Chapter 32
Another late night, another eyelids-of-lead morning. My thoughts about Roberto had woken me up too early, and I’d decided to get a head start on the day. I stood in the shower for too long, hoping the water would wake me up. Instead, the warm flow threatened to put me back to sleep right there on my feet. When I switched it to cold for a moment, I shrieked, but at least my eyes were finally open.
As I dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved blue top, grateful the week was coming to a close, my gaze fell on the picture of Mom and me on my dresser. I was ten and we’d gone camping in Sequoia with a friend of mine and my friend’s mom. The other mother snapped this picture of us in our hiking shorts and boots, Mom’s arm around my shoulders, me giggling.
“Aw, Mommy. You could have told me about Roberto. He wouldn’t have spoiled our lives, I’m sure of it. We could have taken trips to Italy. Maybe I’d have spent a couple of summers with him there. Or, he might have moved to California. Imagine if we’d been a family of three instead of two.” I truly had never missed being an ordinary nuclear family until right this minute. No use crying over spilled milk, I scolded myself. Or lost Italians, either.
After I sat at my laptop and composed a quick message to Graciela asking how Roberto’s surgery went, I tied my hair up wet, cranked through my sit-ups, and fed Birdy. I’d have to start spending more time playing with him. This afternoon, I promised him before I headed to work. I started coffee—first things first, and it was already six o’clock—then made for the walk-in to get the biscuit dough and the supplies for pancakes. I passed the closest table. And froze.
The square wooden top, the rolled-up blue napkins, even the sugar shaker—all were littered with inch-long black torpedoes. I gasped, bending down to look. Torpedoes they weren’t. Droppings now covered the table I knew was pristine clean when I left. Panicked, I glanced around the room. Feces covered all the tables, the floor, the cooking countertops, and they were bigger than mouse pellets. My stomach roiled even as my brain raced. Rats? How did they get in here, and in such number? I shuddered in revulsion, bile rising in my throat. This wasn’t a random rodent who happened to find a hole in the foundation. This was an invasion. Although, where were the animals now?
And if anyone saw it, my business would be shut down as tight as a stubborn clam the minute the health inspector caught word. Forget the biscuits—I needed to clean, and fast. But first an apron and rubber gloves. Once those were on, I grabbed the galvanized-steel basin, which sat upside down near the sink, and the hand broom. Table by table, countertop by countertop, I swept turds, napkin rolls, even the salt, pepper, and sugar shakers into the tub. I could sort it out later and I had extras. Once the tables were clear, I carried the tub to the service door and set it down. When I reached for the doorknob, my fingers sat on it, motionless. It wasn’t locked. I’d checked all the locks last night. How had that happened? This was getting worse by the minute. At least the door was latched. That wasn’t how the rats got in. I opened it and set the tub behind the trash cans in the enclosure. I locked the door after I went back in.
I was busy vacuuming when I heard a drumming on the front door that was loud enough to override the machine’s thrum. My heart about leapt out the top of my head. I turned to see Danna pressing her nose against the glass. I let out a breath, dropped the vacuum, and let her in.
I faced her, my hands fluttering. “Um, I . . . There was . . .” The hum of the vacuum filled the air and I smelled the coffee for the first time.
“What’s the matter, Robbie? Why are you vacuuming? It’s already seven. Shouldn’t you be cooking?” She wrinkled her nose and sniffed. “What’s that smell?” Today her dreads were neatly covered by a brilliant green bandana.
“The worst thing happened. But you have to swear not to tell anyone. Promise?”
“Sure. What is it?”
“Last night a few of the guys helped me clean up. You could have eaten off the tables—they were that clean. This morning? Rat droppings everywhere! Every surface. It was totally revolting.”
“Eww.” She opened her mouth like she’d tasted a vile dish. “Where’d they come from?”
“No idea. But if I don’t get the rest cleaned up, we won’t have to worry because I’ll be out of business.”
She set her mouth in a determined line. “What can I do?”
“Disinfect the tables and chairs. And countertops. Lysol spray and rubber gloves. Under the sink. I’ll join you when I’ve finished cleaning the floor.”
“Got it, General.” She saluted and beelined for the sink. She bent down and opened the lower cabinet doors. “Hey, there aren’t any droppings under here. Isn’t that where mice and rats usually start, under the sink?”
I detoured from getting back to the vacuum. “You’re right,” I said, peering in. “Clean as a whistle. That’s really odd.” I opened a few more lower cabinets—all clean. Very odd. “Do you think somebody could have set this up on purpose? To sabotage me?”
“Maybe. But for right now, we don’t have time to figure out who.”
By seven-thirty we’d finished the cleaning, just. My brain usually worked on puzzling while I worked physically, but the stress of getting this place clean again overrode anything else. It was just a blessing we opened an hour later on Sundays. I started sausage frying to take the smell of Lysol out of the air, and I decided to make drop biscuits so I didn’t have to use the marble pastry top. I wanted to scrub it about six more times before that happened. I took a second to pour myself a cup of coffee so I could keep going.
