Steamed (26 page)

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 shook my head. “Sorry, no. Um, I might have a bigger lid you could use. Would that work?” I resolved that Uncle Alan would buy me a nice set of cookware, which I’d somehow justify as a necessary student expenditure. Oh, and a cutting board and some knives.

“That’s okay. I can just use plastic wrap.” Josh sealed a sheet across the top of the pot and turned the heat up. I didn’t think you could put Saran Wrap on top of the stove, but soon enough the plastic began to puff up like Jiffy Pop. Josh, I reminded myself, had gone to culinary school and worked as a chef, whereas I was a social work student who did unpaid work for the Boston Organization Against Sexual Things I Couldn’t Remember. In other words, if I tried covering a pot of steaming rice with plastic wrap instead of a lid, there’d be an explosion that would leave me with rice all over the kitchen and burns all over my face.

“The rice smells delicious. What’s in that?” I asked curiously.

“Cardamom. Goes perfectly with the tuna.”

Josh threw the fish steaks onto the hot pan and seared each side briefly. I could smell garlic but couldn’t figure out what the rest of the aromas were. Josh must’ve caught me sniffing inquisitively because he said there was a mix of spices that made up the beautifully seared crust. He pulled the tuna off the burner and began slicing half-inch-thick strips to reveal the rare middle. When he put our plates together, the tuna slices fanned out on top of the cardamom rice. He garnished the dish with baby bok choy slaw he produced from one of the plastic containers.

The artistry of the food and the delicious aromas made me wish for a dining room with a small, intimate table set with linen, china, crystal, and silver. Once I tasted the meal, however, I realized the Josh’s culinary skills had triumphed over the humble setting of my kitchen. I gushed to Josh and savored every bite.

“Oh, I was going to ask you,” I began, swallowing a crunchy piece of bok choy, “what’s up with Madeline and Brian?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Ade and I noticed her sort of playing with his hair and being kind of touchy with him.”

“Yeah, they kind of have a flirty thing going on. I don’t think anything has happened, though. Brian looks up to her—you know, attractive older woman, successful in business, who encourages him and supports him. Even when he screws up, she’s really patient. And Maddie likes the attention she gets from a younger man. I try to keep out of it, though. As long as they don’t get in my way, I don’t care what they’re doing.”

“But do you think Brian expects Madeline to make him the executive chef? Is he going to try to charm her into giving him your job?” I said with some alarm.

“Not a chance. Brian isn’t experienced enough, and Madeline knows it.” Josh refilled our wineglasses. “There are nights he does great, and then there are times that he just totally makes bad decisions. Like if we run out of an ingredient, he’ll run over to Essence to borrow it. Which is fine, but he should do that before service and not leave me alone in the middle of mayhem. It throws everything off balance, and food goes out late, and then Madeline has to deal with unhappy customers. He’s just too eager to please sometimes, so he doesn’t stop to think that we’d better just substitute something else for whatever we’re missing. He gets completely thrown off if anything unexpected comes up. Which it does all the time in this business, and you’d better know how to roll with it, or you’ll lose it.”

Although I was paying attention to Josh, I was practically licking my plate as well. “God, this is delicious,” I raved. “Well, Madeline seems to have a good head on her shoulders. She seems like the kind of person that can stay calm when things get busy at the restaurant.”

“Yeah, not much rattles her anymore. She’s been doing this long enough that she’s seen it all. Most people in this business are pretty nuts, just because everything is always so stressful, so I’m lucky to work for someone who’s as normal as she is. Don’t get me wrong, she can get mad, and I’ve heard her yell at Brian before, but it’s usually justified. Perry—you remember him? the pastry chef?—he told me that the night of the murder, Maddie ripped into Brian for botching a bunch of orders, and the two of them, Maddie and Brian, had to step into the office downstairs to work things out. I felt bad for Brian when I heard it, but it’s actually nice to know she keeps everyone in line. And I don’t want to be the bad guy all the time, so it’s good he hears things directly from her, too.”

“Tim doesn’t seem like the type to take charge and be tough when it’s necessary, though. I wonder how he’s going to do without Madeline,” I said.

Josh got up from his chair and turned the oven on. “Dessert.” He winked at me before sitting back down. “You’re right. Tim is much too nice sometimes, and I’m afraid someone’s going to take advantage and just walk all over him. He’ll learn to toughen up, though. At least Maddie is all over him about Essence. I think she’s a little worried, too. She’s always checking up on him, finding out how many people have been in for dinner, what Garrett’s food costs are, et cetera. She calls him all the time to make sure he’s doing okay. I heard she even talked to him a bunch of times the night Eric was killed. She wanted to know how the meal was going, what Eric was saying about the food, and if he’d made a decision yet, so I guess she kept calling over there all night.”

“If they care about each other so much, why did they get divorced?” I wondered aloud.

“Well, Tim was the one who wanted the divorce, but apparently Maddie doesn’t hold it against him. I think they were just better business partners than they were husband and wife. Madeline could probably care less. She’s all about her restaurant and making money. Obviously Tim is driven, too, but I don’t think Maddie was putting as much into their marriage as Tim wanted.” Josh reached over to take my hand in his. “And I bet being married to Maddie was hard. She’s so stressed out all the time. Not bad for a non-social-work student, huh?”

I laughed. “Yes,” I said with mock formality, “I’m impressed with your insightful remarks regarding their relationship. But why is Madeline so stressed? Magellan is thriving, she’s got a great chef,” I said, blowing Josh a kiss across the table, “and a pretty good sous chef who still needs some work but is coming along nicely, thanks to you. So mostly, she’s got a great life, right?”

