Dark Tort

Don’t, I reprimanded myself, as Julian slowed the Rover. Charlie had been more than a friend, he’d been a culinary comrade-in-arms. I swallowed and told myself to snap out of it. Caterer’s rule for parties: Let the mood fit the food. It was time to act festive, even if I didn’t feel it.

“What are you thinking about?” Julian asked. “You don’t look so hot.”

“I’m fine, thanks. I’m just concentrating,” I reassured him as he turned onto Woods’ End, the cul-de-sac where the Ellises’ manse was located. I certainly did not want to depress Julian by talking about Charlie. Then we’d both be down, and that was not what we needed before doing a big—and, if Nora Ellis was generous with gratuities, potentially quite profitable—party.

The Ellises’ enormous stucco residence sat on the top of a gentle slope that received enough southern exposure for the sun to have melted most of the snow on their front yard. Between the remaining patches of white, the grass was lushly green, even in October. The perfectly trimmed aspens, plethora of fruit trees, and long serpentine rock wall topped with stunning shrubs all screamed Professional Landscaping Service. The house itself, which was at least twice the size of the Chenaults’ mansion, boasted numerous jutting spaces capped with red tile roofs. There was a massive, three-story entrance. The whole place looked as if six Taco Bells had been used as building blocks: four on the bottom, two on top.

“We should have brought burritos,” Julian mused as the Rover crunched over some residual melting ice on the long driveway. When he’d pulled the Rover halfway up the driveway, he craned his neck back to check out the underside of one of the tile roofs. “I didn’t know lawyers made this much money. Isn’t Donald Ellis just an associate at H&J? Not a partner, right?”

“Not yet,” I replied. “But Nora’s the one with the dough, as she told me at least fifteen times when she was booking this event. She inherited twenty million from her mother. And if we do a great job today, maybe some of that dinero will come our way. Are you up for it?”

Julian gave me a high five and pushed open his door. We were still a ways from the arched entrance to the kitchen, which boasted a new carved sign over the lintel: “Welcome to Our Cucina!” it screamed. Cute, very cute. I wondered if Donald Ellis had received it as an early birthday present.

A shout from the end of the driveway interrupted my musings.

“Hey, you two!” came Marla’s voice. “Wait up, okay? I’ve got something to tell you!”

“Hey, Marla!” Julian and I called back in unison. I was happy to see her, but puzzled. It was not quite ten. The party was not set to start until one. Was Marla’s news so compelling that she couldn’t even wait an extra couple of hours?

“Anyway, I thought you might want some company,” she called, in answer to our unspoken question. “Maybe some help, too!” she added. Carefully carrying a stringed shopping bag, she was stomping up the driveway in a politically incorrect mink coat and even less correct mink-trimmed black Italian leather boots. I could only imagine what kind of Halloween-colored outfit she would be wearing. Whatever clothes she wore, they were sure to be made of silk, fur, or something else highly destructible, and there was no way I was letting her near the butter, wines, lemon vinaigrette, or any other of the food necessary for today’s lunch prep. Still, Marla’s aid was usually of the emotional variety, anyway.

“Hello?” said an accented voice from the hacienda doorway. It was a heavy, older woman with short gray hair and an easy smile. Judging by her black uniform with its white apron, she was the maid. I hadn’t met her the last time I was here. She introduced herself as Lorraine, and said she worked for Mrs. Ellis. She was here to help, she told me. And Miss Upton would be here shortly. Miss Upton would be helping, too.

“Oh, marvelous!” I replied, trying to sound enthusiastic instead of sarcastic.

“One thing, though,” Lorraine said, indicating the Rover. “Won’t your work be easier if you pull your SUV into the garage, close to the kitchen? Then you could open the back?”

“Sure, that would be great. Thanks.” As Julian traipsed through the ice back to the Rover, I noticed that one of the Ellises’ BMWs was parked out on Woods’ End. Had that been intentional, too? So that people driving up could see how rich the Ellises were? Somehow, I thought so.

