and cook, stirring frequently, for 4 to 6 minutes, or until the oats are tender and the mixture is thick. Serve immediately, either as it is or with brown or granulated sugar, and cream, butter, or milk.
Julian’s Five-Grain Bread
2 cups five-grain cereal (available either in the cereal or the health-food section of the grocery store) or rolled oats
2? cups water
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
? cup dark molasses
? cup milk
1 teaspoon dark brown sugar
5 teaspoons (2 packages) active dry yeast
2 tablespoons bread-dough enhancer (optional) (recommended brand: Lora Brody’s, available at Williams- Sonoma)
4 cups bread flour (or all-purpose flour), plus up to 1 cup more flour for kneading (if required)
2 cups whole wheat flour
Butter two 9 x 5-inch loaf pans.
Place the cereal in a large bowl. Bring the water, butter, and molasses to a boil. Pour this mixture over the cereal and set aside to cool to 100°F.
Heat milk and dark brown sugar to 100°F. Pour into a large bowl and stir in the yeast. Allow to proof, about 10 to 15 minutes.
Mix the cooled grain mixture into the yeast mixture. Combine the optional bread dough enhancer with the first cup of bread flour and stir into the yeast mixture. Beat the other 3 cups of bread flour and the whole wheat flour into the mixture, beating well to combine. Place the dough in an oiled bowl, turn dough to oil the top, cover with a clean kitchen towel, and let rise in a draft-free spot, at room temperature, until doubled in bulk, about 1 hour.
Add as much of the additional bread flour to the dough as needed to make a dough that is not too sticky to knead. Knead on a floured surface until the dough is smooth and satiny, about 10 minutes.
Divide the dough into 2 pieces and place them into the pans. Cover with a towel and allow to rise until almost doubled.
Preheat the oven to 375°F. Bake for 50 to 60 minutes, or until the loaves are deep brown and sound hollow when knocked. Remove the loaves from the pans and allow them to cool completely on racks.
Something hard and heavy hit my skull with such force that black lightning formed in front of my eyes. Startled, I opened my mouth to cry out. The heavy object crashed down on my head again. My knees buckled and I hit the floor. Something sticky was slapped over my mouth. Duct tape? By the time powerful arms dragged me into the refrigerator, I could see nothing. Understand nothing. The hard, cold floor of the walk-in rose up to slap my cheek. I remember unholy anger, intense, sudden grief for Arch and Tom, then nothing.
CHAPTER 22
An echoing storm of pain was my first indication I had regained consciousness. A scarlet fog covered my eyes. When a cough convulsed my chest, I gagged. My mouth was taped hard and tight. I was painfully cold, chilled to the core, lying on my side on an icy floor. Another cough snagged in my throat. I felt myself choking and beat down panic.
“Where is it?” demanded a husky voice close to my ear.
The tight duct tape mangled any response I could make. Suddenly, without warning, the cold, dense darkness lifted; a door beside me opened. Far above, a tiny fluorescent light made my eyes ache. I moaned. Strong hands hitched under my armpits and roughly hauled me out of the dark space. I struggled to get to my knees; my hands were taped together. I was in the bistro kitchen. Out the window, the sky was black. It was late at night. The lodge would be deserted.
Out of nowhere, a hand slapped me hard across the face. I reeled. It was the kind of hit I used to take from John Richard. One hand pulled my hair hard to tilt my head back, while another hand yanked the duct tape off so roughly I knew my cheeks were bleeding.
I blew a mouthful of vomit all over Jack Gilkey. He cried out and swung at me again. I dodged—one thing I’d learned in my years with The Jerk.
His glossy dark brown hair was loose and wild, his handsome face menacing, gray with shadow. He grabbed me in a choke-hold around the neck. His mouth brushed my ear. “Where’s the tape, bitch?”
My brain thumped and throbbed. The building seemed to echo the vibrations in my head. “The videotape,” Jack snarled.
“If I tell you,” I managed to say, “will you let me go?”
In answer, he tightened his grip around my throat and shook me hard. Black spots danced in front of my eyes. I made a squeaking, submissive sound.
“Is it here with you? In this building?”
“Yes,” I said, when he shook me again.
“No.”
“It’ll take you hours to find it. Maybe more.”
He didn’t reply. Panic gripped my gut. Then he said, “Get up,” harshly, with just a shade of doubt. In this I took comfort. Apparently, Chef Well-Organized didn’t have a plan to cover this exigency.
“Please undo my hands,” I whispered. I could feel blood trickling down my cheek. “I’ll fall if I can’t get balanced.”
“No way,” he snapped. Then he lifted his flannel shirt, revealing a flat stomach—and a small pistol. He pulled the gun out of his waistband. “Don’t move unless I tell you to, don’t fall, don’t run, don’t yell. If you do, I’ll kill your son at your house in Aspen Meadow, once I lure your husband out of the house. You understand?”
“Yes,” I said angrily, still trying to think. On my feet, I shuffled through the long, shadowy kitchen. Why had the TV people left without checking on me? They must have figured I’d gone down on the gondola. I should have kept somebody with me. Why hadn’t I paid more attention to Tom’s warnings? Hindsight. “What are you going to do with me?”
“Easy. You’re going to die hitting a tree. You hiked out of the bistro, got confused, and
I shambled groggily toward the hall that led to the storage-area stairway.
“Jack,” I begged, “Eileen’s my friend. I was just trying to help her—”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, prodding the gun painfully into my back to push me forward. “I knew you were looking for something, and guessed it had to do with Nate because today you brought Rorry here. I quizzed Magill, found out about the camera, and figured out what you were doing.” His voice deepened. “You’re not on Eileen’s side.
