Steamed (23 page)

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Authors: Jessica Conant-Park,Susan Conant

Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Mystery & Detective, #Mystery Fiction, #Women Sleuths, #Boston (Mass.), #Cooks, #Women Graduate Students

BOOK: Steamed
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“Shut up! That was a good show!” she practically hollered at me.
 
“And then,” I continued, “the famous night of Bailey’s intervention, she showed up at my door with a backpack full of Corona she’d stolen from her parents. We hid in my room and drank beer while Claudia whined that she’d always loved Bailey best out of all her siblings and that he’d better get help for his alcoholism or she’d disown him as a brother.” I made a connection. “Hey! And now you’re going out with someone named Owen! Just like the little brother on the show!”
 
In an attempt to defend her honor, Adrianna tried to maintain a serious face. “I don’t know how we all started making fun of me, but Chloe was just as bad. Yeah, she thought she was so cool pretending to listen to No Doubt and Alannis. But I know about that Jon Secada CD hidden in your bedroom, so don’t act all high and mighty like you weren’t listening to crap music and watching crap TV, too. And my dating someone named Owen is just a coincidence.” She frowned. “I think.”
 
“All right,” I surrendered, finally composing myself. “We were both products of popular culture, so we shouldn’t blame ourselves for bad taste. Not that we’re much better now.”
 
Ade and I eventually quit teasing each other and called a truce by vowing never to mention shows like
Melrose Place
or songs like “Tubthumping” again. Owen, who wasn’t part of the peace accord, kept humming “Rhythm Is a Dancer” under his breath so persistently that Ade and I found it nearly impossible to finish eating.
 
Josh, still smiling, looked over at the crowd still waiting to place orders or even to get in the door; the sidewalk was jammed. “Listen, I’m just gonna hop on the line for a minute and help Stein out before you all discover something about my past. I don’t know who else is supposed to be working today, but he looks swamped. I’ll be right back.” He hurried behind the counter and started cracking eggs onto the large griddle.
 
As Ade and Owen cleaned their plates, I sat back in my chair, sipped my coffee, and, in between catching glimpses of Josh at work behind the counter, wondered about dinner tonight with the Raffertys. I’d have to keep the evening short and to the point without letting on that I wanted to pin the murder on my host and hostess to exonerate my new man. For the twenty minutes Josh was gone, I was uncharacteristically quiet.
 
When he returned, he apologized and said, “The new kid they hired never turned up, so Stein is alone. But Robert just showed up, and he’s going to help out until someone else gets here.” Stein was now accompanied by a man in his mid-fifties whose head was mostly bald, with gray and brown fringe on the sides. A long, bushy mustache hung down around his mouth and curled slightly at the ends. “Listen,” Josh said, “I didn’t realize how late it is. I have to get home and get ready for work. I’m supposed to be there at two to prep for tonight. And I have to do a bunch of ordering.”
 
“I forgot you have to work tonight.” I made a mockpouty face at him. “So when do you get off?”
 
“You tell me.” He smiled devilishly.
 
“Ha-ha.
What time
are you done working?”
 
“Oh. Probably not till late tonight. I’ve got a late party coming up that I have to take care of. Sorry.” He’d warned me about chefs’ hours. “I’ve got a long day again tomorrow, but how about I come over on Monday and make you dinner? You’re home at like, what? Five?”
 
I nodded. I’d leave my field placement early by pleading emotional turmoil resulting from the intensity of the job. I didn’t want Josh to leave, but I knew I could endure two days if the delay meant another amazing meal. And possibly more.
 
We all headed for the door, waved good-byes and thanks to Stein, and walked outside.
 
“I parked my car down here last night, remember?” Josh pointed up Beacon Street.
 
“Um, vaguely.” I searched my drunken memory.
 
