Steamed (25 page)

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Authors: Jessica Conant-Park,Susan Conant

Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Mystery Fiction, #Women Sleuths, #Boston (Mass.), #Cooks, #Women Graduate Students

BOOK: Steamed
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“I can try, but to be honest, I just don’t think that’s going to help,” Ellen said sadly.
 
Naomi walked by me, gave me the thumbs-up sign, and headed out the door.
 
“All right, look,” I said to the harassed Ellen, “Naomi would kill me if she heard me, but I don’t think that’s going to work either. So, as I see it, you have two choices. The first is to tell this idiot off, quit, and get the hell out of there. There’s no reason you should have to put up with him.”
 
“Yeah, except the pay is good, and I don’t have that much work experience, so I don’t think I could get another job like this.”
 
“Got it. Well, then, if I were you, the next time he makes a pass at you or whatever, you accidentally-on-purpose kick him solidly in the crotch, apologize profusely, and go about your business. If he says anything, you insist that you didn’t mean any harm. Do that two or three times, and I’ll bet he backs off. It’s simple behavioral conditioning. Punish bad behavior!”
 
“You think that will work?” Ellen asked.
 
“Good chance it will. Call me back and let me know how it goes.”
 
“I definitely will! Thank you so much for all your help and for listening to me. It feels good just being able to talk about it with someone who understands.”
 
As I hung up, I felt more than pleased with myself. Finally, this poor woman had been given some sensible advice!
 
Naomi returned a few minutes later. “Chloe, I am so proud of you. You handled that call like a real professional,” she gushed. “Doesn’t it feel wonderful to help someone?”
 
“Yes. I really think I did help,” I agreed.
 
I worked on my field placement journal by faking some new entries. “Am in charge of all harassment hotline calls now and am struggling to maintain professional distance while providing empathic ear to distressed callers. Am following guidelines well and developing more confidence in own abilities to handle calls independently. Also working on defining own personal counseling style as advised in General Practice class. Building strong relationship with wonderful supervisor.”
 
While Naomi was on a bathroom break, I also put in a call to Detective Hurley. I got his voice mail and left a message to inform him that Eric Rafferty had been horribly in debt and would not have been in a position to invest in a hot dog stand much less in a fancy restaurant. I felt sure that the detective would later thank me for my brilliant discovery.
 
After telling Naomi that I wanted to do research on the Internet about my field placement, I ducked out of the office early. The real story was, I wanted to make a trip to CVS to buy condoms for my date with Josh.
 
I hit the local CVS in Cleveland Circle and, as discreetly as possible, dropped a big package of Trojans in my basket. Better to stock up now than to have to repeat the mortification of sliding birth control across the counter to some smirking teenage cashier. I browsed the aisles in search of anything to cover up the lifetime supply of condoms. The razor blades I added to the basket were too small to hide anything. But look at that! A wonderful new alternative to shaving! The product, a Smoothie Pad, was a small exfoliating cloth that promised to rub the hair off with no messy shaving cream, no nicks, and no painful wax. Yes! I could hardly wait to get home to Smoothie Pad away all unwanted body hair and be all silky for Josh tonight.
 
When I walked past Eagles’, Stein was by the window. So happily preoccupied was I that I raised the CVS bag up as I waved to Josh’s roommate. He waved back and then smiled broadly. No wonder. The damn see-through bag had prominently revealed enough condoms to halve the birthrate throughout Greater Boston for the next ten years. Blood rushed to my face. Stein must’ve assumed that I’d been flaunting the contents of the bag. Oh God. Any explanation I could offer would make matters worse. What’s more, if I went inside the deli, I’d either have to carry the bag with me, its contents plainly visible, or park it outside and then retrieve it when I left as if I were a madwoman who’d mistaken a wholesale purchase of Trojans for her bicycle.
 
