Cook the Books (7 page)

“No, thank you. Um, Ellie . . .”

I stared at the young woman, who looked perky and chipper and incredibly voluptuous—big hair and big boobs. Her bouncy chestnut hair fell just below her shoulders, and her crisp clothes hugged her shapely curves.

I said, “You need to sit down.” I nodded at the cream love seat by the fireplace.

“I knew something happened! Don’t tell me Digger blew off Hank Boucher, of all people!” Ellie sat neatly on the cushion and crossed her legs. “If Digger would just listen to me, then he would have his own line of cookware by now. What am I going to do with him?”

“Ellie, there’s been . . . I have something terrible to tell you. There is no easy way to say this, but . . .” I simply couldn’t get the words out. I stared at her dark red lips, momentarily entranced by the thick layer of lipstick. “Last night . . . Digger . . .”

Ellie’s face darkened as she listened to me struggle. “What is it? What is it?” Panic crept into her voice.

I had to spit it out. “There was a horrible fire at Digger’s place last night. He died. No one has confirmed it yet, but I know that it was a chef who lived on the first floor of his building. It’s obviously him.”

Ellie threw her hands over her face and held still. Feeling hopelessly inadequate, I waited for her to fall apart. Her shoulders began to tremble, and tears soon leaked from behind her hands as she moaned and sobbed. I moved to sit next to her. Resting my hand on her back, I said, “I’m terribly sorry.” I wiped my own cheeks. “This is such a tremendous shock. I can hardly believe it myself. I don’t know what to say.”

Ellie finally dropped her hands from her face. She looked positively heartbroken and miserable. Having no idea what to say, I reached out and wiped the mess of black mascara that ran down her face.

“How could this have happened?” she asked. “Why? And he was just about to really make something of himself. He was finally going to have his talent recognized! It’s not fair! Do you have any idea what the competition for this new job was like? He was so proud of himself for beating out the other chefs. Rightfully so, too, because he was up against some very good chefs. This just isn’t right!” She dropped her head, crying hard.

I snatched a handful of tissues from an end table and handed her the pile. “Can I call someone for you?” Ellie, I thought, needed the presence of someone she was close to, a friend or a family member, not the stranger who had delivered the devastating news.

“Georgie,” she said through her tears. “Call Georgie. My phone . . .” She pointed to a purse that sat by the front door.

I scrambled for her purse and found her cell phone. A quick scroll down through her contacts, past a list of numbers for Digger, revealed Georgie. I called the number and was relieved when Georgie answered immediately. I explained who I was and asked her to come to Ellie’s as soon as possible. Although I didn’t tell her about Digger, she must have caught the gravity of my request, because she assured me that she’d be right over. As we waited, I did what I could to comfort Ellie. My ineffectual efforts consisted mainly of emptying the box of tissues and murmuring words of condolence until the front door finally burst open.

“What’s wrong?” A tall, thin waif of a woman stood in front of us, her short blonde hair tucked behind her ears. “Ellie?” she asked with concern as she knelt in front of her friend.

“Digger is dead,” Ellie managed to whisper. “There was a fire and he’s dead!” More tears followed, of course, and more tissues.

Georgie’s already fair skin paled as she crumpled to the floor, holding herself up with her hands. “Oh my God. No! No!” She burst into choked sobs. “Oh, Digger! No!”

I shut my eyes for a moment. The grief was so painful to witness that I knew I’d be unable to hold myself together much longer. At least Ellie had a friend here who was compassionate and empathic, I told myself. Indeed, Georgie seemed to share her friend’s sorrow almost too much, but at least Ellie now had the support of someone she knew and trusted.

Georgie looked up at me from the floor. “Chloe?” She wiped her eyes. “How did you find out about this?”

I explained about the cooking demonstration that Digger was to have done for Hank, Kyle, and me, and I described arriving at his place to find the aftermath of the fire. “You knew Digger, too, obviously. I’m so sorry.”

Georgie nodded. “Yes, I did. And my boyfriend, Jay, had actually been in a friendly rivalry with Digger for the job at the Penthouse. He’s the sous-chef now, though. Ellie and I are going to be servers there.” She glanced at Ellie, and the two fell apart. “I’ll have to let him know, too.”

