The Gourmet Girl Mysteries, Volume 1

by Jessica Conant-Park

  “No kidding. I don’t want to know what you guys say about Josh and me!”

  “Oh, nothing bad,” she said at normal volume. “Don’t worry. Anyhow, I have to get back to work. Kevin, you want me to help you carry those out?” Blythe made kissy faces at Kevin as they left the kitchen to deliver the desserts to Penelope, Eliot, and Naomi.

  “I haven’t seen you in ages, Chloe.” Owen walked toward me.

  Everything about Owen was familiar and comforting. Instead of feeling enraged at him for his stupid lies, I felt happy to see him. There was simply nothing threatening about Owen. My DSM theory was falling apart. Owen was empathic and kind. He was a great friend. No one in Boston obeyed traffic rules; Owen’s driving was no more deviant than anyone else’s. Yes, he was unconventional but unconventional in a healthy, interesting, lovable way.

  “I know,” I said. “Not since we found Leandra. How are you doing? I’ve missed you.” I gave Owen a hug and ignored the fish smells coming from him.

  “Good. Well, okay. I guess Ade must’ve told you the police are still asking me questions. I don’t even have my truck back yet, so I’m using another company one right now. I’ve got to get going, though. My truck is still running outside, and I’ve got a few more deliveries to make.” Owen brushed his black hair off his face to reveal his bright blue eyes. They were not the eyes of a killer! Even though I knew Owen, really knew him, I’d still let that silly DSM book brainwash me. Yes, Owen was a dunce but not a killer.

  Adrianna burst into Simmer’s kitchen looking madder than I’d ever seen her before. She charged over to Owen. “Anything you want to tell me, Owen?”

  “Adrianna? What are you doing here?” he asked his furious fiancée.

  “I just got a phone call from the bank about truck payments! You lied to me, to the police, to everyone else about that goddamn truck! Are your stupid fish more important than I am?”

  Owen blanched. “I’m sorry, Ade. Listen, I’ll explain everything later, but I really have to get out of here.”

  I backed up out of the kitchen and into the dining room. I felt relieved that I wouldn’t have to break the bad news to Adrianna, but I was still in danger of getting sucked into her fight with Owen. Consequently, I had no desire to stick around. Just as I backed into the main dining area, I almost bumped into Kevin. He had a bar towel over his arm, but he didn’t appear to be doing any work. Rather, he’d apparently been listening in on the beginning of Adrianna and Owen’s fight. I couldn’t blame him for his prurient curiosity. If they hadn’t been my friends, I’d have been dying to hear what was going on, too.

  “Kevin.” I took a step back. “Did they like the desserts?”

  “I think so. But, Chloe, listen. I need to talk to you about Josh and Simmer. It’s something big. Can we find somewhere private?” Kevin suddenly looked deeply worried. My bet was that he wanted to tell me about Wade and his obnoxious habit of bad-mouthing Josh to Gavin. I hoped that the two-faced GM hadn’t done anything to get Josh in real trouble.

  “Yeah, sure. Where do you want to go?”

  Blythe was out on the patio with Naomi, Eliot, and Kevin’s inamorata, Penelope; other servers were arriving for their shifts; and Wade was probably around somewhere. I could hear Adrianna’s voice as she continued to chew out Owen, who was going to be stuck in the kitchen for a while. That was for sure!

  “Um …” Kevin looked around the room. “Why don’t we go talk in the back hallway? Or outside?”

  I began to feel increasingly alarmed that Kevin was about to deliver terrible news. I followed him down the hallway. When we reached the end, he held the back door open for me. Owen’s truck was still out there in the alley, its engine running, its rear door open. If Owen had known that Ade was going to interrupt his deliveries, he’d certainly have lowered and locked that sliding door. He might even have turned off the engine. I remember that as Kevin and I walked down the back steps, I was trying to see into the back of Owen’s truck and wondering whether any seafood that might be in there would spoil if the engine were off. Then it occurred to me that if Kevin was on the verge of making a horrible revelation, I should probably sit down. It was just as I was about to take a seat on the grimy back steps and tell Kevin to break the news that he wrapped his massive arms around me and engulfed me in what I at first mistook for a bear hug. Why was Kevin embracing me? The delusion lasted for no more than a second. The pressure of his muscular hands on my upper arms was ferocious. Lifting me almost off my feet, he began dragging me toward the open rear of Owen’s truck.

