Diane Davidson - The Main Corpse

I ground Italian roast coffee beans and watched twin spurts of dark liquid hiss out of my machine. Then I sipped the espresso and tried to remember what I’d heard lately about Eileen herself. This past January, Eileen’s ex-husband had filed for bankruptcy within a week of Eileen being named the new branch manager of the Bank of Aspen Meadow. I seemed to recall a rumor that she had celebrated both events with none other than Tony Royce. Was she one of the girlfriends who’d been jilted when Tony swore undying loyalty to Marla this spring? I wondered.

For the lavish employee coffee break Eileen had me cater every Friday, I usually served an assortment of fresh fruit and baked goods. Eileen set aside an hour when she was available to talk to her employees during this time about any problems they were having. I was always surprised by how many problems could be recounted, and how much food could be consumed, in sixty minutes. This Friday I’d decided on fresh Strawberry-Pineapple-Kiwi Skewers, Scones with Lemon Curd, Banana-Pecan Muffins, and Almond-Poppy Seed Muffins. At the end of the computer menu, Tom had typed me a note: Why don’t you treat the bank employees to my Sour Cream Cherry Coffee Cake? Love you, T. His recipe followed the note. Honestly, this guy.

Sour Cream Cherry

Coffee Cake

ź pound (1 stick) unsalted butter

1 cup granulated sugar

2 large eggs

1 cup fat-free sour cream

2 cups all-purpose flour (High : altitude: add 2 tablespoons)

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

ź teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1 tablespoon finely chopped lemon zest

˝ cup best quality cherry preserves

Preheat oven to 350°. Butter 2 8-inch-square cake pans. In a large mixer bowl, beat butter with sugar until well combined. Add eggs one at a time and beat well. Add sour cream and mix thoroughly. In a small bowl, mix together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Add the dry ingredients to the butter mixture. Batter will be stiff. Stir in the vanilla, zest, and cherry preserves. Spread batter in pans.

Bake 20 to 30 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

Makes 2 cakes.

Banana-Pecan Muffins

4 ˝ cups all-purpose flour

1 ž cups sugar

5 teaspoons baking powder (High altitude: 4 ˝ teaspoons)

1 ž teaspoons salt

1 ž cups mashed ripe banana

ź cup canola oil

2 large eggs

1 1/3 cups nonfat milk

1 ž cups pecan halves (do not chop)

Preheat the oven to 350°. Line 2 12-cup muffin tins with paper liners. In a large bowl, mix together the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt. Set aside. In another large bowl, mix together the banana, canola oil, and eggs. Gradually add dry ingredients to banana mixture, alternating with the milk, adding dry ingredients last. Stir in the nuts.

Measure out batter evenly into lined muffin cups, f1l1ing cups 7/8 full. Bake 25 minutes, until muffins are puffed and golden brown.

Check with toothpick for doneness. Serve warm, or cool muffins on racks. Freeze for longer storage.

Makes 2 dozen.

Note: Muffins are about fifteen percent fat; to make them even lower in fat, omit the pecans.

I beat butter with sugar and put in a call to the sheriff’s department. Once again, Tom wasn’t at his desk. I said to his voice mail, “This is your wife, who’s making your scrumptious coffee cake. How about a date? This weekend?”

I hung up and smoothly blended cool, fat-free sour cream into the golden batter, then stirred in a spill of inky cherry preserves. The mixture was buttery-rich and fragrant with lemon and vanilla, and it occurred to me that I could eat the batter without even cooking it. I rid myself of such a devilish idea, slid the pan into the oven, and phoned Elk Park Prep.

“Yeah, this is Elk Park Prep, we’re closed now,” said Macguire’s voice.

“Macguire? Is that you or a recording?”

“Hi, Goldy, yeah, you’re speaking to me live. I don’t like answering the phone here.” He sighed extravagantly. “But… I guess even a private eye has to do his own phone work.”

I let this pass. “I just wanted to let you know I can do the bank gig this morning myself, and then I’m doing that doggone taste-test at Sam’s Soups, for Tony Royce, before he and Marla go on their fishing trip. I just didn’t know what your plans were –”

“Oh, I have lots of plans. But don’t you even want to know what I’ve turned up? In my investigations?” Before I could answer, he rushed on with: “Victoria Lear was starting paperwork for the Securities and Exchange Commission, stuff you have to do before you have an initial public offering of stock. They call that an IPO. You see, for the Eurydice Mine, the three and a half million Prospect raised was called a private placement. Thirty-five investors had put up a hundred thou each. Over the next year, the Prospect partners were going to hire a mining company to bring the mine into production, at the same time they worked on the IPO. But the SEC demands all kinds of stuff for an lPO, and that’s where Victoria hit a snag. Right before she croaked. Anyway, that’s all Bitsy could get out of the secretary, who hasn’t worked there very long. The secretary even said that Mr. Lipscomb had come in and taken all of Victoria’s files on the Eurydice Mine out of her office right after the accident.”

“Good Lord.”

“Hey, do I do my job, or what? The secretary got nervous talking about Lear there in the office. She said she and Bitsy should go out for lunch. Should I tell Bitsy to keep poking around? Go have lunch with this woman?”

Jake began barking furiously at the garbage man, even though he was at least six houses away. I told Macguire yes, he was fabulous and yes, Bitsy should go out for lunch with Lear’s secretary, and continue to poke around as much as possible without arousing suspicion. I signed off and called Jake inside. As the hound trotted toward me with a distinctly guilty air, I hugged myself against the chill wind and considered. So Victoria Lear was working on assembling paperwork for the SEC. Not that that was related to her death, but one had to wonder. What kind of paperwork was required for an IPO? I settled Jake in Arch’s room, where he no doubt jumped on the bed the instant I closed the door, then returned to the kitchen to finish the cooking for the bank affair. For the muffins, I whirled blackened bananas in my blender until they were dense and smooth, measured whole pecan halves into the flour mixture, and began to spoon the thick batter into paper cups.

The fragrant hot cherry cake emerged from my oven puffed, golden brown, and speckled with the dark berries. I slipped the tin of banana muffins in, closed the oven door, and took two dozen poppy seed muffins out of the freezer. Then I sliced and skewered the fruit, made a batch of Scottish scones on Tom’s oversize griddle, and donned a fresh chef’s jacket. Within forty-five minutes I had the fruit, muffins, scones, and cake packed, and I headed purposefully toward the bank.

“Oh, Goldy!” cried Eileen with her usual melodrama when I carried my lusciously scented goodies past her office. She jumped up to greet me. Eileen engaged in an aerobic and muscle-conditioning program that would put Arnold Schwarzenegger to shame. She also visited with bank clients while working with big free weights; she claimed to be a living symbol of the bank’s strength. Whatever works. “I’m so glad you’re here’” she exclaimed. Her blue eyes shone beneath black lashes, and her long black hair was tightly woven in a French braid. She wore a pink silk shirt that slid flatteringly over her sinewy shoulders. A short black skirt hugged powerful hips. I didn’t know how strong the bank was, but I’d lay money on Eileen. “We’re in some kind of mess, I can tell you that,” she continued. “Thanks in no small part to Prospect Financial Partners. Creeps!”