Little Fox Cottage Page 7

  "The way Henry did it, I suppose. Lassiter's was only two years old. Before Henry opened it he was head chef at several famous restaurants. And even before that he worked in a lot of restaurants. It's a long haul."

  "To get those gold stars and all that."

  She laughed. "Yeah. All that. So finally he started his own restaurant."

  "And then he hired you."

  "Yeah. He needed an assistant, and for some reason he felt like he wanted to train someone from scratch instead of hiring an experienced sous-chef. So I got lucky."

  "I bet it was more than that. He saw something special in you."

  "That's what he said. But anyway, the restaurant was him. He was the heart and soul of it. Without him at the center of it, there wasn't anything left."

  "I'm so sorry."

  "Me, too. Anyway, one day I want to have my own restaurant like he did."

  "And be rich and famous."

  "Famous, maybe. Rich, pretty much not. But it's not about the money. I mean, I'd like to earn enough to pay all my bills. But I love to cook. I love to make things. To take all the raw ingredients and turn them into something that makes people happy. It's a kind of magic, don't you think? To feed someone is a most basic way of showing them love," she said, echoing Henry's words.

  "You can feed me anytime," Nico said. He was watching her with those bittersweet chocolate eyes again, so she looked away.

  "So what's your first step to get to the top of the food world?" he asked.

  "Get to the top by starting at the bottom. Get a job in a restaurant, minimum wage, washing dishes, prepping vegetables, something like that. Work my up from there. Eventually I'll get to where I want to be."

  She looked out at the water. It was more aqua now, and one of the sailboats was heading in toward the marina. The white of the sail against the color of the water made something catch in her throat. A little town like this had fewer opportunities, but also a lot less competition.

  "So when do you plan to go back to Sacramento?" he asked.

  "Without Henry, there's not a lot of reason to go back. I just have to decide where I want to live, and go there."

  "And where do you want to live, Bree?"

  She looked out at the sparkling water, felt the soft breeze on her cheek, heard the laughter and thudding footfalls of the children running on the pier. "Here," she said. "I want to live someplace like here."

  "So stay."

  "I don't have a job."

  "So get a job."

  It was that simple. She'd been so overcome by grief, so used to looking to Henry for all her guidance, that she'd lost track of the core of herself: she was a person who knew how to work. She knew how to fight, how to struggle, how to learn.

  "You're right." She stood up from the table.

  "Where are you going?"

  She walked up to the front of the restaurant. There'd been a lull and the line was no longer stretching out the screen door. "Got a minute?" she asked Mel.

  "No," he said. "What do you want?"

  "You need a cook."

  He looked her up and down. "You don't look like you could handle it. This isn't some fancy job for a prissy little miss."

  She laughed at him. "I know how to cook."

  "Where'd you work before?"

  "In a restaurant. Before that I cooked for 20 farmhands every day."

  He wiped the countertop with a red rag. "Ever fried fish?"

  She thought back to Henry's signature Grilled Sea Bass in a Himalayan Pink Salt Crust with Cherokee Tomato Salsa.

  "Yup," she said. "I can fry fish, and crawdads, and oysters. Pretty much anything you need."

  He looked her over carefully, assessing her. She met his gaze head-on. She knew she could do the job, and she could see in his eyes, despite his bluster, that he knew it, too.

  He nodded. "You can start tomorrow. Dinner shift. Be here at 4:30. Which doesn't mean you stroll in at a quarter of five. Be prepared to get greasy."

  "You got it." She grabbed one of the paper to-go menus and headed back to where Nico and Maisy waited.

  "I've got a job," she said when she sat down.

  He laughed. "You are a fireball, aren't you?"

  "I know how to work. I need to work. I need to be doing something productive with my time. I just needed a kick in the pants to remind me. Thanks for that."

  "You're welcome. So you're staying in town."

  "For now. I don't think this is where I'll be earning my James Beard Awards, but I need to figure out my next move, and in the meantime, I'll be bringing in some cash until I figure out where to go. And best of all, I'll be doing something instead of sitting around fussing over things beyond my control."

