EIGHT

Saturday morning marked the one-week anniversary of Noah’s philandering and my Internet dating error. The one-week anniversary of my enrollment in nightmarish social work school was approaching. Yay. And I had Eric’s funeral today. Yay, again.

I called up Adrianna to find out what to wear. “If I were you, I’d wear something loud and obnoxious, gobs of makeup, and big hair. Don’t play into their impression of you as the grieving girlfriend.”

Ade could’ve pulled it off, but I went ahead and scrounged up something that my mother would have deemed appropriate: black pants, sleeveless black top, and black blazer, all in different shades of black, since God forbid that I ever get it together to take things to the dry cleaner’s and prevent all my clothes from fading. The day was gorgeous and sunny, and I’d have to spend most of it dealing with the Raffertys while sweating in black. But between rescuing Oops paint and consoling the Raffertys, I felt as though social workers far and wide would be proud of me.

I found the funeral home in Cambridge with no problem. Reluctant to commit even my car to the Raffertys, I avoided the funeral home’s lot, parked on the street, and fed the meter. After last night’s fiasco with the parking booth bitch, I had actually remembered to bring quarters. So here was my plan: I’d sit through the funeral service, make proper remarks to fellow mourners, briefly stop by the Raffertys’ after the service, and run home to change my phone number so they couldn’t find me ever again.

I entered the funeral home through big wooden doors. A man in a suit asked for my name and then quickly escorted me down the aisle. The room was about half full, mostly with middle-aged people. My usher took me through the main room to the first row and presented me to a scrawny, pale woman in an expensive-looking black dress. “Ma’am? Ms. Carter has arrived.”

“Darling, I’m Mrs. Rafferty. I cannot believe we’re meeting under these circumstances.” Eric’s mother leaned into me and wrapped me tightly in her bony arms. She eventually pulled back, but kept her grip on my upper arms and stared at me. “Oh, you must just be sick about all this.” Sheryl Rafferty had carefully styled gray-blonde hair. She’d managed to pull herself out of her grief long enough to accessorize with elegant jewelry and to put on makeup, but her perfectly applied blush didn’t hide her fatigue and obvious sorrow. She turned to the man next to her. “Dear, this is Eric’s fiancée.” Either Eric had been a pathological liar, or Sheryl Rafferty had gone psychotic following her son’s death. “Chloe, this is Phil, Eric’s father.”

Phil Rafferty was quite a handsome man, probably in his early sixties, with a full head of jet black hair, a color that wasn’t, I guessed, natural. The problem with men like this is that they don’t have the sense to just go ahead and dye their eyebrows to match their dyed hair. I mean, really, who has black hair and gray eyebrows? Mr. Rafferty looked as haggard as his wife but hadn’t gotten it together enough to look as collected as she. His tie was askew, his shirt rumpled, and his fake-black hair uncombed.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I offered meekly.

Mr. Rafferty practically fell onto me as he threw his arms around my neck and pulled me toward him. Ah, whiskey breath. That could explain his disheveled appearance. The poor man started sobbing as he hugged me tightly. At a loss about what to do, I lightly patted his back.

“I can’t believe he’s dead. I can’t,” he cried. This hardly seemed the same loud-spoken man I’d talked to on the phone yesterday. But grief hits people in different ways and at different times, and I was sure that the morning whiskey hadn’t improved this man’s ability to cope with pain. “Thank God that damn Veronica hasn’t shown up. I was afraid she’d try to make this day worse than it already is and come in here screaming and crying and making a big scene and saying how much she and Eric loved each other. I would’ve had to have her thrown out. I’m so glad you don’t have to see that stupid bitch and listen to her lies.” Actually, Veronica was beginning to sound pretty entertaining. And she could’ve taken the focus off me.

Sheryl tugged me away from Phil’s grip. “You’ll sit with the family, of course, Chloe.” Of course I would: no hiding in the back pew by myself. Sheryl introduced me to some aunts, uncles, and cousins sitting nearby. “Now, we’ve had Eric cremated.” Sheryl paused as if uncertain about how to continue. “You can see the urn right up there among the daylilies. After the service, we’ll take him home where he belongs. Oh, here comes the minister. Should be a lovely service. Just what Eric would have wanted.” She patted my knee as I sat down between her and her husband.

