High Kicks, Hot Chocolate, and Homicides

by Mary McHugh

  George and the police officer pulled Shelli out to the car, the officer’s gun against her back.

  As she was being put into the car, Shelli said to me, “You haven’t seen the last of me.”

  “You’ve seen the last of her and everybody else for a long time,” the officer said as he closed the police car door. I slammed the back door behind them and collapsed into a kitchen chair, shaking and crying. How did I ever get mixed up with murderers and crazy people? I was this nice person, raised by good parents, married to a fine man—a lawyer for heavens’ sake—the mother of three excellent children, a tap dancer! In the last two days, I had had a loaded gun pointed at me four times. How could this happen?

  I jumped when the kitchen door swung open. It was George with Tucker right behind him, wagging his tail and coming over to bump against my leg.

  “You’re some watchdog,” I said, hugging him and holding on to him tightly. I held his face in my hands. “Where were you when I needed you?”

  He nuzzled me again, his tail sweeping back and forth so rapidly I thought he’d knock a chair over.

  George and I looked at the spaghetti all over the floor, a wet mess.

  “What do you want on your spaghetti, George?” I said, and we collapsed into each other’s arms, laughing helplessly.

  RECIPE FOR SPAGHETTI WITH SWORDFISH IN TOMATO SAUCE

  Serves 4

  2 lb. swordfish cut up in one-inch cubes

  ¼ cup olive oil

  2 garlic cloves, minced

  1 cup parsley, chopped

  2 tsp. fennel seed

  ¼ tsp. hot red pepper flakes

  1 35-oz. can crushed plum tomatoes

  ½ tsp. salt

  1 lb. spaghetti

  1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

  2. Heat water for the spaghetti in a six-quart pot.

  3. Put the oil in a saucepan and cook the garlic until it sizzles.

  4. Add parsley, fennel seed, and hot red pepper, and cook for about 4 minutes, stirring constantly.

  5. Add tomatoes and salt and simmer for about five minutes.

  6. Spread the swordfish cubes out in a 9 x 13-inch baking dish.

  7. Pour the tomato sauce over the swordfish and cook in the oven for 20 minutes.

  8. Cook the spaghetti during the last 10 minutes the swordfish is in the oven.

  9. Drain the spaghetti and pour the delicious sauce over it for a fantastically good meal.

  Mary Louise’s cooking tip: If your idea of a great meal is a nice mixed-green salad, don’t invite anybody over for dinner.

  Chapter 16

  Merry Christmas!

  We didn’t exactly become the Rockettes, but we worked hard over the next few weeks to get as close to them as we could. Bianca assigned us to some seasoned dancers who worked us every day until we swung into our Santa routines with practiced, precise swings and turns and kicks. After we achieved this agility, it even became fun to practice every day. We even managed to smile as we got better.

  Bianca was true to her word and had special costumes made for us that were light and brief, showing off our legs and our new slimmer figures. They were red Santa jackets without the forty-pound weights in them and with adorable little white furry buttons down the front. We wore Santa hats with fluffy white balls on top that bounced when we moved.

  The choreographer invented a dance for us that was fast and funny and a nice contrast to the rest of the show.

  On opening night in November, we got a nice round of applause when we finished our part, and most nights for the rest of the run we were a hit. We danced with the rest of the cast through the Christmas holidays, and I threw a big dinner party for my friends after we finished.

  Mary Louise’s Cooking Tip: If you make cheese puffs for your guests, try not to eat half of them before the guests arrive.

  Chapter 17

  Come For Dinner

  I love giving dinner parties. And this one was going to be spectacular. I wanted to make all my favorite dishes for my Hoofer friends who would soon be scattered all over the world. Who knew when we would all be together again? I was determined to make this last night one they would always remember.

  Early in the day I put extra leaves in the dining room table so it would be long enough for ten people. I spread my best white linen tablecloth on it. I wanted a plain but elegant background for my great-grandmother’s Crown Ducal china, which was unlike any other dinnerware I had ever seen.

  To begin with, it wasn’t round; it was octagonal. It had flowers blooming all over it. Not just along the edges or in the middle but winding all over the plates. Red roses, yellow daffodils, pale blue morning glories, dark blue violets, green and brown vines graced the white background. It was like eating in a garden.

  My great-grandmother was a crotchety old lady, according to most accounts, but she certainly knew how to choose china. When she died, these Crown Ducals went to my grandmother, who cherished them and then passed them along to my mother, who gave them to me when she no longer hosted elaborate dinner parties.

  My great-grandmother and great-grandfather were of Scottish descent. Their families moved to Canada, where my great-grandparents met and married, then emigrated to Boston. There in that musty old city, my great-grandfather worked for a carriage company in the last part of the nineteenth century and the first part of the twentieth. That was fine until some thoughtless person invented the automobile, and carriages were way out of date.

  But during the years that people still needed carriages to attach to their horses, my great-grandparents and their son, my grandfather, managed to scrounge out a life in Boston. My grandfather used to walk across the bridge to MIT every day while he earned an electrical engineering degree, which led to his lifetime job at Bell Laboratories.

  I think Scottish ancestry and hard work are synonymous. My parents taught me the value of hard work, honesty, and love. So my great-grandmother’s china was not only beautiful but a reminder of those hardworking Scots who brought up my grandfather, who raised my father, who taught me to treasure the good life I was blessed to lead and the lovely things that surrounded me every day.

  It gave me such pleasure to put those plates around the table at each of the places where my closest friends and their loves would be dining that evening. I took my silver out of its tarnish-proof cloth and put the knives and forks and spoons carefully at each place setting. Then I set wine glasses above each knife that would be filled with a deliciously dry Sauvignon blanc. Matching butter plates went above the forks, and I was finished.

