Flu
Chapter 100
The train to Vermont sways and screeches as Kate paces the aisle. After a lifetime of subway strap-hanging, she has no difficulty keeping her balance, but she can feel Rick watching her for any possible wobble. If he doesn't relax a little soon, he'll be totally exhausted before the baby is born. And he'll drive her crazy. Hopefully, if things go smoothly for a while, he'll settle down. But when do things ever go smoothly? She checks her watch. They should be at their stop in about 20 minutes. Not a moment too soon.
"I just got a text," Rick reports as Kate returns to her seat. "The car is parked in the lot at the station. The paperwork will be in the glove box, and I have the entry code to get in."
"You did go high end."
"Only the best – sound system, I mean, as promised. But it's also the BMW that's got one of those cool heads-up displays like an X-Wing fighter in Star Wars."
Kate smiles as Rick's inner child peeks out from behind the mother hen. "Now I know why you chose it. But won't we look a little upscale for baking supply tourists?"
"Are you kidding, Kate? Exploring culinary delights can be a very expensive hobby. More and more celebrities are immersing themselves in the gastronomic arts. Sometimes it's even snobbier than wine. I'm a more humble pioneer."
Kate snorts. "Humble, right. But I'll buy pioneer. I doubt anyone else has come up with s'morelets or chocolate chimichangas."
The out-of-the-box cook sniffs. "We, at the point of the spear, must suffer the slings and arrows of those with a less creative spirit."
Rick waves his hand enthusiastically at Iris, the grandmotherly-looking guide leading tourists through the flour making operation. "Question!"
"Yes, um," Iris' sharp eyes scan his stick-on nametag, "Rick."
"Other than the colors, like brown for whole wheat, how can you tell what's in the different flours?"
Iris flushes slightly but nods. "That's an excellent question. While Sir Lancelot prides itself on tradition, our lab facilities are cutting edge. We can determine the amounts of protein, carbs, minerals, and other components in all of our products, perfectly. Anyone purchasing Sir Lancelot will get precisely the flour they expect, every time."
"Can we watch?" Rick inquires.
Iris takes a small step back. "I'm sorry, Rick. For sanitary reasons, the lab areas are closed to the public. But we do have a brochure about the extensive steps that we take to ensure quality. You and anyone else who wants one can pick up a copy on your way out." A bright smile returns to Iris' face. " Now, let's go see our chocolatiers, shall we?"
"It was good chocolate, but the kind you hide in the safe is better," Kate declares as she and Rick leave the Sir Lancelot campus. "And you really rattled Iris when you asked about the flour."
"I know," Rick agrees, turning onto the highway. "She couldn't wait to move on. And I've been on some other food tours where there is a lab. Wine tours, too. They may not let you into the inner sanctum. They all jealously guard their secrets. But there's usually a window or something you can gaze through to admire analytical mastery from afar. Obviously, Sir Lancelot doesn't want us going near their in-house wizards. They're hiding something, Kate."
"I agree, but we don't have anything close to what it would take to get a warrant and force the issue. Also, we'd be working across state lines. That would make things more complicated."
"There's got to be another way to go at it," Rick asserts. "Mark knows a hell of a lot of people in the hospitality sector. Maybe he can ask around and find out if anyone besides Busby suspected something sketchy was going on with Sir Lancelot. Chef can make inquiries too. If we're on the right track, something will pop up."
"You can go ahead and call your guys, but I'm going to check and see what Perlmutter and CSU turned up. And I want to talk to the Sir Lancelot rep in New York again, too."
"Cell reception on the train is spotty and by the time we get back to the city, it's going to be pretty late," Rick reminds her. "Perlmutter will probably be curled up with a bone saw manual, or whatever he does to lull himself to sleep."
"You have a point," Kate allows. "But I want to be on top of this first thing in the morning."
The titillating vision that fleetingly invades Rick's mind vanishes as he remembers he'll have to give Kate her shot in the morning, too. Damn!
Chef Lester holds up his iPad in front of the staff of his restaurant. "What the hell are these?"
"Chef?" Marcel, the lead sous chef, inquires.
"One-star reviews for our pot pie, the crown jewel of our menu. They claim the crust was tough. Who made the dough?"
The newest sous chef hesitantly raises her hand. "I did, Chef. Don't you remember that I told you I thought the flour absorbed too much water, and I had to add more? You told me that my measurements must have been off. But they weren't, Chef. I redid the dough and had Marcel check me. The weights were exactly as you said they should be. But the dough needed more moisture to roll out right."
"It would be like that if the protein content was too high," Marcel points out.
Lester slams his palm on a stainless steel counter. "Don't you think I know that? We'll get to the bottom of this, right now."
A chorus of "Yes, Chef," echoes through the kitchen.
"Aren't you coming to bed?" Kate asks as Rick turns toward his office instead.
"I have to get some writing done. I have chapters due in a few days, and I haven't even got a paragraph on the page yet," Rick confides.
"I thought you got caught up and a little ahead."
"I did before we were juggling two cases at once. I thought I'd have time, but then, Busby. And when the clues pour in tomorrow, I want to be able to pick up on them with you."
"Don't stay up too late, Babe. You didn't get any sleep on the train."
"I won't," Rick promises. "I'll work for an hour or two, then join you."
Rick rubs his neck before flipping open his laptop. Writing is as good an excuse as any, and what he told Kate is true. Also, keeping his hands on the keyboard keeps him away from temptation. Despite all his research, he never found anything that said making love to Kate could be a problem, but still…
When his eyes are finally too tired to focus on his screen, Rick slips between the sheets. Kate has migrated toward his side of the bed, perhaps searching for him in the grip of a dream. That only makes him feel more guilty. The most reasonable thing to do would be to tell Kate what's on his mind. It may also be the hardest thing to do. One way or another, he'll find a way to bring up the subject, but at that moment, he has no clue how.
On the edge of slumber, Kate feels the bed dip beside her and the warmth of Rick's body against her back. Something's on his mind, and it isn't a deadline from Black Pawn. He has very little trouble pushing those out of his head. It hurts a bit that he isn't talking about whatever is bothering him. But then, she's done her share of holding back too. Sooner or later, he'll open up. She just hopes it's sooner. Before she met Rick, she didn't mind sleeping by herself. Sometimes she liked it. Romance could come with too many hassles. That's all changed. A bed is way too empty without him beside her.