The minister began speaking about Eric. I thought I might learn a little something about who this dead man was, but the minister’s eulogy consisted mainly of general remarks about death and loss, many of which were drowned out by Phil’s choked crying. I found myself checking my watch. I did perk up, though, when the minister began to speak about Eric’s love of food. The minister evidently knew Eric quite well. He discussed Eric’s interest in investing in Essence (“sure to be a huge success”) and then read an alphabetical list of Eric’s favorite foods. By the time he hit wasabi, I was losing interest again. Finally, he introduced Madeline Rock, owner of the famous Magellan restaurant.

I brightened up and looked to my left as an attractive woman rose from her seat and took center stage. She was wearing what Adrianna had told me to wear. This restaurant diva strutted confidently up to the podium in a blue wraparound dress, high heels, and a silver necklace. Madeline had long brown hair that she had pulled back in an elegant knot tied at the base of her neck—hard to pull off unless you had the stunning face and body she did: beautiful ivory skin, shapely legs, and perfect breasts. I wasn’t sure whether I was going to admire or detest her. She arranged herself in front of the audience and somehow managed to look sensational without appearing disrespectful.

“As we all know, Eric loved the restaurant world. He was a big fan of my restaurant, Magellan, and was a frequent diner at my establishment. When Tim and I owned Magellan together, we used to joke that Eric was like an unpaid member of the staff. He adored the smells and sounds and sights of a bustling restaurant on a Saturday night. He loved the chaos and the excitement and the energy that came from a successful restaurant. Our staff knew his favorite dishes and could always count on him to order that evening’s special. I remember the night we ran the duck marinated in Calvados with Bhutanese red rice, pearl onions, and apple-pear chutney. He was so thrilled with the dish he thumped the table with his hand and yelled, ‘That’s how you do it!’”

I heard some laughs and murmurs of understanding among the mourners. Way to kick this funeral into high gear, Madeline.

She continued, “And that’s the Eric we’ll all miss. His enthusiasm and support were unmatched. I don’t think Tim and I would have survived the ups and downs of the past few years without Eric’s positive energy. When Timothy looked into opening his new restaurant, Essence, I know how much Eric wanted to be part of that opening and that partnership. And now that Eric is gone, we must continue to support Essence as Tim and his crew work to make it a restaurant Eric would have been proud of.”

Now that was pretty generous of her. From what I knew, restaurants opened and closed faster than you could say, “Check, please,” so encouraging diners to go to the competition was admirable. But Eric had said that Tim and Madeline had had an amicable divorce. It seemed to be true. Madeline smiled affectionately at Timothy, who was seated beside her empty seat. “Now I know this a difficult day for us all, but I think the best way to remember Eric is to enjoy what Eric enjoyed—food. So the chefs at Magellan have prepared some of Eric’s favorite dishes, and the Raffertys have kindly invited us back to their house, where I hope we can all benefit from the healing power of gourmet food and share memories of Eric together. Thank you.” Madeline finished her speech and returned to her seat right next to Tim. They looked so perfect together that I couldn’t imagine what had broken them up.

Sheryl and Phil each held one of my hands as the minister continued the service. After thirty more minutes and four more speakers who waxed poetic on Eric’s seemingly endless appetite for cuisine, I was starving. When things finally wrapped up, I asked Sheryl for directions to their house. “Oh, just leave your car here. You can ride back with Phil and me, and someone will drive you back here when the party’s over.”

Party? Interesting choice of word, but the idea was, after all, to celebrate Eric’s life. Odd, though. There was no way I was going to be stuck in a car with these loons and then get trapped at their house—that would totally ruin my getaway plan.

“Oh, it’s okay. I can drive myself. Just give me directions,” I said hopefully.

“Nonsense. You’re too upset to drive,” she insisted.

I dutifully stayed with my dead date’s parents as they hugged and exchanged proper words with the funeral attendees. Mrs. Rafferty left briefly to retrieve the cobalt blue glass urn that now held her son’s ashes, and then we made our way out to their car.

“Chloe, dear, would you please hold Eric for me. I’m so upset I’m afraid I may drop him.”

