Diane Davidson - Killer Pancake

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When Goldy, owner of Goldilocks' Catering, faces the challenge of whipping up a sumptuous lowfat feast for the Mignon Cosmetics' company banquet, she rises to the occasion brilliantly...only to discover just how ugly the beauty biz can be!
On the day of the banquet Goldy finds herself confronting an angry mob of demonstrators--"Spare the Hares"--who object to Mignon Cosmetics' animal-testing policies. As she struggles to carry forty pounds of lowfat fare from her van to the mall where the banquet is being held, she hears an ominous squeal of tires and a horrifying thump. Seconds later, a Mignon employee lies dead on the pavement. And soon the police discover that this hit-and-run was no accident.
Now Goldy is enmeshed up to her saute pans in a homicide investigation.  Could the murder have had something to do with Spare the Hares--or with the exotic flower found near the dead body? Though busy serving up Hoisin Turkey and Grand Marnier Cranberry Muffins, Goldy decides to start digging at Mignon's million-dollar cosmetics counter. But when another murder takes place and Goldy herself is attacked, the caterer turned sleuth knows she must step up her search for a gruesome killer. For this time was only a warning. Next time she'll be dead--and it won't be pretty.
From the Paperback edition. From Publishers Weekly
For Colorado's Goldy B. Schulz (last seen in The Last Suppers), the catering proves far less rewarding than the sleuthing when she's called on to prepare a banquet for the Mignon cosmetics company. Forced to forsake mayonnaise and butter in this low-fat luncheon, Goldy is in "caterers' hell." But that's a better place than where Mignon super-saleswoman Claire Satterfield ends up?which is dead. According to Julian Teller, Goldy's catering assistant, Claire had recently suspected she was being followed. Adding to the mystery is a local reporter who has taken to using Mignon's ultra-expensive potions while trying, none too subtly, to extract information Goldy might have gathered from her husband, homicide detective Tom Schulz. When Goldy's initial inquiries earn her an anonymous warning to clear off, she becomes more determined. As always, Davidson includes recipes as she brings events to a proper boil in this latest lively and satisfying outing for Goldy, who not only solves the mystery but also finds, much to her delight, that coffee can save your life.

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I could hear her heels rap-tap-tapping up the escalator. I tottered recklessly through the bathing suit department. Harriet would be up here any moment with her little gun. I didn’t have time to get to the exit. She’d see me and catch up. Damn, damn, damn. Then I noticed the dressing room. Hope bloomed. Could I still have the stolen key in my pocket? I certainly hoped so.

Moving seemed a little easier at this point, and I had the absurd thought that perhaps hemlock was like heroin. If you kept propelling yourself around during an overdose, things might not end up so badly. I groped in my pocket, found the key, and fumbled to unlock the door to the storage room. I turned the handle and prayed. It opened. I careened into the darkness.

“Goldy!” came Harriet’s voice again over the blare of the fire alarm. “Come out now!”

I wasn’t in the mood to provide her with a better target. With renewed determination I wobbled in the direction that I hoped would lead to that other door, the one on the left that I now realized led to Nick Gentileschi’s office. The space was not pitch-black. Light seeped downward from a distant skylight. I banged into the wall painfully, fell to my knees, and began to grope. I came to the moulding and then the door handle. I heard Harriet come into the darkness behind me. I turned the handle.

The door was locked.

“Goldy! Quit running! You just don’t understand—I had to do what I did.”

I felt the wall, wondering if Harriet had reloaded. My hand touched metal. Metal steps. I was confused. A metal staircase to what?

“I’m going to find a light!” Harriet warned, close, too close. “I’m going to turn it on!”

I scrambled up the steps. There had to be some exit up there at the top. And then I remembered Frances Markasian sitting on something—a raised box or platform that was just there, on top of the roof. Had it been the Prince & Grogan roof? Oh, please let that be it, I thought desperately. Some exit that they used for repairs. Please, anything. Up, up I climbed.

Thin fluorescent lights blinked once, then came on just as I reached the top step. Oh, Lord. The raised box was fastened with a schoolhouse lock. I glanced down. Harriet had the pistol pointed up at me.

She shouted, “Goldy, come down now!” Then she fired again.

The bullet ricocheted deafeningly off metal. I twisted the lock and pushed vertically with all my strength. The heavy door groaned. I was on the roof, I was out. The fair organizers were in the throes of breaking down the tents. Nearly everyone was gone. But I thanked the powers that be that Pete’s Espresso Bar was the last tent standing. The King of Advertising wasn’t going to be the first to leave, especially when volunteer crew members might want to buy coffee.

