“Well the owner, Madame Boufant, had a car accident last night. The police had the streets cordoned off, the media were in a feeding frenzy, and the no one could get in or out.”
“Wait,” I breathe, my hand on my heart, “is she dead?”
“As a doornail,” he nods, “her body was crushed like a sardine in a can – her heart was found a few hundred metres back, lying on the footpath.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“Yes. It has rocked the haloed streets of Cherrywood Lane,” he laughs.
“Why are you laughing?”
“The neighbours,” he shakes his head, “I know I shouldn’t, but what a bunch of unfriendly bastards they are on that street. I wasn’t at all upset to see their horrified faces.”
“You went outside and watched?”
“Of course,” he shrugs, “I wanted to know what had happened. I was the one who found her heart.”
“Ewww.”
“Come now; you are a cook, surely a little raw meat doesn’t horrify you?”
I look up into his eyes. He is studying me carefully, but I don’t know why. And I don’t know why what he just said riles me so.
“I’m not a cook,” I sniff, handing him his hot chocolate and turning away, “I’m a chef, or I will be soon, and no, a little offal doesn’t offend me.”
“But I clearly do,” he says gently, “I’m sorry, I’ve upset you somehow.”
“I’m fine, James,” I shrug, “I have to get back to work.”
I know he will press his luck; he doesn’t know when to back the fuck down and leave me alone, but Margarita walks in then and, seeing the look on my face, gives him a dark look.
“Thank you for the croissant,” he says, walking away.
“What’s going on?” Margarita asks, once the double doors of the cafeteria slam behind him.
“The aristocrat, Madame Boufant, she’s dead.”
“Sucked in.”
I laugh.
“Ah Margarita, you always know how to say just the right thing.”
“Yeah, well I have something even more right to say. Come with me to Vegas this weekend. Jerry is going away, and he gave me a few thousand dollars to blow on clothes and shoes. But how about we have a girls’ weekend and party hardy.”
“I don’t know,” I say slowly.
“We could go to a restaurant and eat and run.”
“Don’t,” I laugh, “you have to stop that. I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be,” she giggles, “ever since you said you did it, I’ve wanted to try. In Vegas no one knows us. Let’s hit the most expensive restaurant in the city, order the most expensive meal you have ever wanted to make, and then leave without paying.”
“But you just said you had money.”
“OK, we will pay, treat on me.”
I smile and meet her high five. Truth be known I’m keen to get out of town for a while. The reports of murders, the date promises to Blake and James, the lurker, it was all just getting too much.
