Steamed

by Conan-Park, Jessica

  The minister began speaking about Eric. I thought I might learn a little something about who this dead man was, but the minister’s eulogy consisted mainly of general remarks about death and loss, many of which were drowned out by Phil’s choked crying. I found myself checking my watch. I did perk up, though, when the minister began to speak about Eric’s love of food. The minister evidently knew Eric quite well. He discussed Eric’s interest in investing in Essence (“sure to be a huge success”) and then read an alphabetical list of Eric’s favorite foods. By the time he hit wasabi, I was losing interest again. Finally, he introduced Madeline Rock, owner of the famous Magellan restaurant.

  I brightened up and looked to my left as an attractive woman rose from her seat and took center stage. She was wearing what Adrianna had told me to wear. This restaurant diva strutted confidently up to the podium in a blue wrap-around dress, high heels, and a silver necklace. Madeline had long brown hair that she had pulled back in an elegant knot tied at the base of her neck—hard to pull off unless you had the stunning face and body she did: beautiful ivory skin, shapely legs, and perfect breasts. I wasn’t sure whether I was going to admire or detest her. She arranged herself in front of the audience and somehow managed to look sensational without appearing disrespectful.

  “As we all know, Eric loved the restaurant world. He was a big fan of my restaurant, Magellan, and was a frequent diner at my establishment. When Tim and I owned Magellan together, we used to joke that Eric was like an unpaid member of the staff. He adored the smells and sounds and sights of a bustling restaurant on a Saturday night. He loved the chaos and the excitement and the energy that came from a successful restaurant. Our staff knew his favorite dishes and could always count on him to order that evening’s special. I remember the night we ran the duck marinated in Calvados with Bhutanese red rice, pearl onions, and apple-pear chutney. He was so thrilled with the dish he thumped the table with his hand and yelled, ‘That’s how you do it!’ ”

  I heard some laughs and murmurs of understanding among the mourners. Way to kick this funeral into high gear, Madeline.

  She continued, “And that’s the Eric we’ll all miss. His enthusiasm and support were unmatched. I don’t think Tim and I would have survived the ups and downs of the past few years without Eric’s positive energy. When Timothy looked into opening his new restaurant, Essence, I know how much Eric wanted to be part of that opening and that partnership. And now that Eric is gone, we must continue to support Essence as Tim and his crew work to make it a restaurant Eric would have been proud of.”

  Now that was pretty generous of her. From what I knew, restaurants opened and closed faster than you could say, “Check, please,” so encouraging diners to go to the competition was admirable. But Eric had said that Tim and Madeline had had an amicable divorce. It seemed to be true. Madeline smiled affectionately at Timothy, who was seated beside her empty seat. “Now I know this a difficult day for us all, but I think the best way to remember Eric is to enjoy what Eric enjoyed—food. So the chefs at Magellan have prepared some of Eric’s favorite dishes, and the Raffertys have kindly invited us back to their house, where I hope we can all benefit from the healing power of gourmet food and share memories of Eric together. Thank you.” Madeline finished her speech and returned to her seat right next to Tim. They looked so perfect together that I couldn’t imagine what had broken them up.

  Sheryl and Phil each held one of my hands as the minister continued the service. After thirty more minutes and four more speakers who waxed poetic on Eric’s seemingly endless appetite for cuisine, I was starving. When things finally wrapped up, I asked Sheryl for directions to their house. “Oh, just leave your car here. You can ride back with Phil and me, and someone will drive you back here when the party’s over.”

  Party? Interesting choice of word, but the idea was, after all, to celebrate Eric’s life. Odd, though. There was no way I was going to be stuck in a car with these loons and then get trapped at their house—that would totally ruin my getaway plan.

  “Oh, it’s okay. I can drive myself. Just give me directions,” I said hopefully.

  “Nonsense. You’re too upset to drive,” she insisted.

  I dutifully stayed with my dead date’s parents as they hugged and exchanged proper words with the funeral attendees. Mrs. Rafferty left briefly to retrieve the cobalt blue glass urn that now held her son’s ashes, and then we made our way out to their car.

