The Gourmet Girl Mysteries, Volume 1

by Jessica Conant-Park

  “You’re right,” Katrina nodded. “Nobody’s watching you at the register. But I think Ian got a little sloppy. And greedy about how much extra cash he could take home. And some of the diners caught mistakes in their checks. I guess Ian sometimes added extra items to checks, miscellaneous items or extra drinks, so that the customer would pay for a higher amount. Once in a while, Ian would have trouble with a table, or the customer would ask to speak to a manager, which would’ve been Ian himself. Or Madeline. Sometimes he could just explain it away as a mistake on his part and not bring Maddie into it, but after a couple of times, she figured him out and fired him.”

  “And let him work for Tim?” I said in disbelief.

  “Right,” Josh said. “I think it was her little dig at Tim for filing for divorce. Mostly they both handled it politely, but that was her underhanded way of sticking it to Tim. She probably figured Tim would figure out what Ian was up to sooner or later, and he wouldn’t lose that much money in the process. And on the other hand, she did let Tim have Cassie and Katrina, and I know they were her top servers at Magellan.”

  “Listen, I have to get back to my tables,” Katrina apologized. “We should all hang out sometime, okay? Good to meet you, Chloe.”

  “Since I’m your official waitress,” Cassie said, “can I get you two something to drink? Or have you already figured out what to order off the vast menu?” she said sarcastically.

  We asked for bottled water and then ordered different menu items for each of the three courses so we could try everything.

  “Garrett must be miserable with this new menu,” Josh said. “He’s not the best chef, but he’s better than this. Honestly, I can’t believe—”

  “Josh, listen,” I cut him off. “That happened the night I was here with Eric. The check thing with Ian. He was working a table near ours, and the couple complained to him about their bill. But what was odd is that Eric jumped in and took care of it. And then he gave Ian some kind of warning, something about remembering what they’d talked about. At the time, I guess I thought Eric had taken it upon himself to scold Ian for screwing up the check and being a bad waiter. But now I bet Eric knew what Ian was doing.”

  “And,” Josh added, “Eric might’ve been getting a piece of the profits for keeping quiet about it. I mean, on a good week and with the high-end clientele, Ian could’ve been taking home an extra seven or eight hundred dollars. Fifteen, twenty dollars from, say, five tables a day? More from the bigger parties that come in and drink a lot and don’t pay attention to what they’re spending? That’s good money. Split that in half, and Eric still would’ve been getting money that he apparently needed badly.”

  Josh and I stared at each other.

  “Until,” I said, “Eric threatened to tell Timothy unless he got more money from Ian. Or until Ian just got sick of sharing his profits with Eric and he killed him.” We’d caught the murderer! I was sure it must be Ian.

  “But,” Josh pointed out, “for someone who owed as much as Eric did, he wasn’t going to make that much money off of Ian. Although it might have been enough to pay minimum balances on everything he owed.”

  I dug my cell phone out of my purse. “I’m calling Detective Hurley and telling him what we figured out.”

  Josh reached over and put his hand over my phone. “I’d rather you didn’t do that. It’s just going to upset Tim and piss him off that everybody knew about Ian and didn’t tell him. Besides, I’m still a free man. If I get hauled off to the slammer, you can tell Hurley, okay?” He smiled.

  I agreed to wait to pass the information on to the detective, but I did ask Josh why no one had informed Tim about Ian’s nefarious check practices. In particular, why hadn’t he told Tim?

  “Look, Chloe,” Josh sighed. “I’ve told you how tough this business is to be in. I just try to keep to myself. I do my job and let Maddie deal with everything else. I try not to rock the boat with anything, and I’ve got to pick my battles. Most people are out for themselves here, me included. And I’m not about to do anything to piss off Maddie and get myself fired. She pays me more than most restaurants pay their chefs, and I can’t go ratting her and Ian out to Tim. Same thing for Cassie and Katrina. They need their jobs, and who knows what Ian might think of to say to Tim about them. And I don’t think they care. They do their job, they get good tips, and they know they’ll be the last to be let go if the restaurant fails. Why mess with that?” Josh took my hands in his. “I told you, I’m not perfect. But you might do the same thing if you were in my shoes.”

