Something was up. Something no one had shared with her. Not that she could do much about it, other than feed more dishes through Hobart. Without thinking, she used her arm to wipe sweat from her forehead, forgetting that hot sauce and ketchup were smeared on that particular arm.

“Careful, there. You don’t want it to end up in your eyes,” Laila, the most senior of Depot Brewing’s servers, said as she made room for another tub of dishes. The silver-haired woman pulled a clean napkin from her server’s apron, and handed it to Kate.

Kate wiped her forehead. “Thanks.”

“I’ve been in this business a lot of years,” Laila said. “Worked most everyplace in town, too.”

Kate nodded. She’d seen Laila’s plump and smiling face in an old staff photo behind the bar at Bagger’s, right next to Harley Bagger’s vintage lighter fy”age ligcollection.

Laila adjusted her apron and patted Kate on the shoulder. “Over the years, I’ve collected some nuggets of wisdom, and I’d like to share three with you.”

Kate brightened, despite the fact she probably still looked like an accident victim. “Really? What?”

“First, don’t go anywhere with empty hands. There’s always something that needs tending.”

“Okay.”

“Second, comfortable shoes are a must.”

Kate looked down at her food-speckled, white leather sneakers. “Got that covered. What’s the third?”

Laila grinned. “How about we let you stew on that until you get caught up?”

Yup, Kate smelled something, and it wasn’t just the hot sauce she’d been wearing. The scent was that of a rookie dishwasher being roasted. But she could appreciate a little gamesmanship as much as the next girl. And when inspired, she could engage in some, too.

THE CLOCK on the wall opposite Kate inched its way to three P.M., one hour before her quitting time. The kitchen’s rhythm had slowed from its earlier frantic beat to a busy yet congenial hum. The line cooks cracked jokes and laughed with one another. The servers took brief breaks, chugging soft drinks and counting their tip money. And Kate finally caught up.