  Terror and confusion shot through me. “Kevin! What are you doing?” Of all the foolish questions! Why didn’t I scream? I probably couldn’t have. As it was, my voice cracked, and I was breathing rapidly. His arms gripped mine so tightly that I couldn’t break free, and my toes barely touched the ground as he hauled me across the pavement.

  “Just shut up!” Kevin snarled. With no apparent effort, he lifted me up and threw me into the truck. I landed hard. The only thing that broke my fall was a plastic tub filled with ice and bags of clams. With the wind knocked out of me, I was helpless. I lay there in a near stupor as Kevin pulled down the sliding door. The inside of the truck was now completely dark. I heard the sound of a lock. Within seconds, the truck was moving. I had, of course, been caught completely off guard. I’d been expecting to hear that Gavin was firing Josh, maybe, or that Simmer was closing. I’d been entirely unprepared for this … What the hell was it? A kidnaping? An assault? Finding words for what was happening, I found my voice and started screaming.

  Kevin maneuvered the truck around a corner, and Owen’s heavy metal dolly slid into me so painfully that in my mind’s eye, I could see the bruise that would appear on my leg. I tried to stand up, but my timing was bad: my mad chauffeur slammed on the brakes, and I was immediately thrown against the front wall. I crawled to the back door and started pounding my fists against the metal so fiercely that my hands hurt. I switched to kicking the door over and over with my feet. “Help me! Help! Get me out!”

  I started crying in panicked gasps as a terrifying thought raced through my head. Somewhere on the Web or maybe in a magazine, I’d read advice about what to do if you ever become the victim of an attack. A major point was to do everything possible to avoid being taken to a second location. If you are being moved to a second location, you are being moved there to be killed.

  I was heading to that second location.

  EIGHTEEN

  It was Kevin who had killed Leandra. That was the only conclusion to draw from this attack. But never mind what he had done in the past! Where was Kevin taking me now? And how could I have let this happen? I was disgusted with myself for not having screamed loudly enough when the truck was still in the alley behind Simmer. I should have tried to fight Kevin off before he locked me in this truck. Well, it wasn’t too late to estimate where the truck was now and to figure out where it might be heading. We’d taken a few turns since Kevin had driven us out of Simmer’s alley. After that, there had been a few short spurts of movement followed by stops, presumably at traffic lights. I’d continued to hammer at the door with my sore fists and feet, and I’d shouted for help, but the truck kept moving. Now we were beginning to pick up speed; there were no more stops. I felt sure that we were on the Mass Pike.

  I felt around on the floor of the truck in search of my purse, which held my cell phone. Dammit! I’d left my purse in Josh’s office! I continued exploring the floor. Somewhere in this truck there had to be something I could use in my own defense. My hands encountered what I easily identified as four tubs of ice and seafood: clams and fish. Ice and seafood were the last things I needed; even without the ice, the refrigerated truck would’ve been freezing cold, and the air reeked of fish. The metal dolly was heavy. It had already bruised me. I also found a long piece of metal, a rod of some sort with a curve at the end. I knew what it was! A long hook that Owen used to reach into the truck, hook the sides of the tubs, and pull them close to the edge of the back o
pening. The hook meant that Owen didn’t have to climb into the truck and push all the tubs around; he could hook and drag them instead. This seafood hook helped Owen. Maybe it could help me.

  Shit, it smelled in here. I did my best to breathe through my mouth. On top of being abducted, I didn’t need to be sickened by the stench of pounds and pounds of fish. How long could I tolerate the foul air without doubling over? How long had we been on the highway? Five minutes? Ten? At least I had a weapon now. Two weapons: the hook and the dolly. Being armed gave me the beginnings of a sense of confidence. Kevin, I realized, had acted impulsively when he’d tossed me into the truck; he couldn’t have planned ahead, and whatever plan he had now wasn’t one he’d thought out. Someone was bound to look for me. And for Kevin, too. We’d abruptly vanished. We were going to be missed, right? And if Adrianna ever quit screaming at Owen, he was going to see that his truck had been stolen.

  I was moving on from straight fear to fury. How dare Kevin do this to me! What was he, after all? A vain, aging bartender with weird facial hair and an embarrassing anatomical oddity, that’s what he was. I felt ashamed of my doubts about Owen’s character. I should never have suspected him of any romantic, not to mention murderous, involvement with Leandra. The dangerous one was Kevin. But my rage made me even more dangerous than he was, I told myself. I was not going to let Kevin hurt me!

