Read Online Killer Pancake by Diane Mott Davidson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Diane Mott Davidson
Tags: Fiction, General, Humorous stories, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Detective and Mystery Stories, Mystery Fiction, Women Detectives, Cooking, Colorado, Caterers and Catering, Cookery, Bear; Goldy (Fictitious Character), Women in the Food Industry
Ads: Link
resolved to get going on the food. Then I'd give Tom another buzz.
I looked over the menu I'd planned for the opening day of the fair: baby back ribs with homemade barbecue sauce, steamed sugar snap peas with fresh strawberries vinaigrette, homemade bread, and vanilla-frosted fudge cookies. The barbecue sauce needed to simmer for hours before being slathered over the ribs. People can't resist spare ribs, I reflected as thin, fragrant slices of onion fell from my knife. Ribs smelled great when they were cooking, and, like potato chips, one was never enough.
When I added the onion to the simmering vinegar, tomato, and lemon of the sauce, a delectable scent perfumed my kitchen, and I began to relax. Needless to say, my newfound peace was interrupted by a jangling phone.
"You never tell me a damn thing," Frances Markasian barked into the receiver. "I don't know why you think we're friends. I especially can't understand why I helped you with those damned heavy boxes! Women can get hernias, you know." I heard the striking of a match in the background, then a noisy inhalation. "You knew what went down at the mall this morning. And I had to wait to hear from the sheriff's department's public information office! The hell with you!" I could imagine Frances sitting at the edge of her ragged canvas-covered swivel chair next to her paper-strewn desk, chugging Jolt cola and working her way through the second of her three daily packs of cigarettes. Frances believed if she acted enough like a hotshot journalist, maybe she'd become one.
"The hell with me? That's what you're calling to tell me? You're always saying," I said as I stirred the aromatic sauce, "that you're the journalist and I'm the cook. What did you want me to tell you?"
"Let's start with what you know about Claire Satterfield. Were you in the garage when she was hit?"
I cradled the phone against my shoulder and slid the heavy, meaty slabs of pork into the oven. "C'mon, Frances, I'm already married to a cop. The last thing I need is for you to start acting like one."
She took a drag and blew into the phone. "Uh-huh. And did you know your boarder-assistant guy, Julian Teller, was only the latest in Ms. Satterfield's list of male conquests?"
"No, I didn't." And I certainly hoped Julian didn't either. On an ordinary day I would have enjoyed sparring with Frances.
Sometimes she was as good a source of information as Marla. But today was not ordinary, and I found her questions and insinuations annoying in the extreme. "Who told you Claire had other male conquests?"
"May I please speak to Julian?" Frances inquired sweetly.
"He's in the hospital. He went into shock when he heard about Claire. Some people," I added harshly, "have normal human emotions in response to death."
"Oh, damn!" she exclaimed. "I'm going to have to clean up my desk, because it looks as if my heart just bled allover it. So what's Investigator Schulz saying about the" - she cleared her throat - "accident? Anything quotable?"
"Why don't you call the sheriff's department and find out? Then maybe you can tell Investigator Schulz why you were down at the Mignon banquet today. Incognito. All dressed up. Exactly what rumors have you heard about the department store?"
"Cut the tripe; caterer. I'm on assignment, which should be obvious to you, even though it's been a lot of years since you did that major in psychology. You think it was easy zipping myself into that dress? And the so-called banquet was like some kind of punishment. Diet food makes me gag. I have to eat too much of it, and that makes me feel like a bear foraging for winter. How many tomatoes can one individual consume? But the brownies were terrific." She chuckled. Like we were such good pals. Like she had told me everything she knew and now I was supposed to do the same for her.
I took a deep breath. "You know, Frances, you did ask me if I knew about the department store's problems. Since I assume you mean Prince & Grogan, and since I was
I looked over the menu I'd planned for the opening day of the fair: baby back ribs with homemade barbecue sauce, steamed sugar snap peas with fresh strawberries vinaigrette, homemade bread, and vanilla-frosted fudge cookies. The barbecue sauce needed to simmer for hours before being slathered over the ribs. People can't resist spare ribs, I reflected as thin, fragrant slices of onion fell from my knife. Ribs smelled great when they were cooking, and, like potato chips, one was never enough.
When I added the onion to the simmering vinegar, tomato, and lemon of the sauce, a delectable scent perfumed my kitchen, and I began to relax. Needless to say, my newfound peace was interrupted by a jangling phone.
"You never tell me a damn thing," Frances Markasian barked into the receiver. "I don't know why you think we're friends. I especially can't understand why I helped you with those damned heavy boxes! Women can get hernias, you know." I heard the striking of a match in the background, then a noisy inhalation. "You knew what went down at the mall this morning. And I had to wait to hear from the sheriff's department's public information office! The hell with you!" I could imagine Frances sitting at the edge of her ragged canvas-covered swivel chair next to her paper-strewn desk, chugging Jolt cola and working her way through the second of her three daily packs of cigarettes. Frances believed if she acted enough like a hotshot journalist, maybe she'd become one.
"The hell with me? That's what you're calling to tell me? You're always saying," I said as I stirred the aromatic sauce, "that you're the journalist and I'm the cook. What did you want me to tell you?"
"Let's start with what you know about Claire Satterfield. Were you in the garage when she was hit?"
I cradled the phone against my shoulder and slid the heavy, meaty slabs of pork into the oven. "C'mon, Frances, I'm already married to a cop. The last thing I need is for you to start acting like one."
She took a drag and blew into the phone. "Uh-huh. And did you know your boarder-assistant guy, Julian Teller, was only the latest in Ms. Satterfield's list of male conquests?"
"No, I didn't." And I certainly hoped Julian didn't either. On an ordinary day I would have enjoyed sparring with Frances.
Sometimes she was as good a source of information as Marla. But today was not ordinary, and I found her questions and insinuations annoying in the extreme. "Who told you Claire had other male conquests?"
"May I please speak to Julian?" Frances inquired sweetly.
"He's in the hospital. He went into shock when he heard about Claire. Some people," I added harshly, "have normal human emotions in response to death."
"Oh, damn!" she exclaimed. "I'm going to have to clean up my desk, because it looks as if my heart just bled allover it. So what's Investigator Schulz saying about the" - she cleared her throat - "accident? Anything quotable?"
"Why don't you call the sheriff's department and find out? Then maybe you can tell Investigator Schulz why you were down at the Mignon banquet today. Incognito. All dressed up. Exactly what rumors have you heard about the department store?"
"Cut the tripe; caterer. I'm on assignment, which should be obvious to you, even though it's been a lot of years since you did that major in psychology. You think it was easy zipping myself into that dress? And the so-called banquet was like some kind of punishment. Diet food makes me gag. I have to eat too much of it, and that makes me feel like a bear foraging for winter. How many tomatoes can one individual consume? But the brownies were terrific." She chuckled. Like we were such good pals. Like she had told me everything she knew and now I was supposed to do the same for her.
I took a deep breath. "You know, Frances, you did ask me if I knew about the department store's problems. Since I assume you mean Prince & Grogan, and since I was
Similar Books
