Like me, Ade and Owen lived on the top floor of a house. Trudging up the stairs to their place, I once again lamented the steepness of the steps my friends would have to manage with a baby. Now, while she was pregnant, Ade needed to stop for a break when she climbed the stairs, but once she had a baby or toddler in her arms, the staircase would become perilous. At least the apartment looked attractive. It was minuscule but charming, with hardwood floors and original molding around the doors and windows.
I knocked on the door while simultaneously opening it and announcing my arrival. “Ade?”
The heavenly smell in the apartment made me suspect that Adrianna was once again cooking. Now that Ade had stopped work, she was doing the whole nesting thing: she spent most of her time organizing and reorganizing the apartment, baking decadent cakes with elaborate icing, and putting together scrapbooks using strange craft tools I’d never seen before.
“Hi, Chloe. Come in,” my friend called.
I stepped into the hallway and into the bright living room-kitchen area. All I could see of Adrianna was her backside popping out from the open door of the refrigerator. “Yeah, I know. I’m cooking again. But wait until you see what we’re having.”
“No complaints from me,” I said happily, peering into a pot on the stove. “What are you making?”
“I already baked a coffee cake, and now I’m starting the artichoke and spinach eggs Benedict with a spicy hollandaise sauce on croissants. And potatoes with rosemary, onion, and garlic. It’s going to be bang-up.” Ade emerged from the depths of the fridge, her arms loaded with half its contents. Her blonde hair cascaded down her back in soft curls. Even hugely pregnant, she was stunning. Her face was bare of makeup, and she wore black stretch pants and an oversized tank top over a sports bra, but she still looked better than anyone else I knew.
“Look at you!” I practically squealed. “You’ve become so domestic and cute!” The change in Adrianna was incredible. The prepregnant Adrianna never appeared in front of anyone without makeup. As for cooking, she’d been the queen of takeout—high-end takeout, admittedly, but take-out nonetheless. Not that I objected: a warm, comforting meal was just what I needed to soothe my nerves.
“Shut up. I’m not domestic, and I’m certainly not cute. Have you seen my feet?” She kicked a leg out for my viewing pleasure. “I mean, I haven’t seen my feet in weeks, but I imagine they are monstrous, swollen blobs. Grab a mixing bowl for me, will you?”
I complied and then helped her to mix spinach, artichoke hearts, mayonnaise, sour cream, garlic, mozzarella, and Parmesan cheese. She poured the concoction into a ceramic baking dish that I popped into the oven. While the oven door was open, I got a glimpse of the aromatic potatoes that were crisping beautifully.
“Now the hollandaise sauce,” she said.
I watched in awe as Adrianna heated a double boiler and began melting butter. This from a woman who adored food as much as I did but who, until now, had had zero cooking skills!
“Here, separate the eggs for me.” She pushed the carton toward me.
“Yes, ma’am!” I dutifully began cracking eggs, separating yolks and whites, and tossing the shells into the sink.
“Oh, so I want to hear about Josh’s filming yesterday, but get this,” Adrianna began as she cut a lemon for the sauce. “Owen called me earlier and said that someone from the Department of Public Health went into Natural High and Evan’s cheese shop first thing this morning to investigate a serious case of food poisoning. How gross is that?”
“Oh, God, really?” When I turned from the sink to look at Ade, I broke the yolk from the egg I was trying to separate. “Well, I can’t say the filming went smoothly.” Gross understatement.
“Why? What happened? Josh didn’t panic and burn everything, did he?”
I handed Ade the bowl of egg yolks and watched as she mixed them with an electric beater. “No,” I yelled over the din, “he didn’t do anything wrong. But the guest’s wife died during dessert.”
“She cried? His food was that bad? Screw her. Who cries over a dessert?”
“Died, Adrianna! Died!” My loud voice filled the room when Ade abruptly turned off the mixer.