  Kevin would have to stop this truck sometime. When he did, I would act. I searched for the heavy metal dolly, found the handle, and rolled the dolly so that it faced the door. When Kevin opened the back, I was going slam this metal hunk on wheels into him and knock him to the ground, bash him over the head with the metal rod, and run like crazy. I sat with my hands on the dolly and waited.

  The truck began to slow down. It took a curve. We must be exiting the Mass Pike. After only a few minutes of slow driving and turning, the truck came to a halt. When I heard the driver’s door slam, I readied myself to smash Kevin onto the ground. The fear that had transformed itself into fury had now become an ardent desire for revenge: Come on, you bastard! Come on! Open the door! Enraged, I was more than ready to kick some serious ass, but I forced myself to keep focused. With luck, Kevin envisioned me cowering in terror in a corner of the icy, stinky truck.

  Minute after minute ticked by, and the door didn’t open. Eventually, I loosened my grip on the dolly. Kevin, I realized, had left me here. Damn! What an anticlimax! How long was he going to be gone? And where had he gone? What if he had gone to get a gun? If so, I wouldn’t stand much chance of overpowering him with the dolly and the metal hook. Listening hard, I waited a few more minutes but heard nothing. Once I felt sure that Kevin had left the area, wherever the area was, I started kicking the door and yelling again. To maximize the noise, I banged the door with the metal hook. I screamed until my throat hurt. No one came to my rescue.

  Slowly, my adrenaline rush decreased as I accepted that I was alone. Except for the dead fish, of course. At least I wouldn’t die of starvation; I could always eat some raw haddock or smash open clam shells with the metal rod. And I could suck on fishy ice cubes to prevent dehydration, if I didn’t freeze to death first. A slight, almost imperceptible, gap along the edge of the sliding door was letting in air; I wouldn’t suffocate. Starvation, dehydration, suffocation: three ways in which I wasn’t going to die. I was not reassured.

  Kevin must have returned to Simmer with some excuse for his absence. He would have to come back for me. But why hadn’t he tied me up before leaving? Or killed me? More importantly, why had he kidnapped me at all? Why me? What did I know that could implicate him in Leandra’s murder? I reviewed the knowledge I had about Kevin. His only alibi for the night of Leandra’s death was based on Wade’s word that the two had been together and had closed up the restaurant. According to Josh, however, Wade was untrustworthy. So there went that alibi. I knew that Kevin had Simmer’s keys and alarm code. I’d made the disillusioning discovery that everyone at Simmer was stealing. Therefore, Kevin was stealing. But my theory that Leandra had been on the verge of ratting someone out for stealing didn’t hold. If everyone was light-fingered, then Leandra was, too. Besides, Josh had said that stealing was par for the course. Josh had also insisted that restaurant people just didn’t report their coworkers for thievery. And Josh knew everything about restaurants.

  I pulled my legs in close to me to fight the cold, but the shivering didn’t stop. The refrigeration unit ran only when the truck was turned on, but it was still very cold in here. Think! Think! Why would Kevin kill Leandra? I knew so little about Kevin! What else did I know? He had slept with a friend of Blythe’s. He was infatuated with Penelope. Then there was the unsolicited information that Blythe had passed along about his unusual body feature. Yes! What if Leandra had known about that, too? She liked digging at people and hurting their feelings. Look at how she’d treated Blythe and Isabelle! She’d ridiculed Blythe about being flat-chested. Had she teased Kevin? Or threatened to tell Penelope? Something must have happened between Kevin and Leandra last Tuesday night. But what did that unknown something have to do with my present predicament? Why had Kevin suddenly decided to abduct me? Why today?

  Shortly before he’d lured me to the alley, he’d seen Blythe and me talking in the kitchen. We’d been giggling. The expressions on our faces had probably made him guess what Blythe was telling me. He had also seen me with Naomi, Eliot, and Penelope. He’d even seen Naomi hug me. Penelope had been at the same table. He could easily have assumed that I was friendly with her, too. One conversation with Penelope, and I might blow any chance he had with her. If that was the case, Blythe was in terrible danger, too.

