Fed Up (19 page)

I parked the van a few houses down from Leo’s place and sank into my seat. Vans used for real surveillance had equipment such as listening devices rather than gardening implements, but I had eyes and ears, I reminded myself. Besides, the old van really did belong to a landscaping company, and if anyone questioned my presence, the Carter Landscapes logo on the side of the van and the garden equipment would show that I was who I said I was. Few landscapers would be working on a Sunday morning, of course, but I could always claim that a resident had been stricken with a crisis of environmental conscience and desperately needed information on rain barrels.

I felt like an idiot sitting there parked on the street, periodically looking at a clipboard I’d found on the passenger seat and wrinkling my brow in false concentration as I read and reread my parents’ pamphlet on their company. An hour after my stakeout began, Leo finally drove his car out of his driveway and zoomed to the end of the street. No one else was visible in Leo’s car, so unless someone was flattened on the floor, Leo was alone. Following him proved to be nothing like what I’d seen in movies and on TV, probably because the streets were almost empty and because he wasn’t going very far: I just stayed a block behind him and trailed him to a large chain supermarket.

Disappointed that I hadn’t caught Leo pulling over to burn evidence or stopping to engage in a scandalous love affair, I debated about whether to get out of the van and follow Leo right into the supermarket. Feeling disappointed, I decided that the risk of being seen was just too high, so I stayed in the van and waited for him to emerge from the market. I consoled myself with the thought that I couldn’t be missing much: the probability was slight that he was having a clandestine amorous encounter among the cabbages, the steaks, or the cartons of milk.

After thirty minutes, I reconsidered: Leo still hadn’t appeared. Then my hopes rose when I caught sight of a police cruiser in a side-view mirror. I watched excitedly as it slowly passed by. Maybe Leo was about to be arrested! Eager to witness the capture of a murderer, I stuck my head out the window, but the cruiser moved past the entrance to the store and continued along.

A few minutes later, Leo exited the supermarket and pushed a full shopping cart to his car, where he transferred his shopping bags to the trunk and got into the car. The only vaguely suspect action he took was to fail to leave his cart in one of the designated areas, but irresponsibility with regard to shopping carts obviously didn’t prove him guilty of true crimes. As he backed out of his parking spot, I started up the van’s engine and shifted into reverse. Before I’d even put my foot on the gas, however, I was stopped by the presence of a police cruiser right behind me. The lights were flashing. Seconds later, that first cruiser was joined by a second one.

A uniformed officer slowly approached and through the open window of the van said, “License and registration, please.”

I smiled brightly at the officer, who looked old enough to be my great-grandfather. I prayed that my winning grin would send him away. “Is there a problem?” I asked as I fumbled through my purse. What was I thinking? Of course there was a problem! Why else was this cop talking to me? I handed him my license, shuffled through papers and maps in the glove compartment, found the registration, and passed it to him. I couldn’t be in that much trouble since this officer looked so ancient and scrawny that I had a hard time picturing him chasing down violent, gun-toting criminals. I could probably knock this man over with one push of my pinky finger.

Without even examining the registration, he wrinkled his wrinkles and said, “This vehicle had been reported stolen.”

Crap
.

I hate the kind of robotic pretense at politeness that’s more offensive than honest rudeness, and that’s what I got. It took twenty minutes to straighten out the mess, but the officer did eventually call my parents, who convinced him that I hadn’t stolen a beat-up van that no one would even dream of stealing. Giving up on Leo for the day, I left to exchange the supposedly stolen van for my Saturn. On the way, I called my mother and fed her an improbable tale about scouting out neighborhoods where people might be interested in rain barrels.

“You’re not even working this week, Chloe,” my mother said with exasperation. “You have the week off to help with the wedding. And the next time you take one of our vans, you’d better let us know!”

“Promise.” I said. And meant it! I wanted never again to face the kind of public humiliation I’d just experienced.

“While I have you on the phone, I had a call from Robin. She thinks she left her cell phone at our house.”

“She did. I have it.”

“Chloe! Why haven’t you let her know? She is a producer for a television station, and I’m sure she needs it back. What is going on with you?”

“Nothing. I’ll call her as soon as I get home.”

I hung up feeling grumpy and frustrated. While learning nothing about Leo, I’d pissed off my mother. When I reached my condo, I dug up Robin’s home number and left her an apologetic message saying that I had her cell phone and would be happy to return it anytime. Then I cleaned the apartment and spiffed myself up for Josh’s arrival. The first half of the day had stunk, but maybe the evening with my boyfriend would compensate.

WHEN Josh arrived, I threw my arms around him and kissed him deeply. When we finally came up for air, he said, “Well, it’s nice to see you, too.”

I ran my hands through his hair and looked into his blue eyes. “I was beginning to forget what you looked like. You’re very cute, you know that?” He did look cute. Cute and tired.

Josh pulled me with him as he collapsed on the couch. “You’re not so bad yourself.” He snuggled me into his body and shut his eyes.

I sighed inwardly. Maybe if I let him take a nap, he’d perk up.

Josh’s phone rang. He growled and sat up. “Now what do they want? I’ve been gone twenty minutes!”

When Josh wasn’t at Simmer to supervise, the staff routinely called him about supposed emergencies. Despite having a strong sous-chef, Snacker, the restaurant seemed practically unable to function without Josh. Our romantic moments were forever being interrupted because someone couldn’t find the order sheets or because the stove wasn’t working properly or because the produce bill hadn’t been paid or . . . The list was endless.

“Oh, it’s not them,” Josh said, meaning his staff. To me, he said, “Hold on, I have to take this.” He stood up and walked into the kitchen as he talked. “Hi, this is Josh Driscoll.”

I trailed after him and wrapped my arms around his waist. I could make out the sound of a woman’s voice coming from the phone.

