Dying for Chocolate

“What a precocious child,” said Adele as she turned back to her muffins and the pot of Constant Comment tea I had set on the table. I could not read her tone. And as usual, just when you thought you were getting somewhere in this household, the phone rang. Adele slumped her shoulders in defeat: the shackles of noblesse oblige.

I picked it up and said sweetly, “Farquhars.”

“Uh, Goldy the caterer?”

“Speaking.”

“This is the Mountain Journal. There’s going to be another review of your cooking in Friday’s paper, and the, uh, editor told me to call to say you could, like, do a rebuttal next week, if you want. Okay? Deadline for your copy is Wednesday noon. I need to go.”

“Who is this? Put that editor on or I’m never going to advertise in his newspaper again.”

The phone clicked off. So much for my consumer vote. I replaced the receiver in the cradle. This was Monday. I had four days to worry about the new review, which was clearly not going to be glowing, and a little over a week to think of something to say. Actually, I didn’t even have time to cook, much less worry, because all the phones did in this house was ring.

I answered less sweetly this time. “Farquhars.”

“I need to speak with Adele Farquhar, please. This is Joan Rasmussen from the Elk Park Prep pool committee. It’s extremely important.”

“Ah ha,” I said, and turned to Adele with raised eyebrows. “Joan Rasmussen from the pool committee.” Adele waved her off with half a Montessori muffin.

I said, “Mrs. Farquhar is not available at the moment. She’s swimming.”

“Some people have a pool already,” said the uncharitable Ms. Rasmussen. “And with whom am I speaking, may I ask?”

I assumed a businesslike tone. “This is Goldy the caterer, live-in cook for the Farquhars. My son, Arch Korman, is a summer student at Elk Park. Shall I have Adele call you?”

“Yes, you need to do that. But I can talk to you. As the parent of a student, you need to be brought up to date on parents’ responsibility for pool fund-raising.”

“Oh, no—”

“Have you read the contents of your packet yet?”

“Well, no, Ms. Rasmussen, I just got it a couple of minutes ago—”

“You need to read it, then. And when you’re done, you need to go around to local businesses, solicit donations, and then you need to give them a decal for their window —”

I said, “Look, Joan honey, the only thing I need to do right now is get off the telephone.” I slammed the receiver down. Honestly, some people.

“Don’t tell me,” said Adele. “I’ve just lost Joan Rasmussen as co-chair.”

“Trust me,” I said, “you’re better off.” I began to search through the refrigerator for the food I’d prepared yesterday for the western barbecue. When I emerged with the last of the platters, Adele was taking another pill. Reluctantly, it seemed to me.

“Goldy,” she said finally, “I know you have a lot on your mind. But I just feel so frustrated trying to raise funds in this town. In Washington we worked hard on it!” She gestured with her teacup. “There were committees for charity balls, fashion shows, luncheons, everything! Everyone worked! The headmaster said the alums would be supportive. They haven’t been. Neither have the parents. I’m at a loss.”

I put the platters down and sat next to her. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “I know you have other things to worry about, dear. I know you’re upset about this Miller fellow, and of course there’s Arch and your business. It’s just that when I set my mind to something, I do it. I know people here have money! But do you think I can get them to work on this committee during June, July, and August? No. The only person who’ll do any work is Joan Rasmussen, and she beats people over the head. It’s the wrong time of year, the headmaster says. It’s hard to get people to work now. But why?” She shook her head and sipped from her cup.

“Oh, my dear Adele,” I said with a smile. “It’s because the residents have to work on their Colorado Summer Merit Badges.”

She choked on the tea. “Their what?”

I got a cup, poured myself some of the pale brown liquid, and settled back beside her. “Here’s how it works. You’ve got money and you live in Colorado. Every summer vacation, you’re duty-bound to work on your badges. Sometimes they come with a star.”

“I beg your pardon? These are actual things?”

I shook my head. “Of course not, although sometimes you get a T-shirt.” When she still looked puzzled, I explained: “Coloradans are going to recite their summer achievements to you as soon as they see you in the fall. You say, How was your summer? They roll their eyes. Well! First we hiked ten of the state’s fourteeners. Hiking merit badge. Only earned for hiking repeatedly at fourteen thousand feet above sea level. Then we climbed the Flatirons, about lost two of the kids when we were rap-peling down! Rock-climbing merit badge. Then we back-packed into the most remote area of Rocky Mountain National Park. Camping merit badge. When we got back we ran a 10K road race over by Vail and did the 60K bike race over the Rockies. Running and biking badges, the latter with a star.”

She grinned. “What about bird-watching? Or . . . or . . . fishing?”

“Well,” I said huffily, “I haven’t gotten there yet. Of course, the only merit badge you can get in fishing is for fly-fishing. Only a novice uses bait.”

“So that’s why I can’t get anyone to work on a committee. I thought the parents and alums might be on vacation, but then I see them in town.”

“Dear Adele. You haven’t asked them about their summer! Just listening to them would make you need a muscle relaxant.”

Adele smoothed her lips with her finger. Finally she said, “I’ve got it!” She was beaming. “A bird-watching fund-raiser picnic. Catered by guess who. We set it up for this Saturday, say it was an impromptu sort of affair.”

I groaned. “You’re not serious.”

“Could you work it into your catering schedule? Figure on tripling the cost of your supplies. Then I’ll double that and give half to the school. Could you?”

I looked at the yellow kitchen tiles and calculated. I still had to come up with the final payment on my security system. Arch’s summer-school costs had put a painful dent in my budget. And this job would be exceptionally profitable. I said, “Sure.”

“It’s the perfect thing! You’ll make money, the school will make money, we can invite Julian and Arch and the Harringtons and all kinds of people! It’ll be a smash hit. Oh, Goldy, you’re wonderful! I never would have thought of it if you hadn’t told me about the badges.” She put her finger to her lip again, a bad sign. “And about Joan. She just needs to be coddled.”

Right. Rasmussen the Egg. More like hard-boiled, I’d say.

“Brought along, you know.” As usual, I didn’t. “I suppose I should invite her over for lunch today.”

I had been trying to give her comfort. Be a soul friend, the way I was with her sister, Marla. Suddenly, everything was backfiring.

Adele continued, “Could you just do a little soup and salad? Please? I know you need to get your van, but Bo and I can get it for you.” Her hazel eyes implored me.

Okay, I’d screwed up with the Rasmussen woman. Here was Adele, new to the community, walking with a cane, trying to make friends, using her time and money to be helpful when she couldn’t get people to raise money in the summer, and her employee had just blown off the co-chair. Well, I needed to.

I swallowed and said, “Sure. Lunch is no problem. Rolls and fruit salad with Goldilocks’ Gourmet Spinach Soup?” She nodded. Good, I’d brought a container of frozen soup from my house. “I can have it done before I leave for the picnic.”

Adele smiled in relief. Then she rose like a queen and picked up the phone to call Joan Rasmussen about