Ellie had told me that the chef who’d come in second for the job was furious. Was that someone else? But now wasn’t the time to straighten out the confusion, and I had no reason to care about who had or hadn’t become the executive chef at the Penthouse. Georgie’s boyfriend, Jay, would presumably take over for Digger. I didn’t envy him having to jump in at the last minute to get the restaurant ready to open. As I knew from watching Josh prepare for Simmer’s opening, he’d have a ton of work in front of him. Also, unless Digger had kept all of his plans at work, everything he’d slaved over must have been lost in the fire, so his successor would have to start from scratch. But maybe the new executive chef would have wanted to make the job all his own, anyway.

“I’m so sorry to have had to break the news,” I said. “I should get going and leave you two alone.” I rose from the couch and walked to the door.

“Thank you, Chloe,” Ellie whispered. She reached for Georgie, who joined her on the couch.

I left the two tearful girls and drove toward home. The sky had clouded over and darkened the city. The gloomy atmosphere fit my mood. I shut off the radio, mainly to avoid hearing music that I would then forever associate with Digger’s death. I’d had high hopes that the day would go well for Digger and for me. Instead, it had turned into a nightmare. Whenever things went wrong in my life, I wanted to fix them by taking constructive action, but there was no fixing this situation. I pulled into my parking spot in front of my condo and looked up at the familiar brown house. It felt good to be home. I shuffled up the back steps to the third floor and opened the door, where Inga the white fluffball of a cat stood meowing at me as if she knew how I felt and was waiting to take care of me. Stupid, I know, but I choose to believe it. I dropped my tote to the floor, threw my coat on the coffee table, and scooped up my girl, who purred melodically.

Still hugging the sympathetic little cat, I grabbed the phone and curled up on the couch. For some reason, I was seized by the urgent impulse to tell someone about Digger. Although he’d had friends and family who’d have to hear the news, it really wasn’t my responsibility to inform them. Besides, in the tight- knit restaurant community, word would spread quickly. Someone, probably the police, would find and inform Digger’s family. But what about Josh? I couldn’t stand the thought of his hearing about Digger’s death through the grapevine. He should hear from someone close to him. Of course, Josh’s former sous-chef and former roommate, Snacker, could tell him, but as much as I loved Josh’s crazy friend, he was not one to count on for a delicate, sensitive delivery. I called Adrianna.

“Hi, Chloe. What are you doing home already? Aren’t you supposed to be feasting on delicious food at Digger’s? Did you call to gloat?”

At the sound of Adrianna’s voice, I started crying, and it took ages to compose myself enough to explain that Digger had died in a fire. When I could finally breathe normally, I described the morning in detail. “And I can’t help worrying about Josh. Do you think I should get in touch with him?”

“This is just terrible,” Ade said. “I’m in shock. What a horrible way to die! Oh, poor Digger. Well, do you have Josh’s new phone number?”

“No. I think I still have his e- mail address, but that wouldn’t be right. I can’t send him an e- mail telling him that Digger is dead,” I said with a sniffle. “And I don’t want him to think that I’m using Digger’s death as an excuse to contact him. But maybe that’s what I want to do!” I wailed. Josh had been my rock for the past year; I was used to leaning on him. I still had Adrianna, but Josh had been a strong force in my life in a totally different way. I missed him more than ever. I missed him way too much for my own good.

“Chloe, I hate to say this, because I can tell how much you want to talk to Josh, but you know he’ll hear about Digger from one of his friends. He knows tons of people in Boston, and he’ll hear. You’ve been working so hard to get over him.”

I blew my nose. “You’re right. I’m moving on with my life. He moved on with his, right? He could have stayed in Boston instead of going to Hawaii without me, but he didn’t. I’ll just have to be sad about Digger without Josh,” I announced as defiantly as I could.

“Listen, Chloe, I know you’ve had a crappy morning, but is there any chance you’d be up for doing me a favor?” I heard Patrick gurgling cutely in the background. “I hate to ask, but—”

“Anything,” I said. “What do you need?”

“I was wondering if you could watch the baby for me this afternoon? Just for a few hours? I’m so desperate to get out of the house for a little bit, and a girl I used to work with said she could squeeze me in for a cut and color at four today. She just called me to say she had a cancellation, but I totally get it if you aren’t up to it.”