  “Chloe, dear, would you please hold Eric for me. I’m so upset I’m afraid I may drop him.”

  Her fear was, I thought, justified not only because she was shaky but because the urn was fragile. About twelve inches high and six inches wide, it looked liked a flower vase inexplicably topped with a lid. Fortunately, its blue glass was opaque. Still, gross, gross, gross! I should have been grateful that there was no revolting graveside service or, God forbid, an open casket, but holding human remains was still pretty vile.

  “Sure,” I relented. I tentatively took the urn from her and felt my stomach roll over. I was not going to make it all the way to the Raffertys’ house holding this thing, What if the top came off and I got sprinkled with Eric’s ashes? What if we had an accident and the vase shattered? As we turned the corner at the end of the street, I placed Eric, so to speak, next to me in the rear driver’s side seat and buckled him in with the seat belt. There. Safe and secure. Sheryl Rafferty turned her head around and stared at me in horror and disappointment, clearly hoping I’d have held her beloved in my arms.

  The Raffertys and I, with Eric in his urn, made a silent fifteen-minute drive to an upscale section of Cambridge and parked in their driveway off Brattle Street. Their house was phenomenal. Really phenomenal, like old-money phenomenal. A massive old gray Victorian, the house was surrounded by a fence with an electronic gate that let us in to park. The yard was beautifully landscaped with late-blooming flowers. A bright yellow Nissan Xterra was parked next to us. I hopped out of the car quickly before anyone made me carry what was left of Eric and waited while Phil Rafferty reached in the backseat to unbuckle his son.

  I followed the Raffertys inside the house, which had crown molding, hardwood floors, and high ceilings. Mrs. Rafferty excused herself to go to the kitchen to check on the food preparations. Mr. Rafferty led me to the living room to await the arrival of the other guests. He placed Eric’s ashes on the mantlepiece, presumably to give everyone a view of the guest of honor. We sat uncomfortably together on an antique couch while I tried to think of something to say.

  “It was a lovely service. I’m sure it was just what Eric would have wanted,” I managed. A fresh crying fit overcame Phil, and I looked around the room, hopelessly wishing someone would come and rescue me.

  Someone did. Madeline swooped in through the front door. “Oh, Phil. I am so sorry for your loss,” she said as she crossed the room and seated herself in an armchair near us. “This is a terrible day for you. Why don’t you go freshen up and splash some water on your face. I’ll make sure there’s hot coffee waiting for you when you get back.” Phil nodded, rose numbly from the couch, and plodded across the room to the staircase. Madeline turned to me. “Hi, I’m Madeline Rock.” She stretched her hand out to mine. “Call me Maddie.”

  “I’m Chloe Carter. Nice to meet you. Eric spoke very highly of you.”

  “So you and Eric were . . . ?” she started.

  “Honestly, no. But I can’t seem to get anyone to understand that. I was on a blind date with him the night he died, but somehow everyone seems to think we were much more. His parents seemed so excited about the idea, I just haven’t had the heart to try to clear things up.”

  Madeline actually laughed. “Oh God, what a mess! And now you’ve been dragged to the funeral and all this? How ridiculous! I heard you were the one who found Eric. Not much of a first date, huh?”

  “I’ve had better. Today I thought I’d just stick it out and break it to Eric’s parents later if I have to,” I explained. “You own Magellan, right? Eric had been te
lling me about it and how he got hooked up with Tim.”

  “Right. But between you and me, Eric made such a pest of himself at Magellan, the only good thing about getting divorced from Tim was that he got Eric. Eric used to hang around all the time, bothering the chefs and giving unsolicited input. I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but he was irritating. Not mean or anything, just annoying. But I couldn’t exactly say that during the funeral service, could I?” Finally, someone who understood!

  “Yeah, I kind of got the same impression during our date. But he certainly seemed to be a fan of yours and Tim’s.”