Wishing that I, in fact, had a bicycle and could make a quick getaway, I rushed home. When I got there, I read the Smoothie Pad directions as I ran a hot shower. All I had to do was rub the cloth over my legs and bikini line while showering. Easy enough. The pad turned out to feel just like a loofah, so I was delighted to realize that I was ridding myself not only of hair but of all dead skin cells. Visions of passionate, wild lovemaking raced through my head as I sloughed away stubble. Only an hour and a half until Josh arrived!
 
FIFTEEN
 
JOSH showed up at my back door with oversized stainless-steel containers piled high in his arms and two bags that hung from his forearms.
 
“Hello, beautiful.” He headed right to the kitchen.
 
“How many people are you cooking for tonight?” I asked. Following him, I stared in disbelief at the dozens of containers he was distributing across the kitchen table.
 
“Just us. I prepped almost everything at the restaurant today. Maddie said she didn’t mind. Anything for love and all that.”
 
“I can’t believe you went in to work on your day off just for me.”
 
“It was easier than trying to do everything from home. Madeline let me use whatever vegetables and seasonings and everything I wanted from Magellan. And”—he spun around while holding up a covered container—“gorgeous fresh tuna steaks on the house.”
 
“Oh, I love tuna. This is so amazing.” I peered into bowls and peeked in bags.
 
Josh pulled a bag out of my hand, but he was grinning. “Hey, no snooping! Wait here for a second. I still have to get a few things out of my car.” My handsome chef raced to his car and returned with two bottles of wine and an enormous, stunning bouquet of flowers.
 
“Oh, Josh! These are just beautiful.” I leaned in to smell the oversized lilies and pink roses. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given me flowers—unless you counted the time Noah had yanked a flower off a neighbor’s fence and jokingly recited, “He loves me, he loves me not.” He hadn’t loved me, of course. But then, I hadn’t loved him, either. Thank God.
 
After Josh and I had made out in the kitchen for a good five minutes, he peeled himself off me and started our dinner.
 
“Can I do anything to help?” I asked.
 
“Just open one of the bottles of wine and sit back and relax,” he instructed. I could get used to this.
 
He made himself at home in my tiny kitchen and worked on plating two salads for us. “Bibb and radicchio with chèvre and a three-tomato vinaigrette,” he said, whisking the dressing. “I’m going to let the cheese come up to room temp, so we’ll just wait a few minutes.”
 
I helped Josh locate a small pot and a skillet, and pulled out a cutting board for him. Mortified, I noticed that my wooden cutting board had warped so radically that it formed an arc when placed on the counter. “I’m sorry. My kitchen tools aren’t what you’re used to,” I apologized.
 
“Not to worry. I can chop and slice on anything. And your cutting board has real architectural interest.” His eyes smiled.
 
I poured two glasses of white and sat down to drool. Over Josh
and
the food.
 
Josh had mercifully brought his own knives, so I didn’t have to embarrass myself by showing him my pitiful collection of Kmart cutlery. I watched as he held a sharpening steel out in front of him and worked on placing razor edges on what looked disconcertingly like murder weapons. The steel was the same one I’d seen him use at Magellan, a foot-long rod with a blue plastic handle. The sight of the knives bothered me. I wasn’t sure I could ever look at a knife again without having visions of the curved knife that had killed Eric. A cimiter, Josh had called it. Josh’s knife, I thought as I watched him hone a blade. Then, as if I were awakening from a light trance, I saw the absurdity of my attack of suspicion. A chef sharpening a knife? Nothing was more ordinary. What was Josh supposed to do? Cook with dull knives?
 
Josh took the tuna out and began rubbing it with a mysterious and aromatic mixture. “Okay, let’s let the tuna marinate in that for a few minutes while we start the salads.”
 
The Bibb lettuce and radicchio salads were dressed with tomato vinaigrette. Josh spent a few moments rearranging the green Bibb lettuce leaves and the red radicchio leaves before wiping the edges of the plates clean and setting our dishes on the table.
 
