with butter and sifted dry ingredients for the 911’s. Like the sweet bread, these, too, would benefit from a brief mellowing, only in the refrigerator. Once I’d mixed the dough, I covered the bowl with plastic wrap, set it to chill, and slipped up to see Tom.
911 Chocolate Emergency Cookies
6 ounces semisweet chocolate chips 6 ounces bittersweet chocolate, broken into large pieces (recommended brands: Lindt Bittersweet, Godiva Dark) 8 tablespoons (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened and divided 1 ? cups all- purpose flour 1/3 cup unsweetened Dutch-style cocoa (recommended brand: Hershey’s European-style) 1 ? teaspoons baking powder ? teaspoon salt z cup dark brown sugar, firmly packed z cup granulated sugar 3 large eggs 1 ? teaspoons vanilla extract Vanilla Icing (recipe follows)
In the top of a double boiler, melt the chips, chopped chocolate, and 4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) of the butter. When melted, set aside to cool briefly. Sift together the flour, cocoa, baking powder, and salt. Set aside. In a large mixing bowl, beat the remaining 4 tablespoons of butter with the sugars. When the mixture is the consistency of wet sand, add the eggs and vanilla. Mix in the slightly cooled chocolate mixture, beating only until combined. Stir in the flour mixture, mixing only until completely combined and no traces of flour appear. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and refrigerate for 25 minutes, until the mixture can be easily spooned up with an ice-cream scoop. Preheat the oven to 350°F, Butter two cookie sheets. Using a 4-teaspoon ice-cream scoop, measure out a dozen cookies per sheet. Bake one sheet at a time for about 9 to 11 minutes, just until the cookies have puffed and flattened. Do not overbake; the cookies will firm up upon cooling. Allow the cookies to cool 2 minutes on the cookie sheet, then transfer them to racks and allow to cool completely.
Frost with Vanilla Icing.
Makes 4 dozen cookies
Vanilla Icing: 4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) unsalted butter, softened 1/3 cup whipping cream z teaspoon vanilla extract 2 z cups confectioners’ sugar, or more if needed
Beat the butter until very creamy. Gradually add the cream, vanilla, and confectioners’ sugar and beat well. If necessary, add more confectioners’ sugar to the icing. It should be fairly stiff, not soupy. Spread a thick layer of icing on each cookie.
Queen of Scots Shortbread
16 tablespoons (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened ? cup confectioners sugar z teaspoon vanilla extract 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour ? cup rice flour (available at health food stores) or all-purpose flour z teaspoon baking powder z teaspoon salt
Preheat the oven to 350°F. In the large bowl of an electric mixer, beat the butter until it is very creamy. Add the confectioners’ sugar and beat well, about 5 minutes. Beat in the vanilla. Sift the flours with the baking powder and salt, then add them to the 3 butter mixture, beating only until well combined. With floured fingers, gently pat the dough into two ungreased 8-inch round cake pans. Using the floured tines of a fork, score the shortbreads into eighths. Press the tines around the edges of each shortbread to resemble fluting, and prick the shortbread with a decorative design, if desired. Bake for 20 to 25 minutes, or until the edge of the shortbread is just beginning to brown. Allow to cool 10 minutes on a rack. While the shortbread is still warm, gently cut through the marked-off wedges. Using a pointed metal spatula or pie server, carefully lever out the shortbread wedges and allow them to cool completely on a rack.
Make 16 wedge-shaped cookies
“He said he wants to rest,” Julian whispered to me as he precariously balanced the tray while closing the door. “I changed the bandage after he ate. He only had a few bites, but we did have a good visit. He didn’t say anything about getting any on the side.”
“Julian!” I scolded, “I need to set our security system,” I said, feeling guilty that I hadn’t come up earlier.
“I did that, too. I found the directions in the bedside drawer of the room Arch and I are in.” Gripping Tom’s tray, he looked all around before whispering, “Both of ‘em are set to Arch’s birthday.”