  “Oh, he definitely was. Totally enthusiastic and genuinely thought he was helpful. But he annoyed the crap out of me. Tim didn’t mind him so much and was actually excited that Eric wanted to invest in Essence. I don’t know what’s going to happen to Essence now, though.” Madeline pushed up the sleeves of her dress, thereby jangling a set of bangle bracelets. “This is bad news for a young restaurant. I’m not sure Tim can pull it off. I really thought he was going to make it, too. Good chef, good staff, everything was in place. I love Tim to pieces, and even though we just couldn’t make our marriage work out, he’s a damn good restaurant owner, and he deserves to have Essence survive this. But who wants to go eat at a place where someone was killed? I mean, would you?”

  I shook my head. “Truthfully, if I heard this story on the news, I don’t think I’d be running out to eat there. So what’s going to happen to Essence now?”

  Madeline crossed her perfect legs and leaned forward. “If Tim wants to pull through, he’s going to have to work hard. I told him I’ll do whatever I can to help him. And the police had better solve this murder quick. The faster they can reassure the public that they’ve caught the killer, the faster customers’ll be put at ease. But still, something as awful as this is hard to overcome.” She sighed and stood up. “Listen, I’ve got to run into the kitchen and help get the food out. It was nice talking to you. I’m sorry you got dragged into all this, but hang in there. At least the food today will be good, right?” She winked at me and headed off to supervise. I liked her already.

  The doorbell rang, and Sheryl emerged from the kitchen to answer it. Looking more pulled together than he had, Phil came down the stairs and joined his wife in the foyer. I watched as the two now-childless parents greeted their guests. It seemed miraculous that they were getting through this day without collapsing. A bar had been set up at the far end of the living room, so I headed over and asked the bartender for a gin and tonic. I was not going to make it through this day without a little liquor.

  “Is there any food out yet?” I asked the server. I’d watched how much gin he’d poured into my glass. Drinking on an empty stomach could lead to an inappropriate display of my dancing skills atop the Raffertys’ antique coffee table.

  “There are appetizers on the table in the dining room.” He gestured behind him. I nodded thanks and went to investigate. The dining room was huge and set up more for a wedding reception than a funeral service, with lighted candles and fresh flowers. Wonderful smells floated my way. The walls were painted a deep periwinkle blue, a perfect color probably not found in the Oops section at Home Depot. Three long tables lined the walls, each covered with china, silver flatware, embroidered napkins, and platters of luscious-looking food. Most people avoid being the first to dip into a buffet, but I was hardly going to hold out. As far as I was concerned, the food was here to be eaten, and from the little I knew about Eric, I was sure he’d have approved of my sampling the goods. Each dish had a printed card beside it with its name. A small side table was set up to promote Magellan. A pile of menus was neatly stacked, and copies of newspaper and magazine reviews had been pasted to a large poster board. Madeline’s business savvy was evidently such that she never missed a PR opportunity.

  I grabbed a plate and perused the cards that gave the names of the dishes. Lime and Coriander Marinated Smoked Bluefish on Wonton Chips with Wasabi Vinaigrette; Raspberry and Goat Cheese Stuffed Endive; Steak-au-Poivre Crostini with Fresh Horseradish and Fried Sage; Cold Seafood Salad of Shrimp, Lobster, and Calamari Tossed with Lemon, Thai Basil, and Brunoise Vegetables. No deli platters, no boring cheese trays! And this was only the first table! I refrained from doing a little dance of excitement as I set my drink down and served myself a bit of everything.

  Other guests entered the room, and I was hoping to be left in peace to savor my meal. I sat down in a window seat and gazed out at the garden in an effort to look as unapproachable as possible. This endive thing was amazing . . . and the seafood salad better than any I’d had before. Divine. Love at first bite! All the other guests now seemed as engrossed in their food as I was and were too busy discussing the delicacies to bother me. Feeling pleased that my crummy week had suddenly and dramatically improved, I was startled out of my bliss by the most amazing man.

