High Kicks, Hot Chocolate, and Homicides

by Mary McHugh

  The wind had kind of gone out of my sails. I didn’t feel like staying in the city any longer. A dead body under a stage can do that to you.

  The rest of us nodded that we were ready to go home. Tina called Peter, who said he would pick us up in a few minutes. We went outside to wait for him.

  “I don’t like that Marlowe person,” Janice said. Janice’s instincts about people are almost never wrong. I didn’t care for Marlowe either.

  “We don’t have to like her,” Tina said. “We just have to learn from her. This is going to be the most difficult kind of dancing we’ve ever done, but we can do it, gang. We just have to rehearse a lot and do exactly what she tells us to do.”

  “Tina’s right,” Gini said. “But I don’t like her either.”

  “I think the feeling is mutual,” Janice said. “She didn’t seem to want us around. What did we ever do to her?”

  “Nothing, Jan,” Pat said. “Some people just approach the world with a defensive attitude. It’s like a protection for them. You know, a way of saying, ‘Don’t mess with me.’ ”

  “Well, she better not mess with me,” Gini said.

  Tina punched her lightly on the arm. “Who’d mess with you, you vicious monster?” she said. We all laughed. Gini is the smallest of the five of us, with red hair and a gorgeous body.

  Peter’s van pulled up to the curb. We climbed into his comfortable vehicle and thanked him for coming to rescue us.

  Peter edged out into the traffic and said over his shoulder, “Check out that ice chest on the floor, ladies. Margaritas and some quiches in there. Thought you might need them. I also put a Shirley Temple in there for Pat.“ It was so typical of Peter to remember that Pat had given up drinking.

  “Thanks Peter,” Pat said. “I barely had time for a sip of water in the restaurant with Denise when I got Tina’s call and had to come back to the theater.”

  “Tom and I had a delicious lunch at an outdoor restaurant in Battery Park and were just about to get on the boat for Governor’s Island when Tina called me,” Janice said. “I still want to go there, though. And Pat, you might want to come with us and bring Denise’s son David. There’s interactive sculpture for children there. Grownups like it too.”

  “Great idea, Jan,” Pat said. “David would love that.”

  “Hang on, Hoofers,” Peter said. “We’re off.”

  We attacked the chest and pulled out the drinks and quiches, grateful to Peter for his thoughtfulness. He was such a kind man. Like Mike. I always seemed to come back to thoughts of Mike when I thought of kindness. George used to be like that too.

  “How was your Boathouse lunch with Mike?” Janice asked me. They must all know, I thought. Tina must have told them. Oh well, they’re my friends. They’ll understand.

  “I had a great lobster salad,” I said. “And I loved looking at the lake and all the people in rowboats. We were going to go out in a boat too when we finished lunch—Mike said I had to row—but then I got the call about Glenna. We’re still going to do it. I’m actually a pretty good rower. I learned at camp when I was twelve.”

  “I’d rather just sit there and look at the water,” Janice said. “It’s so peaceful and soothing. Remember how much we loved eating in that restaurant on the lake in Spain, Gini?”

  “That was fun,” she said. “But the water in New York isn’t exactly the cleanest. There are so many other things about this city that I like better—plays, movies, operas, symphonies . . .”

  “Everything but murders,” Janice said.

  “Do me a favor, guys,” I said. “Don’t bring this subject up when you see George. It’s hard enough getting out of the house every day to come into the city to rehearse. I’ll tell him, but maybe not right away.”

  Peter inched the car forward in the line leading to the entrance into the Lincoln Tunnel. “Want me to talk to him, Mary Louise?” he asked. “You know, reassure him a little. I remember I didn’t want Tina to dance on that train in Spain after she was almost killed in Russia, but I realized how much she loves dancing. I couldn’t keep her from doing that. Maybe I can convince George how important it is to you.”

  “Oh Peter, would you?” I asked.

  “Sure, I’ll talk to him this evening when I bring you home.”

