“I know. You’re right.” Timothy nodded emphatically. “I’ve been giving the story to the newspapers in the best light possible. You know, playing up the fact that nobody in the restaurant was involved, et cetera. Just explaining that it was in no way connected with Essence. I don’t know what else to do. But the police have been all over everyone at the restaurant trying to find out if the murderer worked there . . .”
“Well, first of all, the police have been all over Magellan, too, trying to make it out like someone on our staff was out to get you and your new restaurant. Which is bull, since everyone there knows you from before and loves you. And obviously Eric’s parents aren’t worried, or they wouldn’t have had us all here. So the police investigation will run its course and be over soon. And if you ask me, Eric’s murder isn’t restaurant related. I think it’s personal. We all know that Eric was an annoying little snot who happened to have a lot of money. Someone in his life probably got fed up with his bullshit and got rid of him.”
Tim started to protest, but Maddie stopped him. “Don’t say it. Realistically, people get murdered for money all the time. More importantly, Tim, you should have pushed the Raffertys to let you do the food here. I mean, I was happy to do it, but you have to use every opportunity possible to promote yourself. It may seem callous, but you know as well as I do how this business is. You have to fight tooth and nail for every customer. Don’t let this murder send you into a downward spiral. You’ll be okay.” Madeline leaned over and gave her ex-husband an enormous hug. “Essence can make it. It can.”
“Thanks, Maddie. You’re right, you’re right. I’m going to do some serious work on promotion,” Tim agreed.
“Good. Call me this week. Maybe we can get together and pound out some ideas?”
“Definitely. Oh, there’s Phil and Sheryl. I’m going to go talk to them. I’ll see you two ladies later?”
Two drinks, one mini fruit tart with gooseberries and citrus cream, and one mini fried-banana cheesecake later—and no further Josh sightings—and I was ready to call it quits. After a few more uncomfortable encounters with Eric’s parents, I’d run out of patience with the bereaved-girlfriend act. Madeline rescued me.
“Sheryl. Phil. I think it’s time for Chloe to go home. She must be as tired as you both are, and she needs to get some rest. I’ll make sure she gets home safely.” With an Oscar-caliber look of sincerity, she whisked me toward the kitchen so swiftly that I barely had time to say good-bye. Bless her.
“Josh?” She called out into the kitchen.
Although thrilled that Josh was walking over to us, I did stop to take notice of the immense kitchen, which was equipped with stainless-steel Viking appliances, granite counters, and ceramic floors. There were five or six people working there, most of them beginning the monumental task of cleaning up. I wondered who was left at the restaurant.
Madeline the matchmaker spoke to my new favorite chef. “Josh, can you please take this poor girl out of here? One more minute with Eric’s parents, and I think she’s going to slit her throat. Sorry, bad choice of words. But it looks like you’re in good shape here, and the rest of the crew can finish up.”
Embarrassed to be foisted off on Josh, I said, “It’s okay. I can call a cab. Don’t worry about it—you don’t have to drive me.” Please want to drive me, please want to drive me! Josh looked so adorable, all sweaty from the kitchen, hair tousled, jacket spatted with grease and covered in food stains . . .
Josh spoke up eagerly, “You’re not taking a cab. I’ll drive you home.” He put a hand on my shoulder, and I almost fainted. “Maddie, everything should be under control here. And Duff and Brian are chefing tonight for you. I talked to Brian earlier, and he’s all good, so no worries there. These guys’ll be done soon and back at the restaurant in time for dinner. We prepped everything last night, so they’re in good shape.” He looked back at me, “I just have to grab my toolbox, and we’ll go. And, Maddie, I’ll see you Monday.” I didn’t know chefs had toolboxes, but I would’ve waited all night for a ride home from him.
I said good-bye to Madeline and in an undertone thanked her for heroically saving me from the Raffertys’ clutches. In an overly dramatic voice she called after us, “Have fun, kids! Don’t be out too late! Drive safe! Fasten your seat belts!” She giggled and whirled back around.
I followed Josh out through the kitchen door to his car, the Xterra I’d seen in the driveway. Following Maddie’s instructions, I buckled my seat belt and gave Josh directions to my condo. I felt way too giddy for someone leaving a memorial service, but I was riding in a cool car with a cool boy. Yay me!
“I didn’t know chefs carried toolboxes. What do you keep in it?” I asked.
“Oh, I use it to carry around my knives and other kitchen tools. And top secret recipes,” he teased.
Josh and I talked during the short ride home. He was just as captivating as I’d hoped. I said nothing about leaving my car near the funeral home. If he dropped me there, how could I invite him in? And from what I’d gathered, he was off work for the rest of the day. I had him pull into my parking spot at home.
“Thank you for the ride. I hope it wasn’t too much out of your way?”
“No, not at all. My pleasure.”
“Where do you live?” I asked.
“Over in Jamaica Plain.” This was totally out of his way!
Time to be brave. “Listen, do you want to come up for a while?” I asked.
