“Is something wrong? I’ve been calling him all morning about the meeting with Hank Boucher. He decided he didn’t want me there, if you can believe it, because his kitchen is so small. Did he screw something up?” she demanded.
“Not exactly, no. Ellie, I really need to come and talk to you. What’s your address?”
Ellie paused. “Okay. I’m in Cambridge, not too far from Harvard Square.” She gave me her street address and hung up.
A trip down Mass. Ave. followed by a few turns would get me to her place in no time. Despite the cold, I rolled down the window, and as I drove, I took gulps of fresh air. Of the many things that were upsetting me, what stood out most was something Barbara had said: her suggestion that someone else besides Digger could have started the fire. What if the fire hadn’t been an accident, but arson? What if his death had been murder? But who on earth would want to kill Digger? Was Norris so fed up with the chef that he’d burned down the building, even at the risk of destroying his own apartment? Maybe Ellie would have some idea.
SIX
ELLIE lived in half of a gorgeous old two-family house on a charming side street. To live in this part of Cambridge, right in the midst of Harvard University territory, she had to have money.
Announcing a boyfriend’s death was not how I’d normally choose to meet someone. I had no idea what to say. In fact, all I could think of was what not to say.
When I rang the bell, Ellie called for me to come in. I pushed open the heavy front door and stepped into the living room, where a roaring fire heated the cozy room.
“Chloe.” Ellie smiled as she emerged from a doorway. “It’s great to meet you. Come in and grab a seat. Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thank you. Um, Ellie…”
I stared at the young woman, who looked perky and chipper and incredibly voluptuous-big hair and big boobs. Her bouncy chestnut hair fell just below her shoulders, and her crisp clothes hugged her shapely curves.
I said, “You need to sit down.” I nodded at the cream love seat by the fireplace.
“I knew something happened! Don’t tell me Digger blew off Hank Boucher, of all people!” Ellie sat neatly on the cushion and crossed her legs. “If Digger would just listen to me, then he would have his own line of cookware by now. What am I going to do with him?”
“Ellie, there’s been… I have something terrible to tell you. There is no easy way to say this, but…” I simply couldn’t get the words out. I stared at her dark red lips, momentarily entranced by the thick layer of lipstick. “Last night… Digger…”
Ellie’s face darkened as she listened to me struggle. “What is it? What is it?” Panic crept into her voice.
I had to spit it out. “There was a horrible fire at Digger’s place last night. He died. No one has confirmed it yet, but I know that it was a chef who lived on the first floor of his building. It’s obviously him.”
Ellie threw her hands over her face and held still. Feeling hopelessly inadequate, I waited for her to fall apart. Her shoulders began to tremble, and tears soon leaked from behind her hands as she moaned and sobbed. I moved to sit next to her. Resting my hand on her back, I said, “I’m terribly sorry.” I wiped my own cheeks. “This is such a tremendous shock. I can hardly believe it myself. I don’t know what to say.”
Ellie finally dropped her hands from her face. She looked positively heartbroken and miserable. Having no idea what to say, I reached out and wiped the mess of black mascara that ran down her face.
“How could this have happened?” she asked. “Why? And he was just about to really make something of himself. He was finally going to have his talent recognized! It’s not fair! Do you have any idea what the competition for this new job was like? He was so proud of himself for beating out the other chefs. Rightfully so, too, because he was up against some very good chefs. This just isn’t right!” She dropped her head, crying hard.
I snatched a handful of tissues from an end table and handed her the pile. “Can I call someone for you?” Ellie, I thought, needed the presence of someone she was close to, a friend or a family member, not the stranger who had delivered the devastating news.
“Georgie,” she said through her tears. “Call Georgie. My phone…” She pointed to a purse that sat by the front door.
I scrambled for her purse and found her cell phone. A quick scroll down through her contacts, past a list of numbers for Digger, revealed Georgie. I called the number and was relieved when Georgie answered immediately. I explained who I was and asked her to come to Ellie’s as soon as possible. Although I didn’t tell her about Digger, she must have caught the gravity of my request, because she assured me that she’d be right over. As we waited, I did what I could to comfort Ellie. My ineffectual efforts consisted mainly of emptying the box of tissues and murmuring words of condolence until the front door finally burst open.
“What’s wrong?” A tall, thin waif of a woman stood in front of us, her short blonde hair tucked behind her ears. “Ellie?” she asked with concern as she knelt in front of her friend.
“Digger is dead,” Ellie managed to whisper. “There was a fire and he’s dead!” More tears followed, of course, and more tissues.
Georgie’s already fair skin paled as she crumpled to the floor, holding herself up with her hands. “Oh my God. No! No!” She burst into choked sobs. “Oh, Digger! No!”
I shut my eyes for a moment. The grief was so painful to witness that I knew I’d be unable to hold myself together much longer. At least Ellie had a friend here who was compassionate and empathic, I told myself. Indeed, Georgie seemed to share her friend’s sorrow almost too much, but at least Ellie now had the support of someone she knew and trusted.
Georgie looked up at me from the floor. “Chloe?” She wiped her eyes. “How did you find out about this?”
I explained about the cooking demonstration that Digger was to have done for Hank, Kyle, and me, and I described arriving at his place to find the aftermath of the fire. “You knew Digger, too, obviously. I’m so sorry.”
Georgie nodded. “Yes, I did. And my boyfriend, Jay, had actually been in a friendly rivalry with Digger for the job at the Penthouse. He’s the sous-chef now, though. Ellie and I are going to be servers there.” She glanced at Ellie, and the two fell apart. “I’ll have to let him know, too.”
Ellie had told me that the chef who’d come in second for the job was furious. Was that someone else? But now wasn’t the time to straighten out the confusion, and I had no reason to care about who had or hadn’t become the executive chef at the Penthouse. Georgie’s boyfriend, Jay, would presumably take over for Digger. I didn’t envy him having to jump in at the last minute to get the restaurant ready to open. As I knew from watching Josh prepare for Simmer’s opening, he’d have a ton of work in front of him. Also, unless Digger had kept all of his plans at work, everything he’d slaved over must have been lost in the fire, so his successor would have to start from scratch. But maybe the new executive chef would have wanted to make the job all his own, anyway.
“I’m so sorry to have had to break the news,” I said. “I should get going and leave you two alone.” I rose from the couch and walked to the door.
“Thank you, Chloe,” Ellie whispered. She reached for Georgie, who joined her on the couch.
I left the two tearful girls and drove toward home. The sky had clouded over and darkened the city. The gloomy atmosphere fit my mood. I shut off the radio, mainly to avoid hearing music that I would then forever associate with Digger’s death. I’d had high hopes that the day would go well for Digger and for me. Instead, it had turned into a nightmare. Whenever things went wrong in my life, I wanted to fix them by taking constructive action, but there was no fixing this situation. I pulled into my parking spot in front of my condo and looked up at the familiar brown house. It felt good to be home. I shuffled up the back steps to the third floor and opened the door, where Inga the white fluffball of a cat stood meowing at me as if she knew how I felt and was waiting to take care of me. Stupid, I know, but I choose to believe it. I dropped my tote to the floor, threw my coat on the coffee table, and scooped up my girl, who purred melodically.
Still hugging the sympathetic little cat, I grabbed the phone and curled up on the couch. For some reason, I was seized by the urgent impulse to tell someone about Digger. Although he’d had friends and family who’d have to hear the news, it really wasn’t my responsibility to inform them. Besides, in the tight- knit restaurant community, word would spread quickly. Someone, probably the police, would find and inform Digger’s family. But what about
