were giving him a headache.
“I’m going to Elk Park Prep today, I’m staying here, and I’ll be catering the lunch tomorrow,” I informed Charde, getting angry myself. “So if you don’t want to run into me, you’d better stay home. Oh, and that includes the banquet Friday night, too.”
Sukie hustled over to Buddy, Howie, and Charde, helped scoop up the paint chips and catalogs, and murmured about coming another time to work on the new color schemes. Howie muttered that he needed to get to school, and Eliot announced that Buddy should take a look at his car. When they all left, I didn’t offer any goodbyes.
Instead, I returned to the sweet bread I intended to make for breakfast. The combination of dried pineapple and cherries would make a not-too-sweet-or-too-tart, gloriously colorful loaf. I closed my eyes and imagined holding a bread slice up to the light.
Don’t think about the Lauderdales, just cook.
I chopped the fragrant dried fruits, set them to soak, and revved up the mixer. The beaters whipped through the butter and sugar until it resembled spun gold. By the time I was adding flour, leavening, and orange juice, I had a name for the concoction: Stained-Glass Sweet Bread.
“Dear Goldy, I am so sorry about the Lauderdales,” Eliot announced in his kingly, regretful voice, as he swung through the door from the dining room. “Everything to them is a drama, and I do get tired of being their audience. We were at their New Year’s Eve party, but did not see the conflict that so upset everyone.” I stifled a response: No one saw it except for me. That?s the problem. Meanwhile, Eliot turned his attention to the mixer bowl. “Let’s chat about something more pleasant. Historic menus. “
I nodded an assent, finished scooping the thick batter into the prepared pan, and decided to let it rise a while to lighten the texture.
“May I use the phone first?” I asked him. “I need to make a couple of important calls. I’d like to do it where I won’t be interrupted.”
He wrinkled his brow, a sure sign of mental wheels whizzing. Is my caterer spreading more bad publicity for my castle? “Yes, yes, of course,” he said, with effort. “My office is more private.”
I set the timer, glanced at my watch, grabbed my extra sweater, and followed him out. We ran into Julian in the hallway. His brown hair was wet from his postswim shower, and he looked dapper in black chef pants and a white shirt. I begged him to preheat the oven, and put in the bread. He said he’d love to, then whistled cheerfully as he banged into the kitchen.
“Damn!” he yelled as the door swung closed. “It’s cold in here! Who opened that window again?”
“Eliot?” I asked as he held open a door that led through the courtyard. “If you’ve got a loose catch on a window, why don’t you have it fixed?”
Eliot’s voice was rueful. “It’s original glass.”
Stained-Glass Sweet Bread
1 ? cups dried tart cherries ? cup chopped dried pineapple 4 tablespoons(1/2 stick) unsalted butter, softened 1 1/2 cups sugar 2 eggs 4 cups all-purpose flour (High altitude: add 2 tablespoons) 4 teaspoons baking powder (High altitude: 1 tablespoon) ? teaspoon baking soda 2 teaspoons salt 1 1/2 cups orange juice
Place the cherries and chopped pineapple in a large bowl and cover with boiling water. Let stand 15 minutes, then drain and pat dry with paper towels. Set aside. Butter and flour two 8 1/2 x 4 1/2-inch loaf pans. Set aside. Cream the butter with the sugar until well blended. (Mixture will look like wet sand.) Add the eggs and beat well. Sift the dry ingredients together twice. Add the flour mixture alternately to the creamed mixture with the orange juice, beginning and ending with the dry ingredients. Stir in the fruits, blending well Divide evenly between the pans. Allow to stand for 20 minutes. While the mixture is standing, preheat the oven to 350°F. Bake the breads for 45 to 55 minutes, until toothpicks inserted in the loaves come out clean. Cool in the pans 10 minutes, then allow to cool completely on racks.
Makes 2 loaves
Outside, a bitter wind smacked our faces. I pulled on my sweater and reflected that if I’d made millions selling some old letter, I’d get a new kitchen window, no matter what anyone told me about preservation. I gasped at the cold and caught the word “shortcut,” as a cloud of steam issued from Eliot’s mouth. I struggled to match his long strides as we trotted along an ice-edged brick pathway through the Tudor garden. Overhead, a red-tailed hawk teetered on the wind. Below, the snow-dusted, dun-colored plant stalks rattled and swayed.