“Yeah, sure. Um, but listen.” Josh shifted in his seat, and I braced myself for the inevitable: He has a girlfriend. He thinks I’m a dork. “I feel uncomfortable saying this, but I should probably tell you that the police have been questioning me about Eric’s murder. And, well . . . at the moment, I’m their prime suspect.”
Oh, crap.
NINE
“DETECTIVE Hurley thinks you killed Eric?” I was in disbelief. I finally find a seemingly normal, attractive man who cooks, and he’s a murder suspect? This would not do at all.
“He’s not ready to haul me off to jail just yet, but he questioned me for a long time about where I was on Sunday night, which I had off. He seems to think that I could’ve been trying to sabotage Essence by killing off one of their investors. I’m as competitive as the next guy but not that competitive.” Josh looked simultaneously depressed and annoyed at the thought of being a suspect. “Um, and, well, the knife used to kill Eric was mine. But anybody could have gotten hold of it. It was in my toolbox that I keep all my knives and stuff in, and I just leave it open in the office at Magellan.”
Although Josh’s owning a knife used as a murder weapon wasn’t necessarily a good sign, I decided that my newly acquired social work credentials provided me with excellent insight into the human personality and that I was amply qualified to determine that Josh was indubitably innocent. In other words, Josh was way too cute to be a killer.
“Okay,” I said, “but if the detective thinks there’s competition between Magellan and Essence, why isn’t he questioning Madeline? I mean, she owns Magellan, so I’d think she has more to lose if Essence does better than Magellan.” I liked Madeline and all, but she wasn’t the one making me all sweaty with lust.
“The detective has talked to her, but it’s pretty obvious to everybody how well she and Tim get along and how much help she’s given him starting up his new place. There’s no evidence to show she’d want anything bad to happen to Tim. Plus, she was at Magellan that night with plenty of witnesses. And it’s true that they get along. I know both of them, and I know Maddie would never hurt Tim. Much less murder anybody, that’s for sure.”
I tried to smile reassuringly at Josh. “Well, I’m not worried you’re going to hack me to death if you come inside. Why don’t you come up and tell me the rest.”
Josh returned my smile and took the keys out of the ignition. I led him up the side of the house, deliberately stomping past Noah’s door and up the fire escape to my condo. Josh sat down on the couch while I went to the kitchen to get some
thing to drink.
“Hey, this is a great place,” Josh said, looking around. “I love the colors in here.”
“Thanks, I just repainted. I have a bit of a painting disorder, actually. I keep repainting everything and then a few months later change my mind and redo it. It’s a decorating illness, and I expect you to refrain from making fun of me.” I heard Josh laugh in the other room while I rummaged in the fridge for something to drink. “Josh, I have water or milk. I’m sorry, I don’t seem to have anything else.”
“Any chance you have any coffee? I’m sort of beat from today.”
“Um, possibly. I’ll give it a try,” I muttered. I set the coffeemaker up and went back to sit next to Josh. I was all tingly again, seated in my place beside this chef. His chef’s coat was full of cooking smells, and although most people would have said that he stank to high heaven, I thought he smelled delicious.
Josh must have caught me sniffing. Suddenly, he looked embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m sure I reek from being in the kitchen all day. I’m going to go grab a change of clothes from the car and just freshen up.”
“No, no! I’m sorry. You do smell. I mean, not in a bad way. I like it, really.” Wonderful, now I’ve told him he smells.
“You’re funny and very nice, but I’m still going to change.”
Josh left to get a change of clothes, returned, and disappeared into the bathroom. As I was pouring us some coffee, I heard Josh talking. “Hello, how are you?” he said. “You’re cute. You and I are going to be friends.”
He thinks I’m cute? And we’re going to be friends? Hmm . . .
“Are you talking to me?” I called out.
“No, I’m talking to this cat sleeping in your sink.”
“Oh, that’s Gato,” I said, relieved that Josh wasn’t defining our relationship as destined to be purely platonic. “He sleeps in the sink all the time. Just push him out of the way.”
I heard a meow, a long apology from Josh, and then the water running.
Josh talked from behind the closed bathroom door. “So you and Eric ate at Essence when you went out, huh? What did you think? Aside from the murder, obviously. But what did you think of the food?” He emerged, hair and face slightly wet, wearing worn jeans and a red T-shirt, and looking more scrumptious by the minute.
“Well,” I said as I walked back to the couch with two mugs, “the menu looked phenomenal, but some of the food wasn’t all that great. I feel bad saying that because Timothy seems like such a nice person, but a couple of the dishes we had were pretty awful.”
“Really?” he said. “What did you guys order?”
“Some stuff off the menu, but also food Garrett did as specials for us. So we had some soggy oysters, mealy foie gras ravioli, and a terrible tuna with mustard greens. But the lobster and venison we had were wonderful.”
“Yeah. Garrett is an all right chef. Great sous chef material, but probably not cut out for an executive chef job yet. Or maybe ever, if you ask me. My own sous chef, Brian, he’s eventually going to be a great executive chef. Right now he isn’t near being ready to handle his own place. I mean, he’s only twenty-one. But he’s hardworking and definitely ambitious. He just needs more experience.” Josh settled himself on the couch and turned his body to face mine.