Not up to it? A few hours with the cutest cuddlebug in the world would cheer up and distract me. “I’d love to. Do you want to drop him off here? Around three thirty?” I turned a guilty eye to the hall closet, which was crammed full of outrageously expensive baby supplies. I’d paid for them with money that I still owed to the credit-card company, but I’d known that Patrick would spend time at my place and hadn’t wanted Ade and Owen to haul stuff back and forth. This occasion was an excellent example of why I needed the baby supplies; having Patrick here would justify my purchases as necessary expenses.

“Are you sure you’re up for it?” Adrianna asked. “Because I could try to get another appointment.”

“No way. I want time with my buddy,” I insisted. “See you then.”

I took a scalding shower. Although the fire had been extinguished by the time I’d reached Digger’s, the horrible odor that had enveloped his street seemed to cling to me. I washed my hair twice and doused myself in orange- and-honey-scented bath gel. Later, I spent a few hours trying to focus on my schoolwork, but images of burning buildings won out against rational thought, and I made almost no headway in my reading. I scanned the notes I had taken on the clients I saw at my internship and tried to think about other people’s problems instead of my own.

Just as I was setting up Patrick’s Pack ’n Play—a little portable crib and infant play area (not that I was expecting to let the gorgeous one out of my arms)—Kyle called.

“Chloe, I am so sorry about this morning. Not only for the fire that killed your friend, but also for my father’s behavior. It’s the way he is, but it was inexcusable. I just dropped him at the airport, so at least he’s out of our hair for the time being.”

My stomach churned when Kyle said
killed,
but I appreciated his apology. “Thanks so much. I’m still in shock,” I said. “I can’t really process what’s happened yet.”

“Of course. Listen, if you’re up for it, I’d love to take you to dinner tonight. I have a seven o’clock reservation at Incline, in the Seaport district.”

“That would be lovely,” I said honestly. “I’ll meet you there?”

“I’ll come pick you up, if you like,” Kyle offered.
Ohhh
. . . so maybe this was a date? “I have some more material to give you. The papers from the other night were only the tip of the iceberg. That is, if you’re still interested in working on the cookbook?”

“Of course I’m still interested.”

“Great. I don’t want you to have to schlep all this stuff home with you, so this way I can drop it at your house. Six thirty sound okay?”

“Sure.” I gave him my address and hung up, perfectly happy to have an excuse to cut my studying short. Patrick and Ade would be here soon, and I’d have to figure out what I was wearing to dinner with Kyle. Incline was a chic, intimate little restaurant that practically screamed romance—small tables, candles everywhere, soft background music, the whole shebang. When I’d gone there with my gay friend Doug, we’d nodded politely at our server’s efforts to promote our supposed romance. The two of us hadn’t really longed to be left alone, and we hadn’t been eager to share a heart-shaped dessert. Luckily, I’d never eaten there with Josh, so I wouldn’t be overwhelmed with memories of—
Damn!
I shut my eyes, refusing to tear up over my ex. Again, I briefly wondered about the possibility that Josh had been at Digger’s last night, but I dismissed the idea. If Digger had known that Josh was going to be in town, he’d have said so when we’d talked on the phone.

I picked through my wardrobe and chose a short black skirt that I paired with a white shell and a cream-colored sheer cardigan. I’d put on tall black boots and look like a million bucks for Kyle. Josh could go to hell.

“
NOW
that is a gorgeous baby!” Kyle beamed at Patrick, who snuggled cozily in my arms, wrapped in a new fleece blanket that I’d unearthed from the closet of baby stuff.

“Isn’t he the best?” I rubbed the peach fuzz on the baby’s head and then kissed his nose. “I cannot get enough of him.”

“Is, uh . . . is he yours?” Kyle stood in my living room holding an alarmingly large cardboard box that presumably held cookbook material. “You haven’t said anything about being married or having a boyfriend or . . .”

“No, no.” I smiled. “He’s not mine. This is Patrick, Adrianna’s baby. She went to get her hair done. She should be back any minute. I’m definitely not married and not dating anyone.” I cringed. Could I be more obvious? But Kyle did look exceedingly handsome tonight. Again, he had on a suit, and although I didn’t usually gravitate toward the stockbroker look, I was willing to expand my horizons. There was something sexy about his being all covered up in layers of clothing. I briefly wondered what was under that button-down. True, Kyle had a beast of a father—I couldn’t imagine having that dreadful Hank Boucher as a father-in-law—but . . . Wait a minute! What the heck was I doing even considering Kyle as potential husband material? “I’m Patrick’s godmother, so I get to spoil him to pieces. You can put that box down anywhere, Kyle.”