Julian moved the Rover into the end spot of the four-car garage. We shouldered our first loads. Marla, chatting merrily about how snow seemed to melt faster in some parts of town than others, trailed along behind us. I gritted my teeth and told myself to be upbeat.

The kitchen, which I had scoped out on my earlier visit, was a huge, high-ceilinged, light-filled space that featured a rosy, wide-paneled oak floor, expanses of black-and-silver granite, two bay windows, and long lines of gleaming cherrywood cabinets. The Ellises, or Nora anyway, had spared no expense on two top-of-the-line ovens and a six-burner stovetop. I heaved my first box on the granite-topped center island that was the size of a small barge. I also wondered for the umpteenth time why people who had money for big kitchens almost never actually cooked in them.

“Gosh,” Marla trilled as she followed me inside, “I feel as if I’m in a naked centerfold for House & Garden!” She placed her enormous gift bag on the island and shrugged her mink coat into Lorraine’s waiting hands. Sure enough, Marla’s Halloween-appropriate attire was a pale orange silk dress trimmed in horizontal strips of black silk fringe. It looked great on her, complementing her brown-blond hair and twinkling, diamond-crusted barrettes. But it would look awful splashed with vinaigrette before the party even began.

To Lorraine, Marla said, “Thanks a million. Could you please show me where you’re going to put it? Just in case I want to beat a fast exit.”

“A fast exit?” cried Louise Upton, whom I hadn’t even heard come in. Under a tentlike white apron, she wore a beige turtleneck and a dark gray skirt. Her black shoes were the wide tie-up variety with sensible low heels. “Why would you be making an exit, Mrs. Korman? And since you’re one of the guests, why are you here so early?”

“Trying to help,” Marla replied under her breath, surreptitiously rolling her eyes at me.

“That’s quite a dress,” said Louise. Marla obliged by twirling in the black-fringed dress. Louise made her voice caustic. “So for Halloween, you’re going as a jellyfish?”

“You work for H&J, right?” Marla replied evenly. “Doing something? Do you really think your employers would be happy about you interrogating their guests? Why don’t you see if you can be useful somewhere else?”

“Uh!” cried Julian, as he heaved two boxes through the doorway and dumped them on the island. Sensing the tension in the kitchen, he looked from Marla to Louise Upton and exclaimed, “Wow! That’s such a pretty dress, Aunt Marla.” He nodded at Louise Upton. “You look nice, too, ma’am.”

Louise said, “Thank you, young man.”

“His name is Julian Teller,” I offered. “He’s my assistant, Miss Upton, and—”

“Yes, this is Louise Upton,” Marla informed Julian, “and she doesn’t have to wait until Halloween to be a witch!”

Why is this happening to me? I thought. But I was spared an all-out catfight by the appearance of Donald Ellis. He slid into the kitchen wearing a gray sweatsuit and high-top sneakers, his hair damp either from exertion or a recent shower.

“Happy birthday, Mr. Ellis!” I called.

“Would you please start setting up the buffet?” Louise Upton demanded of me. To Donald Ellis, she said sweetly, “Mr. Ellis, your wife had to go out to pick up a few things she forgot. She said she’ll be home before the party. Don’t worry, I’m taking care of things here in the kitchen.”

“G-g-goodness,” Donald Ellis stammered, sweeping his bright red bangs off his forehead. “Well, that’s great.”

“Maybe you want a sip of this wine I brought you, Donald,” Marla offered, pulling a bottle from her gift bag. “You could have a happy birthday now, quickly, before this witch starts swooping through this great big house, cackling and—”

The slicing look that Louise Upton gave Marla could have bisected a pumpkin.

“Oops!” Marla chuckled. “Guess I shouldn’t have been such a bitch. Hey! That rhymes! Bitch! Witch!”

But her words were lost as Donald Ellis slithered out of the kitchen, with Louise Upton fast on his heels.

“Are we having fun yet?” Julian asked.

We managed to get started on the prep. Julian busied himself unwrapping the potato puffs. I pressed cloves