Читаем Dying for Chocolate полностью

“Oh, sure,” she said, distracted again. She shook her head; the earrings swung like Christmas ornaments. “Just. . . please let me talk to Philip myself.”

“Elizabeth,” I said, “he’s your brother. Whatever’s bothering you, I think you should talk to him about it yourself. You know?”

3.

“And when we have brought the water line in here,” the headmaster was saying with a practiced flick of his pointer at the illuminated screen, “then we will enter into Implementation Stage Two. . . .”

At the headmaster’s table, Adele Farquhar touched the undercurl of her severe, dark pageboy. Busy as I had been, I had not seen the general deliver her in his Range Rover. It was almost eleven o’clock. The alums stirred in their seats, checked their Rolexes. Any dummy knew that Implementation Stage Two meant More Money. The alums were exchanging looks—How much longer could he go on about this? A perplexed buzz rose from the tables. Forever.

My legs ached from standing. The buffet table looked defaced. The food was almost gone, except for what I had saved for Philip. But he had not arrived. If he didn’t come soon, he’d be out of luck.

And then he strolled in, acting like he owned the place. His black blazer, white pants, and shock of blond hair gave him the look of a male model. He scanned the room from behind Ray Bans. A hum of admiration rose from the women. I took a deep breath, let it out. The only time I heard a female gurgle of approval was for congealed salad.

“How’s my favorite cook?” Philip said in a low voice once he arrived at the serving table. When he leaned his slender body over the table he was so close I could read the engraved words on his gold lapel pin—PROTECT OUR MOUNTAINS! The politically correct shrink gave me an inviting openmouthed smile.

I shook my head and stared at the sunglasses, then spoke to Philip’s aristocratic nose. “Fine. How’s my favorite psychologist? Hungry?”

“Ravenous.” He took a manila envelope out of his briefcase. “Fund-raising, I swear,” he said under his breath. “They ran out of decals and I had to bring in more.” He signaled to the headmaster with the envelope, then asked, “Is this thing almost over? Can we still get together afterwards?”

I nodded to both questions. Philip strode up to the head table and handed the envelope to the headmaster, who betrayed great relief.

Elizabeth caught my eye and waved as if she had a wand in her hand. As Philip wound back through the tables, his sister kept her eyes on him.

The headmaster started to talk about money by trying to make it sound as if he wasn’t. He had abandoned the pointer and was droning on about the Phase I Drive for Investments. This year’s desperately needed improvement, it appeared, was an Olympic-size heated outdoor pool. For the past month, alumni, parents of students, and friends of the school had been hitting on (okay, he said, “going around to”) local businesses, giving them the Pool for the Preps pitch. If they gave, the business got a GET INTO THE SWIM! decal. Parents then patronized the SWIM!-decaled businesses. The headmaster reached into the envelope and proffered one of the decals.

This sounded vaguely illegal, I reflected as Philip turned to me and grinned conspiratorially. I handed him his plate, then quietly emptied pitchers and scraped platters. Philip moved toward the wall to get a better view of the headmaster. I watched as he lifted his plate and then held it close under his chin as he ate.

I put down the platter I had been holding. In that moment, I saw nothing but Philip. I saw him as he had been more than a dozen years before, when we had ditched a sophomore mixer. I had just transferred to the university from an eastern women’s college and knew no one. This blond, handsome fellow had come up to me and said, Do you want to get out of here? And I had said, Sure. We had walked through cool evening air redolent with the smell of smoke from wood-burning fires. Philip pointed to birds flitting between the trees: Oregon juncos, he said, returning to their winter nests. He bought us gyro sandwiches. We dripped sandwich juice and minted yogurt on paper napkins as we strolled by Boulder Creek. I remembered Philip holding his napkin carefully under his chin, looking less like a cool sophomore than a well-trained four-year-old.

He had kissed me briefly, a taste of mint. But our dating was haphazard and short-lived. I didn’t even remember telling Philip I was leaving school to get married. I just let him go, like a balloon.

Timing, I kept telling myself. That was the wrong time. Here was Philip, holding the plate beneath his chin, wanting to be together again. But I had feelings for Schulz, not to mention ambivalence about relationships in general. I wasn’t sure this was the right time either.