“Do you know Garrett well?” I asked.
“Yeah, actually Garrett and I went to culinary school together, and I wouldn’t exactly say we’re the best of friends. I don’t mind him, but he doesn’t like me much. Not to sound cocky, but we’re both pretty competitive, and I was always a better chef than he was. He’s good, don’t get me wrong, but he pretty much hated me because he knew I could outcook him anytime. There are plenty of other chefs just as good as Garrett, and he knew it. But he knew I was in a different league, and he resented it. And still does.”
“He did look pretty harried the night I was at Essence, and the food was certainly not spectacular.”
“He was a strong sous chef, but I don’t think he’s good enough to make Essence anything special. See, my guy, Brian, is different. He can cook. And I show him exactly how to make all the dishes, which is helping him a lot. But he’s still trying to learn all the other parts of being a chef and managing a kitchen. Brian fell to pieces when I was off last Sunday, but I can still tell that he learned from what went wrong and that eventually he’ll be ready. He tends to be sort of accident prone, and when he gets nervous, like when I’m not there, it gets worse. He dropped a vat of veal stock all over the floor and made a mess.”
Josh stretched his arms above his head. “But it’s a drag, because now whenever I’m off, I’m worried about what’s going on in the kitchen at Magellan and whether or not Brian’s managing things okay. Most nights he does fine, but like, tonight, since I’m off, I’ll probably call there a few times to check in and see if he’s got questions for me. I’m not usually ever off on a Saturday night, but Maddie wanted me to have a break after working all day for the funeral.”
“I don’t know why Tim had all that much confidence in Garrett as a chef,” I said. “I mean, enough confidence in him to give him the job. First Tim hired Garrett, then, from what I heard, Tim had you help Garrett with the menu.” I paused. “Oh God! I’m sorry. I just said the food at Essence was terrible! And you helped Garrett—” Now he was going to run away for sure.
“No, that wasn’t me cooking, so don’t feel bad,” Josh assured me. “But, yeah, I did sit down with him and write up the menu.”
“Why would Tim hire him if he can’t even write his own menu?”
“Well, Tim doesn’t have to pay him that much because Garrett doesn’t have much experience. Tim works him seventy hours a week and probably doesn’t even give him health insurance or any other benefits. You get what you pay for sometimes. Garrett’s not a bad guy, though, he’s just a little bitter about the fact that we went to school at the same time and that I’m in the position I’m in, and he’s struggling where he is.”
“So you helped out Essence? That was generous of you.”
“Maybe . . . see, I like Tim, but I was a little irritated about it, because for one thing, I have enough to do at Magellan, but mostly because chefs don’t like sharing their recipes. The detective was right when he asked me about the competition between Magellan and Essence. On the one hand, I like Tim and want him to do well, but on the other hand, I don’t want him to do that well. The truth is that there’s only so much room for top restaurants in one city, and I’m only so interested in helping out the competition.”
“But the menu at Essence looked great, so you must have helped Garrett out quite a bit?” I didn’t understand how the chef who created today’s food could have been responsible for some of the disasters I’d eaten at Essence.
“Sort of. He had some okay ideas, but his dishes were very simple. Not the kind of high-end food Tim wanted to serve. I helped him come up with the concept for the dishes, but I let him figure out how to make everything. I’m betting that’s where the problem is—he’s been trying to cook my dishes, and he’s screwing them up because he’s frankly just not that talented.”
He sighed and continued, “So, like I said, I basically screwed him over.” Josh looked down. “Like, he wanted to do my fennel and orange side, so I basically just gave him the general idea of how to make it. But I didn’t tell him all the ingredients, and I definitely didn’t give him step-by-step instructions. I know for a fact that instead of using fresh orange slices and fresh juice, he uses canned Mandarin oranges, which totally changes the quality of the dish. And I shave my fennel, and Garrett just chops it—which means the fennel doesn’t absorb the flavor in the same way. So,” Josh admitted, “I screwed him over.”
“It’s like if you told me all the ingredients in a beef stew, but didn’t tell me exactly how to make it? Instead of roughly chopping the vegetables into big chunks, I might finely mince up the carrots and potatoes, which would make for a sort of disgusting stew, right?”
“Exactly. Tim probably would�
��ve done better to let Garrett do his own simple food rather than try to cook something beyond him.”
I was starting to see the detective’s point. “So you intentionally set him up to fail? And is that what Detective Hurley thinks?”
“I probably did without realizing it. I went in there with good intentions, but Garrett copped such an attitude with me the day I showed up to help him that I guess I wrote up items I knew were mine, items I was the only one who could do just right. He was being such a dirtbag. It was just like we were in school all over again. He kept acting like he didn’t need my help and kept walking away in the middle of talking to me. I know this doesn’t make me sound like the greatest guy in the world, but he pissed me off, and that’s what happened.” He paused. “But if Madeline brought in another chef to help me do my dishes, I’d probably be an asshole, too. Garrett was probably embarrassed and just took it out on me. But it sounds like he pulled off a couple of the dishes, which is better than I thought he could do.” Josh smiled sheepishly.
Steamed Page 11