“Someone died eating Josh’s food? I guess she did get screwed.” She started adding small portions of the egg to the melted butter and lemon. “Did she have a heart attack or something?”
“No, I wish,” I answered. “Not that I wish she’d had a heart attack! It’s just that . . . that the situation is complicated.”
I told Adrianna all about yesterday’s events as she finished making the hollandaise, which was now spiked with hot sauce, and began to poach four eggs. “Francie died while I was with her. She looked horrible, Ade. She was so sick. And it happened so fast. Right in front of me.” My stomach clenched in knots, and I tossed my head as if trying to shake out the image of Francie dying on the floor of that filthy bathroom. “Ade, I have to know what happened to her! I was right there, and I couldn’t do anything to help her. I didn’t do anything.”
I was ashamed of not having made some sort of heroic effort to revive Francie. At a crucial time, I had completely frozen; in the worst possible way, I had let Francie down. The ugly thought came to me that since I’d done it once, I might do it again. I was Adrianna’s backup birth coach! What if Owen was unreachable when Ade went into labor? And I was the only person she had to depend on? Owen’s fish truck could break down, his cell could be out, and I would be Adrianna’s sole support. Some help I’d be! To judge from my reaction to Francie’s crisis, if Adrianna relied on me to help her through labor, I’d stare dumbly while she pushed a human being out of her body. I had to get it together! There was no way I was going to fail my best friend.
“Chloe, it doesn’t sound like there was anything to do. She was obviously incredibly sick. Whatever killed her, killed her very quickly. I can’t imagine anyone could have saved her.” Ade ladled the eggs from the simmering water and began assembling our plates. She scooped the melted artichoke and spinach mixture onto the croissants and placed an egg and hollandaise sauce on top of each. “So you think it was food poisoning? That’s why the health department wanted to talk to the stores where the food came from?”
We carried our plates to the coffee table in the living room, which also served as the dining room. “I guess,” I said. “I don’t know what else to think. The police were there, and they didn’t . . . well, they didn’t do much of anything.” Although I couldn’t entirely dismiss Josh’s speculation about Evan and Willie, I avoided telling Adrianna that her fiancé’s brothers might have perpetrated a prank with a very unfunny outcome. “Now that I’m saying it out loud, it does seem weird that the police just assumed it was food poisoning and didn’t want to investigate any other possibilities. Even Josh and I wondered for a minute whether Francie had been poisoned. Whether all of us had been poisoned, really.” In spite of the unappetizing topic of conversation, I was still able to savor Ade’s cooking. The delicious eggs were exactly the comfort food I needed.
“I bet I know,” Ade said as she stuffed her mouth full of the outstanding if unorthodox Benedict. “Look at the neighborhood you were in. Who the heck gets killed in a wealthy upper-class town like Fairfield? Plus, when the cops showed up, most of you were sick to some degree. I watch cop shows, you know, and it’s the job of the first police officer on a scene to determine if it’s a crime or not. At first glance, it definitely looks like food poisoning, so I guess he felt he had no reason to think of it any other way. See, the good thing about being pregnant and slothlike is that I’ve been reading tons of mysteries and watching TV. It’s paid off, don’t you think? So who would want that poor Francie dead?”
“I have no idea. I don’t know anything about her. But after watching what she went through as she died, I want to know what killed her. Or who killed her. No one should have to die like that.” I shuddered. “What else did Owen say?”
“He said he talked to Willie, and Willie told him that everyone at the
store was furious because, of course, no one wants to be blamed for selling nasty food, right? What business wants that kind of notoriety? I guess they had to yank a bunch of stuff from the shelves, and it’s causing a big stir there. If I walked into an expensive market and saw employees pulling tons of food, I’d turn around and walk out. And Evan is closed for the day, now, and since it’s his store, he’s losing money while they check out everything he’s selling. A reputation for selling deadly food could destroy his business.”
I took a deep breath and blew it out. “Let’s change the subject,” I said with as much cheer as I could muster. “Let’s talk about the wedding.”
