“The chef’s special blend,” he said. “That’s all I know.”
“Special it is,” I replied. He bowed slightly and left.
“The hard part,” I said, “will be talking to Edgar.”
“That,” Sandra said, “is why you are the boss and I a mere servant.”
On my way back from the restroom, I passed the kitchen, partially open for show. I paused to watch the blades and flames. Was that Tariq?
As if he felt me staring at him or heard me saying his name to myself, the slender young man raised his head. Recognition struck, but he quickly closed it off and returned to his work.
Was Tariq Rose the answer to our questions? Was he the problem? How could I find out?
Back at the table, I paid the bill—in cash, so I didn’t give myself away—and ignored the “what’s up, boss?” look on Sandra’s face. Normally, I leave my business card. Unlike food critics, I want chefs to know I’ve been there. I want to introduce myself and open the door for future spice talk.
Not this time.
“Thanks—lunch was great!” I called out as we passed the kitchen. “My compliments to the cooks!”
Outside, Sandra headed for the car. “Give me two minutes,” I said, then circled around the side of the building. The parallel did not escape me—I had often chatted with Edgar in the alley outside Alex Howard’s First Avenue Café, and here I was in another back alley, hoping to catch a word with one of Edgar’s old coworkers.
The alley was empty. Had Tariq not caught my signal? Had he not been able to sneak away?
Then the gray steel door opened and Tariq stepped out, unsnapping the collar of his coat. His white cotton T-shirt contrasted starkly with his dark skin.
“Posh,” he called, using Alex Howard’s nickname for me, Posh Spice. “What are you doing here? Scouting? Want me to introduce you to Chef?”
“No, no, that’s fine. We were in the mood for crab cakes and heard they were good here.”
“You like ’em?”
“Very nice,” I said.
His narrow face broke into a grin. “I made those.”
“Good job. Have you eaten Edgar’s crab cakes? At Speziato. Similar spicing.”
The grin disappeared, the brows furrowed. Tariq’s reputation as a hothead, along with some unfortunate timing, had made him a target of suspicion in a murder last winter. I’d never been sure, though, whether he was a genuine firebrand or put on a show of bad temper in imitation of Alex, his one-time boss, who was admirable in the kitchen and other small spaces, but not a model of decorum.
I explained. “You can see why Edgar and I are worried. No one else has access to that recipe.”
“You don’t think I stole it? How could I?” He threw up his hands, his voice rising. “Why is everybody so quick to point the finger at me?”
“No one’s accusing you of anything, Tariq. I know you haven’t been in Edgar’s kitchen. I’m just hoping you can help me.” If he knew I’d briefly suspected him of murder, I hoped he also knew that I’d helped clear him. “Who knows, Edgar might need another cook as good as you some day.”
“You trying to bribe me into spying for you?”
“No. Just asking you to keep your eyes and ears open.” I reached in my tote for my card case. “If you see any reason to think somebody here might have acted inappropriately—”
“If somebody here is a thief?”
“—then call me. Edgar and I will both be grateful.”
He gave me a long look, as though trying to decide whether to trust me. I held out a card. He took it.
Then we both got back to other things.
KRISTEN texted that I was cleared for a visit, so I dropped Sandra off at the bus stop on Madison. Midday, midweek, no point searching for a spot on the street. I pulled into the hospital’s parking garage. I turned off the engine and sat a moment.
You can’t barge into the hospital room of someone you see a few times a year without a plan. Even if you do have a free pass to get you by the dragons at the gate.
But I did genuinely care about Maddie. The distance between us the last couple of years wasn’t her fault; it was mine. Nothing had happened. It was just part of life.
Except that, in a way, something had happened.
The night of their housewarming party, I’d overheard Maddie and another old classmate talking about a large contribution Maddie had just made to the foundation the other woman ran.
“We couldn’t do this without your financial assistance,” our mutual friend had said.
“I’d rather be doing the work,” Maddie had replied. “Helping kids and families directly. Maybe working on affordable housing or to strengthen communities. Not just giving money.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“Oh, that ship sailed a long time ago. Back in college.” Then they’d come around the corner, and run smack into me. Maddie had been so shocked she’d dropped her lipstick and the tube had rolled down the stairs as the three of us watched, oddly mesmerized.
That ship had sailed because of me. I’d taken the opportunity Maddie had desperately wanted, and I’d wasted it. Part of me knew that was old news—we’d been in college then—but part of me still felt like a schmuck.
This wasn’t the time to bring up old tensions. That wouldn’t help her, and it wouldn’t help Laurel.
And it sure as heck wouldn’t help me.
Tell the truth. Even if Maddie wasn’t fully communicative yet, Tim might be able to fill in a few blanks. I’d be up front, tell them straight off the bat that I