  I had to agree. In the scheme of the world, maybe what Ian was doing wasn’t that big a deal. Unless it implicated him in Eric’s murder—and cleared Josh.

  Josh continued to hold my hands, and we talked until our appetizers arrived. I’d just finished telling him about the awful paper I had to write for school when Cassie placed plates in front of us.

  “Okay, here’s a salad with pears, candied walnuts, and blue cheese for you, Chloe. And the butternut squash soup for you, Josh.”

  The salad was pretty good. Nothing out of this world, but good enough. I watched Josh and was mesmerized by how serious he looked tasting his dish. And by how wonderfully his blue shirt enhanced the blue of his eyes. And by the thought of ripping that blue shirt off his body, popping buttons across the restaurant, and ravishing him in between courses.

  “So what do you think?” he asked.

  “Oh, fantastic!” I practically pounced on him.

  “Really? Mine has too much salt and doesn’t taste like much else.” Oops. He meant our food. “Garrett is always afraid of underseasoning things. Sometimes he goes overboard in the other direction.”

  “Right. I mean, mine is okay. It’s good. It’s just not amazing, and it’s not something I would’ve ordered if there’d been other choices. This salad has been done plenty of times before at other restaurants.”

  “This sucks. I have to talk to Tim about this.” Josh looked touchingly disappointed for his old boss.

  Having resolved to take my social work studies seriously, I’d been pondering my Group Therapy class’s focus on expressing feelings and now decided to practice my skills on Josh. “So, how are you feeling about everything that’s going on?” I asked nonchalantly. “How is it at Magellan? I know Madeline doesn’t think you’re a murderer, but is it uncomfortable over there at all?”

  “Surprisingly, it’s not that bad. I’ve known everyone over there for a while, so no one’s treating me any differently. We’re all just waiting for this to blow over. I think we’re just all on edge. It’s such a freaky thing to have happen to someone we all knew. And at Tim’s place, for God’s sake. And only a few blocks away. The biggest problem we’ve had recently is all the accidents in the kitchen. Brian burned the crap out of his arm the other day when he walked too close to a burner. And I cut my hand on one of my knives.”

  “Is it bad? How did you do it?” I grabbed his hand and realized I’d been so distracted by my love goggles that I’d failed to notice the big bandage across Josh’s palm. “I can’t believe I didn’t even see this!”

  “I’m fine. Someone must’ve put one of my knives into the drawer where I keep other kitchen utensils. I reached in for something and got a good gash. Ever since I met you, I keep misplacing things and losing track of what I’m doing at work … but I don’t mind. You’re worth it. Chefs get burns and cuts all the time. My hands are covered with old burn scars, but I’ve got leather hands, so it doesn’t bother me too much. I can just stick my finger in a hot saucepan and not feel it.” He grinned proudly.

  “You’re insane, and I love it!” I grinned.

  “I’m worried about Brian, though,” Josh admitted. “He’s still trying to get it together. We all have accidents, but Brian has more than most. Did I tell you about the fire the other night?” I shook my head in alarm. “Oh God. I didn’t tell you about this? Something on the grill caught fire, which isn’t that unusual, but for some stupid reason, Brian grabbed the hose from the sink an
d sprayed the flames. Idiot,” Josh spat out.

  Confused, I asked, “And that didn’t work?”

  “Chloe, you never hit a grease fire with water,” he told me sternly. “It basically causes an explosion. I was standing right next to the grill. I was trying to grab the baking soda, which is what you’re supposed to throw on a grease fire, and I couldn’t stop Brian in time. He just panicked and went for the water, but he knows not to do that. Everyone who works in a kitchen knows that. He felt terrible about it and apologized a million times for being so dumb. He singed his hair and coughed for a couple of hours afterward, and I barely got out of the way in time. At least we weren’t hurt badly.”

  “You shouldn’t be worried about Brian, you should be furious with him! Josh, you could have been horribly burned!”

  Josh paused for a moment. “Oh, I’m definitely angry with him. There’s no question about that. And disappointed. He’s been coming up with all these dishes he wants me to put on the menu, but they all suck. Everything he thinks of has been done before—nothing original. And I know he’s got it in him. Or at least I think he does. I want him to.”