“There are a couple of meter-free spots down here, so hopefully I won’t have a ticket.” Josh gave me a hug. “Listen, Chloe. Be careful tonight, okay? I appreciate that you want to help me, but if you think the Raffertys are dangerous . . . well, just watch out. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
 
“I don’t want anything to happen to me either, but I have to get clear with them. I’ll leave you a message on your cell when I get home to let you know I’m alive and well, okay?”
 
“Fine. But I won’t relax until I hear from you.”
 
“Good. I like to keep my men on edge,” I said, kissing him good-bye.
 
FOURTEEN
 
AFTER Ade and Owen left, Ade to go back to blonde and Owen to fly around in the blimp, I decided to let Heather know that not only had I had survived my dinner at Magellan but that Josh hadn’t even
tried
to murder me.
 
“Aaaah! Help!” I screamed into the phone when she picked up. “I’m being mauled by a murderous chef! Heather! I love you, big sis. Always remember that!”
 
“You’re hilarious,” Heather said with exasperation. “I gather you are, in fact, alive?”
 
“Yes, and I got Adrianna and Owen’s approval. They think Josh is a doll.”
 
“Yes, I’m sure Owen called this guy a doll. But whatever. I’m glad you’re safe. I worry about you sometimes.”
 
“Yes, Mommy, I’m fine. And now that I’ve reported in to you, I’m going to take a nap.”
 
“What did you do last night that you need to take a nap?” my sister demanded.
 
“Unfortunately, nothing. But I’m still tired.”
 
“Tired? You don’t have a clue about tired until you have a baby and only sleep in two-hour increments all night. Lucy was up nursing the whole night. I’m more tired than you, and I don’t get to take a nap because I have to take Walker to his Gymnastics for Tots class. So don’t tell me about tired!”
 
Heather’s excellent, if unintended, argument for birth control reminded me that I needed to get to a drugstore.
 
“All right,” I said. “You’re more tired than anybody else in the entire world, but I’m still going to enjoy my nap. Good-bye.” I hung up.
 
I took a blissful two-hour nap and watched
E!
for a few hours to catch up on the celebrity gossip before getting ready to go to the Raffertys. When I left my building, I had the misfortune to run smack into Harmony, who was again grilling outdoors in her negligee dress. “Hi, there! I told you there’s otha fish in the sea, didn’t I?” Just what I needed—having Harmony keep tabs on my love life. There was, however, one minor point about Harmony and the fish: she’d been absolutely right.
 
When I arrived at the Raffertys’, I had to park on the street because their driveway was filled with luxury cars. I rang the bell and was greeted by the wiry Sheryl, who ushered me through the foyer and into the living room. “Come in, dear, and meet everyone.”
 
Until I’d seen the cars, I hadn’t realized there’d be other guests, but I was quickly introduced to Sheryl’s two brothers, John and Brent, their wives, and Phil’s sister, Emma. I knew I’d never be able to confess the truth about my nonengagement in front of the entire family. Phil came over and hugged me. Even though his eyebrows still needed a trim, he looked better than he had the day of the funeral.
 
I sat down in the formal living room and immediately noticed some cardboard boxes that had been pushed to one side of the room. I accepted a glass of wine from Phil and tried to peer inconspicuously into a study off to my right. More boxes.
 
“Are you moving?” I asked Phil.
 
“Yes,” Sheryl jumped in. “Well, we’re going to keep this house, of course. But we’re going to be spending part of the year in a new house in Huntington Beach, California. We’ve had enough of New England weather, so we’ll likely stay in our new place most of the year.”
 
Phil shuffled across the room to a bar set up on a coffee table. “With Eric gone, it seems like this is the time to do it. We’ve always wanted another place. I just retired from the bank, so there’s no reason we have to stay.”
 
Murderers on the verge of escape! Fleeing the scene! But I just nodded silently.
 
Sheryl passed around a tray of flavorless cheese on flavorless crackers while the group conversed quietly.
 
Phil took a seat next to me.
 
“When are you moving?” I asked.
 
