it would be betraying Tom, who probably was neither warm nor comfortable. I thought of his handsome face with its penetrating green eyes, of his body with its warm folds of flesh that I had come to love. When I tried to rest on the living room couch, the wind whistled down the chimney flue and through the moulding around the picture window. Propelling myself off the cushions at three o?clock. I returned to the kitchen to do the one thing that had ever helped me cope with anxiety: cook.
I was glad I?d dumped out all of Tom?s recipes before Julian made a dirt-covered shrine out of the box that had held them. The directions for Monster Cinnamon Rolls beckoned. Try for ,. Tom written. Scout, happy to see me again, and ever hopeful for a snack, twined between my legs as I melted butter in milk, proofed yeast, and beat eggs. The recipe made a large batch, which would do for the first church service, that was now only a few hours away. Would the person who kidnapped Tom come to church? Could it really be someone from the church? I hoped not. So much for Thou Shalt Not Kill.
I kneaded the sweet dough vigorously. Because of Boyd?s questions about St. Luke?s, I found my mind wandering back to the Episcopal parishes of my childhood. My father?s business ventures brought us to town after town with the same sign, The Episcopal Church Welcomes You. No matter where our family lived, there was the same church built of stone, with the same stony people inside. The priest had always been a faraway man with his back to a congregation that recited the same prayers and sang the same hymns no matter where you went. Those priests were a far cry from the smiling, disheveled, folk music-loving and sympathetic-to-everybody Father Theodore Olson. In the old days, Sunday School walls boasted pictures of a Jesus who looked more like a blond fellow in a nightgown than a rabble-rousing first-century Palestinian. In those days, the women?s church groups held fund- raising events; the men?s groups went on retreats? the youth groups caroled upper-class neighborhoods at Christmas.
You never had a murder.
I pounded out the air bubbles from the risen dough, rolled it into a long, thin rectangle, then slathered on softened butter mixed with brown sugar and cinnamon. The wind whistled around the back doorjamb; I recalled a particular windy moving day from my childhood, when I?d tearfully said good-bye to neighborhood and Sunday School friends before our family settled in New Jersey. I often suspected the reason I?d fallen in love at twenty with John Richard Korman was that he had the baby-faced features, blond-brown hair, and affecting smile of a Sunday School friend whose name I had forgotten.
I quickly rolled the dough into a fat log and measured where to slice. After my life fell apart and I[?d pretty much managed to put it back together, Tom Schulz had appeared, with his large, handsome, self-confident body and spirit.
Monster Cinnamon Rolls
Dough:
z cup ( 1 ? sticks) unsalted butter
1 cup milk
z cup plus teaspoon sugar
1 z teaspoons salt
3 z - ounce envelopes (7 ? teaspoons) active dry yeast
? cup warm water
5 large eggs
8 ? to 9 ? cups all-purpose flour
Filling:
5 cups firmly packed brown sugar
1 z cups (2 ? sticks) unsalted butter
3 tablespoons ground cinnamon
Frosting:
? pound cream cheese, softened
z cup whipping cream, approximately
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 to 4 cups confectioners? sugar, sifted
For the dough, heat the butter with the milk, z cup of the sugar, and the salt in a small saucepan until the butter is melted. Set aside to cool. In a large mixing bowl, sprinkle the yeast over the warm water, add the remaining teaspoon sugar, stir, and set aside for 10 minutes, until the mixture is bubbly. Add the lukewarm milk mixture and the eggs and beat until well combined. Add the flour a cup at a time, stirring and using enough flour to form a stiff dough. Turn out on a floured board and knead until smooth and satiny, approximately 10 minutes. (Or place in the bowl of an electric mixer and knead with a dough hook until the dough cleans the sides of the bowl, approximately 5 minutes.) Place the dough in a very large buttered bowl, turn to butter the top, and allow to rise, covered loosely with a kitchen towel, in a warm place until doubled in bulk, approximately1 hour. Punch the dough down and roll out to a large rectangle, 24 inches by 36 inches.
Butter two 9-by 13 ? inch glass baking dishes. For the filling, beat together the brown sugar, butter, and cinnamon until well combined. Spread evenly over the surface of the dough. Roll up lengthwise and cut at 2-inch intervals to make 12 rolls. Place 6 rolls in each buttered dish. Cover loosely with a kitchen towel and allow to rise until doubled in bulk, about 1 hour.
Preheat the oven to 350 . Bake the rolls for about 20 to 30 minutes or until puffed and browned. Cool to room temperature on racks.
For the frosting, beat the cream cheese, cream, and vanilla until well combined. Add the confectioners? sugar and beat until smooth and soft, not stiff. Frost the rolls and serve immediately.
Makes 12 large rolls.
Tom Schulz, who loved Arch and Julian and me with a frightening intensity, who had awakened vulnerability and affection that I had presumed dead, who was willing to do anything to keep us happy. Who had said to Father Olson last night that he and I would not be parted by death, no matter what the wedding vows claimed. And now he was held captive by God-knew-whom for God-knew-what reason. If he was still alive.
I cut the dough carefully at the evenly spaced intervals and placed the thick sugary spirals in a buttered pan. I needed to sleep; I needed to pull myself together and find out as much as I could about Father Olson, for surely the murderer?s path led through our parish, or through a committee, or through the diocese … .
My eye fell on the pile of exams from the candidates I was to help examine in three days.
Olson had told me that in the third and final year of their seminary training, candidates for the priesthood took the General Ordination Exams that now graced my counter. The battery of tests covered the seven canonical areas: Church History, Liturgics, Pastoral Theology, Ethics, Theology, Issues of Contemporary Society, and Scripture. The tests were graded by the General Board of Examining Chaplains on the national level, which then sent the exams on to the dioceses. In the diocese of Colorado, the Board of Theological Examiners read them, determined areas of weakness, and then gave oral exams to the candidates. A candidate had to show oral proficiency in all seven areas before he or she could be ordained That sounded like a lot, I?d said to Father Olson. Maybe I wasn?t really up to it Just read the exams and ask yourself whether you?d want to have this person as your priest, he?s solemnly replied.
Mitchell Hartley?s exam was in my pile, although I didn?t know which was his. Numbers at the top of each candidate?s test sheets kept the examiners from knowing who was who, to eliminate prejudice. I had my list identifying candidates by number somewhere. Unfortunately, there had been a mix-up at the diocesan office, and I had not received my photocopied set of papers to read until yesterday, when I was deep into pate doughs, bridal bouquets, and Portobello mushrooms. I hadn?t read any of the exams, and the last thing I wanted to do was get academic on what was supposed to have been my wedding night.
Still. When I looked at the sheaf of papers, I could see the indulgent grin on Father Olson?s face when he?d appointed me to the twelve-person committee, saying that not only did he treasure my culinary abilities, he also valued what I had to offer the Board intellectually. Sure, the way people read Playboy for the interviews. But the diocese had paid the discounted rate I?d given them to bring Gorgonzola quiche, asparagus rolls, cauliflower salad, and chocolate cake to my first Board meeting, when the discussion centered on the ethics of breaking the seal of