I ran awkwardly across the concrete and fell at Pete’s ankles.

“Espresso—straight—at least six shots—quick,” I panted.

Pete switched on the machine and looked down. Today’s T-shirt said I’M LEAN, MEAN, AND FULL OF CAFFEINE. “I swear, Goldy,” he said. “I wish every customer was like you.”

And then we heard a pistol shot.

It was over.

When Tom showed up with an investigative team at the department store I was - фото 20

When Tom showed up with an investigative team at the department store, I was being discharged from the hospital across the street. I’d been given charcoal tablets, which I dutifully swallowed. The year before, I’d had an unpleasant encounter with the highly toxic—not aphrodisiac—substance known as Spanish fly, and I knew you had to get your system filtered, and quick. I wasn’t going to have to stay in the hospital, the ER doc told me, but he repeatedly remarked how lucky it was I knew the antidote for hemlock and was able to get it so quickly. I couldn’t agree more.

Tom scooped me up in his arms and hugged me long and hard. Julian had returned home and found Arch had already returned from Keystone. They’d called Tom on his cell phone and said they were on their way to see Marla.

“Sounds good to me,” I said as I got into Tom’s car.

He told me they’d found Harriet’s body behind the security room door. Self-inflicted wound, but I knew that already. I didn’t want to hear the details.

“She couldn’t stand the competition,” Tom observed. “I guess Claire was just too successful for her to deal with. After all, Harriet had been Mignon’s number-one salesperson for years, and now Claire was about to surpass her effortlessly. Surpass Harriet, that is, unless Harriet could relentlessly charge returns to her competitor’s number. And I’ll bet Harriet’s cash-receipt scam is what Claire was helping Gentileschi with.”

“You bet, huh?” I said. “Why don’t you bet with something I really want?”

“Oh, woman,” he said laughingly as we pulled into Marla’s driveway, “you are going to regret those words.”

Marla was walking very tentatively down the rock steps by the entryway to her house. Her skin was still sallow. She wore a brightly colored muumuu and her normally frizzy hair was pulled back into pigtails held with sparkling barrettes. The clothes and hair were courtesy of the nurse, no doubt. As she moved haltingly forward, Julian held one of her arms and Arch the other.

Four days ago, while I was preparing food, I’d reflected that beauty was in the eye of the beholder. It was something I’d always said, sort of offhand, the way the mind runs over a cliche without ever really examining its meaning. And yet if what was visually appealing did depend on what the beholder valued, who set the standards? How were the values determined?

In the past five days I’d seen and felt more pain than I cared to contemplate. John Routt had spent the best decades of his life blind. Nick Gentileschi’s twisted desire to capture voluptuousness had gotten him killed. The Braithwaites’ unhappiness with each other had led both to pursue goals of beauty that were unattainable, or easily destroyed. Reggie Hotchkiss had stolen and plotted and intimidated, trying to sell women expensive products that promised everything and did next to nothing. And Claire had been so gorgeous, so enthusiastic in her selling of overpriced, worthless goods, that it had gotten her killed.

Marla arrived at the bottom of the stone staircase. She let go of Arch and Julian and sank to rest on one of the steps. I rushed over.

“You’re here!” she squawked. “I can’t believe it.” She held out her arms, and I scooted up and sat on a cold stone to embrace her. She murmured, “I feel like hell. And I look worse, I know.”

“You look absolutely wonderful,” I said, and meant it. “You look like heaven.”

INDEX TO THE RECIPES

RECIPE

Hoisin Turkey with Roasted Pine Nuts in Lettuce Cups

Grand Marnier Cranberry Muffins

Vanilla-Frosted Fudge Cookies

What-to-Do-with-All-the-Egg-Yolks Bread

Lowfat Fettuccine Alfredo with Asparagus

Fudge Soufflé

Killer Pancakes

Turkey Curry with Raisin Rice

Lowfat Chicken Stock

Shrimp Risotto with Portobello Mushrooms

AUTHOR’S NOTE: All the recipes contain less than 30 percent fat “What-to-Do-with-AU-the-Egg-Yolks Bread,” while technically “lowfat,” is not low in cholesterol .

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

DIANE MOTT DAVIDSON lives in Evergreen, Colorado, with her family. She is the author of ten bestselling culinary mysteries and is at work on her eleventh, Chopping Spree .

If you enjoyed Diane Mott Davidson’s Killer Pancake , you won’t want to miss any of the tantalizing mysteries in her nationally bestselling culinary mystery series!

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