Turn up the Heat

play the game.”
    “So a woman has to act like a man? Like an imbecile?” I crossed my arms and glared at Digger. “Do you think any of this has to do with the whole idea that women in positions of authority are labeled bitchy and men are labeled confident?”
    Lefty braved the conversation. “Unfortunately, yes, ma’am. That is very likely. Like they were saying, this is not a perfect profession. There are still very outdated attitudes in the culinary world, and we’re all guilty of allowing that to happen.”
    I settled for saying, “Yes, you are. It’s not the nineteen forties.”
    Lefty got points for acknowledging men’s contribution. I probably lost points for finding it cute that he called me ma’am. My one year of social work hadn’t granted me the magical power to remedy female oppression or even to eradicate sexism from my own attitudes. But maybe the vivid picture that Digger, in particular, had portrayed of the macho environment in restaurant kitchens could give me some insight into Leandra’s murder. I hoped, and strongly suspected, that the atmosphere in Josh’s kitchen fell toward the lower end of the machismo continuum. Furthermore, it sounded as if Leandra, far from resenting idiotic antics, had willingly participated in them. Still, it was possible that one of Simmer’s employees had taken a joke too far. Could Leandra have been accidentally killed in a kitchen prank? If so, Josh, Snacker, Isabelle, Javier, or Santos might have had something to do with her death. But Leandra hadn’t actually worked in the kitchen. Were Simmer’s front-of-the-house employees, people like Wade, Kevin, Blythe, and the other servers, also guilty of fraternity-style behavior? And what kind of prank gone wrong could have resulted in Leandra’s death?
    Even Top of the Hub’s out-of-this-world dessert menu didn’t make me feel better. And I still had nothing to put in Leandra’s memory book except one unflattering word: bitch.

TEN

    JOSH slept over. Cranky though I was about the dinner conversation, I trusted Josh to treat people fairly. I pushed aside my annoyance at the culinary field’s rampant unfairness to women and let Josh compensate me for it. Plus, this was one of the few nights I had with him when we were both awake, and I wasn’t about to pass up such a pleasurable opportunity.
    My overworked chef left for Simmer before eight the next morning. I got out of bed sometime after nine. The only positive spin I could put on my Leandra memory book assignment was that I’d get to see Josh again today. To get material for the memory book, I was obviously going to have to march down to the restaurant and physically extract positive remarks from the employees. The possibility of inventing loving remembrances crossed my mind. In fact, it appealed to me. The hitch was that the entire Simmer staff would attend the memorial service on Monday, and it would be a little awkward to present a memory book filled with quotations that sang Leandra’s praises attributed to people who had disliked her. So, using my imagination was a last resort. I was sure that if I approached the Simmer staff in person, everyone would be hard-pressed to say anything but nice things about their deceased coworker. That was the plan.
    Before leaving for Simmer, I opened all the windows to my condo to let fresh spring air into my little space. Even with the windows closed and locked, it would’ve been easy enough to break in. If a burglar showed up in my absence, at least there wouldn’t be any damage to the doors or windows. Or so I rationalized.
    When I reached Simmer, I stood outside the front door on Newbury Street and phoned Josh, who left the kitchen to let me in. I’d had zero interest in revisiting the back alley and had driven around side streets for twenty minutes until I’d found a parking spot. The weather forecast called for blue skies, bright sunshine, and temperatures in the midsixties, so I was sure that the patio would be packed for lunch today. Consequently, a lot of the staff would probably be scheduled to work, and I’d have an excellent chance of cornering Leandra’s colleagues and squeezing quotable remarks from them.
    Josh swung open the front door. “Hi, babe. How you doing? You still mad at me?” He pulled me in close and kissed my neck softly.
    “I wasn’t mad at you.”
    “I knew you weren’t that mad since people who are really mad wouldn’t have let me do what I did last night. Right?” he