Diane Davidson - Killer Pancake

She took a drag and blew into the phone. “Uh-huh. And did you know your boarder-assistant guy, Julian Teller, was only the latest in Ms. Satterfield’s list of male conquests?”

“No, I didn’t.” And I certainly hoped Julian didn’t either. On an ordinary day I would have enjoyed sparring with Frances. Sometimes she was as good a source of information as Marla. But today was not ordinary, and I found her questions and insinuations annoying in the extreme. “Who told you Claire had other male conquests?”

“May I please speak to Julian?” Frances inquired sweetly.

“He’s in the hospital. He went into shock when he heard about Claire. Some people,” I added harshly, “have normal human emotions in response to death.”

“Oh, damn!” she exclaimed. “I’m going to have to clean up my desk, because it looks as if my heart just bled all over it. So what’s Investigator Schulz saying about the”—she cleared her throat—“accident? Anything quotable?”

“Why don’t you call the sheriff’s department and find out? Then maybe you can tell Investigator Schulz why you were down at the Mignon banquet today. Incognito. All dressed up. Exactly what rumors have you heard about the department store?”

“Cut the tripe, caterer. I’m on assignment, which should be obvious to you, even though it’s been a lot of years since you did that major in psychology. You think it was easy zipping myself into that dress? And the so-called banquet was like some kind of punishment. Diet food makes me gag. I have to eat too much of it, and that makes me feel like a bear foraging for winter. How many tomatoes can one individual consume? But the brownies were terrific.” She chuckled. Like we were such good pals. Like she had told me everything she knew and now I was supposed to do the same for her.

I took a deep breath. “You know, Frances, you did ask me if I knew about the department store’s problems. Since I assume you mean Prince & Grogan, and since I was working for their Mignon people today, I’d like to know what kind of problems would bring you down to the mall all the way from Aspen Meadow. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh. Miss Nosy Caterer. A sales associate at Prince & Grogan gets splattered all over the parking lot and you ask me what kind of problems the department store is having.”

“Don’t talk like that about Claire. It’s disgusting.”

“Oh-ho! So it’s Claire now. You did know her. In fact, you were there in the garage when someone smacked into her. Yes? Spill all, Goldy.”

“Tell me why you were at the banquet in disguise. What’s the problem with the department store?”

Frances took another drag and seemed to consider. “Let me get my pen.”

Doggone it. “No, Frances, don’t act as if we can trade information, for heaven’s sake,” I said to empty air. If anything got into the newspaper, Tom was going to be a tad upset.

Frances came back to the phone and rustled her materials about. “You knew the dead girl,” she prompted.

“You already know she was Julian Teller’s girlfriend,” I replied impatiently. “And you also know I can’t talk to you until Tom—”

VANILLA-FROSTED

FUDGE COOKIES

¾ cup all-purpose flour

½ cup unsweetened cocoa powder

1 teaspoon baking powder

¼ teaspoon salt

¼ cup canola oil

1 cup sugar

1½ teaspoons vanilla extract

4 egg whites, unbeaten

2 cups confectioners’ sugar

2–3 tablespoons skim milk, approximately additional unsweetened cocoa powderPreheat the oven to 350°. Spray a large nonstick cookie sheet with vegetable oil spray.Sift the flour, cocoa, baking powder, and salt together; set aside. Mix together the oil, sugar, 1 teaspoon of the vanilla, and the egg whites until well combined. Stir in the flour mixture. Chill one hour. Using a ½-tablespoon measure, scoop the dough onto the cookie sheet, leaving 2 inches between cookies. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes or until the cookies are puffed and cooked through. Do not overcook.Transfer the cookies to a rack and; cool completely. Mix together the confectioners’ sugar, skim milk, and remaining ½ teaspoon vanilla until pasty. Add skim milk if necessary. Spread a small amount of vanilla frosting on each cookie. Put the cookies back on the rack, dust lightly with cocoa powder, and allow the frosting to dry. Makes 4 dozen cookies

“Ah-ha. ‘Wife of homicide investigator asks newspaper about department store scandals. Declines comment on witnessing murder of store employee.’ Your husband the investigator is gonna love it.”

“What do you mean, murder? So help me—”

“Do you know anything about those demonstrators?” she demanded.

“Of course I don’t,” I replied, struggling to sound calm. Frances had the annoying ability to make me feel constantly off balance.

“Did they get in the way of the catering? Were they near the area where the girl was hit? Or can’t you talk about that either?”

“What makes you think that—” I waved my hand in the empty kitchen, unable even to articulate the thought.

“What makes me think that Claire was run down?” she finished.

“Yes.”

“Things I’ve heard.”

“Gosh, Frances, more rumors? Maybe I should have Tom come over and talk to you.”

“Great idea. We could have lunch and chat about the Bill of Rights. You could cook. That is, if you didn’t throw vegetables around beforehand.”

“Frances, don’t.”

“The way I heard it, the fellow you threw the red peppers on was an activist by the name of Shaman Krill.”

“Why, did he talk to you? All he did was yell at me.”

“That name, Shaman Krill,” she said thoughtfully. “Think it’s short for something? Maybe it’s an alias. We’re talking about a real short guy here? Dark curly hair pulled back in a ponytail? Gold earring? Sort of a cross between a leprechaun and a terrorist? Think he was one of Claire’s boyfriends? How long had Satterfield been going with this Julian guy?”

“How do you know Claire was involved with other men?” I countered. “Why did you say Julian was the latest in her batch of conquests?”

“First you tell me something, Goldy. Did you ever get something for nothing? Listen—I’ll come visit you at the food fair, okay? Maybe then you’ll be ready to have a real chat.”

Before I could retort, she hung up. She wasn’t going to share anything she knew with me until I gave her information. And if I did that, I could just imagine the wrath of Investigator Tom Schulz. Still, he’d be interested to hear about bullying activist Shaman Krill, if he hadn’t already. Maybe you had to have a weird name to get into Spare the Hares. I slowly swished the spoon through the pot of dark barbecue sauce. There were two things Frances had been digging for: Had I known Claire was involved with other men? And who was Shaman Krill? I wondered if the two questions were related.

But that was speculation. I returned to my culinary duties to chop, boil, and beat my frustration away. I gathered cocoa powder, flour, sugar, and egg whites, and got out the recipe for the fudge cookies. The dark, delicious cookies had been one of two great inventions in my search for a lowfat chocolate torte. The other had been a lowfat chocolate soufflé that had worked not in the oven but on top of the stove. I sifted the cocoa, flour, baking powder, and salt and beat egg whites, then stirred oil, sugar, and vanilla. After combining all the ingredients, I put the cookie batter away to chill. I had just retrieved the ingredients for icing when the doorbell rang. Oh good, I thought: Marla. Finally.

I looked through the peephole prepared to see my big-bodied, big-hearted friend triumphantly holding up the bags of gourmet goodies she always brought to ease tense or troubling situations. But anticipatory delight quickly froze to dread. The Jerk’s distorted mug grinned broadly into the peephole’s circular eye.