Cook the Books

yellow caution tape. I glanced left and right, and then ducked under the tape and into the kitchen.

The kitchen was a disaster. I felt sick as I looked at the remains of the cabinets. The little that was left of them was black and unsalvageable. The counters and floors were covered in ash and chunks of ceiling. The stench nearly made me gag. I didn’t know whether its source was rotting food in the fridge or whether I was just smelling the fire; either way, the reek was nauseating. I suddenly wanted to move quickly. For the first time, it occurred to me that this place might have been condemned not simply as a matter of routine but for real safety reasons. I had no interest in having a support beam come crashing down on my head. Also, I’d miscalculated my time of arrival. It was darker inside than I would have liked; I should have arrived fifteen minutes earlier. Still, I could see that the kitchen opened onto a hallway, one that presumably would lead me to the bedroom, by the front door, that Digger had used as an office.

I gingerly stepped across and around the debris on the floor while holding out my arms to keep my balance. I kept my eyes focused exclusively on the area directly ahead of me; I wanted to see no more than was required to let me move safely. As much as possible, I avoided taking in the details of the scene, because every bit of damage made me acutely aware that the same fire that had caused the destruction surrounding me was the fire that had killed Digger. With each passing second, I longed more and more to escape the ruined apartment and the thoughts that it triggered. When I reached the hallway, my stomach dropped. Ahead of me was blackness. I took my key chain from my pocket and turned on the penlight. Its inadequate beam was only slightly better than no light at all, but the penlight did let me see a piece of supporting timber that hung from the ceiling and stretched down to reach the floor. Coming here at all felt like a colossally stupid idea.

Whimpering, I pressed myself against the filthy wall and slid past the fallen timber. Although I hated being here, I remained as determined as I’d been before to get the recipes and to memorialize Digger in a way he would like, and I realized that if I panicked and ran away, I’d end up having to return. Flashing the light in front of me, I saw that the windows over the front door were boarded up. To the right, a wide arch apparently opened to the living room. I passed one small doorway to what must have been Digger’s bedroom, the place I was most reluctant to enter. I fervently hoped that his messenger bag would be in the front bedroom, his office, where Ellie had told me it was. Reaching the end of the hallway, I looked through an open door to the left, and tentatively shone my light around. From what I could see, there was significantly less fire damage here at the front of the apartment than there was toward the back. Still, there was plenty of plaster dust and soot.

Perhaps because the room was at the front of the building, by the street, all the windows had been boarded up, so I had only my penlight to guide me. I cautiously stepped in and made out a couple of bookshelves to my left. Across the room was a small desk that seemed like a likely place for Digger to have left his messenger bag. After checking for a clear path, I made my way to the desk, reached out to put my hand on the back of a chair, and looked quickly around for the bag. The top of the desk was covered in soot, but I could make out a very clear rectangular spot that was remarkably clean and, as I immediately realized, just about the size of a notebook computer. To the right of the desk, a printer sat on top of a stack of cinder blocks. I backed up and moved slowly to my left, but tripped over something large and lumpy on the floor and went crashing down.

I released a muffled shriek. Please don’t let it be a dead body, please don’t let it be a dead body! I repeated the plea over and over, as if it were a mantra. I could feel my arms shake, but I pushed myself up off the lump and realized that I’d tripped over a mattress. Digger had apparently used this room as a second bedroom and not just an office. I sighed, stood up, and smacked my back into something hard. A loud crash nearly sent me into cardiac arrest, but I whipped the light in the direction of the noise. I’d knocked over two milk crates filled with cookbooks. Okay, enough was enough! I was getting the messenger bag and getting the hell out of here. I planted my feet firmly on the floor and played the small light slowly and deliberately over every inch of the room.

There it was. That had to be it. An overstuffed messenger bag sat right by the doorway. Damn. If I’d looked carefully before entering the room, I could have avoided scaring myself to pieces. I got the bag, put the strap over my shoulder, and stepped into the hallway. Since I was right by the front door, I hoped to use it to make a quick escape that would spare me from backtracking down the hallway and through the kitchen. I located the front door, but just as I set my hand on the doorknob, a noise coming from the kitchen made me freeze.

I don’t believe in ghosts, but I do believe in rats, and if I had to choose between running into one or the other, I’d pick ghosts. I furiously jiggled the doorknob, barely seeing what I was doing because my nerves were making the penlight shake and dance all over the place. Although the knob turned, the door didn’t budge. Dammit! It must be sealed. It made no sense to have sealed the front door and not the back, but now was not the time to phone the city to complain about how its employees handled condemned buildings. The noise from the kitchen grew louder. Then it moved closer to me. I had a sudden, ardent wish that I’d been right about the rats. The sound of footsteps, however, told me that there was another person in the apartment.

I tried to talk myself out of my panic. There was no reason to imagine that this newcomer was a threat, I told myself. A neighbor who’d seen or heard me must have come to investigate. I struggled to make speedy plans. In this situation, what would an insurance company investigator say? I shifted the weight of Digger’s bag on my shoulder and pivoted as smoothly as I could to face whoever was coming my way. Squinting into the bright beam of a flashlight, I was blinder than I’d been in complete darkness.

The light moved away from eyes, and I could see a man’s figure approaching, a man who moved down the hallway much less clumsily than I had.

My trembling became uncontrollable. The man stepped close to me. His flashlight dropped to the floor as he moved in until he was only inches from me. Then he pressed his body against mine, pushing my back to the door, pinning me to it, keeping my knees from giving out on me.

“Chloe,” he whispered, barely audible.

I could see nothing at all, but I could feel his hands on my waist, pulling me against him and then moving up my sides, across my back. His mouth found mine, and I could taste him as he started kissing me deeply. I stopped thinking and just let myself get lost in his taste and his feel. I lifted my hands to his face, touching his cheeks and then running my fingers through his hair. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held on tightly, barely able to breathe as he continued to kiss me relentlessly. Finally I pulled away enough to take in some air.

“Josh,” I said. “Josh.”

TEN

“JOSH,” I repeated in disbelief. I moved my lips to his again, totally delirious and responding instinctively.

He nuzzled his cheek against mine. Feeling his warm breath on my ear, I shuddered.

“God, I missed you,” he said, and I felt him move in to kiss me again.

Suddenly coming to my senses, I shoved him away with both hands. “What the hell are you doing here? You scared the crap out of me!”

“You don’t feel scared to me.” I could tell he was smiling. “What’s with all the pushing?”

“I can push you if I feel like it!” I spun around and again yanked on the front door. I’d break it down if I had to. I felt Josh reach up and heard him slide a dead bolt open. The door unexpectedly flew open, and I went sailing out into the cold air and ended up flailing around idiotically, tangled in a mess of yellow police ribbon.

“Chloe, stop moving,” Josh instructed as he tried to free me from the caution tape.

Considering how pissed I suddenly was, he should have left me tangled up and heeded the neon yellow warning.

“Don’t touch me!” I hollered as I barreled down the front steps. “How dare you try to untangle me after the horrific way you left!” I glared at him, finally getting a good look at the chef who had broken my heart only months before. Streetlights lit his face. It killed me to see that he looked even more gorgeous than ever. Lightened by the sun, his hair was blonder than before, and his skin was tan from those months in Hawaii. Damn, he looked hot! I was angrier than ever. “Do you have any idea what it’s been like for me since you left? Do you? I’m so sick of crying that I can’t cry anymore. You left me, Josh. With barely any explanation except to say that you got a great job offer in Hawaii. The next thing I knew, you were gone!”