  Josh looked miserable about Brian’s failures. I wondered how angry Brian was with Josh for pushing him so hard and rejecting all of his ideas.

  I had a suggestion. “Josh, why don’t you run a few of Brian’s dishes as specials, even if they’re not great. It might boost his confidence and let him know you believe in him. He must look up to you so much, I’m sure it would mean a lot to him to get your approval.”

  “I can’t do that, Chloe. It doesn’t work that way. I’m not doing his dishes if they aren’t up to snuff. No one gave me any breaks, and it made me better,” Josh said heatedly. “Do you know, when I had my first job in a kitchen, I used to have a guy pace behind me while I cooked. He’d jab a steak knife into the back of my thigh if I wasn’t moving fast enough. I’d stand on the goddamn line with blood dripping down my leg, cooking and sweating and working my ass off with this guy watching every move I made. So, no,” he shook his head. “I’m not cutting Brian any slack.”

  Josh was riled up now, and I couldn’t blame him. “Did you report the guy to your boss? That’s sadistic! Sticking you with a knife!”

  He laughed. “Chloe, he was my boss. And you don’t leave one of the top restaurants in Boston because you don’t like it. You suck it up and get through your training and put it on your résumé.”

  I was about ready to beat Josh’s old boss to a bloody pulp for knifing my beau, but I’d probably be kicked out of school for acting in an unprofessional manner. That stupid Social Work Code of Ethics and I were already beginning to clash. Cassie’s arrival with our entrées temporarily cooled off our discussion, but I still wasn’t done with the topic.

  “Just because you had some asshole treating you like you were going through a fraternity hazing doesn’t make it right. And it doesn’t mean you have to treat Brian the same way. I mean, I know you don’t stick him with a knife while he’s cooking, but maybe you should ease up on him a bit. Positive feedback is a good motivator, too, don’t you think?”

  My chef smiled at me. “I see your point. You and I are different, I guess. You’d do the right thing.”

  “You know more about running a kitchen than I do, obviously. And as I’ve learned in my Diversity class readings, different groups have their own rules of behavior and their own cultural norms, and to thrive in a subculture, one must abide by those social laws.” I better get an A on my midterm.

  We worked our way through two more courses of pleasant but not outstanding food. Josh, however, grew more and more disgruntled with every bite. “This food is ridiculous,” he complained. “Now is the time that they should be putting everything they have into the menu. Serving this crap isn’t going to keep them afloat.” Josh excused himself to talk to Garrett and quickly returned with more bad news. “Garrett is thinking about leaving.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup. That’s probably the main reason the menu sucks—Garrett doesn’t care anymore. This place is about to crash and burn in a few weeks. If he leaves, I can’t imagine Tim could stay open much longer. It’d be hard to find a chef to come into this place now, especially with the financial constraints Tim is obviously dealing with. Speaking of which, I wonder why he’s not here now?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to sit around and see how slow it is,” I suggested. “It’s got to be upsetting.”

  Cassie appeared at the table in time to hear our last exchange. “Actually, he’s out with Madeline right now coming up with schemes to bring some life back into this place. No pun intended. I don’t know what she thinks she can come up with that Tim isn’t doing on his own. So, listen, food is on the house, of course. You two want any coffee or anything?”

  Essence was starting to depress me, so I shook my head at Josh, and we got ready to leave. Josh left a twenty-five-dollar tip for Cassie, who tried to push his money away. He wouldn’t take it back. “With business the way it is,” he insisted, “you need it.”

  Josh and I settled into his Xterra. He sighed. “You know what? I’d rather have good competition than have Essence doing so badly.”

  It was just what Madeline had said on her TV interview: that Magellan needed worthy competition to show how truly great it was.

  Josh took me home and dropped me off. Dinner at Essence had left us both in foul moods.

  “Babe, I’m sorry,” Josh apologized as he hugged me good-bye. “I’m grumpy, and I just need to go home.”

  “Sure. I understand,” I assured him.