“Even with all the money we made from the sale of our famous letter,” Eliot called back to me, as if reading my mind, “we did not have sufficient funds to redo the entire castle. You see the north half of the east range?” I hugged myself, turned, and looked back obediently. “We did the first floor where the dining room and kitchen are. Above that, it’s all closed off.” He pointed to the window that Marla had banged on when she’d yelled at him. “That’s the south side of the east range,” Eliot continued. My eyes swept over the rapiers on the arch supports. “There, where you’re staying in the guest suites, we re-did the upper story. On the south range - ” He pointed to his right, to the wall with the postern gate ” - we did restore both stories.”
Okay, okay, my mind screamed. I don’t need background on the refurbishing effort when I’m freezing to death!
“The Great Hall on the east side of the south range is on the second floor,” Eliot blithely persisted, “while four conference rooms are below it. On the west side of the postern gate,” his hand arched to the right, “there are the swimming pool and locker rooms on the lower level, and conference rooms above. My study is in the west range” - he gestured farther to the right, directly across the courtyard from the kitchen - “where we’ve only redone half of the lower story. Further down the hall from my study is Sukie’s and my room.”
“And Michaela?” I couldn’t help asking. “Where does she live?”
He gave me a sharp look, then pointed back to the gatehouse. “She occupies the western section of the north range, including the gatehouse. According to my grandfather’s will, Vladimir Kirovsky’s descendants may stay there as long as their family remain the castle caretakers. Sukie and I intend to hire a whole staff of caretakers, of course, as soon as the conversion to a conference center is complete.” He exhaled without saying where all those worker- bees were slated to reside. “And you’ve already seen our lovely living room, decorated by Charde, who does have talent, even if she’s a tad rough around the edges.”
Not merely rough around the edges, my mind supplied, but sharp and dangerous.
We entered the arcade on the west side of the courtyard. Eliot tapped numbers on a security keypad beside a massive wooden door. “Of course,” he added, “Charde does disrupt us sometimes, coming in unannounced to try new paints and toss swatches all over the place. I bumped into her one night when I was coming over to work on my jams. I didn’t even realize Sukie had given her the security code, but Sukie said Charde insisted, that it would make the decorating effort easier for everyone.”
Doggone it, I thought as I moved through the wooden doorway into a hallway lit by new windows on the arcade side. The last thing I could tolerate in the middle of the night was crashing into Charde Lauderdale. Eliot touched a switch, and electrified torches on the far wall illuminated tapestries of battle scenes.
“Mr. Hyde,” I began, as I hugged myself to warm up. “We’re very thankful you could have us here. But if Charde and Buddy Lauderdale can’t be kept out of the castle, then my husband and I need to take Arch and Julian somewhere else. The Lauderdales and I… are in conflict, as you know, from that New Year’s party. They might have shot at our house. They might even be the ones who shot Tom.”
Eliot’s brown eyes shone with indulgence. “They would never do such things. In any case, dear Goldy, you, your husband, your child, your dear young friend - you are all perfectly safe. Each suite has a security pad outside the room, did Sukie not show you? You determine your own code. Once you set it inside your room, no one can come through your door. The instructions are in your night tables.” He waved at a tapestry of a unicorn. “When Charde figures out the colors for the last paint jobs, we’ll change the gatehouse codes and she won’t be back.”
I asked hesitantly, “How much do you really know about the Lauderdales?”
“We’ve been friends … well, since all the hoopla about the letter, and I bought our first Jaguar. I’ll tell you what I know: The Lauderdales are so concerned about looking rich, they’re lavishing money they don’t have on charity. For example, we’re happy Buddy helped pay for the refurbishment of the labyrinth. But when I tried to convince him to have a salesman recognition dinner here, he said entertaining his employees was not something he really did. My take on it was that a salesmen’s dinner doesn’t pack as much prestigious punch as a lavish gift to the
