“He’s just an old friend. Don’t be so dramatic,” Heaven said, pushing them gently toward the door.
“Is he an old boyfriend?” the two young men asked more or less at the same time, and louder than Heaven thought they should.
“Shhhh. He’s an old something. Something like a boyfriend. Now go, please.”
“You’re not going to do it, are you?” Chris asked, shocked at the idea. He thought of Heaven and Hank as a couple.
“No, I’m not going to do it. How come, all of a sudden, I can’t be left alone with an attractive man?”
Suddenly, Chris smiled wickedly. “We’re leaving, but you are blind and dumb if you don’t know the heat you two are generating.”
“Sparks are flying,” Joe said as he disappeared out the door. Heaven slipped the top lock in place.
She turned around to see Jim Dittmar standing at the door to the office, grinning. “Sparks, did I hear the word sparks?”
“Get back in there. I want to go home,” Heaven snapped.
“I’ll go with you. I can do this in the morning.”
“How about another shot of tequila instead?”
“How about in addition to?” Jim said.
“Jim, forget it. You are not coming home with me. But I will entertain you while you work with a rousing rendition of how I lost an entire evening’s worth of chefs and caterers tonight,” Heaven said.
“Come talk to me, then,” Jim said.
And she did. It was second choice for both of them, but neither was ready to force the issue.
Heaven pulled into the garage of her house on Fifth Street, in the old Columbus Park area of the city. It wasn’t really a house. It was a building that had been a bakery, and the man who owned it had lived upstairs. Heaven and her daughter, Iris, had lived next door. To everyone’s surprise, when Angelo Broncato died, he left the building to Heaven. He had no relatives in the United States. He and his wife had never had children, and his wife had been dead for many years.
Heaven always thought Angelo knew she and Iris needed a home. And that’s what it had always been, even in the times they had lived elsewhere, like when Heaven had been married to Sol and moved to his house in Mission Hills. Fifth Street was always home base. It was also a professional kitchen that Heaven had catered out of before she opened the restaurant. The first floor was one big kitchen and entertainment area. The upstairs had big bedrooms/sitting rooms for Iris and Heaven, rooms that had been created by knocking down the walls of lots of small rooms. Upstairs and down there was a jumble of collections: antique glass, quilts, Mexican carved animals, the paintings of Heaven’s third ex-husband, the famous Ian Wolff.
Tonight Heaven went upstairs without even turning on the lights on the lower floor. Then she stopped near the top of the stairs and ran back down to the kitchen, returning with a glass of amber liquor in her hand. “Port and tequila, always a good combination,” she muttered.
Quickly, she stripped off her clothes and jumped into a huge tee-shirt with a Paris Metro map printed on it She sipped her port, and hopped into bed, dragging the phone toward her. She dialed and broke into a huge smile when her daughter answered. “I know it’s Monday morning there in England, but I didn’t want to miss our Sunday call. Hi, honey. How was your week?”
“Hi, Mom. I’m so glad you called early. I have to leave soon.”
“I miss Hank,” Heaven said rather shamefully, as if she had just confessed to a crime.
“That was an abrupt transition. Of course you miss Hank. But he’s already been gone a couple of weeks. He’ll be home in no time,” Iris said cheerfully. “Why is this a big deal, Mom?”
“Well, I’m always trying to get Hank to think about the rest of his life, when he’s done with his residency arid ready to move out into the world. Now that he’s gone away, even for just two months, I really miss him.”
“I hardly call going to a special education seminar for two months moving out. You can be so dramatic,” Iris said sharply.
“You’re right. I’m doing what your grandmother used to call borrowing trouble. Speaking of trouble, you remember that I’m working on that big dedication of the Eighteenth and Vine district?”
“Yeah. I told Dad and he wanted to come over for it. He loves Charlie Parker.”
“Your Dad owes me a visit, but it’s too late, the event is next weekend. I’m in charge of the food—that is, coordinating, not catering.”
“How’s it going?”
“Just fine except for a couple of minor problems. Tonight all the caterers for the gala on Friday night quit.”
“Mom, why are you so calm? That’s a major problem. What’s the other one?”
“The event coordinator was electrocuted the other night, and I was there,” Heaven said.
“Not again. Did you see this person get fried? God, how awful.”
“What do you mean, not again?” Heaven said with a little laugh. “I’ve never been party to an electrocution before. And I didn’t really see the actual, you know . . . I was in a meeting in another room.”
“And you know very well what I mean by not again. You’re involved in another mysterious death. Will you promise me you’ll be careful?”
“Haven’t I survived so far? The caterers are more of a threat than some mad killer who wants to sabotage the new Eighteenth and Vine district”
“Is that what the police think is happening?”
“Of course not. I’m just kidding. When we talk next Sunday the whole thing will be over and done with.” She paused. “Honey would you ask your father something for me?”
“Of course.”
“Ask him if he’s heard anything about a jazz player from Kansas City who’s been playing around Europe for the last couple of years. His name is Jim Dittmar.”
“Why? What’s he done?”
“No big why. He’s back in Kansas City and he’s helping me with the musical end of this.”
“As if you needed help with musicians, Mom.”
