Cook the Books

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 apartment and up a long driveway to the back of the building. Bold signs on the front door declared the building to be condemned, and plywood had been nailed over some of the lower windows. I tried to march with confidence and radiate an air of authority, as though I worked for the city or for some company that required me to inspect the premises. Aha! I could pretend to represent a homeowner’s insurance company. From my purse, I retrieved a pen and one of the small notebooks I’d taken with me when I’d met Kyle. I furrowed my brow and stared intently at the building while I wrote in the notebook: Very burned. Fire, obviously. Still stinky here. There, that should fool anyone who might be