  I yanked on the door, but the lock held. The narrow gaps on either side of the door were too small for the metal hook; I couldn’t even try to use the rod as a lever. I grabbed the dolly again, mainly to remind myself that I had a weapon and a plan. Yes, I was increasingly chilled, in fact, shaking, but I was not actually going to freeze to death. Was I? I could be here for hours, I realized. I absolutely could not panic! I just had to wait to put my plan into action.

  I tried to distract myself with thoughts unrelated to fish, dead people, or funny-shaped body parts. I thought about my DSM test and ran through symptoms in my head. How stupid I had been to stick Owen with a demeaning and wildly incorrect diagnosis! I made lists of baby names for Ade and Owen, thought about Josh’s new menu, and reminded myself to tell him to add another cold summer soup. I made mental notes on ways to eradicate sexism in the culinary industry and then quizzed myself on 24 trivia. What was the name of Jack’s covert operation in Belgrade? Operation Nightfall! I couldn’t honestly give myself credit for my answers, since I was the one formulating the questions. I ran through song lyrics until I had Paul Simon’s “You Can Call Me Al” stuck in my head. That wouldn’t do! It was no kind of attack song. So, to boost my fighting spirit, I made myself hum the theme for The Sopranos. Not that I expected music to blare when the time came to defend myself against Kevin—and I wasn’t going to burst into song—but better to think about waking up and getting myself a gun than to ponder the possibility of ending up a cartoon in a cartoon graveyard.

  I did such a fine job of distracting myself that I was violently startled when the truck door suddenly began to rise. Fortunately, I managed to maintain my grip on the dolly. Rising to my feet, I kept my knees bent and stayed low. Filtered sunlight burst into the back of the truck and temporarily blinded me. I blinked my eyes rapidly and waited until the door was two-thirds of the way up. When I could see Kevin’s waist and torso, I lunged forward and smashed the dolly straight into my kidnapper. Kevin stumbled back but quickly regained his footing and then, to my horror, grabbed the dolly with one hand. Terror-stricken, I yanked back. I wasn’t strong enough to shake his hand off the dolly, but his continued grip worked to my advantage: to maintain his hold on the dolly, Kevin had to bend at the waist and lean forward. I put all my strength into one mighty thrust and slammed the heavy dolly right into his head.

  �
��You bitch!” He fell to the ground and moaned.

  Bitch. For once, I loved the sound of the word. But I had no time to savor it. In using one weapon, the dolly, I had lost track of the other. After fumbling around, I found Owen’s metal hook and then leapt out of the back of the truck. For no good reason, I had assumed that the truck was outdoors. In fact, I found myself inside a small garage. Light filtered through its dirty windows. Kevin lay on his back on the oily cement floor. I raised the metal rod. My plan was to hit him where I’d do the most damage. As it turned out, however, I just didn’t have it in me to play it safe by delivering a blow to his head. In spite of everything, I did not want to risk killing him. But I did need to hurt him. I absolutely had to disable him. I smashed the rod down onto his legs. I did it three times.

  Pain made Kevin roll onto his side and curl up. When he did, I spotted his cell phone, which was sticking out of his pocket. He lay between the truck’s back tires and the garage door. With no room to maneuver, I was reluctant to get close to him, but I wanted that phone so desperately that I forced myself to reach down to grab it with my left hand. As I did, Kevin snatched my wrist. He had left me no choice. The metal hook was still in my right hand. I drove the curved end of the rod hard into his gut.

  With Kevin immobilized, I made my escape through a side door of the garage. With the phone in my left hand, the heavy metal hook in my right, I started running and didn’t stop. To my surprise, I was in a residential neighborhood. Once again, my assumption had been wrong; I’d senselessly imagined a rural spot. The truck hadn’t covered enough miles to reach one; there were no rural areas within easy driving distance of Newbury Street. In any case, the neighborhood was one I didn’t recognize. Somewhere in Brighton, maybe? Not in my own area. Possibly near Oak Square?

  I flipped open Kevin’s cell phone, paused to dial 911, and picked up speed again. As I jogged down a steep hill lined with almost identical three-decker houses, I sobbed information to the 911 operator. I stayed on the phone and read off street signs as I passed them. I kept looking behind me to see whether Kevin was in pursuit, but the streets were empty. Out of breath, I slowed my pace to a fast walk and kept moving until a siren sounded, lights flashed, and a police cruiser pulled up beside me. I climbed into the car. I was safe.