“I need help this week, sweetie. I can’t deal with all these temperamental cooks and temperamental musicians at the same time.”
“So what do you want to know about this Jim Dittmar?”
“Anything your dad can find out. And if Dennis knows anything, would you call me back before next weekend?”
“Wow, sounds like I have an assignment.”
“I guess you could call it that. I’m beat, honey. Say goodnight to your mom.”
“Night, Mom. Have a good week. I’ll call if I find out anything.”
“You too. Thanks.” Heaven put down the phone and turned out the light. Her hand knocked over a rag doll that sat on the bedside table, a memento of her mother’s antique business. It lay there, flopped on its side. Heaven patted it and started to set it up again. Instead, she pulled it over into bed with her, putting it under the covers with its head on the pillow where Hank’s head used to be.
Greens with Leeks and Apples
3 bunches greens, usually about 1 lb. a bunch, either collard or mustard or a combination of the two
4–6 leeks
2 Granny Smith apples, cubed, unpeeled
2 T. each olive oil/butter
apple cider, or in a pinch, apple juice
kosher salt, freshly ground black pepper
Slice the leeks just up into the green, discarding the green tops or saving them for your stockpot. Soak sliced leeks in water 20 minutes, changing the water twice and rinsing out the pan to eliminate the sand and grit. Do the same thing with the greens, trimming the bottoms and discarding bad leaves as you go. The idea is to separate the vegetables from the dirt and sand that collects in them, so don’t drain the water off of them as this just coats them with what you just separated out in the water. Lift the greens and leeks out of the water, put them in a colander, then replace the water and put them back in for another soak. Rinse at the end of this process to remove any extra grit, but just rinsing will not get the job done. Coarsely chop the greens.
Six
I can tell you right now, the Twin Citians Club will not fight you to make the greens. None of us has ever bragged about our greens,” a tall, patrician woman standing by the window declared. Her fellow club members backed her up with a chorus of “That’s right” and “uh-huh.”
Heaven Lee smiled from ear to ear. “You don’t know how glad I am to hear you say that. How are your sweet potatoes?”
“Now, sweet potatoes we can throw down,” the same woman said. The Twin Citians echoed their agreement. Heaven had asked Pauline to whip up a couple of coffee cakes and Heaven had served coffee, tea, and juices. The women all knew each other so it had not taken long for the meeting to slip into a comfortable, friendly rhythm.
“Well, then, we’ve almost got it done, ladies. Would it help if I threatened you by saying I’ll be glad to make the greens here at Cafe Heaven?”
Moans followed. “It’s not that we don’t trust you, but if your greens got more compliments than our catfish, you’d have to go, leave Kansas City for good. You don’t want to have to do that, do you?” a sprightly seventy-year-old cracked from the front row. “The problem is the room it would take to soak that many greens. Not even the church kitchen has a big-enough sink for all that mess.”
“What if some of you come over here to the cafe on Thursday,” Heaven offered. “I’ll order twelve cases of greens and you can soak them and get them ready. Then on Friday you can come back and finish the job.”
“Now, who’s going to come over here to work on the white side of Thirty-ninth Street when all her friends are back on the other side of town? That’s just asking to get talked about, child,” the president of the Mo-Kans club proclaimed. The crowd chuckled.
“Very good point, Julia,” Heaven said. “How about this. I’ll buy the greens and clean them Thursday night. Then a couple of you can come pick them up. We’ll load them in a trash bag and you can cook them along with whatever else you’re cooking.”
“Agreed,” the patrician woman with the short gray natural haircut said. “You gonna do the hard part for us, Heaven?”
“You all have saved my butt and saved the big party for Eighteenth and Vine. You came here on just a few hours’ notice, you buckled down, and together I think we solved the problem. The least I can do is clean some greens for you,” Heaven said humbly.
“Would you go through the list one more time. My memory isn’t like it used to be and I want to write everything down,” a cute little lady called out. She was joined by a chorus of testimonies about the loss of memory, not being able to find glasses, missing appointments, even forgetting grandchildren’s birthdays.
Heaven held up a pack of brightly colored Post-it notepads. “These are my memory. I’ll get you all some. Here we go,” she said, then paused as Mona Kirk entered. “Ladies, I know some of you have already met Mona Kirk when she asked your clubs to volunteer for the weekend. She’s the one to blame for making you chefs for the big party. Mona, take a bow while you still can. By Thursday or Friday they’ll probably be cursing your name.”
Mona smiled bravely and waved. The ladies clapped, and one of them wagged her finger in Mona’s direction. “You should have asked us to cook in the first place. Then you wouldn’t have got in this fix.”
Heaven quickly stepped in to take the blame. “That was my own stupid mistake. It’s through Mona that I found out about the social clubs and when the sh . . . sorry, ladies, when it became apparent last night the restaurant owners were not going to be able to work together . . .”
“Go ahead, honey, when the shit hit the fan. You can say it,” the wisecracking seventy-year-old piped up. “When the shit hits the fan, that’s when we work best. That’s when we started these clubs, that’s when we picketed together. This is what we do, honey.”
