Dying for Chocolate

Sift together cocoa, flour, baking powder, and salt. Beat eggs until creamy, then gradually add sugar, beating constantly. Add vanilla and cooled chocolate-butter mixture. Stir in dry ingredients just until combined. Spread batter in buttered 9- by 13-inch pan. Sprinkle chips over surface. Bake for 30 to 35 minutes, or until center no longer jiggles when shaken. Cool, then cut into 32 pieces.

Makes 32 brownies

“Why don’t you name something after me?” His voice was so innocent and pleading, I pursed my lips in thought.

He said, “Just nothing about pigs, please.”

“Wouldn’t hear of it.”

“Glad you’re feeling better, Miss G.”

I smiled, rang off, and christened the chocolate-chip bars Lethal Layers.

When I finished I alternated thick brownies, gold-brown Lethal Layers, and Julian’s creamy dark squares in a stunning arrangement, if I do say so myself, atop one of Adele’s Italian wood trays.

The dessert issue was under control. What was not settled was what I was going to wear. I hauled the last two boxes of food over to the Harringtons. Weezie had said she had a surprise for me. I hoped it was not her husband.

It was not. The short (midthigh) décolleté black and white lace uniform that Weezie proffered left me speechless. It was sort of French maid via Frederick’s of Hollywood. If I dared to lean over to serve something, my cups would truly runneth over.

I shook my head and mouthed the word, No.

Weezie whined. She pouted. Said, “But I even checked your size!”

“Mrs. Harrington,” I said when I finally recovered my breath. “I get paid to cook, serve, and clean up. Period.”

She squinted at me. It made her look much older.

“I thought I told you how important suggestion was with aphrodisiacs,” she said.

“But not with clothing,” I said evenly. “When I describe the food, I’ll make suggestions that are verbal.” I was careful not to say oral.

LETHAL LAYERS

½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter

½ cup dark brown sugar 1 cup all-purpose flour

1 cup pecan halves

2 eggs

1 cup firmly packed dark brown sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

½ teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon baking powder additional all-purpose flour (see directions)

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

Preheat oven to 375°. In food processor, combine first 3 ingredients with metal blade until crumbly. This can also be done with 2 knives or a pastry cutter. Pat this crust into a buttered 9- by 13-inch pan. Bake for 10 minutes. Cool.

When crust is cool, spread pecans

evenly over surface. Beat eggs with brown sugar until thick. Add vanilla. Put salt and baking powder in bottom of ¼-cup measure; fill rest of measure with flour. Stir into egg mixture. Pour over crust. Sprinkle chocolate chips evenly over mixture. Bake at 375° for 20 minutes or until center is baked. Cool, then cut into 32 pieces.

Makes 32 bars

She said, “Oh, all right,” and then stalked out of the kitchen. I shook my head in resignation. As I was leaving, Brian Harrington popped out from around the corner. Had he been listening? I didn’t know and didn’t want to ask. He gave me a broad wink. I did my best imitation of raw egg white and slithered out.

11.

A day given to compromises, I reflected as I heated the broth for the dumplings. No caterer-as-a-centerfold uniform, no response to the Harrington Hustle, and the fee for tonight would pay Arch’s tuition for the first two weeks of summer school.

Philip’s face floated back before me. Hungry? I had asked. Ravenous, he’d said.

I pushed him out of my mind. I was almost done. The menu was finally set.

APHRODISIAC DINNER FOR SIX

OYSTERS ON THE HALF-SHELL WITH FRESH

LEMONS AND LIMES

SHRIMP DUMPLING SOUP

SALAD OF BIBB LETTUCE GARNISHED WITH YELLOW

PEAR-SHAPED TOMATOES, AVOCADOS,

AND GRILLED MUSHROOMS, DIJON VINAIGRETTE

CHILE RELLENO TORTA

SONOMA BABY LAMB CHOPS BAKED WITH HERBS

IN FOIL PACKETS

PURÉE OF ZUCCHINI

ASSORTED BREADS

TRAY OF CHOCOLATE TREATS

Only the flowers remained, I reflected as I stirred the soup. The delicate scent from the bubbling broth threaded through the air. Scent. Yes. On her list Weezie had detailed several flowers that by their smell or shape (I chose not to ask what that meant) would be appropriate for a centerpiece. I only remembered a couple of these, and the last thing I wanted was another harangue from Weezie on the subject of suggestion. The library was closed. Not that I was dying to talk to Sissy, despite Schulz’s admonition to find out what she knew about Philip. So I called it quits, phoned the florist, and hung up only after I had endured her shower of laughs at my request.

Alone back on the third floor of the Farquhars’ house, I bathed and dressed in my stodgy old caterer’s white uniform and apron. An uninvited wave of sadness swept through the room as the sunlight faded. Without work to keep my mind occupied, pain flooded in. I lowered myself to the bed and watched as the mountains’ shadows lengthened over Denver.