Her fear was, I thought, justified not only because she was shaky but because the urn was fragile. About twelve inches high and six inches wide, it looked liked a flower vase inexplicably topped with a lid. Fortunately, its blue glass was opaque. Still, gross, gross, gross! I should have been grateful that there was no revolting graveside service or, God forbid, an open casket, but holding human remains was still pretty vile.

“Sure,” I relented. I tentatively took the urn from her and felt my stomach roll over. I was not going to make it all the way to the Raffertys’ house holding this thing, What if the top came off and I got sprinkled with Eric’s ashes? What if we had an accident and the vase shattered? As we turned the corner at the end of the street, I placed Eric, so to speak, next to me in the rear driver’s side seat and buckled him in with the seat belt. There. Safe and secure. Sheryl Rafferty turned her head around and stared at me in horror and disappointment, clearly hoping I’d have held her beloved in my arms.

The Raffertys and I, with Eric in his urn, made a silent fifteen-minute drive to an upscale section of Cambridge and parked in their driveway off Brattle Street. Their house was phenomenal. Really phenomenal, like old-money phenomenal. A massive old gray Victorian, the house was surrounded by a fence with an electronic gate that let us in to park. The yard was beautifully landscaped with late-blooming flowers. A bright yellow Nissan Xterra was parked next to us. I hopped out of the car quickly before anyone made me carry what was left of Eric and waited while Phil Rafferty reached in the backseat to unbuckle his son.

I followed the Raffertys inside the house, which had crown molding, hardwood floors, and high ceilings. Mrs. Rafferty excused herself to go to the kitchen to check on the food preparations. Mr. Rafferty led me to the living room to await the arrival of the other guests. He placed Eric’s ashes on the mantlepiece, presumably to give everyone a view of the guest of honor. We sat uncomfortably together on an antique couch while I tried to think of something to say.

“It was a lovely service. I’m sure it was just what Eric would have wanted,” I managed. A fresh crying fit overcame Phil, and I looked around the room, hopelessly wishing someone would come and rescue me.

Someone did. Madeline swooped in through the front door. “Oh, Phil. I am so sorry for your loss,” she said as she crossed the room and seated herself in an armchair near us. “This is a terrible day for you. Why don’t you go freshen up and splash some water on your face. I’ll make sure there’s hot coffee waiting for you when you get back.” Phil nodded, rose numbly from the couch, and plodded across the room to the staircase. Madeline turned to me. “Hi, I’m Madeline Rock.” She stretched her hand out to mine. “Call me Maddie.”

“I’m Chloe Carter. Nice to meet you. Eric spoke very highly of you.”

“So you and Eric were …?” she started.

“Honestly, no. But I can’t seem to get anyone to understand that. I was on a blind date with him the night he died, but somehow everyone seems to think we were much more. His parents seemed so excited about the idea, I just haven’t had the heart to try to clear things up.”

Madeline actually laughed. “Oh God, what a mess! And now you’ve been dragged to the funeral and all this? How ridiculous! I heard you were the one who found Eric. Not much of a first date, huh?”

“I’ve had better. Today I thought I’d just stick it out and break it to Eric’s parents later if I have to,” I explained. “You own Magellan, right? Eric had been telling me about it and how he got hooked up with Tim.”

“Right. But between you and me, Eric made such a pest of himself at Magellan, the only good thing about getting divorced from Tim was that he got Eric. Eric used to hang around all the time, bothering the chefs and giving unsolicited input. I know I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but he was irritating. Not mean or anything, just annoying. But I couldn’t exactly say that during the funeral service, could I?” Finally, someone who understood!

“Yeah, I kind of got the same impression during our date. But he certainly seemed to be a fan of yours and Tim’s.”

“Oh, he definitely was. Totally enthusiastic and genuinely thought he was helpful. But he annoyed the crap out of me. Tim didn’t mind him so much and was actually excited that Eric wanted to invest in Essence. I don’t know what’s going to happen to Essence now, though.” Madeline pushed up the sleeves of her dress, thereby jangling a set of bangle bracelets. “This is bad news for a young restaurant. I’m not sure Tim can pull it off. I really thought he was going to make it, too. Good chef, good staff, everything was in place. I love Tim to pieces, and even though we just couldn’t make our marriage work out, he’s a damn good restaurant owner, and he deserves to have Essence survive this. But who wants to go eat at a place where someone was killed? I mean, would you?”

