Chapter 10: On His Line

"Then get one," I said.

Joanne stood very still in the doorway.

"Get a statement, Aunt Joanne. It's your name. You can walk into the bank and ask."

She didn't answer.

She went out into the dark, and the bell rang behind her.

On Thursday afternoon a woman called my phone while I was scraping thirteen years of grease off the hood.

She said she was a reporter with a local news site.

She said she was writing a story about my guardian and wanted my side.

"My side of what?"

"Your uncle says Mr. Thorley paid to keep you close since you were eight years old."

I hung up on her.

Landry had been telling the truth.

Magnus had no idea.

I didn't have his number.

All I had was the name of his restaurant.

"You can't go to Hearth in that," Gretchen said, looking at my T-shirt with grease on it.

She threw her green wrap dress at me.

It came to my knees on her and halfway down my thighs on me.

Hearth was full on a Thursday night.

The host recognized me from Friday and went pale.

"Chef's on the line," he said. "I'll tell him you're..."

I walked past him.

The kitchen was open to the dining room behind a long marble pass.

Tickets were chattering out of the printer.

Pans were hissing.

Magnus stood at the pass in chef's whites with his hair tied back, calling orders in a voice like a drill sergeant.

"Two lamb, one bass, fire table nine. Where's my bass?"

Nobody answered.

The grill station at the end of the line was empty, with three steaks smoking on it.

"Where's my grill cook?" Magnus barked.

"Puked in the walk-in, Chef," someone yelled. "He's gone."

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