Cook the Books

oil, salt, and pepper, stuff it with rosemary and basil, and then cover it with coarse salt. When it was done, I’d break off the salt crust and dive in. The need to test the recipes provided a good excuse to try out some of the more delicious-sounding ones. Plus, the chef who’d been the source of this recipe had actually taken the time to write a coherent list of ingredients and clear directions. Most chefs were impossible. One recipe I’d tackled earlier this morning was for an Asian-style hotpot that would serve sixty people. Sixty! I’d never heard of half of the ingredients, and the instructions were confusing. Chefs just didn’t seem to understand that the rest of us lacked their inherent brilliance in the kitchen; we needed to be told what to buy and what to do.

Kyle and I would have to get new recipes for the short-changed categories in the cookbook, and we’d have to avoid getting yet more duplicate and triplicate recipes, but I hated to sound picky and bossy in asking chefs for the favor of sharing recipes. We need a beef dish that does not have potatoes or leeks but does have cumin and rutabagas. And no roast chicken! What I needed to do was to browse through a great chef’s recipes and pull out what we needed.

Digger, I thought with a smile. Digger had had recipes. If I could find them, if they hadn’t burned with the building, we could include them in the book as a wonderful tribute to him. Plus, Digger cooked damn well. No one would imagine that including him in the book was an act of pity. Ellie would probably like the idea as much as I did. I even had the feeling that, in spite of her grief, she’d be pleased to have Digger gain the posthumous celebrity.

I called Ellie and had to let the phone ring repeatedly before she picked up. “Hello.” Her voice was weak and hoarse.

“Ellie, it’s Chloe. How are you holding up?” I asked.

“I’m not doing very well,” she said as she burst into tears. “I had to identify Digger’s body.”

“I’m so sorry.” I let her cry for a few moments before presenting my idea. “I think Digger would like the idea of being published, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do,” she sniffed. “I think that’s really lovely.”

“Do you know where he kept his recipes? Are they at the restaurant, or do you have any?”

“No.” She managed a small laugh. “He would never have kept them where someone else could have access to them. You know chefs. They guard their private recipes with their lives.” She paused. What a choice of words. “Oh God!” Ellie started crying again, and I had to wipe my own eyes. I heard her take a deep breath. “I had to identify his body, Chloe. It was awful.” I waited while she sobbed. “Anyhow, no, I don’t have any of his recipes, unfortunately. Digger didn’t need me to help him cook. He kept them in a messenger bag in his apartment. It was usually in the bedroom by the front door, which isn’t that close to the kitchen, so maybe it wasn’t destroyed. That’s the room he used as his office. I’ll go over there later today or tomorrow and let you know if I can find the bag. This is a really nice idea. Thanks for thinking of including him.”

“Are you sure you’re up to going over there? Do you want me to help you? Or maybe your friend Georgie can go with you?” I suggested.

“No. I need to do it. I’ve been putting it off, but I need to see what I might be able to keep of his. You know, as a reminder or whatever. Besides, I’ve got some of my stuff there, too. Or I had some. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

I hung up and went to check on the salt-crusted chicken. I opened the oven, pulled out the roasting pan, took a good whiff, and smiled. The potatoes I’d baked were also done, so I tossed together a salad and enjoyed a fabulous early dinner. It was only five o’clock. Living alone was not heinously depressing, I told myself; it had its advantages. For instance, I could eat whenever I wanted. When I’d finished my meal, I popped Season Four of The Closer into the DVD player and lay down on the couch. Another wild night at Chez Chloe, right? At least I was getting a lot of sleep these days. With Josh in my life, I’d hardly slept, or so it now seemed. I used to wait up at night to see him when he got off work, and then we’d be up late doing wonderfully wicked things to each other, but I’d still have to get up for classes in the morning. Not that I’d cared about being tired, but why not appreciate a good night’s sleep now?

When the phone awakened me the next morning, I rolled over in bed and glanced at the clock. It was ten. I’d slept for twelve hours, maybe a bit too long. I lifted the phone to my ear and curled back up under the covers.

