salami. He spat out his words. “Of all times for that school to get caught up in a scandal, this is the worst. These kids have their senior years, college applications, all that coming up. And what business does Audrey Coopersmith” ? the blue eyes blazed as his voice rose ? “who has never done a thing with her life, have judging our daughter? Greer placed fifth in the state in the National French Contest. She’s written poems… she went to a writers’ conference and studied with the writer-in-residence at Harvard “
“Greer’s wonderful, wonderful,” I lied. “Everybody thinks so.”
The king of the short people grunted, turned on his heel, and walked off.
The strange part about Audrey’s outburst was that within ten minutes Caroline Dawson had a change of heart-not toward Audrey, but toward me. Or, more accurately, toward my plum cake. Wanted to show she wasn’t all snob, I guess. Before the stragglers had left the church coffee hour, when I was cleaning up the last bird-built- of-apple slices, she bustled over and announced she’d changed her mind. What could she possibly have been thinking? Of course they’d love to have me sell plum cakes at the cafe. They were absolutely delicious, and would go over wonderfully with their clientele. Should we start with six a week?
Oh, definitely, I’d replied meekly. The cake go-ahead wrapped me in a small cloud of good feeling, so rashly informed Father Olson I’d do his clergy meeting if the church could pay for my labor and supplies. His right hand combed his beard in Moses-like fashion. He murmured that he’d check with the diocesan office. The clergy meeting was this coming Friday, and as the church bulletin announced, they were going to discuss faith and penance. So could I think of something appropriate? I gave him a blank look. What, bread and water? Then I assured him a penitential meal was no problem. I even had a recipe for something called Sorry Cake.
When Arch and I got home, Julian sat in the kitchen sipping his version of cafe au lait, a cup of hot milk flavored with a tablespoon of espresso. He said he’d called for a window-repair person to come out tomorrow, and he wasn’t in the mood to do his homework, so could he help with the choucroute for the Bronco lunch? He also said I’d had six calls: two hang-ups and four with messages. The messages were from the headmaster, Tom Schulz, Audrey Coopersmith, and my ex-husband, who sure sounded pissed off about something.
Nothing new there. But two hang-ups? “Did these anonymous callers say anything at all?” Julian tilted back in one of the kitchen chairs. “Nope. I just said, ‘Hello? Hello? This is Goldilocks’ Catering, who’re you?’ And all I could hear was breathing and then click.”
The air around me turned suddenly chill. Could it be the same prankster who had smashed our window last night? What if Arch had taken those calls? Was someone casing my house? Best to tell Schulz about this. But I had someone else to call first.
I reached for the phone; my ex-husband picked up after four rings. The Jerk’s uninflected voice, the one he used to try to show he was above feeling, said only that he’d been trying to get me all morning. I asked if he’d been around our house last night, maybe with a rock? He said, “What do you think I am, crazy? “
Well, I wasn’t going to answer that one. I asked what he wanted. Only this: Because of the early snow, he wanted to go skiing this coming weekend, his time to take Arch. He wanted to pick him up at Elk Park Prep early on Halloween, this Friday, to beat the rush. Just wanted to let me know.
I chewed the inside. of my cheek. Since our weekend visitation arrangement did not include Friday, John Richard had to check with me about Arch’s leaving school early. Of course, this checking actually meant announcing his plans and then waiting to see if I would get upset. Who, me? But I was concerned Arch might have other plans for Halloween. If Arch agreed, John Richard would no doubt take him to his condo in Keystone. His dad had had the locks changed, Arch had reported to me, to make sure I never used the place on the sly. Why should I be upset? Fine, I told John Richard, just let me check with Arch. I didn’t even say what went through my mind, that some people had to work on Halloween. Or at least, like the Board of Theological Examiners, be penitent. But John Richard fit into neither of those categories, so I hung up.
I phoned Headmaster Perkins next, but got his son. Macguire acknowledged that he knew me by saying, “Oh yeah, hi. That was pretty heavy last night. You okay?” When I replied in the affirmative, he said, “Dad said to tell you he’d like to see you. Tomorrow. Just come into the office anytime, and, uh, bring some coat.” He thought for a minute. “Tell him you just dropped in, you know, like a … meteorite.”
I told him to expect a hit about ten the next morning, and hung up. Before I could dial Schulz, the phone rang.
“Goldilocks’ Catering,” I chirped, “where everything is just right!”
Breathing.
“Hey!” I yelled. “Who is this?”
A dial tone, then nothing. I pressed Schulz’s number.
“How’s my favorite caterer?” he said with a chuckle when I had greeted him.
“You mean your only caterer.”
“Oops. She’s in a bad mood. Must have been chatting with her ex-husband.”
“That, and someone heaved a rock through one of our windows last night. Plus I just had an anonymous call, third one of the morning.”
He snorted. “The ex up to his old tricks?”
“He says no. The security alarm went off when the rock came through, and Arch handled it. The calls worry me.”
“You going to let the phone company know?”
“Yes. yes, of course. But what scares me is that these things happened right after the Keith Andrews thing. Maybe there’s a connection. I wish I’d never found him. I wish I’d never gotten involved. But I did and I am, in case you don’t recall.”
“I do, I do, Miss G. Take it easy, that’s why I called you. There was a message on my voice mail from you, remember? You didn’t want to wake me up, but you’d found something.”
I told him about the credit card in the pocket of the raccoon coat. He asked for the number. I fished around for the card, then repeated the numerals. He said, “Don’t return the card with the coat. Can you bring it over tomorrow? Stay for dinner?”
“Love to.” I felt guilty for speaking sharply to him. Softening, I said, “Why don’t you come here? I’ll probably have a ton of leftover bratwurst. Then if we get an anonymous call, you can bawl the person out yourself.”
“How about this… give the sausage to the boys and come out to my place around six. I need to talk to you alone.”
His tone made me smile. “Sounds interesting.”
“It would be if it were about us,” Schulz replied reluctantly. “But this is about Julian.”
Great. I said I’d be there and hung up. Packing up the choucroute, I remembered Audrey Coopersmith. Doggone it. Support, support, I told myself, and punched the numbers for the bookstore, where I asked for the self- improvement department. Part of psychology, I was told. Hmm.
“Oh, God, Goldy,” Audrey said breathily when we were connected. “I’m so glad you called. I’m a wreck.
First the police and then those damn Dawsons at the church, plus I got this terrible letter yesterday from Carl’s lawyer ? “
“Please,” I interrupted, but nicely, “you know I’ve got this Bronco thing at the Dawsons ? “
“Oh, well, I’ve got a huge problem. We’re having a seminar, Getting Control of Your Life, tonight and I promised to do a little stir-fry for the staff after the store closes at five and before we reopen at seven, and what with the police asking all those questions, I forgot all about the stir-fry, and they have plates and stuff here, but I don’t have any food and I was just wondering if you’d…”
Fill in the blank. I stretched the phone cord, opened the door to my walk-in refrigerator, and perused the contents. “How many people?”
“Eight.”
“Any vegetarians?”
“None, I already checked. And we’ve taken up a collection, five dollars per person. I’ll give you all the money and buy you any cookbook you want, plus do the serving and cleanup myself… .” Relief and glee filled her voice, and I hadn’t even said yes.
“Okay, but it’ll be simple,” I warned. “Simple is what they want, it’s part of getting control of your life.”
I made an unintelligible sound and said I’d be down after the Bronco game. After some thought I got out two pounds of steak, then swished together a wonderfully pungent marinade of pressed garlic, sherry, and soy sauce. Once the beef had defrosted slightly under cold running water, I cut it into thin slices, sloshed them around in the
