Dying for Chocolate

And I was thankful for Julian’s expertise, if not his temperament. I sampled a piece. Rich semisweet chocolate oozed between sun-dried cherries. The balance between luscious, smooth chocolate and chewy cherries was from heaven. I knew I could make two more desserts simultaneously. The fudge would balance well with brownies, and I could put together something with chocolate chips at the same time.

I banged and searched and groped in the Farquhars’ cupboard for ingredients. I jumped sky-high when a cat wove between my legs. As if I didn’t have enough problems, I thought uncharitably.

A few weeks before I moved in, good-hearted Adele had heard this feline meowing outside the fence by the pool. She had adopted the scrawny thing, and the general had named him Scout, somewhat prematurely, I thought. Now Scout, whose white, dark-and-light-brown coat meant that his ancestors were from Siam and Burma, jumped up on the counter to see what was up. He was a friendly fellow who had gone unclaimed by ads in the paper and calls to the veterinarian and Mountain Animal Protective League. Still too spooked by the neighborhood dogs to go back outdoors, Scout inspired great sympathy.

Now Scout was determined to figure out what I was doing, and as long as he didn’t get any cat hairs in anything, I was willing to let him spectate. I made a crust for what would be a chocolate-chip bar and popped it in the oven. I let Scout be the inspiration for the brownies. I used chocolate in three forms, which was what you needed when times were tough. I wasn’t in my proper home. Neither was the cat. I did not have my usual bevy of ingredients. He probably cherished the memory of an old couch pillow he’d never see again. Marching on in the face of adversity, both of us.

I finished the top layer of the chip bars and put them into the other oven. The brownies came out looking like a chocolate lunar surface. I knew I was supposed to let them cool, but who can do that? I cut out a corner and popped it into my mouth. The triple-chocolate concoction I’d come up with under the cat’s observation was extraordinarily good. To congratulate us both I dubbed them Scout’s Brownies. As the delicious dark stuff sparked the beginning of a heavenly shiver, the phone rang.

“Hmmf?” I said with my mouth full.

“Miss Goldy?” asked Tom Schulz. “You eating something? Must be awfully good if you didn’t finish it quick to answer the phone.”

“Mmf,” I affirmed.

“Let me know when you can talk.”

I finished the brownie, but longed for another. To Schulz I said, “I can talk, thank you. What do you want?”

“Uh-oh, she’s getting back to her old self.”

I said, “Would you prefer to do this in writing?”

“No, no,” he said, and I could hear him leaning away from the phone, reaching for something adrift on the sea of paper he called his desk. “Okay,” he began again, “you know a Sissy Stone? She’s at that Elk Park School, be a senior next year. Has a summer job at the library?” I mmhmmed noncommittally and he went on, “She was doing an apprenticeship with Philip Miller. Something they do their junior year. Learn about different careers and whatnot.” He clucked. “Guy who talked to her said she was pretty flaky.”

“A veritable blizzard. But I think it’s an act. She just doesn’t want to talk when someone else more important might come along.”

“Oh. Well,” Schulz went on, “she let on as how she was going out with that young fellow who lives at your place. I mean the Farquhars’ place. You might want to see if she knows more about the shrink. You know, in a friendly sort of way.”

“I don’t get it. Why should I?”

“Now, Goldy, ease up. You were the one who kept insisting Miller’s accident looked so strange. Ask a few questions, why don’t you? They’re doing a drug screen, part of the autopsy, you know . . .”

I shuddered.

“. . . but sometimes there’s some kind of personal thing going on that you can find out about in other ways. You’re not a suspect.” He didn’t need to add, this time. “You’re my friend, and I’m talking to you in confidence. Besides, with that 911 call, I’m worried. You know.”

As usual, I didn’t.

“So what’re you cooking?” he asked.

I gave him a brief overview of Brian Harrington’s lustful schlep and the cake’s demise. Said I had just finished brownies named after the cat and was cooling chip bars.

SCOUT’S BROWNIES

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter

3 ½ ounces best-quality unsweetened chocolate (recommended brands: Callebaut or Valrhona—available at Williams-Sonoma)

3 tablespoons dark European-style unsweetened cocoa (recommended brand: Hershey’s Premium European-Style)

1 ½ cups all-purpose flour (high altitude: add 2 tablespoons)

½ teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

4 eggs

2 cups sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 cup chocolate chips (recommended brand: Mrs. Field’s)

Preheat oven to 350° (high altitude: 375°). Melt butter with unsweetened chocolate in top of double boiler, stirring occasionally. Set aside to cool.