“So you followed me?”
“I was a few cars behind, but there wasn’t much traffic. When I saw you stop and talk to those people, I thought they were your friends. Then you got into their car, but you didn’t take my roses. That seemed strange because I didn’t think you’d leave them in your car to wilt. But you might have forgotten. So I followed your friends’ car . . . not thinking anything was wrong. But when they went so far, and up that canyon, I began to worry.”
“You followed us all the way up? I didn’t see your car.”
“I turned off my headlights when we left PCH. I parked below them, and walked the rest of the way, avoiding the poison oak. I recognized the plants because I taught botany before I retired. At the top, I saw the man had a gun pointed at you. I didn’t know what I could do to help you—I’m not brave around guns, but I had to do something. I went back down to where their car was parked and unscrewed the valve stems on their two back tires, to let all the air out. Then I hurried back to my car and dialed nine-one-one. I told the operator that there were two people up on top of Malibu Falls and I was afraid they were going to kill a television star. I gave them your name and begged them to hurry.”
I took his hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. Touching him was safe because the paramedic, aware of the poison oak, had cleansed my exposed skin with disinfectant and slathered me with some kind of lotion. “Harmon,” I said, “you caught two killers and rescued me.”
He beamed, but then, suddenly shy, he withdrew his hand from mine.
To cover the awkward moment, I asked, “What were you going to give me?”
He looked puzzled for a moment. Then he beamed again, reached into the pocket of his jacket, and withdrew a booklet. “This is an epic poem I wrote for you. Only forty stanzas. I could have gone on longer, but brevity is important in poetry. I had the pages printed into a booklet for you.”
I took the booklet. It had a laminated cover, with a color photograph of a bouquet of brandy roses. Superimposed on the flowers was the title of the poem: Della Bella.
“This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, Harmon.”
“Please don’t think I have expectations,” he said. “I recognize that we were born at incompatible times, but I wanted you to know how very much I admire you.”
John O’Hara and Nicholas were waiting for me in the emergency room at St. Clare’s Hospital in Santa Monica. I introduced them to Harmon and told them everything he had done for me. Then I asked, “What happened to Roxanne Redding and Galen Light?”
“In custody,” John said. “Being interrogated separately by Weaver and Keller. When I left they’d started rolling over on each other, proclaiming their own innocence and claiming the other one did it.”
Nicholas said, “Roxanne found out about her husband’s affairs, and that he was planning to leave her to marry a movie star.”
“April Zane,” I said.
“That’s the one. Marriage to April would have catapulted Redding onto Hollywood’s top social tier, leaving Roxanne as just another photographer in a town crammed to the rooftops with them.”
“The young woman reporter got a photo of April and Light kissing in the alley behind the Redding house. She recognized Light because she’d interviewed him a few months before,” John said. “According to Roxanne, Light invited Ms. Tully into the house, pretending he wanted to explain what she saw. While they were talking, Ms. Tully mentioned having visited you for an interview, and that you encouraged her to investigate Alec Redding’s murder. Roxanne said that’s when Light went ballistic, killed her, and hid her body until it was dark enough to dump her behind the Olympia Grand. Roxanne—I call her the Black Widow—said that she was terrified of Light. When he said they had to kill you because you must have found out too much, she only went along because she thought she could figure out how to stop him before he actually did harm you.”
I shook my head. “That’s ridiculous. She was as eager to get rid of me as he was. I know because I was in that car with them, and on that path with them.”
“I love it when the bad guys turn on each other,” Nicholas said. “His story is that Roxanne killed Gretchen and that all he did was transport the body, and he only did that because he’d seen Roxanne kill her husband in a rage and he was afraid of her.”
“That man is no gentleman,” Harmon Dubois said.
All three of us turned to look at him. We’d forgotten he was there.
Nicholas stood and took out his reporter’s notebook. “Mr. Dubois, why don’t we find a quieter corner. I’d like to interview you for the Chronicle.”
The Chronicle’s banner headline Friday morning read: “Hero Poet Saves TV Star.” The story was accompanied by pictures of Harmon and me taken at the hospital. Fortunately, they were snapped after I’d washed the lotion off my face and borrowed a comb from one of the nurses. I didn’t look too terrible.
The phone started ringing early. First, not surprisingly, was Liddy, and she had Shannon on the line, too. Liddy had arranged a conference call.
I gave them all the details that weren’t in the paper and then said, “You two were wonderful. Your search of the Redding house was vital to uncovering evidence that led to the arrests of Light and Roxanne.”
“We have to celebrate,” Liddy said. “I’ll organize a party for Saturday next. How’s that?”
“Sounds wonderful.” In my ear I heard the Call Waiting sounds. I hated Call Waiting, but hadn’t been able to disable it, and the phone company told me it was “bundled.” Whatever that meant.
Simultaneously with the Call Waiting bleeps, my cell phone rang. I was sure it wasn’t a coincidence, and only one person I knew called on both phones simultaneously.
