Diane Davidson - The Grilling Season

“Little of both. My job, you gotta put everything together.”

“And why do you suppose Luella is spilling her guts to you?”

His eyebrows lifted. “Hey, Goldy! Ace caterer amateur detective! Wake up! Luella shouldn’t have called Minneapolis first, she should have told the cops about the tapes first. This morning Luella’s suddenly got a big case of remorse, ooh, ooh, she meant to tell us, but she didn’t want to lose her job, see, is what she’s saying. Meanwhile, our department takes an inventory. Looks like one day’s tapes are missing, and the people at ACHMO swear they don’t have a clue where they are. So, bit later in the morning, the sheriff sends a team back up to Suz’s house. They turn up nothing.”

“Sheesh.”

“So I’m thinking about your ex-husband, see. I’m thinking, why did he and Suz Craig have that catfight on Friday night? And then I think, the missing tapes, of course! John Richard probably has them.

What? I pressed my lips together and turned away. I had to think. Delicate material, John Richard had said. I nudged soft scoops of dough into each cup. And what had ReeAnn said? She wanted him to put some stuff… in a safe place, somewhere the AstuteCare people couldn’t find them. I ladled tart, inky jam on top of each dough disc. At John Richard’s office this morning, Brandon Yuille had asked me the same question: If John Richard has given you anything to hide … I popped the cupcake pan into the hot oven.

“What could be on the tapes?” I asked, perplexed. “And who could have them?”

“Well, now, those are the questions, aren’t they? The execs are scrambling like crazy. Where’re the tapes, these powers-that-be want to know. And, believe me, this morning? All the ACHMO secretaries were pulling up the wall-to-wall trying to find the damn things. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, since Suz Craig’s house has turned up nothing, the duty judge gives our guys a search warrant for Korman’s house. No tapes, but somebody messed up his house bad with paint – “

“One day’s tapes… What day? What folks met with Suz Craig that day?” I interrupted.

“Luella’s trying to reconstruct that.” He shook his head and burped. “Korman doesn’t have anyplace he hides things, does he?”

“He’s compulsively neat. And he’s just sold his place in Keystone.” I chewed the inside of my lip. “He hasn’t been to his condo in Hawaii since June. I guess he could have stashed the tapes there. But if they’re in Hawaii, what would happen if Suz wanted [hem back?”

“Man, would I love it if the department sprang for a trip to the islands! Damn! You got another beer?”

“Donny. Are you driving?” He pulled his chin into his neck. “Well, yeah, but you don’t need to worry about a coupla beers, Goldy, I can handle it. And don’t worry, I’ll callout to Hawaii for a search warrant. Now, how ‘bout – “

“Let me fix you some coffee. You know my husband’s a cop. I wouldn’t want you having an accident after drinking beer at our house. It’d look bad.”

“Okay,” he said reluctantly, eyeing the espresso machine on my counter. “Only don’t give me any of that cappuccino crap or I’ll barf.”

I fixed Donny plain black coffee, which he slurped noisily. The nut-scented Linzer tarts resembled circular stained-glass windows when I removed them from the oven. Since they would go in the doll-show box lunches, I decided to call them Babsie’s Tarts. While I was placing them on a rack to cool, I asked Donny if there were any suspects besides John Richard. He said not since Luella’s alibi had checked out. I asked him if they’d caught the vandals who’d defaced John Richard’s house, and he said, “Oh, do they think it was vandals?” Finally I asked him if he knew about the bonus John Richard was supposed to get, but didn’t.

Babsie’s Tarts

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened

ž cup sugar

2 egg yolks

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

2 teaspoons finely grated lemon zest (see Note)

1 ˝ cups bleached all-purpose flour (add one tablespoon in high altitudes)

1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

ź teaspoon ground cloves

ź teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 ź cups blanched slivered almonds, ground (see Note)

1 to 1 ź cups best-quality seedless red raspberry jam

Beat butter until creamy. Add sugar and beat until thoroughly incorporated. Beat egg yolks slightly with vanilla and lemon zest. Add to creamed mixture, stirring thoroughly. Sift dry ingredients together, then stir into creamed mixture. Stir in almonds.

Preheat oven to 350 . Spray two non-stick cupcake pans with vegetable oil spray. Using a 2-tablespoon scoop (or measuring out in 2 tablespoon increments), place one scoop of batter into each cupcake pan. Pat the batter gently to cover the bottom of each cup. Do not indent the dough or the jam that is to be cooked in the center will leak through. Place 2 teaspoons of jam in the center of each tart.

Bake for about 15 minutes, until the batter has risen and turned golden brown around the jam. After the pans have been removed from the oven, use a sharp knife to loosen the edges of each tart. Allow the tarts to cool in the pan until cool to the touch, at least 1 hour. Using a kitchen knife, gently lever the tarts out onto cookie racks and allow to cool completely. You may serve them plain, or sprinkle with powdered sugar and serve with a scoop of best-quality vanilla ice cream.

Makes 2 dozen.

Note: Citrus zests and nuts are easily ground in a clean coffee grinder.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s part of my theory. The Craig lady didn’t approve the usual bonus for Korman, so he didn’t have any money, and so he wouldn’t give her the tapes he’d hidden, and so they argued and he killed her.” He turned the corners of his lips down, shook his head. “It was his pattern,” he concluded smugly. “Say, those smell awful good.”

I put a warm, crumbly Babsie’s Tart on a small I plate and handed it to him. “Ah … did you find out why exactly Suz didn’t give him his bonus? Did Luella clue you in on that?”

He placed the small tart in his mouth, lounged back in the chair, and held up one finger as he chewed. “Billing,” he said finally. “He didn’t bill right. I’m going to really grill Korman’s secretary about that. You know, about whether Korman and Ms. Craig ever argued about bills. Plus there’s a malpractice suit outstanding against him. The HMO didn’t like that, or the fact that they were being sued by the same patient. So our doc was in hot, hot water. Boiling. More reason to kill Ms. Craig.” He glanced at his watch. “Talk about billing! I need to see a couple more people today or the department will have a fit over the hours I submit.”

“How come?”

“Well, usually I bill by the hour, but they’ve been saying I’m too thorough with each person and spend too much time investigating. Whoo-ie! Now I bill by the people I talk to. Plus, even though I have a photographic memory, I have to write up a report on each interview. And believe me, those reports can be a bear, you’re typing ‘em up the middle of the night.”

“I’m sure you can manage it,” I said reassuringly as I escorted him to the door.

“I wouldn’t mind the typing so much,” he said disconsolately, “if only I didn’t get so hungry.”

So I gave him another tart. Donny Saunders may be a pig, but I can never resist a hungry soul.

To my surprise, Arch called and asked if Todd could spend the night. I said yes, and was further pleased when Arch asked for his favorite dinner, baked potatoes with a variety of toppings. I was hopeful that fixing the potatoes would help me reflect on Donny Saunders’s visit. Tapes? What tapes? And where were the missing ones? I’d learned just enough to be frustrated. If Frances Markasian ever did a story on the waste of taxpayer money, I’d point her in the direction of old Donny.