I shook my head. “Truthfully, if I heard this story on the news, I don’t think I’d be running out to eat there. So what’s going to happen to Essence now?”

Madeline crossed her perfect legs and leaned forward. “If Tim wants to pull through, he’s going to have to work hard. I told him I’ll do whatever I can to help him. And the police had better solve this murder quick. The faster they can reassure the public that they’ve caught the killer, the faster customers’ll be put at ease. But still, something as awful as this is hard to overcome.” She sighed and stood up. “Listen, I’ve got to run into the kitchen and help get the food out. It was nice talking to you. I’m sorry you got dragged into all this, but hang in there. At least the food today will be good, right?” She winked at me and headed off to supervise. I liked her already.

The doorbell rang, and Sheryl emerged from the kitchen to answer it. Looking more pulled together than he had, Phil came down the stairs and joined his wife in the foyer. I watched as the two now-childless parents greeted their guests. It seemed miraculous that they were getting through this day without collapsing. A bar had been set up at the far end of the living room, so I headed over and asked the bartender for a gin and tonic. I was not going to make it through this day without a little liquor.

“Is there any food out yet?” I asked the server. I’d watched how much gin he’d poured into my glass. Drinking on an empty stomach could lead to an inappropriate display of my dancing skills atop the Raffertys’ antique coffee table.

“There are appetizers on the table in the dining room.” He gestured behind him. I nodded thanks and went to investigate. The dining room was huge and set up more for a wedding reception than a funeral service, with lighted candles and fresh flowers. Wonderful smells floated my way. The walls were painted a deep periwinkle blue, a perfect color probably not found in the Oops section at Home Depot. Three long tables lined the walls, each covered with china, silver flatware, embroidered napkins, and platters of luscious-looking food. Most people avoid being the first to dip into a buffet, but I was hardly going to hold out. As far as I was concerned, the food was here to be eaten, and from the little I knew about Eric, I was sure he’d have approved of my sampling the goods. Each dish had a printed card beside it with its name. A small side table was set up to promote Magellan. A pile of menus was neatly stacked, and copies of newspaper and magazine reviews had been pasted to a large poster board. Madeline’s business savvy was evidently such that she never missed a PR opportunity.

I grabbed a plate and perused the cards that gave the names of the dishes. Lime and Coriander Marinated Smoked Bluefish on Wonton Chips with Wasabi Vinaigrette; Raspberry and Goat Cheese Stuffed Endive; Steak-au-Poivre Crostini with Fresh Horseradish and Fried Sage; Cold Seafood Salad of Shrimp, Lobster, and Calamari Tossed with Lemon, Thai Basil, and Brunoise Vegetables. No deli platters, no boring cheese trays! And this was only the first table! I refrained from doing a little dance of excitement as I set my drink down and served myself a bit of everything.

Other guests entered the room, and I was hoping to be left in peace to savor my meal. I sat down in a window seat and gazed out at the garden in an effort to look as unapproachable as possible. This endive thing was amazing … and the seafood salad better than any I’d had before. Divine. Love at first bite! All the other guests now seemed as engrossed in their food as I was and were too busy discussing the delicacies to bother me. Feeling pleased that my crummy week had suddenly and dramatically improved, I was startled out of my bliss by the most amazing man.

Gorgeous, sweaty, white chef’s coat open at the top. Dirty blond hair—and not mousy like poor Eric’s, either. Striking blue eyes and smooth, arched eyebrows. Slim build, average height. Super attractive, and I mean super. He seemed to strut into the room in cinematic slow motion. I nearly dropped my plate when he walked toward me, but I managed to save my bluefish from toppling to the floor. As it turned out, he wasn’t so much walking toward me as he was walking to the food to see what needed to be refilled, but I could still hear my heart pounding.

The gorgeous one glanced at me and smiled as he grabbed an empty tray and headed back into the kitchen. Argh, don’t go! I silently pleaded. And like magic he was back! Heading into the living room. What was I supposed to do? Follow him like some sort of groupie? And here I was at Eric’s parents’ house, supposedly mourning my dead boyfriend, while actually having the hots for another man. Too bad. My new boyfriend reentered the dining room holding a beer and stood at the back of the room, surveying the food situation. I stared at him until he finally looked my way. I raised my plate and nodded my enthusiastic approval at the food. I practically leaped out of my seat when he grinned and walked my way.