  “I’ll be forever grateful if you can make him understand what this means to me. And you and Tina have to stay for dinner.”

  “I’d do anything for one of your dinners,” he said. “It’s a deal.”

  “What are you making?” Tina asked.

  “Let’s see,” I said. “Tonight I think I’ll make my salmon fillets. With garlic, anchovies, capers, lemon juice, and parsley. How does that sound?”

  “Perfect,” Peter said, moving the car forward a little more. “You just made me hungry. Could you hand me one of those quiches, please?”

  I reached over the seat and put one of the delicious little ham and cheese quiches in his hand. They were bite-size so he gobbled it down and held out his hand for another, then took a sip from the bottle of water next to him.

  “No more,” he said when he had swallowed. “Your salmon with anchovies are my favorites. I don’t want to spoil my appetite.”

  We finally got through the tunnel and reached our town. Peter dropped Janice, Gini, and Pat off at their houses before stopping in front of our white Dutch Colonial house with the green shutters. I loved this house. It was full of light and all the things that were precious to me, from my children’s first drawings to my grandmother’s china and crystal.

  George and I brought up our three children in this house. Two of them were in college now—Ellie in her freshman year at Princeton and Sam in his junior year at Northwestern. James was in his first year of Harvard Law School. After all those years in a house filled with laughter and music, I missed their noise and parties and the fun I had with them. I felt guilty now whenever I was glad to be free to go wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted, without having to hire a sitter.

  They would all be home for Christmas vacation soon, and I’d be in New York rehearsing. It was all right, though, because they would rather be with their friends anyway. I was used to that. I could meet them in the city often. They were the great loves of my life. How would they feel if I left their father for Mike? They adored George. The more time I spent with Mike, the more I worried about my children’s reactions to a divorce. But how could they not love Mike? Everybody loved him.

  Peter parked in the driveway, and he and Tina and I went into my warm and welcoming house. George wasn’t home yet. I noticed I felt relieved that I was there before he was. Come to think of it, I was usually more relaxed when he wasn’t there. Not a good sign. Again, I realized how much I needed to talk to Pat.

  Tucker bounded up to us when we opened the door. He was the best old dog. He didn’t bark, just wagged his tail, looked as if he were smiling, and greeted us as if he had been waiting for us all day, which he probably had. He nuzzled Peter and Tina, who also loved him. This friendly dog would have welcomed anybody who came in the house, including thieves and rapists.

  “Fix us some drinks, will you Peter?” I said. “You know where the bar is.”

  “I should after all these years,” he said. “What’ll you have, Weezie?”

  “Make me a Manhattan, straight up, please. The sweet vermouth and the rye are in the bar on the top shelf. Oh, and the bitters are on the bottom shelf. Just a dash of those bitters, though, Peter. I like my Manhattans very sweet.”

  “Who drinks those things anymore anyway?” Peter said. “You might as well be living in an Agatha Christie murder mystery.”

  “Sometimes I feel like I am,” I said.

  “I just want a glass of white wine,” Tina said. “A Sauvignon blanc, if you have it.”

  “I keep it here just for you,” I said. “It’s in the fridge.”

  “I’d rather have red,” Peter said. “Okay if I steal a glass of your Pinot noir, Weez?”

  “Of course, Peter,” I said. “I’ll
go get the salmon ready while you do that.”

  I went into my lovely big kitchen, one of the main reasons I liked cooking so much. The stove top was in the center of a large granite counter in the middle of the room, the oven on the wall beside it. I had plenty of space on either side to chop, mince, shred, slice, and pummel stuff for the dishes I made. There were wide windows on one side of the room that looked out on my garden. It was next to a patio where I curled up on a padded chair and read on summer days when I wasn’t dancing somewhere with my Hoofers.

  A patch of herbs next to the back door was always ready to be snipped for whatever dish I was making that night. Some basil, some thyme, some oregano poked their sprouts up to flavor my dinners. The patio looked out on a lawn tended by Billy next door, now that my boys were away in school or working in the summertime. I had planted azalea bushes around the sides of the lawn and in front of our house. There were neat little clusters of asters and peonies near the patio. I would miss all that if I left this house to go live with Mike in the city.

