Fed Up by Jessica Conant-Park, Susan Conant Page A

everything, did he?”
    I handed Ade the bowl of egg yolks and watched as she mixed them with an electric beater. “No,” I yelled over the din, “he didn’t do anything wrong. But the guest’s wife died during dessert.”
    “She cried? His food was that bad? Screw her. Who cries over a dessert?”
    “Died, Adrianna! Died!” My loud voice filled the room when Ade abruptly turned off the mixer.
    “Someone died eating Josh’s food? I guess she did get screwed.” She started adding small portions of the egg to the melted butter and lemon. “Did she have a heart attack or something?”
    “No, I wish,” I answered. “Not that I wish she’d had a heart attack! It’s just that . . . that the situation is complicated.”
    I told Adrianna all about yesterday’s events as she finished making the hollandaise, which was now spiked with hot sauce, and began to poach four eggs. “Francie died while I was with her. She looked horrible, Ade. She was so sick. And it happened so fast. Right in front of me.” My stomach clenched in knots, and I tossed my head as if trying to shake out the image of Francie dying on the floor of that filthy bathroom. “Ade, I have to know what happened to her! I was right there, and I couldn’t do anything to help her. I didn’t do anything.”
    I was ashamed of not having made some sort of heroic effort to revive Francie. At a crucial time, I had completely frozen; in the worst possible way, I had let Francie down. The ugly thought came to me that since I’d done it once, I might do it again. I was Adrianna’s backup birth coach! What if Owen was unreachable when Ade went into labor? And I was the only person she had to depend on? Owen’s fish truck could break down, his cell could be out, and I would be Adrianna’s sole support. Some help I’d be! To judge from my reaction to Francie’s crisis, if Adrianna relied on me to help her through labor, I’d stare dumbly while she pushed a human being out of her body. I had to get it together! There was no way I was going to fail my best friend.
    “Chloe, it doesn’t sound like there was anything to do. She was obviously incredibly sick. Whatever killed her, killed her very quickly. I can’t imagine anyone could have saved her.” Ade ladled the eggs from the simmering water and began assembling our plates. She scooped the melted artichoke and spinach mixture onto the croissants and placed an egg and hollandaise sauce on top of each. “So you think it was food poisoning? That’s why the health department wanted to talk to the stores where the food came from?”
    We carried our plates to the coffee table in the living room, which also served as the dining room. “I guess,” I said. “I don’t know what else to think. The police were there, and they didn’t . . . well, they didn’t do much of anything.” Although I couldn’t entirely dismiss Josh’s speculation about Evan and Willie, I avoided telling Adrianna that her fiancé’s brothers might have perpetrated a prank with a very unfunny outcome. “Now that I’m saying it out loud, it does seem weird that the police just assumed it was food poisoning and didn’t want to investigate any other possibilities. Even Josh and I wondered for a minute whether Francie had been poisoned. Whether all of us had been poisoned, really.” In spite of the unappetizing topic of conversation, I was still able to savor Ade’s cooking. The delicious eggs were exactly the comfort food I needed.
    “I bet I know,” Ade said as she stuffed her mouth full of the outstanding if unorthodox Benedict. “Look at the neighborhood you were in. Who the heck gets killed in a wealthy upper-class town like Fairfield? Plus, when the cops showed up, most of you were sick to some degree. I watch cop shows, you know, and it’s the job of the first police officer on a scene to determine if it’s a crime or not. At first glance, it definitely looks like food poisoning, so I guess he felt he had no reason to