noiseless appearances by the pantry, purring and arching his back. I fed him. Then maneuvered the griddle attachment into Tom?s convection oven, pulled out some fat russet potatoes, and got out a pen and the spiral notebook from my apron pocket.
Julian ran the fingers of one hand through his short blond strip of hair. ?What in the hell are you doing? It?s bedtime.?
?I?m hungry,? I answered him. ?There?s been too much going on, and I didn?t have a bite of that fish. Plus I want some coffee.?
?I see. So at eleven o?clock at night, you?re going to drink some espresso, cook some potatoes, and then write about it.?
?Julian, chill. I mean. I appreciate your staying up to make sure I got in okay. After all, there?ve been many meetings going on today ? ?
?Yeah, the tobacco church. Hazardous to your heath.?
?I just can?t think about what happened tonight.? I vigorously peeled potatoes. ?Or at least I can?t get any perspective on it.?
?Now I get it. You?re going to make Duchess Potatoes, and then serve them at the next church meeting.?
?Julian, go to bed.?
I grated the potatoes into a dishtowel and then wrung out their liquid over the sink. The chunk of butter I?d popped onto Tom?s griddle began to melt into a golden pool; I swished it through a puddle of olive oil. Working carefully ? a challenge with Scout rubbing insistently against my legs ? I formed the grated potatoes into four pancakes on the griddle. There was no way I?d be taking these to any church meeting, but maybe I could make my contribution to Anglican cuisine.
?What do you think, Scout? Bishop?s Potato Pancakes??
Scout stayed still. Guess that meant no. Once again, my sanity seemed to be fraying, but I didn?t care.
?Well, how about, The First WASP Latkes??
The First WASP Latkes
4 large of 8 small russet potatoes (approximately 2 pounds), peeled
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 tablespoons olive oil
salt and pepper to taste
Grate the potatoes onto a large clean kitchen towel that can be stained. Roll the potatoes up in the towel and wring to remove moisture. (It is best to do this over the sink, since it will produce a surprising amount of liquid.)
Melt the butter with the olive oil on a large griddle. Form the grated potatoes into 4 pancakes. Cook the pancakes over medium heat for about 10 minutes, until the bottom is golden brown, then flip the pancakes. Cook on the other side for about 5 minutes. Season with salt and pepper and serve plain or with sour cream and applesauce.
Makes 4 servings
Scout did one of his elaborate body rolls on the kitchen floor, ending with his stomach facing the ceiling and his paws curled. Clearly, this was a yes.
While the WASP Latkes sizzled, I picked up the pen and began to write. 1. The Reverend Theodore Olson. Smart, attractive, charismatic, ?the magician.? Went through ordination process fast. Protege of Montgomery. Fired the organist, to whom he preached reconciliation. Loved folk music and charismatic liturgies. Unloved by Pinckney crowd. Involved with miraculous healing of Roger Bampton? Involved with Agatha Preston? Dead. 2. Mitchell Hartley. Not smart, not attractive, not rich. Theologically conservative; charismatic. Worked at diocesan center. Going through ordination process slowly; flunked by Olson and Board of Theological Examiners once. Nobody?s protege. Knew something about exam paper at Olson?s. Had pearls. Not at wedding. Dead. 3. Zelda Preston. Unreconciled about son?s death from leukemia. Fired by Olson over music disagreement. Member of Altar Guild responsible for missing/found Hymnal House keys. Best friend Lucille thinks she might have killed Olson. Looking for letter from bishop about guitar music (Could Tom S. know where it is?). Not at wedding. 4. Bob Preston. Money problems, might have wanted pearls. Jealousy problems, might want letters from Agatha to Olson (Tom would know where?). Mother Zelda expects too much of him? Ego wrapped up in volunteer work; Olson causing problems with Habitat house? Vehicle keys found at Habitat house. Rifle-toting member of Sportsmen Against Hunger. Not at wedding. 5. George Montgomery. Thinks his protege ran amok? Bad temper, bad preacher, bad poet. Jealous of Olson because of parish giving? Because of miracles? Is he the one Agatha referred to when she said, ?Someone demanding to see the blood tests?? At wedding, according to Father Doug Ramsey. 6. Agatha Preston. Loathes her motherin-law, loathes her husband, loathes her life. Obsesses about hell but was deeply in love with Olson. Digging in columbarium area. At wedding.
I got up and flipped the latkes. The cooked sides were golden brown and crusty, and the delectable smell of potatoes crackling in melted butter made my mouth water.
I frowned at my notepad. What I had not written down was that Father Olson?s office and house had been trashed and his death site vandalized. Not on my list were Lucille Boatwright, whom Arch had literally stumbled upon while she was surreptitiously snooping through church files, and Doug Ramsey, who, like Lucille, had wasted no love on Ted Olson. Father Doug Ramsey, also known as Father Hyperbole, Father Insensitive, Father Overtalkative. But I had seen him at the wedding as I had Lucille. You couldn?t be kidnapping To Schulz if you were waiting for him to show up at the church.
And then there was Tom. I had felt his presence so clearly the night I had gone to Olson?s. Now he felt absent to me, as if a phone were ringing, but no one was home.
You may feel God?s presence or you may sense God?s absence, Olson had said in a sermon once, but God is still there, like the man who buys Halloween candy every year, yet no trick-or-treaters come.
I gently removed the pancakes from the griddle and put them on a plate. I searched for applesauce and sour cream Finding neither, I merely salted and peppered the potatoes and had a bite. They were hot, crunchy, and divine. God is still there. I lifted the phone from its cradle and dialed Tom Schulz?s voice mail. His deep, rich voice filled my heart with hope.
Call me, Olson?s voice said in my ear. I gasped. My mind had been working on the puzzle of Tom?s note for two and a half days, and suddenly I?d figured it out. Or perhaps I?d gotten some kind of message from Olson on The Other Side. Better not ponder that one. With a shaking hand, I dialed the church?s number.
?This is St. Luke?s Episcopal Church,? Ted Olson?s voice happily announced, ?on Main Street in Aspen Meadow next to Lower Cottonwood Creek. Services are … ? And he went on to announce the two Sunday morning eucharist times. I tapped my foot. He continued, ?If you would like to leave a general message, press one. If you have a confidential message for Father Ted Olson, please press two.?
I stood in my kitchen, transfixed, Churchgoers, especially those going through a hard time, desperately desired confidentiality. I had found out the hard way just how elusive please don?t tell anyone was. From as long ago as my divorce to as recently as the news about Tom Schulz, I had seen details of my personal life spread in the church like fire through a grove of dry aspens.
And it was in the note from Schulz that Olson had give a key to who his attacker had been. VM wasn?t Victor Mancuso. And it wasn?t Vestry Member. VM, I was willing to bet, was Voice Mail. But what was P.R.A.Y? I stared at my phone, trying to remember Tom Schulz retrieving messages from his own voice mail. He waited for the message, and then pressed in a code … .
Four digits. Could P.R.A.Y be a four-digit access code Olson had chosen? Unfortunately, I did not know how to use the code for the church?s voice-mail system. Think, commanded Tom Schulz?s voice inside my head.
?I am,? I said out loud. I had already gone through Olson?s files on the Board of Theological Examiners and the diocese twice. There had been no voice-mail instructions. And what if Olson had simply discarded his messages after he?d listened to them?
Are you kidding? Schulz?s voice again. That guy didn?t throw away anything.