“Yeah, that sounds good. Can I call you back, though?” Josh sounded strange. Embarrassed, maybe? “Okay, thanks.” He hung up.

“Who was that?” I asked.

“No one. Don’t worry about it. I’m going to take a shower, if that’s all right.” He loosened my arms from his body and slipped his phone into his pocket.

“Sure. What do you want to do for dinner? I could make something, if you trust me to feed a chef of your caliber.”

“Actually I’m meeting up with Digger later.”

“Oh,” I said, unable to disguise the disappointment in my voice.

“It’s just kind of a guy thing tonight. That’s all.” Josh went into the bathroom and ran the water in the shower while I sat dejectedly at the kitchen table. “Are you upset?” he called from the shower.

I poked my head into the bathroom. “Kind of. I mean, I feel like I’ve hardly seen you.” After a pause, I said, “That’s because I
have
hardly seen you.”

It was quiet for a moment, and then Josh spoke. “I guess it would be all right if you came.”

Irritated, I said, “I don’t want to be a third wheel or anything.”

Josh pulled the curtain back and peeked out. “You won’t. I want you to come.” He puckered his lips and blew me an exaggerated kiss.

I blew a kiss back and planted myself on the toilet seat to talk to him. How pathetic is that? I was so desperate for time with my boyfriend that not only was I going to barge in on his guys’ night out, but I was stalking him while he took a shower.

“So how has work been?” I asked. “I’m getting the impression that there have been a lot of problems recently.” Problems? If a restaurant’s dining area is noisy, and the service is a little slow, and a couple of menu items are unavailable, there are problems. If the owner is meandering around drunk in front of the patrons and using cocaine with them after hours, there aren’t just problems with the restaurant, there’s a catastrophe in the making. But I deliberately used the weak word.

“Ah, just the usual crap.”

“Obviously Gavin’s been cranky and difficult lately, but I can’t tell how bad things are for you there.”

“It’s nothing, okay? And like I told you, Robin told me we can just film another episode for the TV show, so that won’t be a problem either. She’s just going to pretend it never happened.”

I didn’t inform Josh that I, at least, intended to remember that the murder certainly had happened. Furthermore, since I was sure he’d disapprove of activities such as driving around in a stolen landscape van tailing a suspect, I said nothing about my morning’s adventure.

“Josh, you know you can talk about work with me if you want. Maybe I could help you,” I suggested.

“Lay off, okay?” Josh sighed audibly. “It’s fine. Leave it alone.”

“Fine.” I shut the bathroom door and let him finish his shower. Maybe he’d wash off some of his grumps.

This was hardly the romantic start to the evening that I’d hoped for. Something was up with Josh, but I didn’t know what. And who was that woman on the phone? I’d heard Josh deal with a lot of calls from Simmer. This hadn’t been one of those. Josh would never cheat on me, would he? If not, why was he was getting secret calls from unknown women? But this was clearly not the right time to push him on the subject of her identity; although I hadn’t tackled him about her, we were already verging on the seriously irritable.

While I was changing clothes, I heard Josh turn the water off and then heard him talking. He had his phone in the bathroom with him, and I couldn’t help sticking my head into the hallway to eavesdrop.

“Dig? It’s me. Just FYI, Chloe is coming out with us. So just don’t say anything, okay? Cool. We’ll see you there in an hour.”

Don’t say anything about what? I didn’t like Josh’s odd behavior one bit, but I had to trust him not to keep anything important from me. I’d just have to suck it up and act maturely; he’d talk when he was ready.

“Babe? How’s La Morra sound to you?” When Josh opened the bathroom door, he looked totally normal, as though he hadn’t just made that cryptic phone call to Digger.

“Good. I love that restaurant.”

While I finished getting ready to go out, Josh spent twenty minutes snuggling Inga and cooing to her. “Who’s so pretty now? Who is all clean and cute and gorgeous? Aren’t you lucky to be living here with Chloe instead of with that nasty shithead who starved you and didn’t brush you? We won’t talk about what might’ve happened to you, okay? Gimme a kiss.” I heard goofy kissing noises coming from the living room.

Josh and I got to the restaurant a few minutes early and were seated at a table near the bar, where we had a view of the semiopen kitchen. La Morra was a northern Italian restaurant on Boylston Street in Brookline. Wood beams ran across the ceiling, and the wood tables were set with colorful place mats and white dishes rimmed with a warm yellow. The staff at La Morra were consistently warm, and the whole restaurant had a wonderfully cozy and rustic feel to it. Also, as I knew from previous visits, the food was fantastic. My mood improved the second we sat down.

“S’up, kids?” Digger’s rough voice echoed across the restaurant.

We waved to him, and then Josh stood up to shake his hand. Digger leaned in and gave me a kiss on the cheek before grabbing the seat next to Josh.

Our waitress welcomed us, handed us menus, and took our drink orders. The menu here began with cicchetti, which were preappetizers, little mouthfuls of amazingly delicious snacks. Digger, who was working at a small tapas restaurant in the South End, was bound to become a fan of these small dishes.

I looked up from the menu. “We have to get the Tuscan meatballs with porcini and prosciutto. And also the fried risotto balls.”

“Fried olives, too,” Josh added.

“Nice!” Digger agreed. “And then for antipasti, we’re getting the savoy cabbage salad with pomegranates, hazelnuts, and bagna càuda.” The bagna càuda was a strong anchovy and garlic dip that I could practically drink. “Do you guys mind sharing the soup?”

The lobster soup with spaghetti squash and toasted pumpkin seeds was another of my favorites. I certainly didn’t mind sharing a bowl with Josh and Digger.

Josh added his request. “And I pick the shaved sunchoke salad with pickled mushrooms and frisée.”