friend. Besides, if I didn’t intervene, she would eat fat-loaded junk food.
“Look, Marla, I have a job this morning, and then I’m meeting you and Tony for lunch at Sam’s Soups. Why don’t I bring you some food then?”
“Oh gosh, could you?”
I glanced out the window and thought my eyes must be deceiving me, because it wasn’t raining. It was just very, very cloudy and dark. “What I’m trying to tell you,” I said patiently, ”is that I’m not going to be packing a fresh whole stuffed turkey for you. You’d get ptomaine. I’ll fix one cozy campfire dinner, and you can do the freeze-dried routine for the rest of the time. Okay? By the way, what are you going to do about fresh water? And firewood? The ground is soaked.”
She said that fuel, water, and beverages were Tony’s department, that they’d need enough food and snacks to get through the weekend, and she’d see me at Sam’s at noon for my taste-test. I threw open the upstairs window and took a deep breath of moist mountain air. Fog was moving, ghostlike, through the sodden branches of the pine trees. I wouldn’t want to be out fishing this weekend.
I stretched through a yoga routine, got dressed, then answered a call from Todd Druckman’s mother, Kathleen. Some vacationing neighbors had given her Rockies tickets for the weekend. She wanted to invite Arch to Coors Field for a doubleheader against the Dodgers. I was profusely thankful that Arch would have something to do during the day besides retrain Jake.
I awakened Arch, who was none too happy to be brought to consciousness before eleven on a summer morning. But the promise of spending even a foggy day watching the Blake Street Bombers ? a quartet of the Rockies’ best players ? and the rest of the beloved baseball team brightened his spirits considerably. I promised I’d bring Jake inside if it started to rain, and yes, the dear hound could stay in Arch’s room while I was out. Then I gave my son breakfast and managed to convince him to wear a waterproof jacket before he slipped out the back door.
I checked the computer for my morning assignment at the bank. It was one of my favorite regular jobs, as I usually heard enough gossip from Eileen Tobey, the bank manager, to last a full month. Eileen infused all of her stories with great drama, which might explain why in her spare time she was the diva of the Aspen Meadow theater group. When she wasn’t playing Blanche DuBois or Lady Macbeth, she was on the phone tracking down the town’s latest rumors. Eileen was the kind of person who became your closest friend when a misfortune ? cancer diagnosis, contested divorce, suicide of a relative ? befell you. Unfortunately, the intimacy did not last a week past her learning every grisly detail of your crisis. And since she found out everyone’s details, she was the most remarkably informed gossip I knew. She’d been talking to Albert at the Eurydice Mine party. Given her personality, I knew I could pump her for information today and she’d never even speculate about the reasons for my nosiness.
I ground Italian roast coffee beans and watched twin spurts of dark liquid hiss out of my machine. Then I sipped the espresso and tried to remember what I’d heard lately about Eileen herself. This past January, Eileen’s ex-husband had filed for bankruptcy within a week of Eileen being named the new branch manager of the Bank of Aspen Meadow. I seemed to recall a rumor that she had celebrated both events with none other than Tony Royce. Was she one of the girlfriends who’d been jilted when Tony swore undying loyalty to Marla this spring? I wondered.
For the lavish employee coffee break Eileen had me cater every Friday, I usually served an assortment of fresh fruit and baked goods. Eileen set aside an hour when she was available to talk to her employees during this time about any problems they were having. I was always surprised by how many problems could be recounted, and how much food could be consumed, in sixty minutes. This Friday I’d decided on fresh Strawberry-Pineapple-Kiwi Skewers, Scones with Lemon Curd, Banana-Pecan Muffins, and Almond-Poppy Seed Muffins. At the end of the computer menu, Tom had typed me a note: Why don’t you treat the bank employees to my Sour Cream Cherry Coffee Cake? Love you, T. His recipe followed the note. Honestly, this guy.
Sour Cream Cherry
Coffee Cake
z pound (1 stick) unsalted butter
1 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs
1 cup fat-free sour cream
2 cups all-purpose flour (High : altitude: add 2 tablespoons)
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
z teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 tablespoon finely chopped lemon zest
? cup best quality cherry preserves
Preheat oven to 350°. Butter 2 8-inch-square cake pans. In a large mixer bowl, beat butter with sugar until well combined. Add eggs one at a time and beat well. Add sour cream and mix thoroughly. In a small bowl, mix together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Add the dry ingredients to the butter mixture. Batter will be stiff. Stir in the vanilla, zest, and cherry preserves. Spread batter in pans.
Bake 20 to 30 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.
Makes 2 cakes.
Banana-Pecan Muffins
4 ? cups all-purpose flour
1 z cups sugar
5 teaspoons baking powder (High altitude: 4 ? teaspoons)
1 z teaspoons salt
1 z cups mashed ripe banana
z cup canola oil
2 large eggs
1 1/3 cups nonfat milk
1 z cups pecan halves (do not chop)
Preheat the oven to 350°. Line 2 12-cup muffin tins with paper liners. In a large bowl, mix together the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt. Set aside. In another large bowl, mix together the banana, canola oil, and eggs. Gradually add dry ingredients to banana mixture, alternating with the milk, adding dry ingredients last. Stir in the nuts.
Measure out batter evenly into lined muffin cups, f1l1ing cups 7/8 full. Bake 25 minutes, until muffins are puffed and golden brown.
Check with toothpick for doneness. Serve warm, or cool muffins on racks. Freeze for longer storage.
Makes 2 dozen.
Note: Muffins are about fifteen percent fat; to make them even lower in fat, omit the pecans.
I beat butter with sugar and put in a call to the sheriff’s department. Once again, Tom wasn’t at his desk. I said to his voice mail, “This is your wife, who’s making your scrumptious coffee cake. How about a date? This weekend?”
I hung up and smoothly blended cool, fat-free sour cream into the golden batter, then stirred in a spill of inky cherry preserves. The mixture was buttery-rich and fragrant with lemon and vanilla, and it occurred to me that I could eat the batter without even cooking it. I rid myself of such a devilish idea, slid the pan into the oven, and phoned Elk Park Prep.