“Chloe, you’re traumatized and depressed.” Adrianna said matter-of-factly. “I’m sorry you and Josh had to go through all of this. Let me take care of you.” Ade picked up a piece of croissant and wiped the plate with it before popping the last bite in her mouth. “The best route to feeling good is looking good. So I’m going to do your hair. A run-through for the wedding, okay?” She stood up as gracefully as she could. “I need the practice so I don’t lose my touch before I have to do my own hair. I’ll do your hair the way I’m going to do mine. So try to look like me.”
I almost shoved a couch pillow under my shirt but didn’t want to risk one of Ade’s mood swings. I cleaned up the kitchen and helped myself to some freshly baked coffee cake while Adrianna gathered her styling tools. Although the temperature in the little apartment felt comfortable to me, Ade decided that the thermometer that read a mere seventy-two degrees was horrendously inaccurate, so she cranked up the air conditioner while I huddled under a blanket. “Besides, the AC will dry out the air in here and make for better hair,” she insisted. “Now, go stick your head in the sink and then sit in front of me. And this reminds me. Tell your mother I’m doing her hair, too. I don’t want to take the risk that she might stick something weird in it. Seriously, I love Bethany to pieces, but I really don’t want her wearing one of her craft projects on top of her head.”
This wedding had become a Carter family affair. I was performing the ceremony, my mother was to be Adrianna’s matron of honor, and my father was walking the bride down the aisle. Josh was doing double duty. Besides serving as Owen’s best man, he was catering the reception. Digger was going to help in the kitchen, but I had no idea how Josh was going to coordinate the food preparation while simultaneously being a member of the wedding.
We watched Veronica Mars on DVD while Ade began blowing out my hair. “Oh, ick, Chloe! Look at your roots!” My highlights had grown out enough to horrify the bride-to-be. Consequently, after my hair was thoroughly dry, she started covering my head with foils and lightener. “And you need a trim. Your hair has got no shape left in it.”
I resigned myself to sitting in one spot for the next few hours while Adrianna brought my hair up to her wedding standards. After toying with a variety of complicated updos involving curls and twists pinned to my scalp, Adrianna decided on a looser, more flowing style with gently shaped curls that would work beautifully with her simple veil. When the predicted hours had finally passed and I was finally allowed to look in the mirror, I was speechless. I’d almost forgotten about the veil affixed to my head. I’d never before worn a veil, and I have to say that all of a sudden, I was a princess! I was about to start twirling when Ade saw me wide-eyed in the mirror. “Don’t get all dopey on me now. Let’s get through my wedding first. You look like a lovesick puppy.”
“It’s just so fun to wear a veil. There’s really no good excuse for wearing a veil except for when you’re a bride, so let me enjoy myself for two minutes. Please?” I was so not taking off the veil. A short headband piece that had been wrapped in bright white material was affixed to the top of my head, and sheer layers of fabric fell to just below my shoulders. I looked at my reflection and imagined myself traipsing down the aisle, headed toward wedded bliss with my chef.
“All right,” she agreed. “But don’t get anything on it.”
I crossed my heart with my finger. “Promise. Hey, I’m going into Simmer for dinner tonight. You want to come?” I leapt up and down the narrow hall, letting the veil fly out behind me, while Adrianna shook her head at my lunacy.
“No, thanks. Owen is going to be home soon, and I want to take a nap, and then we’re finally going to put the crib together.”
The baby’s room was actually a walk-in closet with a window and a radiator. Once a crib was in there, it would occupy so much space that there might not be room for an adult to stand. To get the kid into the crib, Adrianna and Owen would be able to open the door and toss the baby in. But how would they ever get the baby out?
“Come here,” Adrianna said. “Let me do your makeup, too, and then you’ll really knock Josh’s socks off tonight.”
I reluctantly let Ade remove the veil. By the time she’d painted my face with M•A•C cosmetics, I was ready for this in-home salon to close. I hugged her good-bye, thanked her for the spectacular job she’d done on my hair, and rubbed her belly.
