3
The Quarter, New Orleans, Louisiana
MONDAY, JULY 25, 1:30 P.M.
I think that’ll do it,” Gabe said to his assistant manager, ignoring the withering look on his cousin Patty’s face. “Did I miss anything?” he added, because his assistant manager was biting her lip.
Donna Lee Green shook her head. “Nothing, Chef. We’ve covered it all and there’s nothing here that we can’t handle in your absence. We’ll be fine.” She winced a little. “But are you okay?”
He drew an unsteady breath. Her compassion was expected, but it still rattled him. He didn’t want sympathy. He didn’t want pity. But this wasn’t either of those things. It was concern that stemmed from genuine affection. He’d worked with Donna Lee for years, long before he’d started the Choux. He’d handpicked her, lured her away from their former employer, and she was the best assistant manager anyone could ask for.
“I’ll be okay. It’s just that I need a little time. To process.”
Donna Lee nodded. “For what it’s worth, we all thought you came back too soon after Rocky’s passing.” She cast a glance heavenward, crossing herself. She’d loved his dad, too.
Everyone had.
Except for the bastard who’d killed him.
Gabe found a smile. “Thank you. You have my number. Call me if you need to.”
“I will.” She squeezed his arm. “But I won’t need to. Take care of yourself, Chef. See you soon.”
The office was quiet after Donna Lee had shut the door behind her, leaving him and Patty alone. Patty was short for Patience, but his cousin didn’t have much of that. Five seconds ticked by as Gabe waited for his cousin’s explosion.
He wasn’t disappointed.
“What the fuck, Gabe?” she hissed.
“I have vacation saved,” he said mildly, knowing his leave of absence wasn’t what had her so heated up. “Several weeks’ worth.”
“Because you work yourself to damn death.” She sat on the corner of the desk closest to his chair, hugging herself. “And you know that isn’t what I meant.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “But it is true. I need some time away.”
“Why? What’s wrong? And don’t tell me nothing. I know you, boy. I know your tells.” She leaned forward until they were nose to nose. “I know that something’s happened, and I know it’s bad. So tell me.” She lifted her chin. “Or I’ll tell Mama on you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “That’s low, even for you.” Because his aunt Viola was a master interrogator. Gabe was never sure just how she did it, but she got results. Vi would never tell his secrets to a soul, but she wouldn’t rest until he’d unburdened himself.
He always felt better afterward, but this time was different. The image of his father flashed through his mind. Not the one he wanted to remember, his dad smiling at him, chowing down on a bowl of gumbo, but the photo from the police report. The one that bastard Cresswell had “slipped” and shown him.
His father, slumped on the kitchen table, the exit wound in his skull the size of Gabe’s fist. That could happen to his aunt Vi. To his uncle George. To Patty. At least his aunt Gigi on his mother’s side was safe up in Montreal. But the others? They were right here, in New Orleans. They could be in danger.
They were the only close family he had left. The less they knew, the safer they’d be.
Bile rose in his throat and he cleared it roughly. “Patty.”
Patty paled. “Tell me,” she whispered.
He swallowed hard. “I can’t. Please. I can’t.”
Patty’s face lost more color, making the freckles across her nose and cheeks stand out in stark contrast. “You’re scaring me, Gabe.”
A light knock at the door interrupted the moment.
“Go away,” Patty said loudly.
“Come in,” Gabe said at the same time, even more loudly.