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Authors: Grace Carroll
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hole and made an assumption about how, when and who shot him. After all that drama, I got nothing out of her. I guess I wasn’t surprised, but I was disappointed. I shot her a cool look, then I went to the cafeteria to meet Jonathan.
I loved going to the hospital as long as I wasn’t sick and I could eat in the cafeteria with the doctors and nurses. It made me feel like an insider, especially with Jonathan sitting across the table, his tray covered with enough food to sustain him throughout a long night of emergencies. I chose a meatball sandwich with provolone cheese and a dish of bright red Jell-O.
I was glad I’d worn the print dress and the Puma sneakers when Jonathan told me I was looking good, and I knew it was true. He said he wished I could come every night because of the way I brightened up the cafeteria scene. Having dinner with a gorgeous physician like Jonathan was better than any medication. He made me feel charming and beautiful. We talked about his summer, his new apartment, his father, who was a doctor too, and he asked me lots of questions about me and my life. Honestly, he could have been a therapist the way he pumped me up, and I assumed he did the same for all of his patients, when they were not sedated, of course.
Watching Jonathan eat his first course of chicken noodle soup reminded me of Guido. I don’t know why but it did. “Speaking of my cooking teacher,” I said, “I wonder how he got here from his culinary academy, and what time.” I figured even though he probably couldn’t tell me, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. “I stopped by to see Mr. Torcelli around seven and he was alive then.”
“I’ll see if I can find out,” Jonathan said.
See what a difference it makes to talk to someone who doesn’t have an ax to grind? That exact opposite other kind of person would be Detective Wall.
Jonathan took his phone out of his pocket and punched in a few numbers. He mentioned Guido’s name and asked for some information. When he hung up, he put his phone back and said, “Ten o’clock. Does that help?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t tell me when he was murdered. It doesn’t get me off the hook.”
“Off the hook?” He put his fork down. “Don’t tell me someone suspects you of killing him.”
“Let’s just say I was at the police station this morning answering questions. I was one of the last, maybe
the
last person to see the chef alive. So the more I can find out about his last hours, the better off I’ll be. I have a strong motive for finding out who killed him. Which is why I’d like to know how he got here, who called the police, who brought him here or anything relating to his murder. Because I don’t like being a suspect. Some people might say I was meddling.” Like the woman at the front desk. Like Jack.
“It’s not meddling if you’re helping solve a crime, am I right?”
I was happy to finally talk to someone who understood me and my motives. I only wanted to help. That’s all. Well,maybe not all. I also wanted some excitement in my life. But not too much.
“You say you’re going to the funeral?” Jonathan asked.
“I think I should. Not that we were even friends, but still, I want to honor his memory. I feel terrible that I might have saved Guido. If only I’d insisted on coming into the school, but he closed the door in my face.”
“And you let that stop you? I’m surprised to hear that, Rita.” He gave me one of his trademark smiles that warmed me even more than chicken soup.
I blushed. Not sure if that was a compliment or not.
“Jonathan.” A high voice interrupted our conversation. We both stopped eating and looked up at a very attractive blond nurse who was carrying a tray with a salad on it. “How are you?”
“Fine,” he said. “Sally, this is Rita.”
She didn’t look at me, that’s how unimportant I was.
“Are you on tonight?” she asked Jonathan.
“Seven to three,” he said.
“Then we’ll be working together,” she
I loved going to the hospital as long as I wasn’t sick and I could eat in the cafeteria with the doctors and nurses. It made me feel like an insider, especially with Jonathan sitting across the table, his tray covered with enough food to sustain him throughout a long night of emergencies. I chose a meatball sandwich with provolone cheese and a dish of bright red Jell-O.
I was glad I’d worn the print dress and the Puma sneakers when Jonathan told me I was looking good, and I knew it was true. He said he wished I could come every night because of the way I brightened up the cafeteria scene. Having dinner with a gorgeous physician like Jonathan was better than any medication. He made me feel charming and beautiful. We talked about his summer, his new apartment, his father, who was a doctor too, and he asked me lots of questions about me and my life. Honestly, he could have been a therapist the way he pumped me up, and I assumed he did the same for all of his patients, when they were not sedated, of course.
Watching Jonathan eat his first course of chicken noodle soup reminded me of Guido. I don’t know why but it did. “Speaking of my cooking teacher,” I said, “I wonder how he got here from his culinary academy, and what time.” I figured even though he probably couldn’t tell me, it wouldn’t hurt to ask. “I stopped by to see Mr. Torcelli around seven and he was alive then.”
“I’ll see if I can find out,” Jonathan said.
See what a difference it makes to talk to someone who doesn’t have an ax to grind? That exact opposite other kind of person would be Detective Wall.
Jonathan took his phone out of his pocket and punched in a few numbers. He mentioned Guido’s name and asked for some information. When he hung up, he put his phone back and said, “Ten o’clock. Does that help?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t tell me when he was murdered. It doesn’t get me off the hook.”
“Off the hook?” He put his fork down. “Don’t tell me someone suspects you of killing him.”
“Let’s just say I was at the police station this morning answering questions. I was one of the last, maybe
the
last person to see the chef alive. So the more I can find out about his last hours, the better off I’ll be. I have a strong motive for finding out who killed him. Which is why I’d like to know how he got here, who called the police, who brought him here or anything relating to his murder. Because I don’t like being a suspect. Some people might say I was meddling.” Like the woman at the front desk. Like Jack.
“It’s not meddling if you’re helping solve a crime, am I right?”
I was happy to finally talk to someone who understood me and my motives. I only wanted to help. That’s all. Well,maybe not all. I also wanted some excitement in my life. But not too much.
“You say you’re going to the funeral?” Jonathan asked.
“I think I should. Not that we were even friends, but still, I want to honor his memory. I feel terrible that I might have saved Guido. If only I’d insisted on coming into the school, but he closed the door in my face.”
“And you let that stop you? I’m surprised to hear that, Rita.” He gave me one of his trademark smiles that warmed me even more than chicken soup.
I blushed. Not sure if that was a compliment or not.
“Jonathan.” A high voice interrupted our conversation. We both stopped eating and looked up at a very attractive blond nurse who was carrying a tray with a salad on it. “How are you?”
“Fine,” he said. “Sally, this is Rita.”
She didn’t look at me, that’s how unimportant I was.
“Are you on tonight?” she asked Jonathan.
“Seven to three,” he said.
“Then we’ll be working together,” she
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