“Okay,” Josh started. “So, tell me about dinner at the Raffertys’. I still can’t believe Eric was broke.”
 
“Yeah, I know. But what we don’t know is who knew that. And when.” I cut a piece of lettuce with my fork. “What if Tim found out that Eric was never planning on investing in Essence? And in a rage, he killed Eric? Tim probably could’ve gotten hold of your knife. No one would’ve thought it was strange to see someone from Essence over at Magellan. Especially Tim, since he used to be one of the owners.”
 
“And he would’ve been pissed off that Eric had been milking him for free food and bugging him with all his suggestions for the restaurant.” Josh laughed. “Except Tim just doesn’t strike me as a killer. And from what you’ve said, Tim was out to impress Eric the night Eric was killed. So unless Tim found out during your dinner at Essence that Eric was scamming him, that theory doesn’t work too well.”
 
“Well, Tim might’ve found out
before
we went in for dinner and just acted like he still needed to impress him. He lured Eric in for a free dinner so he could kill him!” I beamed. Chloe Carter, the next Sherlock Holmes!
 
Josh raised his eyebrows at me.
 
I continued. “And Garrett! He had a motive, too. I’m sure he wanted Essence to do well. He’s the executive chef. He has to want Essence to be a big success. And with Eric’s money, Garrett would’ve had access to better ingredients, better equipment, and all that. He’d have been furious that Eric was a big fraud, too. Or what about Eric’s parents? Maybe they
thought
Eric was loaded and that they’d inherit his money. Imagine their surprise when they discovered they’d killed their son and he was in major debt!”
 
“The odds that his parents were in some sort of sick conspiracy to murder their son is pretty unlikely. Possibly
one
of them might’ve done it, but not both of them.”
 
“And, did I tell you they’re moving? Well, buying a second house. Out in California. Phil said they’d had plans to do it for a while but that there were some things to work out first. Like maybe getting more money to close their new real estate deal,” I said excitedly.
 
Josh looked at me skeptically. “But I don’t see how they could’ve needed Eric’s money so badly. They certainly seemed to have enough. I was in their house, and I saw their cars. That doesn’t make any sense. And Garrett and Tim aren’t good suspects either,” he said. “Garrett had no reason to want bad press around Essence.”
 
“And I don’t see how he would’ve had time. I didn’t have my eye on him every minute, but just before I fainted, I was pretty sure I saw him cutting a piece of meat. He would’ve had to hop out of the kitchen, kill Eric, and jump back into cooking. The restaurant was swamped by then, and I’m sure someone would have missed him.”
 
“Any others on your list?” teased Josh, evidently enjoying my desperate attempts to pin this murder on someone else.
 
“What about Veronica? I wonder if she thought she’d inherit his money. She probably knew Eric and his parents weren’t particularly close and that he was pretty serious about her. She might have wormed her way into his will. Maybe they broke up and she killed him before he could change his will.”
 
“I know you want to help me, but I still think you’re reaching here.” Josh polished off his salad and took the plates to the sink. I couldn’t believe he actually rinsed them off and put them in the dishwasher.
 
“Have you talked to Detective Hurley again?” I asked.
 
“Yeah. I went down to the police station this morning to talk to him. He is not pleased that my knife was the one used in the murder. Obviously my fingerprints are all over it. And I don’t know how to convince him I was home. It’s a boring alibi, but I can’t help it. I was tired and stayed home and watched television. I even told him about every show I watched. It was shark week on the Discovery Channel, so I gave him a lot of facts about sharks and shark attacks,” he explained. “But that doesn’t help much since anyone can look at a TV schedule or the Internet and get plenty of information about what was on. But I’m still not in jail. And I explained to him that he couldn’t arrest me since I had a very important dinner to cook tonight.” Josh winked at me, turned the front burner up to high, and placed a skillet there to preheat. He then filled a small pot with a precooked rice mixture. “Do you have a lid for this, by any chance?”

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