just don’t understand why these pastimes become manias.” “I asked the same question. I might as well have asked the ladies’ Bible study to describe the Rapture. One woman told me very seriously that doll collecting was like the best sex you ever had, times
“
ten. I let that pass. While the fish was baking, I moved-slowly, painfully-up the stairs to check on Macguire and Arch, who both immediately demanded to know why I looked so awful. I stalled and took Macguire’s temperature. It was one hundred degrees even, not enough to call his doctor, he maintained. Then I told the boys I’d gotten hit by a hockey fan. The fan had been wearing blades, I explained, and I had not. “Dude, Mrs. Schulz,” said Macguire admiringly. “You’re brave.” “No, just dumb enough to be in his way.” Apparently being with Macguire had worked the kind of effect on Arch Marla had predicted it would. My son did not seem preoccupied with his father and the events of the morning. He didn’t even appear to be angry with me. At least not at the moment. He pointed to the magazine in his lap. “Check this out, Mom.” I bent to look at the page. After a second I moved in closer. I wanted to make sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me. A Never-Removed-From-Box Duchess Bride Babsie was selling for twelve hundred dollars. Another one that had been taken out of the box sold for six hundred dollars. The dolls had sold for less than twenty dollars originally, and I remembered my little childhood friend in New Jersey who had taken such delight in playing with her Babsies. In the catalog, I saw one that looked familiar from my friend’s collection. It was an MIB-Mint-In-Box-Number One Blond Ponytail Babsie. The doll had just gone at auction for six thousand dollars. I felt faint.
“Mom, are you all right?” Arch asked anxiously.
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “I’ve already seen a nurse, and she gave me a homeopathic remedy.”
“Homeopathic?” Macguire grumbled. “What is that?”
“It means natural,” I explained. “Please don’t stay up too late. I don’t need both of you to get sick.” Arch gave me an exasperated look and I closed the door before I could offend him further. Ten minutes later I was scrubbed, robed, and more ravenous than ever. In honor of my service to hockey fans, Tom had named his creation Power Play Potatoes and Fish. He served them with a fine julienne of carrot, steamed baby peas, a small green salad, and southern spoon bread topped with pats of butter. I took a greedy bite of the fish: Tom’s pairing of a crunchy potato crust with the delicate texture and rich taste of Chilean sea bass was divine, and I told him so. He smiled and told me the recipe was now taped to my computer screen. Then he frowned.
Power Play Potatoes and Fish
4 (6 to 8 ounces each) fresh Chilean seabass fillets
? cup flour
2 eggs
4 large russet potatoes
2 tablespoons olive oil
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Preheat oven to 400°. Butter a 9-by 13-inch baking dish. Rinse off the fillets and pat dry with paper towels. Sprinkle the flour on a plate. Beat the eggs in a shallow bowl. Peel the potatoes. Grate them 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.) Divide the potatoes into four piles.
In a wide skillet, heat the olive oil. Working quickly, dip each fillet first in the flour, then in the egg. Pat half of each potato pile on the top and bottom of each fillet (the equivalent of one grated potato per fillet). Bring the skillet up to medium-high heat. Place the potato-covered fillets in the hot oil, salt and pepper them, and brown quickly on each side. When all the fillets are browned, put them in the buttered pan and bake about 10 minutes, or until they are cooked through. Do not overcook the fish.
Serves 4
“What was the name of the guy you said hit you?”
“Dr. Ralph Shelton,” I mumbled, mouth full of succulent fish. “Remember? I told you about him earlier today. He’s an old friend of ours. Used to be with ACHMO, but according to town gossip he was fired by Suz Craig.”
“Right. And I was going to check on him, which I did. Which I actually told Donny Saunders to do, more accurately. By the way, did the gossip say why this Dr. Shelton was fired?”
I indicated a negative and took a bite of the carrots and peas, celestially fresh, sweet vegetables. The spoon bread was as rich and tender as anything Scarlett O’Hara had ever put into her mouth. I made “mm-mm” noises and Tom nodded in acknowledgment.
“Brandon Yuille, you know him?” he asked, his mind still on work.
“He’s the head of Human Resources for ACHMO. He’s also the son of a baker in town. He was at Suz’s house when I catered over there. I saw him today, but briefly. Why? Have you talked to him?”
“Yeah, a whole team went out to talk to the ACHMO department heads, but most of them are in San Diego at a conference. Medical Management, Member Services, Health Services, Quality Management ? four of the six people who had to deal with Suz Craig on a daily basis are gone for the week, although they’re coming back early. The only department heads left in town were Human Resources and Provider Relations.” He took a breath. “John Richard Korman is absolutely insistent he’s innocent. The cops who’re questioning him? They’re getting real tired of hearing about Suz Craig doing this to make enemies, Suz Craig doing that.
“I hope they’re ignoring him. John Richard Korman is probably the worst enemy Suz Craig ever made. The most dangerous, certainly.”
Tom shrugged. “He’s the prime suspect, so the department is concentrating on him. But Donny Saunders has asked me to help him out. I agreed.”
“So where does Brandon Yuille come in?”
“Korman insists that Yuille and Suz Craig were having some kind of feud. Yuille claims he was with his father at his bakery from midnight to five last night, so he couldn’t have killed Ms. Craig.”
“You called Brandon?”
“Caught him unawares. He’ll probably never talk to me again without a lawyer present. And he’s not the most talkative man in the county,” Tom observed. “Anyway, he was awfully vague when I wanted to know why Ralph Shelton left ACHMO.”
“You asked him that? Brandon was vague or he l didn’t know?”
Tom’s face was unreadable. “Your ex-husband maintains that Ralph Shelton hated Suz, too. I’m wondering if his firing had anything to do with Patricia McCracken’s lawsuit against ACHMO.”
“What are you talking about? I mean, I know Ralph is an obstetrician, but…” I felt muddled. It had been too long a day.
Tom stood and picked up my whisker-clean plate. He ran water into the sink, then said, “What I did get out of Brandon Yuille was this: Ralph Shelton used to be associated with an ob-gyn practice down in Denver. Shelton was on call at St. Philip’s Hospital when Clark McCracken brought his wife, Patricia, in the night she lost their baby. There she is, losing blood and disoriented and Shelton tells her he’s with ACHMO. Even though they’re old friends, our Patricia McCracken hauls off and slaps the guy across the face. He fell, and it knocked the wind out of him. That woman’s unbelievably strong, even when she’s sick.”
“But,” I protested, “we all used to be close. Besides, Ralph Shelton wasn’t the problem. John Richard and ACHMO were.”
“That night Patricia McCracken sure saw Ralph Shelton as the problem. Then the chain of events goes like this. She files one suit against Korman; she files another against ACHMO. Ralph leaves his practice under a cloud. Our investigation is very preliminary at this point, but it looks as if after that Shelton took an administrative job with another HMO. One named MeritMed.”
I said reflectively, “But Ralph and the McCrackens seem to have buried the hatchet. I mean, he was invited to their hockey party tonight.”
Tom grinned. “Yeah, after their little tussle in the hospital Patricia apologized all over the place to Shelton. Maybe she’s trying to be sweet to him these days, so that he’ll tell her some inside stuff on ACHMO that she can use against them in her suit. I mean, now that he’s persona non grata there.”
“Ralph seems to stick together with another persona non grata,” I commented as I poured two dessert
