Diane Davidson - Dying for Chocolate

“No, no,” he said, and I could hear him leaning away from the phone, reaching for something adrift on the sea of paper he called his desk. “Okay,” he began again, “you know a Sissy Stone? She’s at that Elk Park School, be a senior next year. Has a summer job at the library?” I mmhmmed noncommittally and he went on, “She was doing an apprenticeship with Philip Miller. Something they do their junior year. Learn about different careers and whatnot.” He clucked. “Guy who talked to her said she was pretty flaky.”

“A veritable blizzard. But I think it’s an act. She just doesn’t want to talk when someone else more important might come along.”

“Oh. Well,” Schulz went on, “she let on as how she was going out with that young fellow who lives at your place. I mean the Farquhars’ place. You might want to see if she knows more about the shrink. You know, in a friendly sort of way.”

“I don’t get it. Why should I?”

“Now, Goldy, ease up. You were the one who kept insisting Miller’s accident looked so strange. Ask a few questions, why don’t you? They’re doing a drug screen, part of the autopsy, you know . . .”

I shuddered.

“. . . but sometimes there’s some kind of personal thing going on that you can find out about in other ways. You’re not a suspect.” He didn’t need to add, this time. “You’re my friend, and I’m talking to you in confidence. Besides, with that 911 call, I’m worried. You know.”

As usual, I didn’t.

“So what’re you cooking?” he asked.

I gave him a brief overview of Brian Harrington’s lustful schlep and the cake’s demise. Said I had just finished brownies named after the cat and was cooling chip bars.

SCOUT’S BROWNIES

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter

3 ½ ounces best-quality unsweetened chocolate (recommended brands: Callebaut or Valrhona—available at Williams-Sonoma)

3 tablespoons dark European-style unsweetened cocoa (recommended brand: Hershey’s Premium European-Style)

1 ½ cups all-purpose flour (high altitude: add 2 tablespoons)

½ teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

4 eggs

2 cups sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup chocolate chips (recommended brand: Mrs. Field’s)

Preheat oven to 350° (high altitude: 375°). Melt butter with unsweetened chocolate in top of double boiler, stirring occasionally. Set aside to cool.

Sift together cocoa, flour, baking powder, and salt. Beat eggs until creamy, then gradually add sugar, beating constantly. Add vanilla and cooled chocolate-butter mixture. Stir in dry ingredients just until combined. Spread batter in buttered 9- by 13-inch pan. Sprinkle chips over surface. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, or until center no longer jiggles when shaken. Cool, then cut into 32 pieces.

Makes 32 brownies

“Why don’t you name something after me?” His voice was so innocent and pleading, I pursed my lips in thought.

He said, “Just nothing about pigs, please.”

“Wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Glad you’re feeling better, Miss G.”

I smiled, rang off, and christened the chocolate-chip bars Lethal Layers.

When I finished I alternated thick brownies, gold-brown Lethal Layers, and Julian’s creamy dark squares in a stunning arrangement, if I do say so myself, atop one of Adele’s Italian wood trays.

The dessert issue was under control. What was not settled was what I was going to wear. I hauled the last two boxes of food over to the Harringtons. Weezie had said she had a surprise for me. I hoped it was not her husband.

It was not. The short (midthigh) décolleté black and white lace uniform that Weezie proffered left me speechless. It was sort of French maid via Frederick’s of Hollywood. If I dared to lean over to serve something, my cups would truly runneth over.

I shook my head and mouthed the word, No.

Weezie whined. She pouted. Said, “But I even checked your size!”

“Mrs. Harrington,” I said when I finally recovered my breath. “I get paid to cook, serve, and clean up. Period.”

She squinted at me. It made her look much older.

“I thought I told you how important suggestion was with aphrodisiacs,” she said.

“But not with clothing,” I said evenly. “When I describe the food, I’ll make suggestions that are verbal.” I was careful not to say oral.

LETHAL LAYERS

½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter

½ cup dark brown sugar 1 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup pecan halves

2 eggs

1 cup firmly packed dark brown sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

½ teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking powder additional all-purpose flour (see directions)

1 cup chocolate chips (recommended brand: Mrs. Field’s)

Preheat oven to 375°. In food processor, combine first 3 ingredients with metal blade until crumbly. This can also be done with 2 knives or a pastry cutter. Pat this crust into a buttered 9- by 13-inch pan. Bake for 10 minutes. Cool.

When crust is cool, spread pecans

evenly over surface. Beat eggs with brown sugar until thick. Add vanilla. Put salt and baking powder in bottom of ¼-cup measure; fill rest of measure with flour. Stir into egg mixture. Pour over crust. Sprinkle chocolate chips evenly over mixture. Bake at 375° for 20 minutes or until center is baked. Cool, then cut into 32 pieces.

Makes 32 bars

She said, “Oh, all right,” and then stalked out of the kitchen. I shook my head in resignation. As I was leaving, Brian Harrington popped out from around the corner. Had he been listening? I didn’t know and didn’t want to ask. He gave me a broad wink. I did my best imitation of raw egg white and slithered out.

11.

A day given to compromises, I reflected as I heated the broth for the dumplings. No caterer-as-a-centerfold uniform, no response to the Harrington Hustle, and the fee for tonight would pay Arch’s tuition for the first two weeks of summer school.

Philip’s face floated back before me. Hungry? I had asked. Ravenous, he’d said.

I pushed him out of my mind. I was almost done. The menu was finally set.

APHRODISIAC DINNER FOR SIX

OYSTERS ON THE HALF-SHELL WITH FRESH

LEMONS AND LIMES

SHRIMP DUMPLING SOUP

SALAD OF BIBB LETTUCE GARNISHED WITH YELLOW

PEAR-SHAPED TOMATOES, AVOCADOS,

AND GRILLED MUSHROOMS, DIJON VINAIGRETTE

CHILE RELLENO TORTA

SONOMA BABY LAMB CHOPS BAKED WITH HERBS

IN FOIL PACKETS

PURÉE OF ZUCCHINI

ASSORTED BREADS

TRAY OF CHOCOLATE TREATS

Only the flowers remained, I reflected as I stirred the soup. The delicate scent from the bubbling broth threaded through the air. Scent. Yes. On her list Weezie had detailed several flowers that by their smell or shape (I chose not to ask what that meant) would be appropriate for a centerpiece. I only remembered a couple of these, and the last thing I wanted was another harangue from Weezie on the subject of suggestion. The library was closed. Not that I was dying to talk to Sissy, despite Schulz’s admonition to find out what she knew about Philip. So I called it quits, phoned the florist, and hung up only after I had endured her shower of laughs at my request.

Alone back on the third floor of the Farquhars’ house, I bathed and dressed in my stodgy old caterer’s white uniform and apron. An uninvited wave of sadness swept through the room as the sunlight faded. Without work to keep my mind occupied, pain flooded in. I lowered myself to the bed and watched as the mountains’ shadows lengthened over Denver.

Maybe I never should have started going out with Philip Miller. More even than missing him, I missed the emotional self-sufficiency bred from years of evenings spent in solitude. I had found other things to do: help Arch with homework, talk to Marla, try out new recipes while listening to jazz. In one month, Philip’s doting presence, his evocation of memories and hopes I had had fifteen years ago, made all those activities feel less important. Schulz was a question mark, too, retreating as he had behind his cop persona. Now the future span of evenings stretched out the way they had right after the divorce: empty.