“True. But there’s a lot of pressure to keep up. Restaurants go out of business left and right, and just because Magellan is doing well now, it doesn’t mean that it couldn’t fold anytime. One bad move, one bad decision, one lousy review, and it could be over. That’s reality. Boston has a lot of great restaurants, each of them just waiting for another one to fail so they can take their place.”

“Yeah,” I said, “that’s pretty much what Madeline was saying to Tim and me at the Raffertys’ house. And she was really pushing Tim to play up Essence with the press.”

“Did you see her on TV the other night? She was on the news plugging Magellan
and
Essence.”

I nodded. I’d seen part of her interview on a local news magazine show. Not only was Madeline totally beautiful in person, but the camera loved her. She’d given the reporter a quick tour of Magellan, showed some of Josh’s dishes, and then described Essence as a worthy competitor. She’d brushed off any concerns about the murder at Essence. According to Madeline, it had been an unfortunate event that happened to occur at the restaurant. She’d assured viewers they were safe to test out both restaurants and judge for themselves. “Friendly competition is what drives us to keep getting better,” she’d said, smiling.

“Yeah, why weren’t you interviewed?” I asked. “They showed all your food.” To my mind, Josh should’ve been the star.

“Maddie thought it would be better if I stayed low until the investigation is finished. I mean, she knows it’s silly, but she figured it would be better to play it safe. At least my name hasn’t been in the news.”

I more or less understood:
And here’s our wonderful chef! He’s currently under investigation as a murder suspect, but never mind that because he makes a bang-up bouillabaisse!

Josh got up from his chair and took out two small tin molds from one of the bags. “I’m going to put the cakes in for us, okay?”

I nodded and practically started drooling as he poured chocolate batter into the little molds, placed them on a cookie sheet, and slid it in the oven.

“I’ll be right back.” Josh walked toward the bathroom.

Oh, no. A few years earlier, I’d been casually dating a seemingly normal guy named Tom and had had him over at my place to watch a Patriots game. At the start of halftime, he’d nonchalantly stood up from the couch, grabbed a section of the Sunday newspaper, and disappeared into the bathroom.
For twenty-five minutes
. He’d returned as though the duration of his absence were totally fine. Tom was not invited back for any more football games. Mercifully, Josh reappeared in about thirty seconds.

We cleared the plates and tidied up while the gorgeous aroma of chocolate took over the room. I was beginning to suspect that I’d exfoliated too much with my new beauty secret, since I had to keep adjusting my jeans as I loaded the dishwasher. Feeling a little itchy in certain areas, I decided that another glass of wine would remedy the discomfort. I refilled both our glasses while Josh removed the cakes. “They’re done already?” I asked.

“Yup. Warm chocolate cake with a molten chocolate center. You just half-bake it so it’s all gooey and runny inside,” he explained. He flipped the molds upside down onto a large plate, added toasted marshmallow ice cream from Christina’s in Cambridge, and carefully placed fresh strawberries and raspberries around the edges. He carried the dish to the table and pulled his chair close to mine.

The next ten minutes proved to be the most romantic of my life. Josh fed me bites of the warm cake and, in between spoonfuls of chocolate, kissed me and whispered how beautiful he thought I was, how much he wanted me, and . . . not needing any more persuading, I went to the bathroom to get a good scratch in—by then, I was itching like anything—and dig into the CVS bag.

I slipped into the bathroom and lowered my pants. In possibly the most horrifying moment of my life, I discovered something worse than razor burn: I had a viciously contagious-looking rash all over my legs, with the worst of it right on my bikini line. “God dammit!” I screamed. Well, that explained the itching and the growing burning sensation I’d been feeling. I cursed myself for buying that stupid Smoothie Pad. Smoothie? Ha! I might as well have taken sandpaper and rubbed it all over my body. I gently eased my pants up over the skin I had left.

“Are you okay?” Josh called with concern in his voice.

“Um, well, no,” I said pitifully. I was all prepared to have passionate sex with this wonderful guy, and now there was no way. If his beautiful body rubbed against mine, I’d break out in screams of agony. “I sort of have a problem.”

“Oh, is it . . . that time of the month? You know, that’s okay.”

“I wish. No. I’ve done something so stupid. I’m too embarrassed to tell you.”
I’ll just stay in this bathroom forever,
I decided.
This is totally humiliating, and he’s going to bolt out of here thinking I have some crazy STD.

“Chloe, what is it? Are you going to come out of there?” I heard Josh just outside the door.

I was just going to have to tell him the truth. How else could I explain why one minute I’d been ready to leap into bed and the next I was wailing in the bathroom? To get ordeal over, I spoke as fast as I could. “This is awful, Josh, but I wanted to be all cute and sexy tonight, and I thought something might happen, see, so I got this thing that was supposed to rub off all the hair on my legs better than a razor, and now I have something that looks like some freaky jungle rash. I think I took off half of my skin!”

To his credit, Josh started laughing. “Are you okay? It sounds like it probably hurts.”

“No, I’m not okay.” I moaned from behind the closed door. “You better go. I’m way too dorky to ever come out of here. I’m going to spend the rest of my life locked in this bathroom.”

“Let me see,” he insisted. “It can’t be that bad.”

“Yes it can! In fact, it already is.”

“Chloe, please open the door.”

“Fine. But promise you won’t laugh anymore. It is not in the least bit funny.” I cracked the door. “All right, come in.”

“Okay, pull your pants down,” Josh said.

“That’s romantic,” I said sadly. “This isn’t at all how I pictured it.”

“I’m serious. I want to help you,” he said. “I’m not coming on to you. Well, not right this minute. Just let me see.”