Turn up the Heat

Santos look over.
    I didn’t like the way Isabelle was acting. I understood it, but I didn’t like it. She clearly had a big crush on Gavin. Could she have been so distraught about his relationship with Leandra that she’d murdered her? The truth was, I didn’t know Isabelle very well. I’d met her when I’d volunteered at the agency that had been helping her to get off the streets and create a better life for herself. She’d seemed sweet and eager to work hard, but I hadn’t known and still didn’t know much else about her. Josh said she was a quick learner who was devoted to his kitchen. She could still have a dark side, couldn’t she? It was unthinkable to me that Isabelle was involved in Leandra’s death. Almost unthinkable.
    My thoughts returned to Belita’s statement that Kevin was taking bottles. Could Belita have meant that Kevin was stealing bottles of liquor? Would a Simmer employee do such a horrible thing? What kind of person would undercut Gavin’s and Josh’s efforts to make Simmer a success? The same kind of person who would commit murder? If Leandra had found out about the stealing, she might have confronted Kevin and threatened to tell Gavin. I knew all too well how hard Josh was working to make Simmer profitable and how deeply Gavin cared about his restaurant. Meanwhile, their main bartender, Kevin, was stealing from the restaurant? What a terrible thing to do! Restaurants, I knew, made most of their money from alcohol sales. I’d been a little horrified to learn just how high the markups on alcohol were. The funny thing about restaurant alcohol sales, Josh had explained to me, was that cheaper bottles of wine were the ones that were marked up most, whereas the expensive, high-quality wines were marked up least. If someone—Kevin?— stole a bottle of wine that had cost Simmer ten dollars and would have sold for twenty-eight dollars, the restaurant’s loss would be greater than the original cost of the wine. But any thievery would cost the restaurant something, and if Leandra had discovered that someone was pilfering, she might have been outraged enough to confront the culprit. Perhaps Gavin’s girlfriend had paid dearly for protecting Simmer? Or, more true to her character, she was somehow protecting herself? My impulse was to present the idea to Josh and Gavin, but I was far from sure that I’d understood Belita correctly. She might not have meant that Kevin had been stealing.
    I returned to the task of gathering material for the memory book. I hoped that the front-of-the-house staff, who’d worked closely with Leandra, would have fond recollections of her. At this point, I’d have been overjoyed to hear even a few neutral statements about Leandra: she’d liked roses, her favorite food had been raspberry sorbet, she’d preferred bourbon to scotch, and she’d been crazy about dancing to zydeco. Anything!
    Snacker had slipped past me while I’d been speaking to Belita. He was now schmoozing Blythe while she set up tables. Forget it! I loved Snacker, but I wasn’t up for watching him salivate all over Blythe today. I’d try again tomorrow. I popped my head into the kitchen and quickly waved goodbye to Josh, who was on the phone and scribbling on a notepad. He looked so stressed out that I didn’t want to disrupt him. He covered the phone with his hands and blew me a kiss.
    When I passed Wade, who was on the patio wiping down tables, I held out my stack of pages for the memory book. “Hi, Wade. Would you do me a favor and hand these out to the staff? My e-mail and phone numbers are on here, so people can get in touch with me.”
    “Sure thing. I’ll make sure to have people give you something. It’s really nice of you to do this.” I hoped Wade thought it was so nice that he’d force loving memories out of everyone at Simmer.
    I was driving home when my cell rang. Adrianna.
    “Hi, honey. What’s up?”
    “Oh, Chloe! Where are you? Can you stop by?” She sounded distressed.
    “Of course. I’m on my way back from Simmer. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” The books I’d bought for her were in the car. This would be a good chance to drop them off.
    Ade pulled open the door before I had time to knock. She looked anything but happy. “The police are still pestering Owen! Can you believe that this is happening right now?” At least she wasn’t crying this time. But, boy, was she mad.
    “What do they want from him?” I stepped into her living room—or what was