I hurried to get a pan of three dozen biscuits in the oven as Danna set up the tables with unrolled napkins and the minimum of silver.
“Extra salt and pepper shakers and sugar jars are on that shelf.” I pointed. “And if we don’t have enough, people can share.” I assembled the pancake batter and pulled the fruit out to take the chill off, grateful Abe had cut it all up last night.
The doorbell jangled at a couple minutes before eight and the first customer popped his head in.
“We’re open. Come on in,” I called, and gestured to him. I hustled over, turning the sign to OPEN, then handed him and two young boys menus, plus a couple miniature boxes of crayons for the kids. I might survive this rat threat, after all.
Danna and I had our hands full with customers all morning. The breakfast business never let up until almost lunchtime. We barely had time to hit the head or eat anything, ourselves. I made her sit down at eleven and eat while I made patties, then we switched. A few times I glimpsed a stray turd on the floor I’d missed, but I always managed to swipe it up with a paper towel. I lost track of how often I scrubbed my hands. Before lunch really picked up, I took a few moments in the restroom to splash water on my face. I took off my hat, tightened up my ponytail, then tucked it back through the hole in the back of the cap. I was living my dream, but it was exhausting. I couldn’t wait to relax this afternoon, get out on my bike, inhale lungfuls of fresh air, and anticipate dinner with Abe. And figure out how in heck rats got into my store.
During lunch I recognized a few faces I’d seen for the first time last night. All that work to host the fund-raiser had been worth it if it brought the store more visibility and interest from the local hungries. I was busy doling out three full hamburger platters when the bell jangled. I glanced up to see a uniformed Wanda hold the door for a woman in a dark blazer and a short, sensible haircut, who carried a thick briefcase. They paused inside the door, the woman’s eyes scanning the floor, checking every corner of the restaurant. I did not have a good feeling about this. I knew that woman. She was Elizabeth Lake, county health inspector, and I was willing to bet a river of nickels she wasn’t here for a turkey burger.
“Robbie,” an unsmiling Wanda called, beckoning me over. She stood with feet apart.
I made sure the customers I’d just delivered to were all set before I headed her way. My guts lurched.
“Roberta Jordan?” the woman asked when I approached.
I glanced at Wanda and back at the woman. “Yes, I’m Robbie. Would you like to see a menu?”
“No. I believe we met when I approved the opening of your restaurant. Elizabeth Lake, health inspector for the county.” She held her hand out, so I shook it. Then she laid her briefcase on the bench and opened it, drawing out a couple of sheets of paper.
“I am closing this establishment on the orders of the Board of Health. We have evidence vermin have recently occupied the premises.”
I stared at her. How in blazes could she know? I mustered my inner warrior. “There are no vermin here. Never have been. Check for yourself.” Then I remembered the tub full of evidence outside I hadn’t had time to deal with. I was dead in the water if they found that.
She proffered one of the sheets of paper. I stared again, but this time at a picture of rats . . . on top of my tables.
“Where did you get this?”
“We have our sources.”
“Let me see that.” I grabbed it out of her hand and carried it three steps to the front window, where light streamed in. It had been taken through that very window and the only illumination was from the drinks cooler and the red EXIT sign. But it sure as heck looked like rats standing here and there on the tables. On the rolled napkins. On the counters.
Elizabeth followed me and handed me another, this one of the cooking spaces, also covered with rats. It was a fuzzy shot, must have been taken with the zoom on. I glanced up at her. “What can I say? I admit I noticed a few bits of feces on the floor this morning.” Figured I might as well tell the truth, sort of, so I wouldn’t get charged with lying. “And I’ll call an exterminator first thing in the morning. But we scrubbed everything with Lysol—”
“We?”
“My employee and me.” I pointed at Danna, poor thing, who was hustling double time while I stood talking with a threat to my existence. “Danna Beedle.”
“I’ll need to interview her, too. But it doesn’t matter if you scrubbed down. We need to run another full inspection and that can’t start until tomorrow, since today’s Sunday. For today, and until further notice, you’re closed.”
“I want a copy of those pictures.” I set my hands on my hips. “And I want to know who took them.”
“I’ll send you a copy. To the store’s e-mail address, right?” She checked a tablet she’d pulled out.
“Yes.”
“But I can’t reveal who sent them to us. We always encourage the public to report infractions, and if we gave out names, that might discourage Joe Citizen.”
I knew what I wanted to do with Joe Citizen, but I kept it to myself. “What about these customers?” I said in a rasping whisper, gesturing around the store. “You’re just going to kick them out?” My hands clenched into fists.
Wanda took a step toward me. I held up my hand to her. “Relax, Wanda. I’m not going to hurt anyone.” No matter how much I wanted to.
“They can stay. We don’t want to damage you unnecessarily. But I need you to turn your sign to CLOSED and not admit anyone else. After the current diners leave, we’ll post our notices.”
I squeezed my eyes shut for a minute. There was no worse disaster for a restaurant owner except food poisoning. I opened them and said, “All right. But I’m not happy about it.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips and raised one eyebrow. “No one ever is.”