Turn up the Heat

e-mail before or anything like that, so I was really grateful. He taught me how to set up an account and everything.” I was once again reminded of how wonderful my chef could be.
    “Okay, so...?” I prompted her to continue.
    “Oh, well, the other day when I was taking my break, I went to the office to make a phone call, and Blythe was in there on the computer. As soon as I walked in, she clicked the mouse a few times and then left. I didn’t think anything of it, but when I got off the phone, I thought I’d see if I had any e-mail. The browser was already open, just shrunk down on the side of the screen. And when I clicked it, her eBay page opened up with her listed as a seller, and it showed all the items she was auctioning off, including a couple of Simmer’s things.”
    Holy crap!
    “Poor Gavin, right? It’s so unfair to him!” she complained.
    Isabelle really had to get over this Gavin thing. And if Blythe was stealing from the kitchen, Josh was the one who’d catch heat from Gavin. Everything that happened in the kitchen was Josh’s responsibility.
    “Have you told Josh or Gavin about what Blythe is doing?”
    “No! And you have to promise me you won’t, either! I don’t want to be the one ratting out my coworkers. I love this job, and I don’t want to screw it up. Please don’t say anything,” she begged me. The taboo on ratting out struck me as a legacy from Isabelle’s life on the streets.
    I was facing my first real ethical dilemma as a social worker. If Isabelle was in any way my client, then I had to respect her confidentiality. And I did feel that she was my client. I had met her through a social service agency, and I had helped to set up an interview with Josh. I’d taught her how to go about finding a safe, affordable apartment. I regularly checked in with her and followed up on what we’d talked about. She trusted me to be professional. I couldn’t betray that trust. According to the social work code of ethics, I was to break confidentiality only if a client was a danger to herself or others, or if I had the client’s permission. The larceny at Simmer was unethical, but it wasn’t causing serious harm to anyone. Damn ethics.
    Josh’s foul mood made this a bad time to talk to him about the problem, anyhow. He’d have to calm down before I’d even want to be around him. In any case, I needed to check eBay myself. As a novice computer user, Isabelle might have misinterpreted what she’d seen. Maybe Blythe had been searching eBay because she wanted to replace the missing items. And there was no point in bothering Gavin, who was in enough distress already about Leandra’s death and didn't need to be confronted with a comparatively minor problem. Anyway, I had to respect Isabelle’s wish to be kept out of it. But if I stumbled on Blythe’s eBay merchandise myself, would the code of ethics allow me to tell Josh?
    Isabelle interrupted my thoughts. “Oh, Chloe, did you hear? The police told Gavin how Leandra died. Everyone here just found out. She was strangled with the ties of one of Simmer’s aprons. There was evidence found on her body that matched the aprons. Isn’t that gross?” She wrinkled up her pale face in disgust.
    A Simmer apron? Then Leandra hadn’t been killed by some random passerby in the alley. When I’d found her in Owen’s truck, she’d still been wearing a Simmer apron, so her own almost certainly hadn’t been the murder weapon. Who had access to the linens? Which employees? Probably all of them. Customers? Probably not. For some reason, I wondered about Belita. Belita hadn’t liked Leandra, but she was only one of a great many people.
    “But she wasn’t raped or anything, thank God.” Isabelle looked embarrassed. “I mean, I know she was strangled, which is terrible, but I guess it’s good that something else bad didn’t happen to her before that. You know what I mean?”
    “I do. I know what you mean.” I found myself disturbed and distracted by the news that something as innocuous as an apron had been turned into a murder weapon and that the murderer had been in Simmer. In Josh’s restaurant.
    “I hate to bother you again with this, Isabelle,” I said, “but I really need some things to put in this memory book I’m doing. It will really mean a lot to Gavin.” As much as I didn’t want to encourage her crush on Gavin, I was desperate.
    And the tactic worked. Isabelle said, “I guess so. You can write that she worked hard to make