  The food business was losing the aura of glamour I’d envisioned while watching the Food Network, poring over issues of Gourmet, and scouring ethnic stores for exotic ingredients. Before meeting Josh, I’d pictured restaurant professionals in a constant state of culinary enthusiasm as they brainstormed fantastic recipes and wooed elite diners with gorgeous decor and tantalizing menus. The restaurant world was rougher and meaner than I’d imagined or hoped. I hated to think where my disillusionment might lead. The aura around Josh still glowed brightly. Was he, too, rougher and meaner than I wanted to believe?

  SEVENTEEN

  My sister Heather was pleased with the unromantic aftermath of my dinner with Josh at the gloomy Essence. She’d kept calling to warn me that I was rushing things even more than usual and would scare Josh off. Furthermore, she was convinced that I’d better not sleep with Josh until he was no longer a murder suspect.

  On the upside, when Heather and I talked on Thursday, she invited me to go to an upscale Boston spa with her on Sunday. Her husband, Ben, was going to watch Walker and Lucy for the day so that Heather could go pamper herself. As far as I was concerned, Heather had it pretty good: big, fancy house in Brookline, adoring husband, two beautiful kids. Meanwhile, the way things were going, Josh and I were apparently doomed to wait until our wedding night to consummate the marriage. I was beginning to feel like a guy: thinking about sex and not much else. Josh was working constantly for the next few days and wouldn’t be off again until Monday. I’d had a few quick calls from him, but with Magellan doing such great business, he had hardly any time to talk. I was planning to go to Magellan after the dinner rush on Saturday night to hang around until he got off work. Then I’d drag him back to my place to do things that would send Naomi into cardiac arrest.

  Schoolwork was beginning to pile up, and I forced myself to do some serious studying. The amount of reading and research was staggering. I couldn’t believe how many papers I had due all at the same time. Although school had just begun, my professors were already hounding us about starting our midterm papers and preparing for exams.

  Julie from Group Therapy snagged me on campus to complain about the work and to ask whether I wanted to meet up with her the following week to study. Despite my resistance to spending time on campus, I agreed.

  “Oh, I’m hosting a toy party tomorrow night, if you want to come. Since you and your chef are getting so close, I figured you might b
e interested.” Julie smiled and handed me an invitation with her address on it. I doubted that Josh and I were going to make babies any time soon, but I thought I might pick out some things for my niece and nephew.

  These Tupperware-style parties had gotten totally out of hand in the past few years. I’d been invited to everything from candle parties to organic-household-cleaning-product parties. A shelf in my closet was full of crap I’d bought out of a sense of obligation while attending these events. The salespeople at these gatherings were usually women trying to make extra money, and I always felt I should do my part to support the poor victims who’d gotten roped into what were probably pyramid schemes, possibly illegal ones. Oh, well, what was one more? And I was making a new friend. At social work school, of all places!

  By the time I got to Julie’s on Friday night, she and her friends were already loaded on dirty martinis and were passing around edible massage oils. How could I have been so stupid? This was not the kind of toy party where there’d be anything suitable for Walker or Lucy. The salesperson, a woman in her forties, was expounding on the benefits of supplementing your sex life with artificial devices. She had a table set up with a variety of items for sale, and her presentation came complete with a real-life male model clad only in a G-string. I downed a drink and tried to make polite conversation with some of Julie’s friends, but they had no interest in talking to me once the model began his demonstration of “stripping for your partner.” His dance routine was surprisingly good. Still, as progressive as I thought I was, when the ring toss began, I made my exit. Julie seemed disappointed that I was leaving, but she handed me a goodie bag, thanked me for coming, and apologized if she’d offended me.

  I set the alarm clock to wake me at eight on Saturday morning. With an early start, I’d get through so much work that in the evening, when I went to Magellan, I’d be wonderfully relaxed and even more wonderfully ready to lure Josh home. When the alarm went off, I rolled over, slammed my hand on the snooze button, and saw the toy party goodie bag, which was right where I’d dropped it, in the middle of the floor. An hour later, after breakfast and coffee, I was in the middle of deciding which would be a less boring Social Policy paper topic: the failure of Bill Clinton’s health-care reform plan or the bleak future of the United States Social Security system. Inspired by the toy party and the early morning sight of Julie’s parting gift, I’d just concluded that writing anything about Clinton would make the research bearable by giving me an excuse to review the Monica scandal, when the phone rang.