I said good-bye to Liddy and Shannon, pressed “Answer” on my cell phone, and said, “Hello, Phil.”
“Great news, Della!” Phil’s voice conveyed such excitement that I pictured him jumping up and down with glee. “Your story’s on the wire services, and all over the Internet. This’ll be fantastic for our ratings! And I’ve got a fabulous second story that I’m issuing tomorrow.”
“What other story?”
“The Better Living Channel is receiving an award from the Associated Charities of America. It seems our national bake sales have been producing so many donations from the teams of contestants that the ACA is amazed. And grateful. The money’s going to help a lot of people now, when it’s so badly needed.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said.
“And because of that, World Today magazine is going to feature our beloved boss, Mickey Jordan, in a special holiday issue. The story’s going to be titled ‘One Person Can Make a Difference.’”
“I’ll bet that was your idea, wasn’t it, Phil?”
I heard him chuckle. “Well, yeah, I talked to the editor, but that’s just between us. Okay? I want Mickey to think the magazine came to me.”
“I won’t say a word.”
When Nicholas arrived at my house in the late morning, I waved the paper at him cheerily and said, “Take that, Los Angeles Observer.”
He grinned. “Yeah. We can be just as sensational as they can, once in a while.”
We were in the kitchen, having coffee, when Nicholas said, “Harmon Dubois.”
“What about him?”
“Am I going to have to fight him for you?”
I laughed. “No. And after this story of yours, I have a feeling he’s not going to be a lonely widower too much longer.”
“That poem he wrote for you—are you going to let me read it?”
“No. It’s private.” To change the subject, I asked, “Do Celeste and her mother and her prince know about Galen Light and Roxanne Redding? Oh, I guess they must if they’ve read the paper.”
“I told all three of them last night, after I filed the story.”
“Are Celeste’s mother and Prince Freddie going back to Vienna soon?”
“Tanis called this morning to say that Freddie’s leaving this af
ternoon.”
“He is?” I hoped Nicholas wasn’t going to tell me that Tanis was staying in Los Angeles.
“Tanis said they need a few weeks for his mother to calm down. Freddie’s going back to the grand duchess. Celeste is staying here with me. Tanis left for New York an hour ago.”
“What’s she going to do in New York?”
“Shop. Look around the social scene. She said that if Freddie really loves her he’ll come to New York and persuade her to go back to Europe with him.”
“And if he doesn’t? Or if his mother won’t let him?”
The corner of Nicholas’s mouth turned up about a millimeter, but if he was trying to smile he failed. “She says she’ll go to the south of France. She’s heard that a woman she knows is about to be jilted by a Greek shipping tycoon who lives there.”
I asked, “Do you want her back?”
“No,” he said. “I want you.”
He leaned across the table and we kissed. A gentle kiss. When we separated he said, “I almost forgot. I have an invitation for you.”
I smiled with pleasure. “To what are you inviting me?” “Dinner. Tomorrow night. With Celeste and me. It was her idea. She wants to apologize for the way she’s behaved toward you.”
“That’s nice. I’d like to get to know her.”
He got up from the table, came around to my side, carefully stepped over Tuffy, and took me in his arms. We kissed again.
He said, “In a few days, when your scratches have healed and you’re not aching all over, I’d like to show you how much I’ve missed you.”
My answer was a kiss that left no doubt as to how much I had missed him.
“How soon do you have to get back to the office?” I whispered.
Recipes
■ Carole’s Deadly Chocolate ■ Nut Butter Pie à la Mode
COOKIE CRUST:
1 cup nut butter (smooth or crunchy, any kind: almond, cashew, macadamia, walnut and pecan, or peanut butter, which is a legume, not a nut)
½ cup dark or semisweet chocolate chips (to be melted)
1 large egg
¾ cup Sucanat granulated cane juice powder (or packed light brown sugar)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ cup dark or semisweet chocolate chips (to be left whole)
Position an oven rack in the center of the oven and preheat to 325 degrees F for glass or 350 degrees F for metal pie pan.
Pour off any oil accumulated on top of nut butter in jar and use a bit to oil pie pan.
Put chocolate chips into the top part of a double boiler over a pot of boiling water, and stir constantly until chips are melted. Turn off burner. Remove top part from stove and stir in nut butter.
While this mixture is cooling, in a small mixing bowl, beat the egg with a fork. Add the sugar, vanilla, and baking soda to the beaten egg and mix well. Add this mixture to the cooled chocolate and nut butter, then add the ½ cup whole chocolate chips and mix well. The mixture will become a stiff dough, Put about ⅔ of the dough on the bottom of a 9-inch glass or metal pie pan and flatten dough with back of spoon or rubber spatula. Bake crust until puffed and glossy sheen is gone, about 10 to 12 minutes, depending on your oven. Remove container from oven and cool on a rack.
Drop the remainder of the dough by spoonfuls onto a cookie sheet covered with parchment paper and flatten with back of spoon or rubber spatula. Bake cookies at 350 degrees F until puffed and glossy sheen is gone, about 10 to 12 minutes. Slide parchment from cookie sheet onto another rack to cool. When cool, enjoy cookies now or later.