  Gorgeous, sweaty, white chef ’s coat open at the top. Dirty blond hair—and not mousy like poor Eric’s, either. Striking blue eyes and smooth, arched eyebrows. Slim build, average height. Super attractive, and I mean super. He seemed to strut into the room in cinematic slow motion. I nearly dropped my plate when he walked toward me, but I managed to save my bluefish from toppling to the floor. As it turned out, he wasn’t so much walking toward me as he was walking to the food to see what needed to be refilled, but I could still hear my heart pounding.

  The gorgeous one glanced at me and smiled as he grabbed an empty tray and headed back into the kitchen. Argh, don’t go! I silently pleaded. And like magic he was back! Heading into the living room. What was I supposed to do? Follow him like some sort of groupie? And here I was at Eric’s parents’ house, supposedly mourning my dead boyfriend, while actually having the hots for another man. Too bad. My new boyfriend reentered the dining room holding a beer and stood at the back of the room, surveying the food situation. I stared at him until he finally looked my way. I raised my plate and nodded my enthusiastic approval at the food. I practically leaped out of my seat when he grinned and walked my way.

  “Hi, I’m Josh Driscoll. I’m the chef from Magellan. Enjoying the food, I see?” he said as he looked down at my nearly empty plate. My stomach got all jumpy. I took a big swig of my gin and tonic.

  “Unbelievable. I mean, really. Everything is out of this world,” I gushed. “I’m Chloe. It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about Magellan, but I’ve never eaten there. I’ve read every amazing review, though. Is this all food from the restaurant’s menu? I mean, do you normally do catering and this is from a different menu, or . . . it’s all really good, I was just wondering . . .” Oh, I’m talking like an idiot. Somebody shut me up before I scare him off.

  “No, we don’t usually do catering, but Madeline, the owner, wanted to do this for Eric’s parents since he loved Magellan so much. How did you know Eric?”

  Oh God, don’t let him think I’m unavailable. I explained the confusion regarding my relationship with the deceased.

  “You found the body? Oh, my God! Well, between you and me, his parents seem a little screwed up to me. I don’t blame you for playing along.” There is a “you and me” already? Oh, I’m in love.

  “Yeah, well, at least the detective I talked to that night believed me, so he didn’t make me hang around too long answering all sorts of personal questions. He seemed to be the only one who believed that I’d known Eric for all of two hours. I was so freaked out that night I just wanted to get home.” I took another gulp of my drink. “Did you know Eric well?”

  “Nah. I mean, he hung out at the restaurant a lot and was always putting his two cents in about everything, but I wouldn’t say I knew him well.”

  One of Josh’s assistants stuck his head into the room, looked around until he saw Josh, and called over to him. “Josh, we need you in here.”

  Josh turned to me. “Sorry, I gotta run. Maybe I’ll find you later, though?” Another handsome smile, and he was gone.

  I reloaded my plate and made my way back into th
e living room, where Madeline cornered me. “I see you met Josh. Cute, huh?” I blushed furiously and nodded. “He’s single, you know.” She gave me an exaggerated wink and nudge.

  I laughed and quickly silenced myself when I caught Sheryl staring at me. When I’d put on my serious face, I said casually, “He seems very nice. The food is outstanding. I see why Magellan gets such glowing reviews. And please don’t make me laugh, or Eric’s parents will wonder what’s wrong with me.”

  “Oh, forget about them. I love matchmaking, and you two could be a great match. If you ask me, Josh had a little skip in his step on the way back to the kitchen. How old are you?” I told her twenty-five, and she practically jumped for joy. “Good! Josh is twenty-eight, so that’s perfect. Well, we’ll have to get you in one night for dinner. Come on, let’s get another drink.” Beautiful Madeline was looking more beautiful by the minute. She led me to the bar, where we ran right into Timothy. I hoped this wasn’t going to be awkward.

  “Hi, there,” Madeline chirped to Tim. “You’ve met Chloe, right?” Tim and I nodded and smiled at each other. “Oh God, right. The night of the murder. What was I thinking? Sorry. Listen, I was talking to Chloe earlier about Essence. You need to come up with a game plan to keep everything running. This is a pivotal time, what with this awful incident, but I think you can get through it. Let me know what I can do.”