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.
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.”
I leaned over and gave Owen a hug. “She adores you, Owen, and you could never let her down. Never.”
“Thanks, Chloe. I love her, too.”
“I know you do.” I kissed Owen on the cheek and stepped out of the truck. “You better get off to that job search, mister.”
“Hey,” he started, “please think about talking to Josh. I think you’re blowing things here. He is still in love with you, Chloe.”
“Tough!” I shut the door.
“And you’re in love with him!” Owen called out the window as I walked away. “You know you are!”
“Shut up, Owen!” I laughed over my shoulder. He meant well, but he wasn’t doing much to bolster the supposedly independent-woman theme I had going.
I was wiped out. When I reached my condo, I immediately yanked off my mental-health-professional clothes and pulled on cozy sweatpants and thick socks. I was going to hunker down in front of Thursday-night television and work my way through a carton of ice cream. I rooted through my dresser for a top and pulled out the first one I got my hands on, a worn red T-shirt. Seeing what I’d yanked out at random, I pressed the tattered shirt to my face as my eyes welled up. The T-shirt was Josh’s. I’d forgotten that I still had it. I inhaled deeply, hoping that a trace of him still lingered on the shirt, but it just smelled like laundry detergent. I knew I should have shoved it back into the dresser or, better yet, thrown it in the trash, but I pulled it over my head, wrapped my arms around my chest, and hugged the fabric against me.
I flipped on the computer, sat on the bed, and checked Facebook. I’d been out of the Facebook loop for a long time; I’d barely checked in since Josh had left. Despite having blocked all of his attempts to contact me, I hadn’t had the heart to remove him from my list of friends. I clicked on his name and saw my chef’s profile picture, a gorgeous shot of him with a ridiculously perfect ocean behind him, a photo obviously taken in Hawaii. His tanned face smiled at me, and I stuck my tongue out at him. When I browsed through a bunch of photos from Hawaii, it seemed to me that he had been having a jolly good time there frolicking on the beach with new friends, slinging back drinks on a lanai, and snorkeling off a boat in stupendous waters. Ugh, and there were lots of stupid, bikini-
