Steamed

by Conan-Park, Jessica

  “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?”

  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, a
nd 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.