“And Kansas City is better for it, that much I now know. Okay, we better stop before I get sappy and sentimental,” Heaven said, embarrassed by how emotional she felt about these women and what they’d done. “Here’s the duty roster: Twin Citians, all the fried foods, catfish, chicken livers, and hush puppies, plus the sweet potatoes. I’ll rent propane burners and stockpots, and we’ll set up in the alley behind the Ruby. We’ll get some of the high school groups that have volunteered to run the food and platters back and forth. Mo-Kans, the vegetable side dishes, except the greens. Socialites, the smothered pork chops and neck bones and rice. Inter-City Dames, the chicken and dumplings. Twentieth Century Girls, the cookies and cakes. Geace Club, the cobblers. And the other groups that aren’t here, you all are going to take them their assignments: rolls, cornbread, pickles, coleslaw, jellies, and all the other cold sides. Two of you will share the greens with me. Are we in agreement?”
Heads nodded all over the dining room.
“Just for the record and so there are no surprises,” Heaven continued, “each of the principal clubs will be repaid for the price of the food. You will need to turn in your receipts, so be careful and save them. You will also get a check for five hundred dollars for your favorite charity. The clubs who make the smaller dishes will get their expense money plus three hundred dollars for charity.”
“Did the mayor sign off on this?” someone asked.
“I made his office fax me an authorization this morning,” Heaven replied, waving a piece of paper. “I didn’t want any surprises later when it came time to pay for this party, and I know you wouldn’t want any, either. I’ll copy this so everyone can have one for their files.”
“Do we meet again?” Mona asked anxiously.
Heaven shook her head. “There isn’t time. But please, call me here if you have any questions. If I can’t come to the phone, I’ll call you back as soon as I can. I usually work on the line from six to ten at night. I can’t talk then.” She went to the front of the restaurant and got business cards for everyone and passed them out. As the women left, Heaven felt a great surge of relief. She turned to Mona, threw her arms around her, and lifted her in the air.
“Heaven, put me down. You’ll throw your back out,” Mona shrieked.
Heaven smiled as she returned Mona to the ground. “I think these good women can pull this off. How can I thank you? I know the cafe folks are expecting me to call them today and grovel. Now I won’t have to.”
Mona shrugged. “I feel sorry for them. Now they won’t be a part of the celebration. Oh, double darn! I forgot to remind everyone to bring their photos.”
Heaven patted her friend’s arm. “You already told them that last week, didn’t you?”
Mona was headed out the door. “Yes, but now I think I need them sooner than Friday. Those photos are more important than ever now that the social clubs are cooking. I better call everyone,” she said under her breath.
* * *
Heaven circled the City Hall office one more time. It was a cheap trick, but effective. Watching someone bouncing around a room like a pinball tended to make people who weren’t bouncing come unglued.
“Heaven, won’t you have a chair?” Nolan Wilkins pleaded, pressing on the sides of his forehead.
The cheap trick was working. Heaven smiled pleasantly and sat down. “When are you going to cut the crap and tell me the truth?”
Nolan put on his best injured civil servant look. “I almost died six days ago and you’re accusing me of lying? Isn’t there a term in the criminal justice system, something about the confession of a dying man being above reproach because the dying have nothing to lose?”
“Are you dying?” Heaven asked mildly.
“No, but only thanks to
my wife. If I hadn’t gone to the emergency room when I did, who knows what could have happened.”
“That’s what your nurse said, too. She thinks you’re a swell guy, by the way.”‘
“Heaven! Don’t tell me you went to the hospital and nosed around?” Nolan whined. “I just hope you didn’t do anything to hurt my wife’s reputation. She’s on staff there, you know.”
Heaven’s eyebrows shot up. “Now, why would I do a thing like that, Nolan? I was just visiting a friend there, that was all I was doing. I just kind of forgot that you were released last week. Why would that reflect on your wife’s reputation?”
“You haven’t forgotten anything in all the years I’ve known you. Now you just happen to forget I’ve been out of the hospital for three days. What’s going on?” Nolan asked.
“First, let’s get the niceties out of the way. How do you feel?”
“Fine, thanks, but as you know, I’m way behind in my work, so maybe you could get to the point. Do you want to fill me in on that message you left for me? The one about the dinner Friday night?”
“Soul food restaurants out, their choice. Social clubs in. I’ll spare you the details since you’re so behind.”
Nolan grinned. “I’m not going to be able to avoid whatever you want to discuss, am I?” He leaned back in his plush desk chair and shrugged, indicating surrender.
Heaven warmed to her task. “Here’s the thing. Little Miss Evelyn Edwards was sitting at the sound and light boards, stage right. Someone jammed a rag into the drain of the backstage bathroom sink and turned on the water. The bathroom was on the same side of the stage that Evelyn was on. It was a small sink, Nolan. Pretty soon the water had overflowed and started running out onto the stage. But Evelyn was looking up at the lights didn’t notice this little puddle coming toward her. It was noisy in the Ruby, what with all the workmen, so she didn’t hear the water running, either, I guess. There was a floor pocket down by her feet. Do you know what a floor pocket is, Nolan?”
The Cornbread Killer Page 8