“Oh, in about six weeks. Sheryl and I are flying out for a quick trip to check out the house again and make some arrangements for everything to be settled when we get there. Sheryl is busy trying to figure out what to take and what to leave here. If you ask me, I think we’ll just end up buying new furniture when we get out there. We’re still going to use this house, so we should just leave it as it is.”
 
“I didn’t realize you were moving. Did you just decide?”
 
“No, it’s been in the works for a while. We had some technicalities to work out before we finalized our plans.”
 
Technicalities that had to do with inheriting Eric’s money? If, of course, Eric’s parents were his beneficiaries. If so, his money wouldn’t yet be theirs; inheritance didn’t happen immediately after a death. But what kinds of monsters would kill their son for a beach house? And if the Raffertys wanted another house, they probably had enough money of their own to buy one. Still, my classmates had raised the idea that for some people, there is no such thing as enough money. Also, according to the members of the group, I was supposed to be on the lookout for signs of pathology within the family system or for anything else I could report to Detective Hurley to divert his attention from Josh.
 
Unfortunately, the most pathological thing I discovered during dinner was that the entire Rafferty clan was exceedingly boring. Conversation centered around the Raffertys’ move to California and the upscale gated community in which they would play golf and tennis. Worse, the food was terrible. Eric’s good culinary taste was apparently not genetic: dinner consisted of iceberg salad and bland roast pork with overcooked broccoli. If the Raffertys actually enjoyed this horrible food, they must have hated the divine concoctions Josh had prepared for the gathering after the funeral. Fools.
 
“So,” I said, trying to steer the conversation toward the murder investigation, “have you heard anything from the police? Any leads on Eric’s killer?”
 
Looks of horror appeared on the faces of Phil, Sheryl, the aunts, and the uncles.
 
“No, Chloe, we haven’t,” answered Sheryl, her face as pinched as ever. “I didn’t want to speak about this over dinner, but I suppose we can’t just ignore the pink elephant in the middle of table now, can we? The detective has been by several times. In fact, he was here yesterday. We gave him what information we could, but he doesn’t have enough evidence to arrest anyone. Yet. He was asking us whether we’d done any painting around the house. And, good Lord, he specifically wanted to know whether we’d painted anything
orange
! Can you imagine?” Sheryl Rafferty was someone who’d choose tasteful shades of Ralph Lauren and hire a professional to do the painting. The image of her teetering on a ladder with a roller of orange paint in her hand was ludicrous.
 
“And,” she continued, “he wanted to know about that Veronica, that, uh, girl Eric was seeing before he met you. I told him the truth, which is that Veronica was a gold-digging tramp and that she probably murdered our son once she . . . well, once he broke things off with her.”
 
“When exactly was that?”
 
“Oh, don’t worry, dear. He wasn’t seeing her when you two started dating. I suppose it was about six weeks or so before he died. I know you two hadn’t known each other long, but when it’s right, it’s right. We didn’t even know he’d been seeing someone else after her—you, of course, as we know now. But Eric was probably afraid to introduce us to you after the Veronica fiasco. We all despised her. In fact, we had just found out about you the day he died. I’d spoken to him on the phone earlier in the day, and he told me that he was taking a young woman named Chloe to dinner. He said you’d been out together a bunch of times and that he was absolutely
smitten
.” Mrs. Rafferty’s eyes twinkled at the memory of that last phone call. “I just know you two would have been together forever.”
 
“That’s enough, Sheryl.” Phil, who struck me as the more grief-stricken of the parents, looked miserable. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Can we just get through dinner, please?”
 
I excused myself to use the bathroom but just needed a breather. Eric, it seemed, had invented a relationship with me and had lied to his parents, probably because he’d wanted to convince them that he was hooked up with someone other than the despised Veronica. Sheryl had not only believed him but had gone on to fantasize about our supposed romance and to cultivate the image of her son heading down the road toward blissful matrimony.

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