  "Like what happened to Henry. And what's happening to Helena."

  "Exactly. You're right about that, too. I'm reading too much into natural accidents, looking for a pattern that isn't there." She looked out at the water. It was getting later, and the fog was coming in. The sky was taking on the hint of an orangey glow, which reminded her of Helena's little terracotta cottage.

  "I'm going to need to find somewhere to stay. Helena said on the phone I could stay until after the funeral, but I'm not sure I will be able to stay even that long. It will depend on how confused she is, and what her family wants to do for her. I'll stay tonight, anyway, and then I'll need to figure out something else. And I imagine I'll be taking Maisy with me." She looked down at the dog. "So what kind of rentals are there in this town?"

  "Well, I have an apartment over Santos' Market."

  "The one with the three guys parked out front all the time?"

  "Yup. That's why I'm an expert. It's a nice place, but if they keep cooking tamales there every Saturday I'm going to gain a lot of weight before summer is over. I'm thinking I'll buy a cottage if I decide to stay. I'm a short-timer like you at the moment."

  "You mean a cottage like Helena's?"

  He nodded. "The town's full of 'em, as well as regular houses in between, of course. But it's a huge investment to buy in the village."

  "How much?"

  "Millions for the Stockdales with a water view. That's what the cottages are called," he explained. "Stockdale was a builder, I guess. The ones away from the water, like Vixen & Kits, are a bit less. And if you'll settle for a generic ranch house a few miles from town, you can get something even more affordable."

  "Have you decided which kind you want?"

  He shook his head. "I have no idea if I'm staying. I agreed to work at the clinic for a year, and I'm only two months into that contract. If I stay beyond that, I'll probably eventually want a house. I'd like to move my father up here to be with me. I'd need something bigger than the apartment I've got now for that, and it would have to be someplace without stairs for him."

  "Do you mind me asking how much the rent is here?"

  He told her, and she whistled. "I don't know if this is going to work."

  Nico smiled. "Let's find out."

  They bussed their table, dumping the trash and leaving the plastic trays in a bin at the back door of the restaurant.

  Then Bree gathered up Maisy's leash and Nico led them over to another table, where two women were dubiously eyeing a captain's plate.

  "I told you we shouldn't have done this," said a sweet-looking woman with curly red hair.

  A stylish African-American woman in a navy blue silk shirt, trousers, and silver jewelry shook her head. "Of course we should do it. Fish is full of omega-3s. We need more fish oil for brain function."

  "So that makes this a smart decision?" the redhead said dubiously.

  "Mind if we interrupt?" Nico asked.

  "Please do, Dr. Nico," said the redhead. "We're in big trouble here."

  Nico started to introduce the woman to Bree. "This is…," he paused, "the wife of the sheriff. Sorry, I forgot your name."

  "Camilla," the redhead said, with a grin at Bree. "My husband is Ryan Knight. He's the sheriff's captain in town if you run into any outlaws. I also run Stormy Kni
ght Accounting, in case you need me to cook your books or anything."

  "And this is Robin Brenham," Nico said, turning to the other woman.

  Bree shook her outstretched hand.

  "Of Robin's Nest Real Estate," she said. "I can get you any kind of property you need."

  "She found me the apartment when I first got here," Nico explained.

  "The one over Santos' Market," Robin said. "It's about as big as a postage stamp. Let me know when you're ready to move up to one of the restored cottages. I have one right now that would make a perfect country doctor's house."

  "I'll let you know," Nico said doubtfully. Clearly he didn't see himself as the country doctor type. "This is Bree Taylor," he said.

  "Of course. You're in town for Henry Lassiter's funeral," Robin said. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

  Bree opened her mouth, then shut it again.

  Camilla laughed. "Very impressive! You've only been in town a day and you've already figured out not to ask 'how do you know that?'" Then she frowned. "And I'm also very sorry about Henry. Only met him a few times, but he seemed like a lovely person."

