thing to do. She hated stuff like that.”
    I nodded, staring absently at my cold dinner. Javier was right. Letta despised anything that had the ring of “propriety for propriety’s sake” about it.
    “So,” I said, “you think the best way to honor her memory would be to simply get Gauguin up and running again as soon as possible—do our best to continue on with her work, her dream.”
    “Uh-huh.” Javier’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “And besides, I’m not sure what I’d do with a bunch of days off, anyway. At least working will help keep my mind off it all.”
    After a bit of silence, I asked, “Were there any deliveries that were missed today?”
    “No, the restaurant’s closed Mondays, so there won’t be any till tomorrow. But unless we’re gonna reopen right away, I should call and cancel them.”
    The drumming of my fingers on the table caused Buster to wake up and look my way. I made a decision, since clearly no one else was going to. “Okay. If the cops give the greenlight, let’s plan on reopening the day after tomorrow: Wednesday night.”
    “Sounds good. I can call the cooks and waitstaff and make sure everyone knows to come in. You think some people might be freaked out by the idea of working where a murder happened?”
    “That’s entirely possible. Or they may just need a little more time off for other reasons. Everyone deals with grief in different ways, so make sure they know they don’t have to come in if they don’t feel up to it.”
    “I wonder if we’ll even get any customers. They might think it’s too