I went home and admired my newly blonde-streaked hair in my own mirror. My scruffy clothes looked silly with my fancy hair and makeup, but I didn’t care. Adrianna had certainly cheered me up and distracted me from dwelling on Francie. And tonight I would see Josh! I tried to take a short nap, but visions of Francie danced unpleasantly in my head. The ringing of the phone rescued me from the atrocious images. Caller ID showed my favorite number.
“Hi, Josh,” I said happily into the phone. “How’s it going there?”
“Good. Good,” he answered. “Um, how are you?”
“You know, as well as can be expected after yesterday.”
“So . . . what else is going on? You know . . . you doing anything?” Josh sounded strange.
“No,” I answered hesitantly. “Josh, is something up?”
“What? Oh, no. It’s just, um, do you want a cat?”
“A cat? No, not really. I already have Gato. Why? Do you know someone giving away a cat?”
“Sort of. Yeah. This guy is giving away this Persian cat, and . . .” Josh’s voice trailed off.
“Spit it out, Josh.”
Josh coughed. “When I went out to get a coffee on my break, I walked past this guy outside the T station who was stopping people and asking them if they wanted a cat. He stopped me, too. He said he just broke up with his girlfriend and moved, and he didn’t want the cat anymore, so he was trying to give it away.”
“Josh, I’m sure someone will take it. Especially a Persian. Or he’ll take it to a shelter.”
“Maybe,” Josh said skeptically.
“Josh?”
“Yeah?”
“Josh, did you take the cat?”
There was a long, long pause. “Yeah.”
I sighed. As much to myself as to Josh, I said, “You took the cat.” Turning practical, I asked, “Where are you? You didn’t bring it into the restaurant, did you?”
“No, I’m sitting in my car behind Simmer, and it’s in a cat carrier next to me.”
“Oh, my God.” Josh was hardly ever at his own apartment. He certainly wasn’t there enough to take care of another living creature. In other words, I knew whose cat this was going to be.
“Chloe, I asked the guy what he was going to do with the cat if nobody took it, and he said he was going to throw it in the river! The Charles River is only a few blocks from here, and I think he was serious.” Josh was talking a mile a minute now. “He was a totally normal-looking guy, too, which was weird, but he said it was his ex-girlfriend’s cat, and they broke up, and he didn’t want to deal with it, and so I took it. Her, actually. She’s a girl. And she is so beautiful. She’s got white fur and orange ears, and she’s just sitting here looking at me, and I feel so bad for her.”
I was momentarily torn. On the one hand, I was irritated with Josh for taking in this strange cat that would end up with me. On the other hand, I felt overwhelmed with appreciation of how sweet and adorable my boyfriend was. How many men would even have stopped
to listen to some idiot on the street trying to give away a cat? And Josh hadn’t just listened but had gone on to rescue the cat from her heartless owner.
“Do you know how old she is? Has she been to the vet?” I asked.
“He said she’s not even a year old. And I don’t know if she’s been to the vet, but I sort of doubt it. Her fur is all matted, Chloe, and she looks so scared and sad. I had to take her.”
I smiled. “Of course you did. Should I come get her?”
“I guess I could take her to a shelter if you don’t want—”
“No!” I cut him off. “We are not taking her to a shelter. Do you know how overcrowded those places are? Who knows what would happen to her! I’ll come get her.”
I was suddenly excited. In the wake of Francie’s death, I suddenly had a new pet, a rescued cat to smother with love. I kissed my quirky black cat, Gato, and did my best to explain to him what was about to happen. “Now listen, mister. Someone is moving in with us, and you’re not going to like her right away. I accept that. But I expect you to be on your best behavior nonetheless.”
Gato rubbed his head against my cheek, swatted my hair, and then ran off. Maybe a feline companion was just what he needed.
NINE
Fed Up Page 7
