museum? If the motive was
Tom licked chocolate from his fingertip. “Unless the robber didn’t know the photocopies existed.”
“Sheesh.”
“Tell you what: I agree with you about one thing, Miss G.—I’m convinced that Cameron Burr didn’t kill Gerald Eliot. There are just too many loose ends. Eliot was on to, or up to, something. Rustine, despite her lack of forthrightness, has convinced me of that. And whatever Eliot was up to got him killed. And got the museum messed up in the process.”
“I just keep thinking about reverse psychology,” I said. “General Farquhar used to tell me that a good burglar will always try to make it look as if he
“Monday afternoon, the eighteenth. We left immediately for Burr’s house.”
“Okay. Say the true motive is burglary,
Tom frowned at my logic and drummed his fingers on his knees. “If you wanted the original of this cookbook, why not just steal it, and plant some other stolen stuff at the house of the person you’re trying to frame? Why kill the guard and try to frame that other person for
I shook my head, baffled, as Arch and Julian came through the back door and called for us. I said, “I don’t understand it.”
With a heavy sigh, Tom got to his feet. “Beats me, too, Miss G. But in the meantime, I’ve got a counter to set up.”
Over my protests, Julian volunteered to work in the dining room to get a few things started for the Harrington party. I reminded him that he was not a servant, he was a member of our family. But he was in the mood for cooking, he insisted, and if he was a member of the family, he should do what he was in the mood for. I was too tired to argue. Instead, I put in a call to Sylvia Bevans. She answered on the third ring, sounding annoyed.
“I’m sorry, Sylvia,” I said after identifying myself. “Is it too late to be calling? I just had some historical questions about … Charlie Smythe. Would tomorrow be better? It’s very important,” I added in the same apologetic tone.
“I do not discuss historical society business at night,” she told me crisply. “However, I will call you at precisely seven o’clock tomorrow morning. Is that too early for
I told her seven was fine, then hung up and told Julian I’d meet him in the kitchen at six A.M.
“I have something to tell you,” Arch announced in the living room, when it was just the two of us. “Lettie and I are going out.”
“You just
“Jeez, Mom.” Arch was impatient. “You don’t
My son had run up the stairs before I realized he’d told me he finally had a girlfriend.
Chapter 17
I dreamt of a sinister figure spinning strands of caramelized sugar in the cabin kitchen. Then Andre appeared in his white apron, and the dark figure strangled him with smoking strings of sugar. I tossed uncomfortably and finally rose at dawn, when the slanted light of late summer streamed into our bedroom. Outside, all was hushed. Most songbirds had already fled Aspen Meadow for points south. Their absence and the attendant silence seemed a bitter reminder that cold, short days, blizzard-closed roads, and the increasingly uncertain future of the catering business, all lay ahead.
In the dining room, Julian was already grating Cheddar for the layered Mexican dip. He’d processed a fresh bowl of guacamole and was stirring sour cream to make it ultrasmooth. He smiled a greeting, then washed his hands in the small bathroom between the dining room and the kitchen. Then he filled a container of water for the espresso machine.
“Sorry I was in such a bad mood last night,” he offered. “After what I went through with Claire …” He ran steaming water into demitasse cups to heat them, unwilling to pursue the subject of his tragically lost girlfriend from the summer before. “Anyway, I feel so dumb. I really thought that model was interested in me.”
“How do you know she wasn’t?” I eyed the dip recipe and the jewel-colored heaps of tomatoes, olives, and scallions that Julian had laid out. I pulled out a knife and cutting board.
But the phone rang before he could answer. It wasn’t seven yet; could this be Sylvia already? More importantly, where
“I’m going to start on the coq au vin.” Julian hightafled it to the kitchen.
The phone rang again. I finally located the portable extension: Tom had placed it on the end of the sawhorse and someone had laid a towel over it. I nabbed it.
“Goldy, it’s Weezie Harrington.” Her voice came out in a rush before I could even launch into my customary greeting. “I just wanted to save you some trouble. I mean, I figured you’d be up cooking for my party, and I wanted you to stop—”
On his own portable sawhorse, Julian began beating chicken breasts between sheets of plastic wrap. I pressed the phone to my ear and started slicing the first ripe tomato into juicy, sweet cubes. Pre-party anxiety, I thought with a
Tom’s Layered Mexican Dip
2 avocados, peeled and seeded
2 tablespoons lemon juice
2 tablespoons medium or hot picante sauce
2 tablespoons grated onion
2? cups regular or fat-free sour cream
16 ounces fat-free spicy black bean dip
2 tomatoes, chopped (about 3 cups)
6 scallions, chopped, including tops
1? cups sliced pitted black olives Cheddar cheese, grated
8 ounces regular or low-fat
Tortilla chips
Beat the avocados with the lemon juice, picante sauce, grated onion, and ? cup of the sour cream until the mixture is smooth to make guacamole. Set aside.
Using 2 large platters or 2 9 ? 13-inch pans, place half of the bean dip into the bottom of each pan. Carefully smooth half of the guacamole on top of each bean layer (about 1 cup on each layer). Place 1 cup of the sour cream on top of each guacamole layer.
Layer half of the tomatoes, half of the scallions, half of the olives, and half of the grated cheese into each pan.
Chill the platters and serve them with tortilla chips.