  I clicked open my iPad to the cooking app and pulled up the recipe for salmon with anchovies. I kept the iPad in a plastic bag to protect it from any splashing, spilling, or spattering that might go on while I cooked. I was an enthusiastic, free-ranging cook, so sometimes things got out of hand. I took the salmon fillets out of the fridge. Luckily I had two extras. I like to make two meals at a time, so the second is all ready to heat over for another dinner. This time I had two hungry guests to gobble them up. I always loved cooking for Tina and Peter because they were such enthusiastic munchers.

  I softened enough butter for the four fillets in the microwave, mixed it with a can of anchovies, which I chopped up, a minced garlic clove, and a little salt and pepper. Then all I had to do was melt the anchovied, garlicy butter in a large pan that could go into the oven. I’d brown the salmon in the mixture, pop the pan into my 400-degree oven for a couple of minutes, add some capers and fresh lemon juice to the whole thing and serve. I’d make some rice and a salad to go with them, and I’d be all set. Easy and delicious. Even George liked this dish.

  I went back into the living room, and Peter handed me a dark red Manhattan with a cherry at the bottom. He had even found the proper glass to put it in—a wide-mouthed martini glass. My grandfather used to make me Manhattans when I was young, so they remind me of him. He was an electrical engineer with AT&T when people still had landline phones in their houses. He was Scottish, reserved, but also very funny. And he was wise. He taught me the most important lesson of my life, which was: “Mary Louise, it’s not so much the decisions you make in life that count—it’s what you do after you make those decisions that really matters.” I remembered that whenever I thought of leaving George. Every marriage goes through difficult periods and I had to figure out how to get through this one.

  I took my first sip of the Manhattan. It was just right. Just sweet enough.

  “This is perfect, Peter,” I said. I sank into the red- and cream-colored cushions of the couch against one wall of our living room. The whole room was red and cream, with a smaller couch like the one I was sitting on under the wide window looking out on our front lawn. Two dark red velvety armchairs were across the room against the wall. Now that the children were grown, I had indulged myself in a pure white wall-to-wall rug. The bar was a deep rosewood matching the sides and back of the couches. I put my Manhattan down on the large glass-topped table in front of the two couches. It was a completely soul-satisfying room that made me feel good whenever I walked into it.

  I was totally relaxed and mellow after a few sips of the Manhattan when the front door opened and George strode into the living room, a frown on his face.

  “Peter, would you mind moving your giant van out of my driveway. I can’t put my car away,” he said. No hello or Nice to see you guys or How are you, honey? Just his usual growl.

  Peter jumped up. “Sorry about that, George. I’ll move it.” He left, and Tina, my warm and gracious friend, gave George a kiss on the cheek.

  “How nice to see you again, George,” she said. “How are you?”

  “I’d be a lot better if I didn’t come home after working all day to find my driveway blocked,” he said, going straight to the bar and filling a glass with Scotch and soda.

  “Honey,” I said, trying to change the whole mood of doom and gloom descending on us, “Peter and Tina are staying for dinner. Peter drove us into and out of the city. I knew you’d be glad to see them.”

  He scowled and didn’t say anything. He took a big gulp of his drink and threw his coat on the chair.

  Peter came back in, took one look at George’s face, and realized he was in no mood for dinner guests.

  “Maybe we’d better take a rain check on that dinner, Weezie,” he said. “George looks like he could use a little peace and quiet. I know that feeling.”

  Tina picked up his cue.

  “Peter’s right, hon,” she said to me. “Let’s do this another time.”

  I tried to protest, but she was already pulling on her coat and nudging Peter toward the door.

  “See you tomorrow, Weezie,” she said to me, and I nodded, tears in my eyes. She hugged me and whispered in my ear, “It’s all right, sweetie.”

  When they were gone, I glared at George, who was pouring himself another Scotch.

