Motherwell canvas on the Trotfields’ foyer wall. In the dining room, Amanda Trotfield had hung Giacometti and Henry Moore sketches. A Franz Kline and a de Kooning graced the living room. The Motherwell that Arch was regarding so skeptically featured a large section of blue, with a fragment of a cigarette painted in one corner. Not a painting I would have chosen for the entryway to a smoke-free house.
“I don’t know, honey, but yes, I think the artist probably meant to paint that way. At least it’s not people on horses. Let’s serve the appetizers and then we’ll be able to take a break.”
While Arch passed trays of filo-wrapped spinach triangles, I tossed fat, juicy strawberries with chilled, steamed sugar-snap peas in a light vinaigrette. It was a delicate, unusual salad that would contrast well with the Plantation Pilaf-a rich-tasting lowfat dish featuring succulent shrimp bathed in sherry and tomato juice. Marla had told me she was invited tonight, and I was eager to see her again. She had looked so bad when she’d told me the news about Albert absconding with the money that I was deeply worried about her. I hoped she’d have some news about either the teller or the missing money tonight. Then again, maybe someone else would have news. The Trotfields were Prospect Financial investors; Sandy Trotfield had called Albert Lipscomb’s office the morning the infamous partner hadn’t shown up for work. According to Tom, the Trotfields were friends of Tony, Albert, or both. Tony Royce himself as well as the Hardcastles, would be in attendance tonight, too. One of the guests ought to know something.
I loaded a tray with ice and liquor bottles. Perhaps I could ask a few questions that would help Marla find out what was going on with that mine. Then again, maybe I was just being nosy.
Sugar-Snap Pea and Strawberry Salad
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
2 teaspoons raspberry vinegar
z teaspoon Dijon mustard
z pound (1 cup) sugar-snap peas, including pods, strings removed
1 pound (4 cups) ripe strawberries, thickly sliced
Combine the oil, vinegar, and mustard in a small bowl; whisk thoroughly and set aside. Steam the sugar-snap peapods for 30 seconds or until bright green but still crunchy. Remove them from the heat, drain, then quickly run cold water over them to stop the cooking, and drain again. Combine the sugar-snaps with the sliced strawberries. Whisk the dressing again and drizzle over the peapods and strawberries. Serve immediately or chill for no more than one hour. Serves 4.
As soon as the hors d’oeuvres and drinks were well in hand, I advised Arch to take a break. He had just poured himself a soft drink when Marla popped into the kitchen.
“Hey, guys!” Her cheeriness seemed forced, and her complexion was splotched. She was wearing a shiny royal blue Princess Di sort of dress, only she looked more like a young Queen Mother. “These abstract paintings destroy my appetite,” she grumped. “Why can’t the Trotfields at least buy a few Warhol soup cans?”
“Oh, stop it,” I said. “Go have fun with the guests.”
She made a face. “Oh, sure. The cops have been around questioning all the Prospect clients, and nearly everyone here tonight has invested with Prospect, as you probably know. Did we know this about Albert Lipscomb, do we know that? Tonight we’ll hear everyone’s theories on what really happened to Albert. Sort of a replay of last month, when I had to endure everybody’s theories on what happened to Victoria. Was she depressed, was she a bad driver, was she forced off the road, did she have car problems?” She lowered her voice. “Tony says the clients don’t know about the missing three and a half mil yet, so mum’s the word, Goldy. The clients suspect Albert took a wad of dough, though. And not a word tonight about the mine. Tony’s in his act-normal mode. It’s boring as hell.” I muttered a silent curse. So much for sneakily questioning the guests. Marla winked at Arch and said, “Hey, guy, got any chocolate? I’m desperate.”
Arch laughed. “You haven’t even had dinner yet.” I poured tiny amounts of glistening olive oil into two wide frying pans. “What’s the act-normal mode?” Marla scowled. “Oh, don’t get me started on Tony and how he’s repressing his hysteria. I used to think he needed me. Now I think he needs an IV full of Demerol, a straitjacket, and a padded cell. Make that an IV full of Thorazine. I’m so tired of the man I could spit.”
“Well, don’t do that,” I said as I shook the pan of sauteing onions. They sizzled invitingly. “Listen, Marla. There’s something I need to ask you…” But what was it the general had said? I inhaled the rich scent of caramelizing onions and tried to remember.
Plantation Pilaf
3 tablespoons olive oil
8 ounces (1 z cups) onion, halved and very thinly sliced
3 garlic cloves, pressed
1 z cups rice
2 cups homemade low-fat chicken stock (recipe is in KILLER PANCAKE,) or use 2 cups canned chicken broth
z cup tomato juice
z cup dry sherry
1 z teaspoon paprika
? teaspoon salt
1 quart water
1 tablespoon Old Bay seasoning
24 medium or large raw “Easy-Peel” shrimp (8 to 10 ounces of frozen raw shrimp)
1 cup canned pineapple chunks, thoroughly drained and patted dry on paper towels
1 cup frozen baby peas
In a nonstick skillet, heat 1 tablespoon olive oil over medium heat. Add onions and cook until they are translucent. Add garlic, stir, and lower heat. Cook very briefly, only until garlic is also translucent. Do not brown the onions or the garlic. In another wide skillet, heat the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil over medium heat. Add rice and saute until golden brown. Add cooked onions and garlic, stock, tomato juice, sherry, paprika, and salt. Cover the pan and cook 20 to 30 minutes, or until juices are absorbed.
While the rice is cooking, bring the quart of water to a boil. Add the Old Bay seasoning and the shrimp. Cook just until the shrimp has turned pink. Drain immediately and discard seasoned water. Do not overcook the shrimp. Peel, devein, and set the shrimp aside until the rice is cooked. Remove the cover from the rice and add the shrimp, pineapple, and peas. Raise the heat to medium and cook, stirring, until the peas are just cooked and the mixture is heated through. Serve immediately.
Serves 4.
“When am I getting rid of Tony? The sooner the better.”
“Marla, please.” I showered grains of rice into the remaining pans. On the other side of the kitchen, Arch was banging cupboard doors open and shut. “Oh, yes. General Farquhar was wondering if you knew the fellow who did the geology for the Eurydice. He also said to ask you about environmental statements. You know, like inspections of the mine.”
Marla’s face wrinkled in puzzlement. “Why does he want to know? He’s a right-winger, he doesn’t give a damn about the environment.” When I shrugged, she exhaled impatiently. “Tell him they don’t do an environmental impact statement when they’re reopening a mine. And ask him why he cares, anyway, okay?”
“Chocolate-covered jelly beans,” Arch announced triumphantly. He held up a glass candy jar that he’d somehow uncovered in one of the Trotfields’ cabinets. “Want some? Wait, let me check the ingredients.”
“You’ve trained your son well,” Marla remarked with a wink.
“Marla,” I said, “don’t eat candy. Please. What in the world am I fixing a lowfat pilaf for if you’re going to snack before dinner?”
Arch frowned as he read from the jar’s label of contents. “Uh-oh. Artificial food coloring. Just a second, there it is. Yellow No.5.”
Marla raised her eyebrows. “Maybe Tony would more willing to break up with me if I broke out in hives.”