  "He was," she said simply. She felt herself starting to tear up, but Nico interrupted.

  "Bree is looking for the same kind of short-term housing I was. I thought maybe you could help?"

  Robin's eyes lit up. "Of course! Let's see."

  "But I'm on a super-tight budget," Bree added.

  "No problem." Robin pulled out her phone and swiped through a few screens. "I've got it! The perfect little hovel. A real dump, in a cute, Pajaro Bay kinda way."

  "Don't oversell it, Robin," Camilla said. She held out a plate to Bree. "Need any fried calamari?"

  Bree shook her head. "I already ate too much, thanks."

  "Enough with the calamari!" Robin said. "Don't interrupt me when I'm pushing real estate." She grinned at Camilla, who grinned back. "So this place is terrible," she said, turning back to Bree. "Really a dump."

  "I see," Bree said doubtfully.

  "She doesn't want a dump," Nico said firmly.

  "Yes, I do. A dump sounds cheap."

  "Oh, it's cheap. And it's not a dump, really, But it's not really a rental I've been able to unload on anyone, because it's super-tiny, is only heated with a fireplace, and has no kitchen at all. Not even a hot plate."

  "Sounds perfect," Bree said, thinking of her Sacramento studio, with its unused kitchenette. "I have a dog, though." She nodded down at Maisy.

  "No problem."

  "But if it's awful…," Nico said.

  "I can speak for myself," Bree said firmly. "Awful is fine."

  Robin laughed. "It's not awful in a black-mold and sewer rats way. It's awful in that you have to be willing to climb a very narrow flight of stairs up to a little attic space that doesn't have much room. It does, however, have oak floors, a tiny little fireplace with genuine Robles tiles that's cute as a button, and if you stand on tiptoe and squint out the window, you can get a peek of the ocean."

  "Sounds perfect. How much?"

  "Cheap."

  "Why is it so cheap, I mean, other than the lack of kitchen and the narrow stairs?"

  "The owners couldn't get a tourist rental permit so they're really desperate."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You have to have a special permit to do short-term rentals, like overnighters, hotels, Airbnbs, that kind of thing. And there's a limit to how many the village allows in a neighborhood. But there's no limit on renting out a place long term."

  "I don't want long term."

  "But in this case, long term would mean at least a month. If you are willing to rent it on a month-to-month basis, you can have it, cheap."

  "Sounds good."

  "But weren't you Henry Lassiter's assistant?"

  "Yes."

  "Did I mention the part about it having no kitchen?"

  "I don't need a kitchen. I do need a place where I can have a dog."

  "That's fine. They will be thrilled to have someone there so it doesn't sit empty."

  "I don't have a lot of money."

  "That's okay. Do you have references?"

  "Umm…."

  "She was Henry Lassiter's assistant," Nico pointed out.

  "Of course. If you were good enough for him, I'm sure the owners will rent to you. So when can you move in?"

  Bree told Robin her phone number so they could arrange a time to look at the apartment. Then she and Nico left and took a walk down the wharf.

  "You really work fast," he said.

  "When I want something, I go for it. The hardest thing for me is when I'm stuck, and don't know what to do. Once I have a plan, I can work like a dog to make it happen."

  "Good for you. I always thought I was that way…."

  "You must be. I mean, you made it through medical school, the military, working in a hospital—all of that takes a lot of drive."

  "Yeah." He looked out at the water. "I just lost my way recently." Then he turned back to face her, and leaned against the wharf railing. "You're a good example for me, you know."

  "I am? I never even went to college."

  "You went to culinary school."

  "It's not the same."

  "Of course it is. You had something you wanted to accomplish, and you worked until you got there. Like getting this job. You go for it. I need to stop wallowing and do that." He stopped. Stood there, as if considering something. "Yup," he said, as if to himself. "What did you just say? If I see what I want, I work like a dog to get it."

  He leaned closer to her. "Am I too close?"

  She shook her head. He wasn't too close. He was just right.

  Then he bent his head to hers and kissed her full on the lips.

