Prime Cut

“Three people are dead,” Tom reminded her.

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” She stopped and tried to construct her thoughts. “Bobby said the place would show better if we did a little work on it. We hired Eliot because he was available and said the job could be done in a week, before we got going on the Christmas catalog. The liar.”

She fell silent; her fingers stroked her bruised cheek. Tom prompted: “And?”

She moaned. “That moron Eliot found the rifle in the wall, and a note from my grandfather saying you needed Winnie’s cookbook and the rifle to find his treasure. Ian’s Images put out the story that we’d fired Eliot, but that wasn’t quite true. Ian and Gerald Eliot were in on it together. Eliot was going to get Ian the cookbook. They were going to find the treasure together. But Ian … oh, God, I didn’t want to believe he could have killed Eliot. I didn’t even ask him about it. I didn’t want to know. And he knew better than to mention it.” She gave me a quizzical look. “How did you find out about what was in the wall?”

I said simply, “Gerald Eliot had Rustine photocopy the note. But Andre didn’t have the note.” Leah’s confusion deepened. I told her about Andre’s knowledge of the very common code, showed it to her in the Leavenworth letter, then explained that Andre had requested a photocopy of the cookbook. “That’s why he went to the cabin so early on Monday morning.” Leah’s eyes watered; she raked her hair again.

She said, “So … Ian managed to make it look as if Andre had died accidentally?” When I nodded, she began to cry. She said, “He must have thought he was in too deep, by then. Anyone who figured out the code would be on to him, about what he’d done to Eliot to get the cookbook. It all got so out of control. I knew it, but I didn’t want to face it. I was afraid.” Tears streamed down her face. “I loosened the clamp on the flat. I wanted to die. That way Bobby would still get half the property. And if the flat didn’t kill me, at least I would be far away from Ian. I knew he’d kill me next.” Sobs wracked her slender body.

“Let us take you back to your place,” Tom told her. “You need to rest.”

“Aren’t they going to start the digging up at the cabin in a couple of hours? Don’t you want to be there?”

“It’s more important for you to take care of yourself,” Tom replied. “Let us help you get home.”

She picked up the Leavenworth letter and shook her head. “I can drive. I’m fine. You all go on to the cabin. I never want to see the damn place again.” With her free hand, she smeared the tears from her eyes and forced a sour laugh. “I must look awful. I need to do something about my makeup, don’t you think?”

We followed Leah to her old house overlooking Main Street, then went home. I surveyed my lustrous cherry cabinets, bright new windows, and gleaming Carrara marble countertops. This was a kitchen I could enjoy, I decided, as Tom and I began to pack up for our meal at the cabin. Arch, joining us, announced: “Elk Park Prep called and said after Tom talked to Leland, he paid my tuition.” While I offered a quick prayer of thanks, my son looked around and exclaimed, “Man, this place rocks! The marble’s cool. I told Lettie she could come over after school tomorrow to see it. That’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said with a smile. “Invite her for dinner, if she can stand the smell of paint. And you’re right, Arch, this kitchen positively rocks.”

Tom beamed wordlessly, surveying the result of his labors over the past weeks with unconcealed pride. It wasn’t quite done, but who cared? The floor still needed to be sanded and finished, the walls painted, the molding put in, and a hundred details attended to, but Tom, unlike the late Gerald Eliot, would take care of everything. My spirits soared.

“One thing I forgot to tell you,” Tom said as we were packing up chilled wine and salads. “Litchfield’s attorney tried to cop a plea on the charge of criminal mischief, tainting your food. Andy Fuller turned him down until Litchfield told Fuller that John Richard’s guy, Leland, was paying him, Litchfield, to sabotage the food. And that John Richard was calling the shots during the weekly visits that Litchfield made to the jail. That bit of info motivated Leland to pay Arch’s school bill. It looks as if Litchfield will get probation, which probably upsets him less than the facts that Edna Hardcastle’s daughter put off getting married again, and Merciful Migrations has yanked him from doing this year’s Soiree.” I blinked. Litchfield had lost two jobs in one day? Things were looking up. Tom went on: “Your ex will be charged as a principal in the criminal mischief situation. Might add to his jail time.”

