How to Bake a Perfect Life - Barbara O'Neal [104]
And yet what can I do? Leaving the letter in plain sight on the table, I rub Merlin’s head. “Thanks. Go take care of her. I have to get to work.”
As I come around the corner of the stairs, into the bakery, Jimmy gives me a weird look and cuts her eyes behind her. “There’s a health inspector here. He’s coming to look at the work the pipe guys did.”
“Good.” It has taken much longer than it should have, but I would never say that. I walk forward to greet him. He’s a balding man in his fifties, with the harsh mouth so many bureaucrats sport. “Hello.” I hold out my hand. “I’m Ramona Gallagher, the owner.”
His grip is limp and unfriendly, and I’m suddenly worried. They do sometimes show up to surprise you, to keep things on the up and up, and I’ve had inspections plenty of times. But there’s something sour about him. A no-carb person, I’m betting, one who would find croissants a sin against the belly. “I’ll just have a look around.”
“Okay. We’ll get to work.” I give Jimmy a meaningful nod and take my clipboard into the storeroom to check off supplies. I’m wondering where the dog and the cat might be; they rarely come in, but they have been known to slip by the doors. I once found Milo crouched under the dishwasher, a dead mouse at his feet. When I came into the kitchen, he sauntered away, plainly pleased with himself.
For obvious reasons, animals and professional kitchens don’t mix.
I take a breath, write down an order number. He’s here to check the pipe work. I’ve kept up with everything I am supposed to do, and we’ve had inspectors all along the way; there is nothing wrong with my kitchen. I would put money on it.
He combs through the front and then comes into the kitchen, X-ing things off on a big sheet. I’ve finished the orders and have begun to assemble the next day’s menus when he returns to the room, a grim look on his face.
“I’m sorry, but I have found a problem. You want to come with me, ma’am?” He looks genuinely apologetic. “Your hot-water heater is leaking through the top.”
“What? That’s impossible. It’s only a couple of years old.”
“It looks like it might have been damaged at some point. There’s a lot of evidence of water leaking over a long period. Mold, some other issues.” He shakes his head. “It’s a miracle it hasn’t stopped functioning completely.”
“How long can you give me to fix it?”
Again he looks regretful. “I’m sorry, Ms. Gallagher, but I’m going to have to ask you to close until this situation is resolved. It’s too dangerous to run it the way it is, and you can’t be open without hot water.”
I close my eyes. Swear.
He gives me a sheet of paper with the order and his telephone number. “Call me here, and I’ll make a point to get right back and clear you to open.”
“Thanks.” I promise myself that I am not going to cry in front of my own employees.
Who are grouped in an apprehensive little knot, facing me, as he leaves. Jimmy looks sick, and so do the dishwasher and apprentices. “What do we do?”
“Fix it. I’m sorry, you guys, but there won’t be any work until they let me open again. I’m guessing at least a couple of days. Maybe more.”
Heather gets tears in her eyes and wipes them away with a corner of her apron. “This makes me so mad! I wanted to buy the good bag of fireworks this year.”
I can’t bear for them to be cheated. “I’ll give you half pay. I wish it could be more.”
Heather blinks. “Really? Even though you won’t be open?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m cool,” says Roberto, the dish kid. “I’ll just go chill with my girl until next week.”
I put them to work shutting everything down for a few days, and I head into my small office overlooking the backyard to make phone calls. Katie and Merlin and Milo are out there, moving through the vegetable garden. It’s hot this afternoon, and if I were her, I’d be upstairs under a fan; instead,