“Thanks, Julian.” Arch had been born on April the fifteenth, a happy respite from thoughts of the Internal Revenue Service. At least, that was the way I had always viewed it: Joy and Taxes. Julian showed me the red light on our armed door, and the green-lit keypad beside it.
“One more thing,” Julian warned as we started back down the hall. “Tom wants to start cooking again.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. He has an idea for a hearty breakfast dish.”
“Good Lord.”
“Well, at least that means his mind is getting hungry, even if his body hasn’t caught up. He says he’s going to start tomorrow. He wants to get on with his life.”
I rolled my eyes. “Did you tell him your girlfriend story?”
“Nah. Didn’t seem right - trying to get the truth out of a cop who’s confined to bed because he’s been shot.”
After a few moments, we banged back into the kitchen, where ? miraculously - the window had stayed closed. I showed Julian the beginnings of the soup and the shortbreads, and told him about the now-thickened fudgy chocolate cookie dough. When I pulled out the shortbreads, Julian dug into Sukie’s perfectly organized kitchen- equipment drawer, extracted an ice-cream scoop, and offered to make the chocolate cookies.
I thanked him and mentioned I should be going. “Taste the chocolate cookies,” I added, “to see if they need icing. We’ll be serving everybody chocolate ice cream, too. Oh, and if Alicia doesn’t show, do you think you could pick up a lamb roast?” I recited the evening meal menu; he said that would be no problem. I told him all the places I’d be that day, if he got a hankering for cell-phone communication.
“I’ll keep an eye on Tom, too,” he offered. “And take him snacks, to jump-start his energy supply.”
“You’re great,” I said, and meant it. My eyes fell back to the pile of folders and magazines Charde had left on the kitchen hearth. I picked them up. On the bottom was Charde‘s portfolio, a slick two-page folder with photographs of some of her decorating assignments. On the back of the folder was a photo: a family portrait of Buddy, Charde, their teenage son, Howie, and their baby girl, Patty. As an afterthought, I snagged one of the framed newspaper photos from the kitchen wall. This one featured a picture of Eliot and Sukie caught in an enthusiastic kiss, with a caption about the auction of Henry’s letter being complete.
Figuring they could come in handy, I tucked the portfolio and picture into my oversize canvas tote bag. I could show the pictures to the stamp agent in Golden … which, in turn, might lead me closer to finding out who had shot Tom. Impulsively, I climbed up to Arch’s room and grabbed his high-powered binoculars. Constellations at night, bad guys during the day: Not a stellar combination.
-18-
I blinked at the sunshine that suffused the sky. Fair days in the Colorado winter feature a low-hanging sun glazing snow-covered fields and hills. The glare can become so intensely bright that to drive without sunglasses is to invite disaster.
I adjusted my shades, set my jaw, and headed east toward The Stamp Fox. Tom had repeatedly told me that the most profitable time to catch a crook was the first forty-eight hours after the commission of a crime. I had just passed that landmark forty-eighth hour, with zero results. I lowered the driver-side visor against the dazzle, and accelerated down the mountain.
I slowed when I spotted Lauderdale’s Luxury Imports on the north side of the highway. Not too many businesses are situated at the base of the foothills above Denver, as the sloping sites provide monumental construction challenges. But Buddy Lauderdale had found a plateau for his sprawling enterprise, and acres of Jaguars, Mercedeses, BMWs, and Audis glittered enticingly in the sun. I exited the highway, wended along a northbound frontage road, then parked across from the showroom and a lot crammed with late-model Jaguars. Jumping out, I focused the binocs on the eastward view from the offices that-flanked the showroom.
Not surprisingly, the Furman East Shopping Center sprang instantly into view. Designed like a rustic Mexican town, with dark pink stucco and orange-brown roof tiles, the cluster of shops boasted a fake bell tower sandwiched between an upscale women’s clothing store and a glass-fronted independent bookstore. The Stamp Fox was a bit harder to spot, but eventually I nailed it, flanked by an Italian ice cream store and a florist.
