Turn up the Heat

didn’t report their coworkers for thievery. And Josh knew everything about restaurants.
    I pulled my legs in close to me to fight the cold, but the shivering didn’t stop. The refrigeration unit ran only when the truck was turned on, but it was still very cold in here. Think! Think! Why would Kevin kill Leandra? I knew so little about Kevin! What else did I know? He had slept with a friend of Blythe’s. He was infatuated with Penelope. Then there was the unsolicited information that Blythe had passed along about his unusual body feature. Yes! What if Leandra had known about that, too? She liked digging at people and hurting their feelings. Look at how she’d treated Blythe and Isabelle! She’d ridiculed Blythe about being flatchested. Had she teased Kevin? Or threatened to tell Penelope? Something must have happened between Kevin and Leandra last Tuesday night. But what did that unknown something have to do with my present predicament? Why had Kevin suddenly decided to abduct me? Why today?
    Shortly before he’d lured me to the alley, he’d seen Blythe and me talking in the kitchen. We’d been giggling. The expressions on our faces had probably made him guess what Blythe was telling me. He had also seen me with Naomi, Eliot, and Penelope. He’d even seen Naomi hug me. Penelope had been at the same table. He could easily have assumed that I was friendly with her, too. One conversation with Penelope, and I might blow any chance he had with her. If that was the case, Blythe was in terrible danger, too.
    I yanked on the door, but the lock held. The narrow gaps on either side of the door were too small for the metal hook; I couldn’t even try to use the rod as a lever. I grabbed the dolly again, mainly to remind myself that I had a weapon and a plan. Yes, I was increasingly chilled, in fact, shaking, but I was not actually going to freeze to death. Was I? I could be here for hours, I realized. I absolutely could not panic! I just had to wait to put my plan into action.
    I tried to distract myself with thoughts unrelated to fish, dead people, or funny-shaped body parts. I thought about my DSM test and ran through symptoms in my head. How stupid I had been to stick Owen with a demeaning and wildly incorrect diagnosis! I made lists of baby names for Ade and Owen, thought about Josh’s new menu, and reminded myself to tell him to add another cold summer soup. I made mental notes on ways to eradicate sexism in the culinary industry and then quizzed myself on 24 trivia. What was the name of Jack’s covert operation in Belgrade? Operation Nightfall! I couldn’t honestly give myself credit for my answers, since I was the one formulating the questions. I ran through song lyrics until I had Paul Simon’s “You Can Call Me Al” stuck in my head. That wouldn’t do! It was no kind of attack song. So, to boost my fighting spirit, I made myself hum the theme for The Sopranos. Not that I expected music to blare when the time came to defend myself against Kevin—and I wasn’t going to burst into song—but better to think about waking up and getting myself a gun than to ponder the possibility of ending up a cartoon in a cartoon graveyard.
    I did such a fine job of distracting myself that I was violently startled when the truck door suddenly began to rise. Fortunately, I managed to maintain my grip on the dolly. Rising to my feet, I kept my knees bent and stayed low. Filtered sunlight burst into the back of the truck and temporarily blinded me. I blinked my eyes rapidly and waited until the door was two-thirds of the way up. When I could see Kevin’s waist and torso, I lunged forward and smashed the dolly straight into my kidnapper. Kevin stumbled back but quickly regained his footing and then, to my horror, grabbed the dolly with one hand. Terror-stricken, I yanked back. I wasn’t strong enough to shake his hand off the dolly, but his continued grip worked to my advantage: to maintain his hold on the dolly, Kevin had to bend at the waist and lean forward. I put all my strength into one mighty thrust and slammed the heavy dolly right into his head.
    “You bitch!” He fell to the ground and moaned.
    Bitch. For once, I loved the sound of the word. But I had no time to savor it. In using one weapon, the dolly, I had lost track of the other. After fumbling around, I found Owen’s metal hook and then leapt out of the back of the truck. For no good reason, I had assumed that the truck was outdoors. In fact, I found