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Все книги серии Goldy Bear Culinary Mysteries

Killer Pancake
Killer Pancake

When Goldy, owner of Goldilocks' Catering, faces the challenge of whipping up a sumptuous lowfat feast for the Mignon Cosmetics' company banquet, she rises to the occasion brilliantly...only to discover just how ugly the beauty biz can be!On the day of the banquet Goldy finds herself confronting an angry mob of demonstrators--"Spare the Hares"--who object to Mignon Cosmetics' animal-testing policies. As she struggles to carry forty pounds of lowfat fare from her van to the mall where the banquet is being held, she hears an ominous squeal of tires and a horrifying thump. Seconds later, a Mignon employee lies dead on the pavement. And soon the police discover that this hit-and-run was no accident.Now Goldy is enmeshed up to her saute pans in a homicide investigation.  Could the murder have had something to do with Spare the Hares--or with the exotic flower found near the dead body? Though busy serving up Hoisin Turkey and Grand Marnier Cranberry Muffins, Goldy decides to start digging at Mignon's million-dollar cosmetics counter. But when another murder takes place and Goldy herself is attacked, the caterer turned sleuth knows she must step up her search for a gruesome killer. For this time was only a warning. Next time she'll be dead--and it won't be pretty.From the Paperback edition.From Publishers WeeklyFor Colorado's Goldy B. Schulz (last seen in The Last Suppers), the catering proves far less rewarding than the sleuthing when she's called on to prepare a banquet for the Mignon cosmetics company. Forced to forsake mayonnaise and butter in this low-fat luncheon, Goldy is in "caterers' hell." But that's a better place than where Mignon super-saleswoman Claire Satterfield ends up?which is dead. According to Julian Teller, Goldy's catering assistant, Claire had recently suspected she was being followed. Adding to the mystery is a local reporter who has taken to using Mignon's ultra-expensive potions while trying, none too subtly, to extract information Goldy might have gathered from her husband, homicide detective Tom Schulz. When Goldy's initial inquiries earn her an anonymous warning to clear off, she becomes more determined. As always, Davidson includes recipes as she brings events to a proper boil in this latest lively and satisfying outing for Goldy, who not only solves the mystery but also finds, much to her delight, that coffee can save your life.

Диана Мотт Дэвидсон

Иронический детектив, дамский детективный роман
Tough Cookie
Tough Cookie

The New York Times bestselling author of Prime Cut serves up another tantalizing tale of culinary mystery and suspense--as chef turned sleuth Goldy Schulz goes on live television to prepare a meal to die for...but discovers that murder is already on the menu.When Goldy Schulz is offered a temporary stint hosting a cooking show for PBS, she jumps at the chance. After all, she could use the money--not to mention the great exposure. Her catering business is in shambles, and publicizing her new venture as a personal chef will help get her back on track. Plus taping the shows at Colorado's posh Killdeer Ski Resort will be fun. A little cooking, a little chitchat. What could go wrong?The question Goldy should have asked is, what wouldn't go wrong--especially when she has to drive through a blizzard to do one of her shows live for a PBS telethon.To make matters worse, Goldy has an unpleasant duty to perform right after the show. She and her policeman husband, Tom, have agreed to sell a piece of Tom's treasured war memorabilia to help ease their financial woes. The buyer: Doug Portman, art critic, law enforcement wannabe--and, to her eternal embarrassment, Goldy's ex-boyfriend.Predictably, the live broadcast is riddled with culinary catastrophes--from the Chesapeake Crabcakes right down to the Ice-Capped Ginger Snaps. But the deadliest dish of all comes after the cameras go off, when an unexplainable skiing accident claims Doug Portman's life--and Goldy is the one who finds his crumpled body on the slopes. Even more shocking is what police find tucked away in Doug's BMW: a greeting card with a potentially deadly chemical inside.As the police try to determine if Doug's accident was really foul play, Goldy does a little investigating of her own--but finds more questions than answers. Was Doug, chairman of the state Parole Board, accepting bribes from potential parolees? Was he connected to the ex-con who's been telling Killdeer skiers that he's planning to poison a cop? And how did Goldy and Tom get mixed up in this mess?When a series of suspicious mishaps places Goldy's own life in jeopardy, she knows she must whip up her own crime-solving recipe, and fast--before a hearty dose of intrigue and a deadly dash of danger ends her cooking career once and for all....Winter sports can be dangerous, but can they also be deadly? "Cooking at the Top!," Goldy's new TV show, is broadcast from one of Colorado's poshest ski areas. Unfortunately, she finds whipping up delicacies at 11,000 feet as perilous as skiing steep runs.  Then a telethon raising money for the widow of a tracker killed mysteriously ends in disaster. Goldy finds herself searching the icy slopes to find a killer with desperate secrets to hide---but this may be one time the tough-cookie caterer will not be able to schuss to safety!Included are Goldy's original recipes for mouthwatering Sonora Chicken Strudel,  incomparable Marmalade Mogul Muffins, and sinfully sumptuous Chocolate Coma Cookies. 

Диана Мотт Дэвидсон

Иронический детектив, дамский детективный роман

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