“Might make him think before he tries to wreak vengeance on his ex-wives,” I observed. “So. Eventually, I’ll still be dealing with Litchfield.” I thought about that While mixing fresh basil into tomatoes vinaigrette. Was I secure enough to deal with the competition? You bet. “On an even playing field,” I said finally, firmly, “I can compete.” To Arch, I said, “Are you ready?”

My son nodded. His face had turned tight with apprehension. This was, after all, a big day for him.

On Sunday night, Rustine and Lettie had called to invite Arch to accompany them the next day, when they met their father’s flight from Juneau at Denver International Airport. Their father had given up on finding a job and was skipping the California leg of his trip to come home; he missed his daughters. Julian had generously offered to help the sisters clean their house Monday morning. I shuddered, remembering the chaos and dust we’d encountered on our visit. For his part, Arch had spent the morning getting clean himself and deciding on his wardrobe.

Julian returned; half an hour later, Rustine finally pulled up in front of our house. By that time, Arch was so nervous you’d have thought he was flying in from Alaska. I didn’t hug him good-bye. I didn’t tell him to be polite to Lettie’s father. I told him to have fun.

Julian had proposed that Marla, Hanna Klapper, and Sergeant Boyd join us at the cabin dig. To celebrate, Julian added, we should have a feast for all the workers: crab cakes, pasta, salads, Parker House Rolls from The Practical Cook Book, and Andre’s famous Grand Marnier Butter- cream Cookies, which I had given a new name. They were a delicious treat my teacher had left for me to serve my clients: Keepsake Cookies. Plus, I had made a flourless chocolate cake that was really a collapsed souffle … when you want a souffle to fall, it can be delicious—like life, once you’ve put it back together.

But Julian’s words haunted me as I packed the food. Celebrate what? I’d wondered. I hadn’t had the heart to ask what Julian’s plans for the future were, but I sensed the feast was a kind of good-bye. He’d declined to accompany us to church on Sunday. I concluded it was because he was on the phone, making his plans to get a ride back to Cornell so he could plead his way in for the fall semester.

“Time to go,” Tom said. “I swore to Sylvia that we’d be there by one o’clock. They aren’t allowed to bring anything out of the ground until we get there.”

Boyd and Tom carefully packed a chilled white chocolate cream sauce I’d made for the cake into the cooler; I covered the rest of the food with foil.

By the time we arrived at the Mercifull Migrations cabin, the crew of diggers made up of members of the Anthropology Department of the University of Colorado and volunteers from the Furman County Historical Society, including Cameron Burr, were hard at work at the base of the elephant rock. We set up our feast on the deck of the cabin. The diggers had vowed to have no treat until they found what they were seeking.

“Good school, the University of Colorado,” Julian said idly as I handed Marla a very small advance taste of the tomatoes vinaigrette. “I just finished a transfer application. For the spring semester, of course.”

I gasped. Marla giggled. Boyd brought his mouth into an o. Tom shook his head and said softly, “I knew it.” Even Hanna Klapper smiled.

“Something esle,” Julian went on mildly, his eyes sparkling. “I called Leah Smythe on the cellular, on my way home from Rustine’s house. Woke her up, I think.”

“You called Leah?” Hanna demanded. “Why?”

“Well,” Julian said as he tilted his handsome face knowingly at Tom and me, “you know, Leah and I are related, sort of. I’m her nephew once removed, since Brian Harrington, her brother-in-law, was my biological father. I mean, Weezie has made it very clear she doesn’t want to be involved with me. But I thought Leah might want to know she had more family than just Bobby. That she could, you know, call on me—”

“You never said I could call on you,” Marla hrumphed good-naturedly. “And I’m your biological aunt.”

“I didn’t need to,” Julian rejoined. “You knew you could call on me day and night, and you did, when I went through rush and was visiting all the fraternities, and you called every night to make sure I’d gotten back to my dorm safely.”