“Hi, I’m Josh Driscoll. I’m the chef from Magellan. Enjoying the food, I see?” he said as he looked down at my nearly empty plate. My stomach got all jumpy. I took a big swig of my gin and tonic.

“Unbelievable. I mean, really. Everything is out of this world,” I gushed. “I’m Chloe. It’s so nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about Magellan, but I’ve never eaten there. I’ve read every amazing review, though. Is this all food from the restaurant’s menu? I mean, do you normally do catering and this is from a different menu, or … it’s all really good, I was just wondering …” Oh, I’m talking like an idiot. Somebody shut me up before I scare him off.

“No, we don’t usually do catering, but Madeline, the owner, wanted to do this for Eric’s parents since he loved Magellan so much. How did you know Eric?”

Oh God, don’t let him think I’m unavailable. I explained the confusion regarding my relationship with the deceased.

“You found the body? Oh, my God! Well, between you and me, his parents seem a little screwed up to me. I don’t blame you for playing along.” There is a “you and me” already? Oh, I’m in love.

“Yeah, well, at least the detective I talked to that night believed me, so he didn’t make me hang around too long answering all sorts of personal questions. He seemed to be the only one who believed that I’d known Eric for all of two hours. I was so freaked out that night I just wanted to get home.” I took another gulp of my drink. “Did you know Eric well?”

“Nah. I mean, he hung out at the restaurant a lot and was always putting his two cents in about everything, but I wouldn’t say I knew him well.”

One of Josh’s assistants stuck his head into the room, looked around until he saw Josh, and called over to him. “Josh, we need you in here.”

Josh turned to me. “Sorry, I gotta run. Maybe I’ll find you later, though?” Another handsome smile, and he was gone.

I reloaded my plate and made my way back into the living room, where Madeline cornered me. “I see you met Josh. Cute, huh?” I blushed furiously and nodded. “He’s single, you know.” She gave me an exaggerated wink and nudge.

I laughed and quickly silenced myself when I caught Sheryl staring at me. When I’d put on my serious face, I said casually, “He seems very nice. The food is outstanding. I see why Magellan gets such glowing reviews. And please don’t make me laugh, or Eric’s parents will wonder what’s wrong with me.”

“Oh, forget about them. I love matchmaking, and you two could be a great match. If you ask me, Josh had a little skip in his step on the way back to the kitchen. How old are you?” I told her twenty-five, and she practically jumped for joy. “Good! Josh is twenty-eight, so that’s perfect. Well, we’ll have to get you in one night for dinner. Come on, let’s get another drink.” Beautiful Madeline was looking more beautiful by the minute. She led me to the bar, where we ran right into Timothy. I hoped this wasn’t going to be awkward.

“Hi, there,” Madeline chirped to Tim. “You’ve met Chloe, right?” Tim and I nodded and smiled at each other. “Oh God, right. The night of the murder. What was I thinking? Sorry. Listen, I was talking to Chloe earlier about Essence. You need to come up with a game plan to keep everything running. This is a pivotal time, what with this awful incident, but I think you can get through it. Let me know what I can do.”

“I know. You’re right.” Timothy nodded emphatically. “I’ve been giving the story to the newspapers in the best light possible. You know, playing up the fact that nobody in the restaurant was involved, et cetera. Just explaining that it was in no way connected with Essence. I don’t know what else to do. But the police have been all over everyone at the restaurant trying to find out if the murderer worked there …”

“Well, first of all, the police have been all over Magellan, too, trying to make it out like someone on our staff was out to get you and your new restaurant. Which is bull, since everyone there knows you from before and loves you. And obviously Eric’s parents aren’t worried, or they wouldn’t have had us all here. So the police investigation will run its course and be over soon. And if you ask me, Eric’s murder isn’t restaurant related. I think it’s personal. We all know that Eric was an annoying little snot who happened to have a lot of money. Someone in his life probably got fed up with his bullshit and got rid of him.”