“Chloe? It’s Ellie. Digger is a stupid son of a bitch!” Her voice was loud and forceful; she sounded nothing like the soft-spoken, crying girl I’d talked to yesterday.

I yanked the covers off my head and sat bolt upright. “What’s going on?”

“After everything I did for him? He can go to hell! In fact, that’s probably where he is right now, and he can burn there for all of eternity!”

“Did something happen, Ellie?”

“Yes, something happened. What happened is that Digger is a goddamn asshole, and so screw him! At least I’m not crying anymore, so that’s a good thing, right?”

“If you think so,” I said doubtfully. “I’m not really sure what’s going on. Did you go to his apartment?”

“The building is condemned, so I couldn’t get in. Not that I give a crap anyway! I don’t want to see anything that reminds me of him, anyway, so don’t ask me to go back there! I hate him!” she screamed into the phone.

“What am I missing here, Ellie?”

“Digger is a self-centered, smug jackass! That’s what you’re missing.” Ellie abruptly hung up.

I flopped back on the bed. What the heck was that all about? One minute Digger’s girlfriend was a crying mess, and now she’s a swearing mess. And so much for the recipes. I couldn’t very well call Ellie back now and insist that she sneak into a condemned building and search through the charred possessions of a dead man she suddenly hated.

But, I realized, there was nothing to stop me.

There’d be no one guarding the building. The police certainly had better things to do than assign officers to stand outside a burned-out building to prevent the illegal entry of cookbook assistants. At least I hoped they did. I didn’t relish the prospect of going alone, but I couldn’t think of anyone to enlist as an accomplice. Adrianna was far too glamorous to go galumphing around in an incinerated building, and since she was a mother, I couldn’t ask her to do anything even slightly risky. Besides, if I told her about my plan, she’d try to prevent me from going. In contrast, Owen would be game, but now that he was a father, he was finally acting responsibly, and I shouldn’t encourage bad behavior. My friend Doug was fastidious beyond words and wouldn’t even consider accompanying me; the thought of even a hint of soot on his shoes would send him into convulsions. My sister, Heather, would never agree. Kyle was out of the question. At least for now.

So I was going to have to go alone. Fine. Another step marking my independence! I hopped up, started a pot of coffee, and tried to decide when to go. Daylight seemed none too smart, since the neighbors would be bound to notice me. Drawing on my in- depth study of adventurous undertakings-via TV and movies-I thought of 24 and asked myself, What would Jack Bauer do? Well, Jack had only twenty-four hours to do a lot more than look for recipes in an apartment, so unless I had to fit my plan in between disarming a nuclear bomb and torturing criminals, I didn’t have Jack’s time constraints. Good! If I went to Digger’s when it was totally dark, I’d have to use a flashlight; the electricity must have been turned off. But a flashlight would attract attention and make me look like a burglar. Although I wasn’t totally committed to social work, I wasn’t about to abandon my career choice for life as a burglar, especially one who got caught. The best time seemed to be late afternoon, when it would be somewhat dark but when there would still be enough light coming through the windows for me to see my way around. And on my key chain was a penlight I could use if need be.

For the rest of the day, I puttered around the house nervously, waiting for the sky to start darkening, and when it did, I drove to Digger’s. Dressing for my first breaking and entering had been a challenge. Nothing dressy, obviously, but I couldn’t look suspicious, in case someone saw me and called the police. All black had seemed too obvious, so I’d gone with dark jeans, a dark ribbed turtleneck, and brown boots. I also did my hair and makeup. It might sound stupid to get dressed up to sneak into a condemned building, but I wanted to look normal and ordinary, as if I had some legitimate reason to be in the neighborhood and in Digger’s apartment. I mean, rescuing recipes was legitimate, but it might not seem that way to spying neighbors. Or to the cops, either.

I parked a few buildings down from Digger’s, locked the car, and pulled on a white fleece hat. I wanted to cover my red hair, which stood out and made me identifiable. Stupid hair! I walked assuredly toward the