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What the son discovers, however, is that he can “contact” the dead cook’s spirit by cooking up a storm in the nighttime kitchen-but only after the restaurant is closed. There, long after hours, the son secretly slaves to teach himself his dad’s recipes-everything the sous chef failed to learn from his father when the great cook was alive. And when the former sous chef masters a recipe to his dad’s satisfaction, the spirit of the deceased cook advises his son on more practical matters-where to buy his clothes, what bills to pay first, how often and by whom the car should be serviced. (His father’s ghost, the son soon realizes, has forgotten a few things-such as the fact that his somewhat retarded son never learned to drive a car.)
“Gamba is a ghost?” Carmella cried.
“I suppose I could have called the novel The Retarded Sous Chef,” Da
“Secondo, someone might think it’s a cookbook,” Carmella cautioned him.
Well, what could he say? Surely no one would think a new novel by Da
As he lay awake in bed now, with little confidence that he would fall asleep, Da
As he drifted-ever so lightly-to sleep, Da
In his half-sleep, Da
Is what? Da
THE POLICE BUSINESS concerning the double shooting in Toronto was finished; even the most egregious morons in the media had finally backed off. After all, the bloodbath had happened almost nine months ago-not quite the duration of a pregnancy. Only Da
That mail about the cook’s murder and the subsequent shooting of his killer had persisted-condolences, for the most part, though not all the letters were kind. Da
That Amy had written him once, after Joe died, and that she’d also lost a child-well, that was one of life’s missed co
“If you’re ever in trouble, I’ll be back,” Lady Sky had told little Joe, kissing the two-year-old’s forehead. “Meanwhile, you take care of your daddy.” So much for the promises of angels who drop naked out of the sky, though-to be fair-Amy had told them she was only an angel “sometimes.” Indeed, most persistently in Da
“I would like to see you again, Amy,” Da
DANNY AWOKE WITH A START; the early-morning light seemed too bright. He thought he was already late for his meeting with Ketchum, but he wasn’t. Da
Ketchum had been right about visiting in September; it was going to be quite a beautiful day in the northeastern United States. Even as Da
“Maybe,” Da
They quickly came upon the sign that said SMALL ENGINE REPAIRS, with an arrow pointing down an i
“I think I know the dog,” Da
The road went on, growing narrower-till it was too narrow to turn around. Of course it could have been the wrong road, Da