Steamed

code violations: the mussels had made me sick because they’d been stored at too warm a temperature. And Josh had served them as a special that night at the restaurant!
    I limped to the couch and pulled a blanket over my shivering body. At least Josh hadn’t awakened to find me slumped over the toilet. Maybe I should have listened to Heather and to Detective Hurley. It was true that I hardly knew Josh. I hadn’t known anything about his outbursts at his previous jobs; the angry side of Josh was one I’d never seen. Realistically, I had no idea who he was.
    I heard the clock radio alarm go off in the bedroom at seven forty-five. Prince was hollering that he wanted to be someone’s lover. I was still half asleep when Josh walked in and found me in the living room. I tumbled off the couch in dehydrated shambles.
    “Hey, what’re you doing out here? Oh God, was I snoring or something?”
    “I’m sick. I was up all night throwing up,” I barked before going to the kitchen for water.
    “Oh, honey. Are you okay?” he asked, concerned.
    “No. I’m not okay. All I could taste was mussels. Which I will never eat again.“
    “Oh my God. You must have a stomach bug or something,” he called back sympathetically.
    I stood in the doorway to the kitchen, angrily clutching my glass of water. “That or the risotto made me sick.” I glared at him.
    “Wait, you think I gave you bad seafood?” He went to the bedroom and pulled on a shirt.
    “All I know is that you gave me dinner, and I puked it up for three hours,” I shot back.
    “Are you kidding me? You think I’d make you sick on purpose? There was nothing wrong with the food. I just got those mussels in yesterday. They couldn’t have been fresher!”
    “Fine, then I’m just sick, okay? And, by the way, why didn’t you tell me you’d been fired, twice, for throwing raging fits?” I knew I was being unreasonable, but I couldn’t stop myself from yelling at him.
    Josh was angry now, too. “Who the hell told you that?” he demanded.
    “It doesn’t matter. I just know, okay?” I was starting to cry. There was barely enough fluid left in my body to produce tears.
    “Oh, okay. I get it. So now you think I killed Eric, too, huh? You think I poisoned you because you’ve been trying to figure out who the murderer is? I’m outta here.” Josh threw on his shoes. “Call me when you catch the real murderer, Chloe,” Josh snapped as he walked out my back door.
    I didn’t stop him from leaving.
     

NINETEEN
     
    “HEATHER, this is not a spa,” I informed my sister. I peeked out of my mummylike wrappings and glared at my monster of a sibling. “We belong in one of the Egyptian rooms at the Museum of Fine Arts.”
    “Chloe, this is very trendy right now. Try to embrace this experience, and you might actually benefit from it.”
    Heather had lied to me. Spa meant pedicures, facials, relaxing massages. This place, called Wrap It Out, was some bullshit fake of a spa where clients paid actual money to be entirely wrapped up in stretchy bandage material, doused with smelly liquid—embalming fluid?—and have supposed toxins extracted from their bodies. I was lying on a padded table, totally immobilized, and stuck there until the spa warden returned to unwrap me.
    “Especially,” she continued, “after your food poisoning experience. This is the perfect way to completely remove foreign substances from your skin. You won’t believe how refreshed you feel after. It’s wonderful,” she proclaimed, sighing with content.
    I rolled my head to the left and stuck my tongue out at her. I turned to the right and looked at Adrianna. Heather had surprised me by inviting Ade along for the torture.
    “Could we talk about something else, please? Anything to make time go faster?” Ade pleaded from her cocoon.
    “Fine,” Heather said. “Chloe, keep telling us about Josh and how he tried to murder you last night.”
    “He did not try to murder me. At least, well, he just couldn’t have.”
    “The point is, you just told us that Josh has a history of unstable behavior and is a definite suspect. I told you you were rushing it,” Heather said.
    “No, that is not the point at all,” I shot back. “Josh is totally pissed off at me because I accused him of assaulting me with bad risotto.”
    “Look,” Adrianna began, spitting a loose bandage off her mouth, “nobody’s perfect, but that doesn’t mean he had anything to do with Eric’s murder or your food