Read Spoiled Rotten for Free Online Page A

second thought, I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. I’d try begging on my hands and knees first.
    Similar to the Rogers Centre, the myriad doors, tunnels, and ramps making up the hall were a labyrinth of confusion. I never go to the washroom during a baseball game. I missed a whole inning once trying to find my way back to my seat. I thought I was lost when a door opened beyond me and I heard the distinct whoosh ing sound of a commercial dishwasher. This was likely an exterior work area where the dishes would be circulated and garbage hauled up those long ramps out to the recycling bins.
    I got a whiff of grilled red peppers with a hint of rosemary thrown in, or someone was smoking marijuana: the two odours smell remarkably the same to me. The kitchens were definitely here. The door locked shut before I could get to it, but I was confident there would be more doors up ahead. I hoped Daniel was behind one of them. Rounding the bend in the hall, I bumped into a gigantic security guard. He wore a black uniform and a high-tech head set.
    â€œSorry, miss, this area is closed.”
    â€œHi, I own Walker’s Way Bistro and was hoping to have a few words with my chef. He’s helping with the event and I’d like to speak to him for a second.”
    â€œWhat’s his name?”
    â€œDaniel Chapin.”
    His eyes grew wary. He spoke into a black-tipped metal tube, the thickness of a pencil, which ran from his mouth to his ear and consulted a list of names on a clipboard. His hand was pressed to his ear, obviously listening to a response from the other end. I thought he was stalling, but when he looked up, he seemed relieved.
    â€œChapin doesn’t work here anymore.” Seeing my surprise, he added, “He quit, I guess.” Having exhausted his quota of chit-chat for the moment, or perhaps the decade, the guard spun his massive bulk around as daintily as a ballerina and swiftly retreated into the nether regions from which he appeared.
    My stomach rumbled and I realized with all the driving around searching for Daniel, I had missed lunch. I was hungry and longing for a glass of our newly listed Zinfandel wine. Imagining the velvety rope of ruby-red liquid wrapping sumptuously round my tongue, I smacked my lips and thought about heading back to Walker’s for lunch. I’ve been eating in my own restaurant for over a decade and can’t say I’m bored with the concept yet. I can order anything I want from the menu and if I don’t see anything I like, I ask the chef to make me something special. Then I remembered Rick was cooking today and decided a glass of wine and a salad from the cold kitchen would suffice.
    I got lost down another corridor and was about to retrace my steps when I heard a phone ringing. Another door swung open and I heard talking.
    â€œI am not going to be held responsible. This was your grand scheme and I will not be part of it.”
    The voice was hoarse, strained, and loud. It sounded like Daniel, but I couldn’t be sure.
    I raced toward the voice. Suddenly, the hallway was filled with light from three overhead spots, and, not wanting to be caught snooping, I bent over a water fountain attached to the wall, pretending to get a drink. Like a fawn, I innocently sipped at the bubbling water until a blow of searing pain shot straight through the back of my head and raced to my knees. For one brief second I watched a candy cane of blood swirl around the white enamel basin and down the drain until my hand slipped off the handle.
    When I woke up, I was sitting in a dentist chair with the grim Winn at my side. My head felt heavy and my mouth was all twisted. I tried speaking, but a nurse stuck a suction tube on my tongue to collect a bucket of drool. Winn saw my eyes open and came to my side. The doctor removed the bib and helped me sit up.
    â€œWell, Mrs. Walker, the light sedation I gave you while I examined your wound is wearing off. You’re at St.