I silently retrieved Kyle’s and Hank’s coats, and then opened the door. Hank held his head high as he walked out and continued to lavish unwanted praise on me. “Fabulous, my dear. Nicely done! I’ll be in touch.”
I touched Kyle’s arm as he left. He turned his head slightly my way. “I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’ll be fine. This will blow over, and we’ll keep working on the cookbook. You’ll see,” I tried to reassure him.
“No. You don’t get it. It’s over for me. I just… I’m sorry.” He rushed out the door to catch up with his father.
I looked at my coffee table, still covered in serving dishes that held the food that I’d slaved over. What moments ago had been a gorgeous display of culinary delights now looked hopelessly sad to me; I had never intended to have my cooking and my work used against Kyle. I helped myself to an oyster and pondered Hank’s outburst. As a budding social worker, I knew that Hank’s behavior must be rooted in his own past. He’d probably grown up in a terrible family and was now passing on his pain to his son. Still! I just couldn’t understand how any father could treat his son that way, especially in front of someone else. Granted, Hank had given Kyle the chance to write the cookbook, but he seemed to have done so mainly to create an opportunity to belittle his son. Of course, Kyle was rather incompetent, but how the hell was anyone expected to succeed under Hank Boucher’s cruel guidance? That demeaning, abusive, hateful scene was tantamount to emotional murder.
Murder. It occurred to me that Hank was in Boston when Digger died. Kyle and Hank were supposed to meet me at Digger’s that morning. When they’d arrived in the rented Hummer, Hank had been driving, so he’d obviously had Digger’s address, and might have had it the previous evening or in the early morning. And Hank was certainly a horrible person, maybe horrible enough to commit murder. Look how he had exploded at Kyle! And right in front of me. I hated to imagine how his temper flared when there were no witnesses. But what possible motive could he have had for killing Digger? As far as I knew, Hank had never even met Digger.
I nibbled on shrimp-and-Brie puffs and gave silent thanks for having parents who loved me, who wanted the best for me, and who would never, ever subject me to public humiliation.
EIGHTEEN
ON Thursday, four days after the appetizer disaster, I still hadn’t heard from Kyle or Hank. I couldn’t bear to call Kyle, who was probably licking his wounds and would get in touch with me once they’d begun to heal. In spite of my sympathy for him, I couldn’t help being curious about the status of the cookbook. I needed the job as much as ever and needed to know whether Hank had scrapped the project or whether we were still writing the book.
I was coming home from my supervision group when I noticed Owen’s obtrusive fish truck parked by the sidewalk in front of my house. Maneuvering my car into my spot, I eyed the seafood company’s logo on the side of the truck: WE’LL GIVE YOU CRABS. God! No wonder Owen’s business was doing badly. I could see Owen in his side mirror. He was bouncing his head to music and hadn’t noticed my arrival. I snuck up to the driver’s side window and startled Owen by pounding on the glass. He jumped. “We don’t want any!” I said loudly. “Get your smelly truck outta here!”
Owen laughed and rolled down the window. “You scared the crap out of me, Chloe.”
“That was the point. You waiting for me?”
“Yeah. I need to talk to you.”
“Do you want to come up?”
“Nah, I can’t stay too long. How ’bout you hop in? It’s nice and warm, and I’ve got AM radio,” he said in a singsong voice.
“In that case, sure. You know how I love AM radio. When else can I hear Paul Anka?” I rolled my eyes but climbed into the passenger’s seat. “What’s up? Is something going on with Adrianna? Or Patrick?” I wrinkled my nose at the stench. I love seafood, but the smell in the truck was a bit much, even for me. The dolphin air freshener did little to camouflage the fishy reek.
“Nah, Ade and Patrick are fine. Look, Chloe,” Owen said, running his hands through his dark hair, “I came to talk to you about Josh.”
“No you don’t!” I reached for the door handle, but Owen hit the automatic lock button. “Are you seriously keeping me hostage?”
“Yes. Just hear me out.”
I crossed my arms and sulked. “Fine. What is it?”
“He really wants to talk to you, and he says that you won’t take his calls and that you brushed him off at the Penthouse’s opening.”
“Why would I want to talk to him, Owen? He’s part of my past, and I’m trying really hard to move on, but no one will let me!” I held back tears.
“First of all, he’s really worried about this Kyle that you’re working for. He says this guy is a total jerk.”
“Yeah, what the hell is his problem with Kyle, anyway? He certainly can’t be jealous! Besides, I don’t care what Josh thinks.”
“Maybe this is just an excuse for Josh to be in touch with you, but he wanted me to tell you that he and Digger went to culinary school with Kyle, so he knows more about Kyle than you think.”
What? Kyle had never once mentioned that he’d gone to culinary school. Yes, he’d said that he’d gone to school briefly in Boston, but he certainly hadn’t said a thing about culinary school, and he hadn’t told me that he’d known Digger. I couldn’t remember whether I’d mentioned Josh’s last name when we’d discussed Simmer, but Digger was another matter entirely. There weren’t all that many Diggers in the world to begin with, and a guy named Digger who was a Boston chef? I was willing to bet that there’d been only one, and I couldn’t believe that Kyle had failed to reveal his connection. Furthermore, as I’d learned on the night when I’d cooked with Ade, Owen, and Kyle, the famous chef’s son couldn’t even cook! As for his taste buds, practically every dish we’d tried during our restaurant outings had tasted good to him; even when food was mediocre or downright awful, he thought that it was just fine. “Oh. Well, I didn’t know that Kyle had gone to school with Josh. And so what if Josh doesn’t like Kyle? Big deal.”
“He misses you, Chloe. Josh really misses you.”
“No.” I shook my head and looked straight ahead. “No, he doesn’t. He’s fooling around with Snacker’s girlfriend, Georgie. I saw them together the other night.” I sniffed and forced a smile. “So how are you doing? What’s been going on at your house?”
“Smooth change of subject there,” Owen said. “But I’ll let it go for now. The truth is that things are sort of tough. The fish business blows, and I promised Adrianna that I’d look online for another job. In fact, that’s where I’m headed now. There just has to be something more reliable than this. I really thought that I could make this work, you know? I thought that by now I’d have a bunch of regular restaurants that would give me all of their business and that I’d be making fat commissions off all of them.” He shrugged and looked solemn and disturbingly un-Owen-like.
“I’m sure you’ll find something soon. Who wouldn’t want to hire you? You’ve got tons of experience in so many areas,” I said, trying to put a positive spin on Owen’s erratic work history.
“We’ll see. Adrianna and Patrick are going to be gone for a while tonight, so I’ll really be able to concentrate on this job search. It’s hard to pay attention when my beautiful wife and entertaining son are around.”
“Where is Ade going? I could watch Patrick for you guys if you need me,” I offered.
“Thanks, but she’s going to a clothing swap set up by her online mothers’ group. I guess they’re meeting at one of the mom’s houses for a potluck. Ade has a big bag of clothes that Patrick has already outgrown, but mostly I think she’s getting out of the house to make me stick to my job hunt. She knows me too well.” He laughed and then turned serious again. “I feel like I’m letting her down.”