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He was chopping carrots and looking a bit harried. “Everything ok, Gerold?”
He smiled at her and kept chopping, his dark hands moving like lightning. “Yes, thanks. Lucinda called in sick, so I don’t have any prep help tonight.” He waved his knife absently, making Hope step back. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. The extra exercise will do me good.” Gerold was an avid cyclist and rode his bike to and from work every day, saying it kept him trim.
“I may not be a chef of your quality, Gerold, but I’m perfectly capable of chopping some vegetables. What can I do to help?”
He gave her a big smile. “You really want to?”
Hope laughed, reaching for an apron hanging on the wall. “Yes! Put me to work.”
Gerold pointed to an enormous bowl of freshly washed zucchini. “You can start by slicin’ those—half an inch thick.”
She grabbed a chef’s knife and began deftly chopping the zucchini into equal sections. “Oh, ho!” Gerold laughed. “Look at that. She’s got skills!”
Hope couldn’t help grinning. “Like I said, I’m not a practiced chef, but I took six months of culinary classes a few years ago. It was a lot of fun. I’d love to help you out when you need it.”
Gerold watched her for a moment. “You got yourself a job. Congratulations.”
Hope kept chopping. “By the way, when does our seafood get delivered?”
“Frank’s here every mornin’, real early. Usually between six and seven. Everything ok?”
“Yes. I was just curious.”
* * *
Slightly before six the next morning, Hope stood in the receiving area of the parking lot, just outside the restaurant. She had a hoodie pulled over her staff T-shirt to ward off the early chill and wore a tailored khaki skirt and dressy flats, her hair pulled into a slick low bun. She held the incriminating invoice in one hand as she sipped a travel mug of coffee and leaned against the building.
At six-fifteen, an old van rumbled down the road toward her. Hope removed her hoodie, setting the coffee down and standing straight. The van stopped in front of the restaurant. Painted on the sides in large print read F.P. Walker, Fishmonger—Always Your Best Seafood Choice! Hope snorted at that. A large, middle-aged Black man poured out of the driver’s side door, lifting his baseball hat to scratch his head as he appraised her.
“Mr. Frank Walker, I presume?” Hope asked in her most friendly, professional voice.
“Yeah, that’s me. What can I do for you?” He stood still, eyes narrowed in wariness.
Hope walked forward, holding her hand out to shake. “Good morning. I’m Hope Collins, the new owner of Half Moon Bay. I wanted to introduce myself so we could get to know each other better.”
He smiled politely and shook her hand.
“I’m afraid we might have a misunderstanding regarding my February invoice, and I wanted to get it cleared up as soon as possible. When I was scrutinizing the invoice yesterday, I couldn’t help but notice the alarming increase in prices compared to January.”
Frank shifted from foot to foot and scratched his head again.
“I didn’t want to jump to any wrong conclusions, so I called over to Constance at Serenity Cove. They use one of your main competitors and didn’t experience a single increase in prices last month.”
She narrowed her eyes at him but kept the same tone of voice. “Now, it seems to me I have two choices here. I can either change to Central Seafood Supply to receive their lower prices—”
Walker’s eyes became enormous, and he held both hands out to her, taking a breath to speak.
“Or—” Hope hardened her voice and tore up the invoice in her hands, taking several steps toward him. “You can correct this . . . erroneous invoice and submit a new one to me, this time with the right prices. Which would you prefer, Mr. Walker?”
“I’m so sorry, ma’am!” He took deep, panicky breaths. “I’ve got a new person doin’ my invoices. She musta screwed up. I’ll get you the correct invoice right away. I promise it won’t happen again!”
A new person screwed up. Right.
Hope stopped in front of him and glared. “I appreciate that, Mr. Walker. I may be new to the island, but I’m not new to this business. You would do well to remember that.” She nodded to him. “Have a good day now.”
* * *
Hope and Patti sat in companionable silence late the following morning, both working, though Patti had been furious when Hope had told her about the incident with the fishmonger.