Tim started to protest, but Maddie stopped him. “Don’t say it. Realistically, people get murdered for money all the time. More importantly, Tim, you should have pushed the Raffertys to let you do the food here. I mean, I was happy to do it, but you have to use every opportunity possible to promote yourself. It may seem callous, but you know as well as I do how this business is. You have to fight tooth and nail for every customer. Don’t let this murder send you into a downward spiral. You’ll be okay.” Madeline leaned over and gave her ex-husband an enormous hug. “Essence can make it. It can.”

“Thanks, Maddie. You’re right, you’re right. I’m going to do some serious work on promotion,” Tim agreed.

“Good. Call me this week. Maybe we can get together and pound out some ideas?”

“Definitely. Oh, there’s Phil and Sheryl. I’m going to go talk to them. I’ll see you two ladies later?”

Two drinks, one mini fruit tart with gooseberries and citrus cream, and one mini fried-banana cheesecake later—and no further Josh sightings—and I was ready to call it quits. After a few more uncomfortable encounters with Eric’s parents, I’d run out of patience with the bereaved-girlfriend act. Madeline rescued me.

“Sheryl. Phil. I think it’s time for Chloe to go home. She must be as tired as you both are, and she needs to get some rest. I’ll make sure she gets home safely.” With an Oscar-caliber look of sincerity, she whisked me toward the kitchen so swiftly that I barely had time to say good-bye. Bless her.

“Josh?” She called out into the kitchen.

Although thrilled that Josh was walking over to us, I did stop to take notice of the immense kitchen, which was equipped with stainless-steel Viking appliances, granite counters, and ceramic floors. There were five or six people working there, most of them beginning the monumental task of cleaning up. I wondered who was left at the restaurant.

Madeline the matchmaker spoke to my new favorite chef. “Josh, can you please take this poor girl out of here? One more minute with Eric’s parents, and I think she’s going to slit her throat. Sorry, bad choice of words. But it looks like you’re in good shape here, and the rest of the crew can finish up.”

Embarrassed to be foisted off on Josh, I said, “It’s okay. I can call a cab. Don’t worry about it—you don’t have to drive me.” Please want to drive me, please want to drive me! Josh looked so adorable, all sweaty from the kitchen, hair tousled, jacket spatted with grease and covered in food stains …

Josh spoke up eagerly, “You’re not taking a cab. I’ll drive you home.” He put a hand on my shoulder, and I almost fainted. “Maddie, everything should be under control here. And Duff and Brian are chefing tonight for you. I talked to Brian earlier, and he’s all good, so no worries there. These guys’ll be done soon and back at the restaurant in time for dinner. We prepped everything last night, so they’re in good shape.” He looked back at me, “I just have to grab my toolbox, and we’ll go. And, Maddie, I’ll see you Monday.” I didn’t know chefs had toolboxes, but I would’ve waited all night for a ride home from him.

I said good-bye to Madeline and in an undertone thanked her for heroically saving me from the Raffertys’ clutches. In an overly dramatic voice she called after us, “Have fun, kids! Don’t be out too late! Drive safe! Fasten your seat belts!” She giggled and whirled back around.

I followed Josh out through the kitchen door to his car, the Xterra I’d seen in the driveway. Following Maddie’s instructions, I buckled my seat belt and gave Josh directions to my condo. I felt way too giddy for someone leaving a memorial service, but I was riding in a cool car with a cool boy. Yay me!

“I didn’t know chefs carried toolboxes. What do you keep in it?” I asked.

“Oh, I use it to carry around my knives and other kitchen tools. And top secret recipes,” he teased.

Josh and I talked during the short ride home. He was just as captivating as I’d hoped. I said nothing about leaving my car near the funeral home. If he dropped me there, how could I invite him in? And from what I’d gathered, he was off work for the rest of the day. I had him pull into my parking spot at home.

“Thank you for the ride. I hope it wasn’t too much out of your way?”

“No, not at all. My pleasure.”

“Where do you live?” I asked.

“Over in Jamaica Plain.” This was totally out of his way!

Time to be brave. “Listen, do you want to come up for a while?” I asked.

“Yeah, sure. Um, but listen.” Josh shifted in his seat, and I braced myself for the inevitable: He has a girlfriend. He thinks I’m a dork. “I feel uncomfortable saying this, but I should probably tell you that the police have been questioning me about Eric’s murder. And, well … at the moment, I’m their prime suspect.”

Oh, crap.