Cook the Books

waif of a woman stood in front of us, her short blonde hair tucked behind her ears. “Ellie?” she asked with concern as she knelt in front of her friend.
    “Digger is dead,” Ellie managed to whisper. “There was a fire and he’s dead!” More tears followed, of course, and more tissues.
    Georgies already fair skin paled as she crumpled to the floor, holding herself up with her hands. “Oh my God. No! No!” She burst into choked sobs. “Oh, Digger! No!”
    I shut my eyes for a moment. The grief was so painful to witness that I knew I’d be unable to hold myself together much longer. At least Ellie had a friend here who was compassionate and empathic, I told myself. Indeed, Georgie seemed to share her friend’s sorrow almost too much, but at least Ellie now had the support of someone she knew and trusted.
    Georgie looked up at me from the floor. “Chloe?” She wiped her eyes. “How did you find out about this?”
    I explained about the cooking demonstration that Digger was to have done for Hank, Kyle, and me, and I described arriving at his place to find the aftermath of the fire. “You knew Digger, too, obviously. I’m so sorry.”
    Georgie nodded. “Yes, I did. And my boyfriend, Jay, had actually been in a friendly rivalry with Digger for the job at the Penthouse. He’s the sous-chef now, though. Ellie and I are going to be servers there.” She glanced at Ellie, and the two fell apart. “I’ll have to let him know, too.”
    Ellie had told me that the chef who’d come in second for the job was furious. Was that someone else? But now wasn’t the time to straighten out the confusion, and I had no reason to care about who had or hadn’t become the executive chef at the Penthouse. Georgies boyfriend, Jay, would presumably take over for Digger. I didn’t envy him having to jump in at the last minute to get the restaurant ready to open. As I knew from watching Josh prepare for Simmer’s opening, he’d have a ton of work in front of him. Also, unless Digger had kept all of his plans at work, everything he’d slaved over must have been lost in the fire, so his successor would have to start from scratch. But maybe the new executive chef would have wanted to make the job all his own, anyway.
    “I’m so sorry to have had to break the news,” I said. “I should get going and leave you two alone.” I rose from the couch and walked to the door.
    “Thank you, Chloe,” Ellie whispered. She reached for Georgie, who joined her on the couch.
    I left the two tearful girls and drove toward home. The sky had clouded over and darkened the city. The gloomy atmosphere fit my mood. I shut off the radio, mainly to avoid hearing music that I would then forever associate with Digger’s death. I’d had high hopes that the day would go well for Digger and for me. Instead, it had turned into a nightmare. Whenever things went wrong in my life, I wanted to fix them by taking constructive action, but there was no fixing this situation. I pulled into my parking spot in front of my condo and looked up at the familiar brown house. It felt good to be home. I shuffled up the back steps to the third floor and opened the door, where Inga the white fluffball of a cat stood meowing at me as if she knew how I felt and was waiting to take care of me. Stupid, I know, but I choose to believe it. I dropped my tote to the floor, threw my coat on the coffee table, and scooped up my girl, who purred melodically.
    Still hugging the sympathetic little cat, I grabbed the phone and curled up on the couch. For some reason, I was seized by the urgent impulse to tell someone about Digger. Although he’d had friends and family who’d have to hear the news, it really wasn’t my responsibility to inform them. Besides, in the tight-knit restaurant community, word would spread quickly. Someone, probably the police, would find and inform Digger’s family. But what about Josh? I couldn’t stand the thought of his hearing about Digger’s death through the grapevine. He should hear from someone close to him. Of course, Josh’s former sous-chef and former roommate, Snacker, could tell him, but as much as I loved Josh’s crazy friend, he was not one to count on for a delicate, sensitive delivery. I called Adrianna.
    “Hi, Chloe. What are you doing home already? Aren’t you supposed to be feasting on delicious food at Digger’s? Did you call to gloat?”
    At the sound of Adrianna’s voice, I started crying, and it took ages to compose