Simmer Down

to get up early. Lunch and dinner had bar themes: a gas-inducing taco bar, a dried-out baked potato bar, an overcooked-pasta bar, and sometimes a who-the-hell-wants-waffles-for-lunch-or-dinner bar. The food was so bad that I started going to the salad bar and microwaving weird combinations in the hope of creating something edible. My greatest success, or so it seemed at the time, was cold rice mixed with ranch dressing, curry powder, and peas, the whole concoction microwaved to a blazing temperature to suggest an Indian dish. In retrospect, it sounds pretty gross, but at the time, it wasn’t half bad.
    Adrianna beeped her horn at eight forty-five, just as I was fitting the top on my to-go coffee cup. I raced downstairs.
    “Morning,” Ade grumbled.
    “Too early for you?” I asked as I settled into the passenger seat.
    “You’re not kidding. What’s Dora going to do after I do her hair? Sit around all day and pose? Stupid woman.” Oh, she was grumpy. Not that I enjoyed being roused at an early hour, but Ade was resentful; she was working at this hour only because she needed the money. “Anyhow,” she said, grabbing my coffee out of my hand, “what’d you do last night? And is this caffeinated?”
    I cleared my throat, ready to be reprimanded. “Yes, it’s caffeinated, and I saw Sean last night.”
    Since my dear friend was, at best, a terrible driver, I should’ve known better than to break the news about seeing my ex-boyfriend to her while she was behind the wheel. While she stared at me, I stared at the road with the intention of alerting her to the presence of random obstacles, like other cars or human beings. “It’s not a big deal. Could you just try to drive, please?”
    She swerved to avoid barreling into a parked car and turned right onto Beacon Street. Thank God, there was barely any traffic. On the morning of New Year’s Eve, the whole city seemed like a ghost town.
    “Why would you see Sean?” she demanded.
    I explained his Hannah dilemma and why he’d called me.
    “He couldn’t have talked to you over the phone? He had to see you in person? Please, Chloe, he’s still hung up on you.”
    “What? No, he is not,” I insisted. “He just, well... Oh, shit. Do you really think so? He wasn’t acting like it.” Adrianna smiled and raised her eyebrows. “Why wouldn’t he be, right?”
    “Shut up. Anyhow, it doesn’t matter. I don’t think I’ll see him again, and I’m glad we can at least be friendly after I dumped him so hard.”
    “Hm-hmm. Should Josh be worried?”
    “No, Josh should not be worried! How can you even ask that?” Now I was getting grumpy.
    “I’m just checking. Relax. Josh is great. I’m just making sure there are no lingering feelings. Oh, I forgot to tell you. I stopped into Simmer last night.”
    “You did?” I grabbed the dashboard as we peeled a corner.
    “Yeah. I got a little tour. It looks great.”
    “Where was Owen?”
    “He had a gig, as he said. A puppeteer gig, if you can believe it. Some show for kids or something. It’s ridiculous. So I wanted to get out of the house, and I figured I’d go down and check out the new place.”
    “And Josh was there?” I asked hopefully.
    “Of course he was there. Where else would he be?”
    “I don’t know. Cooking a late-night dinner for Hannah?”
    “You’re crazy. He was working like a dog when I was there. Oh, here’s Dora’s street.”
    We got to Dora’s house—or should I say palace?—and parked next to a Bentley. Yes, I swear to God, a Bentley, which mercifully, Adrianna avoided hitting. She popped her trunk and grabbed the two bags with her styling supplies. I followed her up a cobbled walkway to a medieval-revival monstrosity complete with steep roofs and half-timbering that had patterned brick in between dark beams. Even on the last day of December, it was obvious that the grounds were heavily manicured. Evergreen shrubs had been pruned into lifeless-looking cones and orbs. Ick. My landscaping parents would have turned up their noses at the display of vegetative geometry.
    As if reading my mind, Adrianna turned to me and said, “Is this not the ugliest house you’ve ever seen in your life? Money does not buy taste. Wait until you see the inside. You’re going to want to throw up.”
    “Hello, dear,” Dora said as she opened the oversized front door. Dora’s face was as taut as it had been at the gallery the night Oliver had been murdered. As a budding social worker, I felt a