  “Could you have been any ruder?” I asked. “What’s the matter with you? They’re good friends.”

  “I’ve had a rough day,” he said. “Leave me alone, Mary Louise. You shouldn’t have invited people for dinner without telling me. I don’t feel like talking to anybody.” He put his head in his hands.

  I went over to him and put my arm around his shoulders.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “What happened?”

  “You wouldn’t understand,” he said impatiently. “One of my lawyers quit because I wouldn’t make him a partner. I lost one of my cases I’ve been working on for months. Another client wants to go to trial, but there’s no room in the court schedule. Nothing went right.”

  “I’ll fix you some dinner,” I said. “Salmon and anchovies—okay ?”

  “I don’t care,” he said. “Whatever.”

  I went into the kitchen, my happy mood gone, the promise of a lovely dinner party finished, my need for Mike intensified.

  George and I shared a miserable dinner, barely speaking. I went to bed early and was asleep by the time he turned in.

  RECIPE FOR SALMON AND ANCHOVIES

  Serves 4

  3 T. softened butter

  4 minced anchovy fillets, with the skin on

  2 garlic cloves minced

  4 salmon fillets

  2 T. capers

  Salt and pepper to taste

  Half a lemon

  1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

  2. Add the minced anchovies, garlic, salt, and pepper to the softened butter.

  3. Melt half the butter mixture in a large ovenproof pan.

  4. Brown the skin side of the salmon for three minutes. Baste with butter from the pan while it’s cooking.

  5. Add capers.

  6. Put salmon in the oven for 10 minutes.

  7. Take the salmon out of the pan and keep it warm while you add the rest of the anchovy butter to the pan and melt it.

  8. When the butter is melted, pour it over the salmon and squeeze the lemon over the buttery salmon.

  Fast and easy and so good!

  Mary Louise’s cooking tip: If you don’t feel like making the crabcakes in this chapter, go to a nice restaurant with your best friend and order them there.

  Chapter 3

  Scoop It!

  The next morning was just as silent. I counted the minutes until I heard Peter’s car in the drive, and left George with a kiss on the cheek and a “Not sure when I’ll be home—I’ll call you.”

  He didn’t even answer me.

  Tina got out of the car when I came out of the house and put her arm around me to guide me into the van. “You okay?” she
asked in a low voice.

  “I will be when I get away from here,” I said. “Tina I’m so sorry about—”

  “Forget it, hon,” she said, interrupting me. “We understood. We’ve all been through it. Don’t worry. Help yourself to croissants and coffee.”

  Peter turned and smiled as I got into the car. “Have some coffee, beautiful.”

  “Peter, I’m so—”

  “Don’t give it a second thought,” he said, reaching over the seat to squeeze my hand. “I love you anyway.”

  Janice, Gini, and Pat were already in the van, and they all reached over to give me a hug or a pat on the arm. I was so grateful to these good friends who helped me through everything.

  “Got your tap shoes, Weez?” Tina asked, handing me a cup of hot coffee and a croissant.

  “Right here in my bag,” I said.

  “We’re off,” Peter said, and steered the car out of the driveway and toward the highway.

  In less than an hour, we were piling out of the car in front of Radio City. “Have fun, guys,” Peter said. “Try not to get anyone else killed.”

  Tina hit him on the head and joined us on the sidewalk. “See you later, ghoul,” she said to him.

  Marlowe was waiting for us on the stage. Again, no smile on her face. Just a look that said I really don’t want to bother with these amateurs, but we signed a contract with them so I have to put up with them.

  “Let’s get started,” she said. “These three will show you how to do the dance and put you through the exercise workouts.” She pointed to the three women standing near her.

  The first was the dancer who wore the silver earrings the day before. She was holding Ranger, the cat mascot, who snuggled up to her as she said hello to us.

  “Hi, Hoofers. I’m Nevaeh Anderson, and I’ll show you the routine. It looks simple, but it takes a lot of work to make it seem that easy. Are you ready for some really vigorous rehearsals?”