Killer Pancake

She followed dutifully and took a seat in one of the oak chairs while I peered at my recipe for vegetable slaw. Swathed in her usual black trench coat, she waited until I’d finished grating the carrots, radishes, jicama, and cucumbers before asking, “Where’s my stuff?”

I took out plump, gorgeous scallions and began to slice them. “What stuff? I don’t have any of your stuff!”

She rummaged through her bag for her pack of cigarettes, belatedly remembered she couldn’t smoke, and impatiently rapped the cigarette package on the table. “Excuse me, Goldy, but I seem to remember giving you three crisp hundred-dollar bills and a list of cosmetics to buy? Did you get them or not?”

Patience, I ordered myself as I turned away from the mountains of slaw ingredients. I had cooking to do, and this journalist could make herself into a worse pest than the infamous mountain pine beetle. I dug through my sorry purse and found the still-damp bag full of the cosmetics Frances had ordered. When I handed it to her, she took it greedily and dumped the jars, bottles, and her change—bills and coins—out on my kitchen table.

I said loudly, “Gee, Goldy! Thanks so much for going out of your way to buy these cosmetics! Of course, I already know they aren’t going to change my appearance one bit.”

Frances ignored me, pawed through the items on the tabletop, then swept a handful of frizzed black hair out of her eyes and shot me a quizzical look. “Where’s the receipt?”

“What?”

“Where’s the receipt? ¿Entiendes inglés? Did you get a receipt for what you spent my money on or not?”

“Excuse me, Frances, but your change is all there. Give me a break! What do you need your receipt for?”

“Give me a break!” Her face was furious. “You’re a businesswoman, you know the importance of a receipt! Without a receipt, this junk comes out of my pocket! Can’t you do anything right?” Then, to my astonishment, she scooped up the cosmetics and money, stuffed them into the bag, and stomped angrily out of the room. My front door slammed resoundingly behind her.

I felt my mouth fall open in bewilderment. What was going on here? I looked at the chopped vegetables, the unfinished cucumber soup, and the pans of marinating fruit. My sane inner voice quietly urged me to forget about Frances and her tantrums and get on with the work of the day. After all, she had that spring-loaded knife in her purse.

But another, angrier inner voice demanded to know how Frances had known I was home. In fact, this was the second time I’d suspected she was spying on me. The first had been when she’d shown up just as the Jerk was leaving this morning. How had she known then that I hadn’t left yet? How had she known this afternoon that I’d just returned home from the mall?

I rushed outside and looked up and down the street: no dark Fiat, no Frances. I saw motion across the street. Frances’s black coat was just visible moving beyond the stand of fireweed at the Routts’ place. I darted after her. If it was Frances, what was she doing with the Routts? Was Dusty feeding Frances information? Given all that Dusty had told me, that didn’t ring true. I had introduced them to each other at the Mignon banquet, for heaven’s sake. Whatever Frances was involved in preceded that introduction, unless they were both lying. What was it Tom had told me? In this business, expect to be deceived.

As I came up the graded driveway, I saw the black-coated figure duck through a door at the side of the house. From the outside it looked like an old-fashioned porch with jalousie windows instead of screens. I’d always assumed the saxophone music had been wafting out of this room, because the slatted windows were the only ones on the Routts’ house that faced the street. With some trepidation I started up the steps to this separate entrance. What would I say? Uh, excuse me, just trying to be neighborly, but by the way, what’s going on?

TURKEY CURRY WITH

RAISIN RICE

1 pound ground turkey

1 cup chopped unpeeled apple

1 cup chopped onion

1 ½ tablespoons olive oil

2 tablespoons all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon curry powder

1 tablespoon beef bouillon Granules

½ cup nonfat dry milk