Turn up the Heat

with that.”
    Noticing that Owen was pacing back and forth, I rose and went to him in the hope of calming him down. “Owen, do you want me to call Adrianna?”
    “What? God, no! Just... not now! Chloe, they’re taking my truck away as evidence. I’m supposed to be picking up and delivering fish right now, not dealing with this.”
    “Owen, your truck is... it really is evidence. The police need it. They can’t just remove Leandra’s body and let you drive off, can they?”
    Owen shrugged. “I guess not.”
    “Besides, the Daily Catch must have other company trucks, right? I’m sure your boss can let you use another one.”
    “I don’t know.” Owen paused, looked away, and muttered some very bad four-letter words. “Maybe. I’ll go call my boss now and tell him what’s going on and see if somebody else can make my deliveries for me. This sucks.” I left him alone to make his calls.
    Kevin, the head bartender, entered the restaurant, and then someone finally had the sense to get the coffeemaker at the bar going. Finally, with the apparent blessing of the police, all of us had coffee, if not food. I filled up a mug, added milk and a few teaspoonfuls of sugar, and joined Blythe, Wade, and Isabelle at one of the few tables we were permitted to use.
    To me, Wade embodied everything obnoxious about Newbury Street. He was the essence of what’s nastily called Eurotrash, except that he was merely a Eurotrash wannabe. Two things kept him from actually being Eurotrash. First, he was obviously American and had never come close to jet-setting around the world. Second, far from being a trust fund child (who am I to talk?), he actually had a job. But Wade liked to give the impression that money was falling out of his pockets, and although he’d grown up a few miles outside Boston, he spoke with a peculiar accent evidently intended to make him sound multilingual. When not at Simmer, Wade could be found at any one of the posh coffee shops and bars along this upscale street, where he’d hang around smelling of expensive, unadvertised cologne and receiving air kisses from anorexic, Valentino-attired young ladies who sported oversized sunglasses. But Josh liked him as a GM—general manager—and when Simmer’s original GM had left after only two weeks, Wade had stepped in and done a great job.
    “Dammit,” Blythe complained, “I can’t believe we’re closed for the next two days. I was scheduled to work doubles as a server, and for once, I could’ve made some money. And finally someone actually scheduled me without six other servers working at the same time. I would’ve made serious tips.” Leave it to Blythe to look stunning in the middle of a crime scene. My old friend was so naturally beautiful that even her poorly applied purple eyeliner didn’t detract from her looks. She’d pushed her short hair back with a headband and, flat-chested or not, she managed to make Simmer’s uniform look sexy and chic. Thank God I hadn’t thrown on sweatpants this morning.
    Instead of commenting on her coldhearted attitude, I said, “Snacker mentioned scheduling problems this morning. What’s been going on?”
    “You don’t want to get us started.” Wade laughed. “But everyone keeps losing money because Gavin is fanatical about plugging us all into his computer system and relying on whatever idiotic schedule it generates. And half the time we’ve got too many servers and bartenders working during the slow times, so nobody’s making any money. And then when we’re swamped with customers, we don’t have enough people, so service isn’t what it should be, and then tips are low.”
    It disturbed me to hear people focus on the business and not on the death of a fellow employee. Even Josh was wrapped up in trying not to lose customers. But I knew Josh, knew that he had a good heart, and understood that he was just trying to do what had to be done. Even so, I felt upset that the primary concern at Simmer was the restaurant’s well-being and not Leandra’s sudden and horrible loss of life. Evidently, the restaurant world did not stop for death.

SIX

    BLYTHE and Wade were both asked to give statements to the police. As I watched them move away, I wondered what they might know. How well had they even known Leandra? Realizing that everyone here was going to be questioned by the police triggered my sense of responsibility for Isabelle and prompted me to move in close to her. Of all the employees at Simmer, she was