Lineage Most Lethal by S. C. Perkins

Author:S. C. Perkins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

TWENTY-FIVE

When I arrived back at the hotel, I was met by one of Dupart’s officers. Explaining who I was, I asked to speak with Mrs. P., telling him I had a message to deliver about contacting a replacement chef. The officer explained Mrs. P. was on her way back into the hotel to be interviewed, as she had already gone home for the evening when the deputies arrived.

“Oh, of course,” I said, finally noticing it was after eight o’clock. Though Mrs. P. often stayed late, she technically got off work at six p.m. She seemed such a ubiquitous part of the hotel, I’d forgotten she actually had a home life.

By this time, I was exhausted and starving, so I wrote a quick note to Mrs. P. asking her to call Chef Cardo. The moment I handed it off to the deputy, I was sending a group text to Josephine and Serena, asking if either of them were up to meeting me at Flaco’s. I told them I’d been involved in some high drama and needed to vent.

Their replies were almost instant. Serena’s said, High drama? I’m SO in. Josephine’s was a series of emojis that included a girl raising her hand high in the air, a smiley face with its mind being blown, and, of course, several tacos.

I ran upstairs, changed into jeans and a pair of booties, grabbed a jacket, and flew back out the front doors of the hotel, relieved to not run into anyone as I did so. I needed food and my friends to help me think clearly again, and I needed a drink to take my mind off the image of Chef Rocky with an ice pick jammed down his ear.

“A top-shelf margarita, please,” I told Ana when I slid into the corner booth beside Serena. “On the rocks, with salt.” Internally shuddering at the thought of ice, I said, “Make that frozen instead.”

Serena and Jo looked at each other, then back at me.

“This must be big drama if you’re going top shelf,” Serena said.

“And something must be really wrong if you’re forgoing rocks for frozen,” added Josephine. “You told me last time that slushy drinks should only have low alcohol content so you can drink more of them and crunch on all those lovely little bits of ice.”

“Ohhh, don’t say ‘ice,’” I groaned.

Ana, seeing that something was amiss with me, brought me an order of guacamole and chips before the other table of four guys who’d ordered ahead of us.

“Hey,” one guy complained as I scooped up a liberal amount and practically stuffed it into my mouth, “we ordered ours five minutes ago.”

“You have your choice,” Ana replied, leaning casually on their table with one hand. “You can wait until I get yours, or you can try to take that one away from Lucy.” A broad smile with just a touch of challenge spread across her face. “Go ahead, I would like to see what happens. Lucy may be pequeña, but she is—” She

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