  He cradled her face in his hands and she went with it, finding this, too, felt natural, and right. Like holding his hand had felt. But more. Much more.

  "Well," she said when they came up for air. "I guess you're not as unfocused as you thought you were."

  "Nope," he said. "And I'm going to work like a dog to get what I want. Unless you object?"

  She shook her head. "No objections, Doctor."

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "I HATE TO GO," he said when they finally wandered up the hill to Calle Principal. He still held her hand.

  She pulled away. "You said you had to go to work."

  "Yeah. Just doing paperwork. The clinic here still does all reports on paper. I never even learned how to fill out paper charts until now. I've always worked on electronic ones. But Dr. Lil, my boss, is a true luddite."

  "A what?"

  "She's allergic to modern technology. Swears she'll never give in to the computer age. So," he said, taking her hand again. "I really have to go and deal with the paper."

  They stood there for another minute.

  She pulled her hand away again. "Go! You've got work to do."

  He grinned at her. "Yeah. See you around, Bree Taylor."

  "See ya, Nico Silva."

  BREE FLOATED BACK to the cottage. Oh, sure, her sneakers must have touched the road, but she didn't remember it. All she felt was a giddiness that seemed perfect in this magical place.

  She knew it was crazy. She knew it was absurd to meet a man, feel a tingle the first time you took his hand, and then end lunch by kissing him on a deck overlooking the Pacific Ocean like something out of a movie.

  Of course it was absurd. She was reacting to the stress, seizing on the one nice thing that had happened to her in the last couple of days.

  She told herself that the whole way home, but it made no difference.

  Her steps floated above the ground, and she felt a racing in her heart. Even Maisy seemed to walk with a lightness, actually pulling on the leash once to chase after a squirrel.

  It wouldn't last. It wasn't real.

  But it sure felt good.

  THE DOOR to the cottage was open. She knocked, then walked in.

  Helena sat in her chair in the living room. She was looking at a framed photograph on the tab
le next to her. The picture was of her and Henry, arms around each other. They stood in front of the cottage. And they were smiling.

  Helena wasn't. She was crying. "There's only one Kit now," she muttered.

  Bree knelt down by the chair. "I know, I know," she said. "It's so hard."

  "You're Henry's Bree."

  "That's right."

  "He's not here."

  "I know, Helena."

  "My Kit's gone. I'm all alone now."

  Bree brushed back a wisp of white hair from Helena's forehead. "No, you're not alone. I'm here. And you have friends in town. Father Anselm will be stopping by. And Dr. Silva. And—" What was the woman's name? Kim something or other. "Kim from—"

  "From Bluebird Cottage."

  "That's right. From Bluebird Cottage."

  "She brings me books." Helena's gaze drifted to the coffee table, where a small stack of library books sat.

  "That's right. She works at the library, and she brings you books. And there's Wade, who brings you lunches."

  "And Hector," Helena said. "He brings me lunches."

  The funny guy from the garage? "All right," she said. "And…."

  "And Sophie. But she hasn't been coming so much."

  "Okay." Sophie must be another friend.

  "And who else?"

  "Henry. He comes on Tuesdays."

  Tuesdays had been the day Lassiter's was closed. He must have come to visit her then.

  "Oh!" Bree dug into her purse and found the little pouch. "I meant to give this to you before."

  She handed her the little pouch.

  Helena took it and opened it. "It's Henry's fox."

  "Yes. He wanted you to have it." She didn't say anything about how it was found, or about the detective who had stood over Henry's body, looking for a meaning to his death that just wasn't there.

  Helena clutched the fox. "It's all alone now." She put her hand into her housecoat pocket and drew out an identical pouch. She took out another fox. "They're twins, you see," she said. Her own fox was mother of pearl, and the arrow attached to its back was red sandstone. It was the same colors as Henry's but reversed: brown on cream, instead of cream on brown. One of Helena's tears landed on the brown fox and the spot glistened.

  Bree cleared her throat. "There are so many people around who love you, Helena. You're not alone."