Turn up the Heat

the living room, where I sat in front of the television, cut out strips of paper with the supposed recollections on them, and glued the strips on to the pages of the album I’d bought. I tried to make a little go a long way by leaving lots of space on each page. That arrangement, I hoped, made it look as if Leandra had had lots of friends. Any friends. Any at all.
    I wrapped myself in a light cotton blanket and lay down on the couch to watch The Office DVDs that I had borrowed from Owen a few weeks ago. I spent the rest of the afternoon and all evening alone. At one point, I called Josh on his cell, but when he picked up, all he did was yell that he was up to his knees. Or maybe that he was in the weeds? Either way, he couldn’t talk. He shouted a cute, “I love you,” and then hung up before I could say anything. At least he sounded as if he’d recovered from his pan-throwing mood. Still, alone on a Saturday night, I felt like a chef’s widow. I didn’t even have any good food in the house. During Simmer’s first few months, Josh used to bring home dinners for me, neatly packed in to-go containers from the restaurant, but since business had picked up, I rarely got treats like that. In one way, I didn’t mind; Josh was so tired at the end of the workday that I didn’t want him to bother making anything for me. But I missed those days of off-the-menu chef’s specials that he’d brought over late at night just for me.
    I spent twenty minutes throwing cat treats across the room and watching Gato chase them. The activity left him purring, and, for once, he came over and snuggled with me. Small pleasures, I thought to myself. At ten thirty, after watching salesman Jim confess his love to secretary Pam, I dragged myself off the couch, to my bedroom, and into bed, where I evidently fell into a coma that lasted until the next morning. What roused me was the phone, which had slid so far under the bed that it took me a few moments of fumbling to find it.
    The caller was Josh, whose voice carried not a hint of the previous morning’s pan-hurling rage or the evening’s work stress. “Good morning, lovely! How’d you like to see your long-lost boyfriend again tonight?”
    “Really? How did you manage that?” I lay back down and shut my eyes.
    “Snacker asked Blythe to have dinner at our apartment, so obviously you and I need to be there to supervise and keep him in line. Stein is working late, so he won’t be there.”
    “Who’s going to be at Simmer? Is Gavin going to be mad?” I yawned.
    “Snacker has the day off, the bastard, but if I leave at six, Santos, Javier, and Isabelle can hold the fort down for the rest of the night. Sunday nights aren’t usually too busy anyhow. They’re going to have to handle it, because I don’t give a shit right now. Apparently, unless someone is murdered, I work all the time, so I’m going to take the night off. Gavin will have to deal. So how does tonight sound? Snacker is going to be making tamales all day today, so that’ll be dinner.”
    “Dinner sounds very good,” I murmured. “I can’t believe Snacker has the day off from cooking and is spending it making tamales. You chefs are crazy. I’ll see you tonight.” A Sunday tamale dinner sounded perfect! I was willing to brave any giant dust bunnies that were sure to roll across the apartment like tumbleweeds.
    The phone rang again the second after I hung up. Adrianna, who seemed to have pulled herself together yesterday, had fallen to pieces again. Not only did she feel even sicker than usual, but she was really upset about Owen. I could hear her voice breaking over the phone.
    “There is something going on with him, Chloe! He was questioned by the police again! They are calling him a ‘person of interest.’ He looks worried all the time, and he is weirdly quiet. Kind of withdrawn. He's even wearing normal clothes in normal colors! When we went to dinner last night, I expected him to pick me up wearing one of his crazy neon suits or something, but he just had on plain pants and a plain shirt!”
    That was alarming. And a “person of interest” didn’t mean an interesting person. “Maybe Owen thought you’d like him to look more regular for once. After all, he was taking you out for a very nice meal at a place that presumably has some sort of dress code, right? How did he act during dinner?”
    “He just wasn’t himself. You know how chatty and fun Owen always is. Now he seems beaten down or