FUDGE LAYER:
½ cup dark or semisweet chocolate chips
½ cup nut butter (same type as in crust)
¼ cup honey (lightly coat inside of measuring
cup with butter or oil off the top of the nut butter to make it slide out after measuring)
2 tablespoons sweet (unsalted) butter (about a ¼ of a quarter-pound stick)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Put chips, butter, and honey into the top part of a double boiler over boiling water and stir constantly until ingredients are melted and thoroughly mixed together. Turn off burner. Remove top pot from stove and stir in butter and vanilla.
Pour fudge mixture onto the cookie crust and spread to cover. Chill in refrigerator until set, about 1 hour. No need to wash pot before next step.
PUDDING LAYER:
2 cups whole or 2% milk
½ cup dark or semisweet chocolate chips
½ cup nut butter (same type as in crust )
¼ cup honey (coat inside of measuring cup lightly with butter or oil from top of nut butter jar to make it slide out after measuring)
2 tablespoons sweet (unsalted) butter (about ¼ of a quarter-pound stick)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3 tablespoons cornstarch (or ⅓ cup kuzu starch, broken into small pieces)
Put all ingredients except starch and about ½ cup of the milk into the top pot of a double boiler. Add the starch to the saved milk, stir until dissolved, and then add that mixture to the pot. Place pot over, not in, boiling water and constantly stir the lumpy mixture until ingredients are melted, thoroughly combined, and thickened into a pudding with a glossy sheen. Turn off burner.
Remove top pot from stove. Cool for 10 minutes. Pour pudding over the (cooled and set) fudge layer and spread to cover.
Chill in refrigerator about 1 hour.
Serve each slice of pie with a scoop of dark chocolate ice cream. Optional: top with whipped cream. Enjoy!
■ Mira Waters’s Sweet Potato Pie ■
Mira Waters is an actress. Among her roles, she’s played Muhammad Ali’s wife in The Greatest. She’s also a fabulous cook. Her sweet potato pie is my favorite version of this dish.
4 large sweet potatoes (boiled in their skins)
2 eggs
2 cups of sugar (or 1½, depending on how sweet you want it)
1½ teaspoons rum (Mira says this is the secret!)
1 stick of butter, room temperature
1 cup milk
1 teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon nutmeg
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
When the sweet potatoes are cooked, and after they’ve cooled for a few minutes so you don’t burn your hands, strip off the skins. Mash the sweet potatoes in a mixing bowl.
Add the eggs, sugar, rum, butter, milk, cinnamon, and nutmeg. Whip all the ingredients together and put into an unbaked pie shell. Mira says you can use a prepared pie shell, but she and I both prefer to make our own crust. My personal favorite crust is the Standard Pastry Crust recipe found in the Betty Crocker Cookbook—but be sure to use several tablespoons of ice water, not just “water.”
Using whatever crust you prefer, bake the Sweet Potato Pie for 35 minutes. (Be sure the oven doesn’t overheat.)
Mira says, “Enjoy!”
■ John Bohnert’s Bread Pudding ■
John Bohnert is a retired elementary school teacher living in northern California. He loves to read crime fiction and also loves to cook. This recipe is his version of what he remembers his late mother’s bread pudding tasting like when he was a boy growing up in Michigan.
3 cups whole milk
1 loaf cinnamon-raisin bread
1 cup brown sugar
2 eggs, slightly beaten
2 tablespoons unsalted butter at room temperature
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoons ground cinnamon
½ teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 cup raisins
Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.
Heat whole milk in saucepan.
Tear up cinnamon-raisin bread slices and add pieces to large mixing bowl.
Soak raisin bread in hot milk.
Add sugar, eggs, butter, vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg, and raisins to mixing bowl. Mix with a large spoon.
Pour into 8-inch-by-8-inch baking dish that has been sprayed with cooking spray.
&nb
sp; Bake for 45 to 50 minutes, depending on your oven.
■ Don’t Be a Fool ■ Eat Fred’s Pasta Fazool
This recipe is from film producer Fred Caruso, who also gave us Pasta Caruso, which is printed in The Proof Is in the Pudding. That recipe drew so much praise from readers that I asked Fred for another of his pasta creations.
NOTE: Have all your ingredients ready—cans opened, veggies chopped. You will need a medium-deep pot or Dutch oven on the stove.
extra virgin olive oil
3 slices pancetta, chopped fine
1 medium onion, chopped fine
2 ribs celery, chopped fine
1 carrot (peeled or scrubbed) and chopped fine
4 garlic cloves, chopped fine
½ pound ground beef
1 tablespoon oregano
1 tablespoon Italian spices
pinch of red pepper flakes
salt and pepper
½ cup red wine
1 box (32 oz.) beef broth
1 can (28 oz.) diced tomatoes with juice
1 can (8 oz.) tomato sauce
1 can (14 oz.) cannellini beans with juice, pureed
Pie A La Murder Page 27
