z cup sugar
2 egg yolks
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 teaspoons finely grated lemon zest (see Note)
1 ? cups bleached all-purpose flour (add one tablespoon in high altitudes)
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
z teaspoon ground cloves
z teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 z cups blanched slivered almonds, ground (see Note)
1 to 1 z cups best-quality seedless red raspberry jam
Beat butter until creamy. Add sugar and beat until thoroughly incorporated. Beat egg yolks slightly with vanilla and lemon zest. Add to creamed mixture, stirring thoroughly. Sift dry ingredients together, then stir into creamed mixture. Stir in almonds.
Preheat oven to 350 . Spray two non-stick cupcake pans with vegetable oil spray. Using a 2-tablespoon scoop (or measuring out in 2 tablespoon increments), place one scoop of batter into each cupcake pan. Pat the batter gently to cover the bottom of each cup. Do not indent the dough or the jam that is to be cooked in the center will leak through. Place 2 teaspoons of jam in the center of each tart.
Bake for about 15 minutes, until the batter has risen and turned golden brown around the jam. After the pans have been removed from the oven, use a sharp knife to loosen the edges of each tart. Allow the tarts to cool in the pan until cool to the touch, at least 1 hour. Using a kitchen knife, gently lever the tarts out onto cookie racks and allow to cool completely. You may serve them plain, or sprinkle with powdered sugar and serve with a scoop of best-quality vanilla ice cream.
Makes 2 dozen.
Note: Citrus zests and nuts are easily ground in a clean coffee grinder.
“Yeah, yeah. That’s part of my theory. The Craig lady didn’t approve the usual bonus for Korman, so he didn’t have any money, and so he wouldn’t give her the tapes he’d hidden, and so they argued and he killed her.” He turned the corners of his lips down, shook his head. “It was his pattern,” he concluded smugly. “Say, those smell awful good.”
I put a warm, crumbly Babsie’s Tart on a small I plate and handed it to him. “Ah … did you find out why exactly Suz didn’t give him his bonus? Did Luella clue you in on that?”
He placed the small tart in his mouth, lounged back in the chair, and held up one finger as he chewed. “Billing,” he said finally. “He didn’t bill right. I’m going to really grill Korman’s secretary about that. You know, about whether Korman and Ms. Craig ever argued about bills. Plus there’s a malpractice suit outstanding against him. The HMO didn’t like that, or the fact that they were being sued by the same patient. So our doc was in hot, hot water. Boiling. More reason to kill Ms. Craig.” He glanced at his watch. “Talk about billing! I need to see a couple more people today or the department will have a fit over the hours I submit.”
“How come?”
“Well, usually I bill by the hour, but they’ve been saying I’m too thorough with each person and spend too much time investigating. Whoo-ie! Now I bill by the people I talk to. Plus, even though I have a photographic memory, I have to write up a report on each interview. And believe me, those reports can be a bear, you’re typing ‘em up the middle of the night.”
“I’m sure you can manage it,” I said reassuringly as I escorted him to the door.
“I wouldn’t mind the typing so much,” he said disconsolately, “if only I didn’t get so hungry.”
So I gave him another tart. Donny Saunders may be a pig, but I can never resist a hungry soul.
To my surprise, Arch called and asked if Todd could spend the night. I said yes, and was further pleased when Arch asked for his favorite dinner, baked potatoes with a variety of toppings. I was hopeful that fixing the potatoes would help me reflect on Donny Saunders’s visit. Tapes? What tapes? And where were the missing ones? I’d learned just enough to be frustrated. If Frances Markasian ever did a story on the waste of taxpayer money, I’d point her in the direction of old Donny.
I filled a wide frying pan with extrathick bacon slices, and for some reason thought of the composer Schoenberg. Schoenberg had been quoted as saying that his music contained all his secrets. His composi tions held the key to unlocking the inner workings of his soul. You just had to know how to listen. Somehow, all the information before me might contain enough data to unlock the secret of what had happened in the early hours of Saturday morning. I just didn’t know how to decipher it.
The phone rang. It was the therapist’s office calling to say I’d be getting a call later in the day about scheduling Arch. Apparently there was no way the temporary secretary could do anything now. I sighed and said I’d be waiting for her call.
I trimmed crisp green broccoli for one of the potato-toppings and thought of Arch. He and Todd were planning an extended “jam” tonight. Jamming, I’d learned, was not about food, but about music. Fine with me. I wanted Arch to have a regular social life instead of fretting about his father. Truth to tell, though, it pained me that I couldn’t relate to the music that today’s fourteen-year-olds liked. I’d faulted my parents for finding the Rolling Stones, execrable. But the Rolling Stones made music. What Arch and Todd listened to was just noise. Well, I thought with a sigh, Schoenberg’s mother probably had trouble with her son’s music. Come to think of it, I thought as I retrieved a dozen fat Idaho potatoes from my pantry, Schoenberg’s music pretty much sounded like noise to me, too.
As I washed and pricked the potatoes, I remembered to call the town veterinarian. I was still wondering about the scratches on Ralph Shelton’s face and if they’d truly come from his feline. The veterinarian’s receptionist said that under no circumstances could she tell me anything about the care of Ralph Shelton’s animals. Patient confidentiality seemed alive and well these days, if you were a cat. Well, maybe Tom would know.
I placed the potatoes in the oven, then kneaded the brioche dough gently, divided it, and set it into loaf pans for its third and final rising. By the time Arch, Todd, and Tom arrived home, I’d put the loaves in the oven and finished making the dinner. Todd Druckman, who was baby-faced and slightly pudgy, and had hair that was even browner and straighter than Arch’s, pronounced ours the best-smelling kitchen he’d ever visited. A pile of baked potatoes invited slashing and filling. I pointed to where the boys could choose from a vat of creamy cheese sauce bubbling on the stove, broccoli florets heaped in a steaming pile, and a mountain of hot, crispy bacon that beckoned with its mouthwatering scent. The real surprise occurred, however, when Arch, Todd, Tom, and I were bustling around setting the table. We didn’t even notice Macguire entering the kitchen.
“Hey!” he said. “What smells so great?”
For a moment we were all speechless. Macguire, hungry? Then Tom winked at me. “What is it Cinderella’s godmother says? Sometimes miracles take some time?”
I looked at my watch. “Yeah. Six hours. That’s when we left the health-food store. Amazing.” Macguire still shuffled and his body was achingly thin. But healthy color infused his cheeks for the first time in a month, and he wanted something to eat! Both were momentous developments. I offered a silent prayer of thanks.
The potatoes were indeed out of this world: each flaky bite was robed in golden cheese sauce and melded stupendously with the tender broccoli and crunchy bacon. Macguire, to my amazement, slowly ate two potatoes slathered with toppings, then laughingly pronounced himself so full his stomach ached. Tom, Todd, and Arch cleaned every last bite from their plates. Our meal was full of companionship, good food, and laughter. I never once thought of the corpse I’d found in the ditch.
Arch broke the spell of family life. He said suddenly, “I wonder what they’re having at the jail tonight.”
“Hon,” I replied gently, “your dad’s out on bail. This morning we ? “
“You found out this morning that he got out? And you didn’t call me at Todd’s?”
“I thought… if your dad wanted to call, he would ?”
“And you probably wouldn’t let me talk to him!” He looked accusingly from me to Tom. “And I’ll bet you haven’t done anything today to help him, either!”
“Excuse me, young man, but I have too done something ? “
But before I could finish my sentence, Arch threw down his fork and ran out of the room.