  Next came the flowers I had bought that morning. In addition to the crystal vase of dark red roses in the middle of the table, I put little white Limoges pitchers, each holding a single pink rose, at each plate.

  When I finished, I stepped back and reveled in the sight of that lovely table, full of centuries-old china that would delight twenty-first-century women and their partners.

  Now all I had to do was prepare the food to put on those plates. I was going to fix my favorite dinner for my favorite people in the world. It took a while to make, but it was worth the trouble: my incredibly delicious trout, which I stuffed with onions, then wrapped in bacon and cooked in the oven and served with a rosemary cream sauce. I could get the whole thing ready ahead of time and then bake it at the last minute.

  I’d serve rice and a salad with it. I had already made my vinaigrette dressing so it would mellow before I put it on the salad and French bread to go with the whole deal. And for dessert I would make my famous frozen lemon souffle, covered with raspberries, that I learned how to make in Paris when we danced on the Bateau Mouche.

  I went into the living room, which would be softly lit, graced with bouquets of flowers on the end tables and coffee table, ready for these people who had brought so much joy into my life.

  Back to the kitchen to start my trout and stir up some cheese puffs to go with our drinks before dinner. These little puffs were simple but perfect. I opened ajar of sharp cheddar Cheese, w
hich I had left out to soften, and mixed it with half a stick of butter, also softened. Next, I threw in a half a cup of sifted flour and half a teaspoon of salt and smooshed it all together until it was thoroughly mixed. Then I made little round balls of the mixture, flattened them out, and put them on a greased cookie sheet, ready to go into a 350-degree oven for fifteen minutes. They came out crispy little cheese puffs that nobody could resist.

  A friendly bump against my leg reminded me I had better put them out of Tucker’s reach.

  “They’re not for you, old dog,” I said, leaning over to give him a hug. “You get your usual food.” He wagged his tail furiously while I dumped some dog food into his dish.

  “How about me?” George said, coming into the kitchen and giving me a hug. “Do I get some of those or dog food?”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said, giving him a kiss.

  “What can I do to help?” he asked.

  “Mostly stay out of my way,” I said. “I’ll be puttering and cooking all day. You can make sure the wine is chilled and get the liquor out of the cabinet for drinks if you want. That would be great.”

  “What are you making?”

  “My bacon-wrapped trout and my frozen lemon souffle for dessert.”

  “Do these people know how lucky they are?” he said.

  “I feel sad that we’re all separating and won’t be together for a while after we finish the Christmas show,” I said. “I want to send them off in style.”

  “Tell me again where everyone is going so I can keep it straight tonight,” George said.

  “Let’s see,” I said, leaning against the counter and sorting everybody out in my mind. “Alex and Gini are going to India to get their little girl, and—”

  “Were they actually able to arrange that with the Indian government? I thought it was practically impossible.”

  “It was very difficult, but somehow Alex used his connections with The Times to get the adoption approved.”

  “Are they going to get married when they get back?”

  “Oh, you know Gini,” I said. “She doesn’t see any reason to get married. She says they’re perfectly happy the way they are. Maybe she’s right.”

  “Legally, she’d be better off married,” George said. “But nobody can tell Gini what to do or not do, legally or not.”

  “You’re right there,” I said. “And of course you know Peter and Tina are getting married in January at the Frick.”

  “Finally,” George said. “Took them long enough.”

  “It took Tina long enough,” I said. “Peter has been ready for a long time.”

  “What about Janice and Tom?” he asked. “Aren’t they getting married on that old boat in Brooklyn?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But don’t call it that. It’s the Bargemusic and it’s lovely. Just right for Tom and Janice.”

  “When is that?” George asked.

  “They haven’t decided. They’re going on a honeymoon in San Sebastian in Spain first. We almost got there when we danced on that train in northern Spain, but a couple of murders got in the way—remember?”

  “I remember,” he said. He looked serious. We were both remembering that I met Mike on that train.

  “And Pat and Denise are taking David to Disneyland,” I said to change the subject. “He’s never been and neither have they.”

  “So you’re the only one left at home,” George said. “I’m glad. I’ll have you all to myself. You don’t have any jobs coming up in Afghanistan, do you?”

  I laughed. “No job in Afghanistan, Iraq, or Iran,” I said. “I’ll just hang out here and dance for you.”

  He held me close. “I almost lost you,” he said. “I’ll never let that happen again. I love you, Mary Louise.”

  “I love you,” I said. And this time I really meant it. I pulled away from him. “Now get out of here and let me make my trout.”

  He grabbed Tucker’s leash from the hook on the wall and called to him. “Come on Tucker. Let’s get out of the way before she wraps us in bacon too.”

  Tucker bounded over to let George attach the leash, and they left for a walk.

  Mary Louise’s Cooking tip: It’s not enough to cook with love. You need some good recipes!

  Chapter 18

  New York, New York!

  That night my house was its most beautiful self. My friends were coming at six and we would eat and talk the night away, grateful to be together and alive.

  George came downstairs looking handsome in a blazer and slacks. He checked the bar to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. There was a bottle of really old Scotch, some dry vermouth and vodka for martinis, sweet vermouth and rye for my manhattan, Sauvignon blanc for the white-wine drinkers chilling in an ice bucket, and a Cabernet and a Pinot noir for the red winers. And, of course, some lemonade for Pat and Denise.

  George turned away from the bar and whistled when he looked at me.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said.

  I was wearing a silky blue dress, cut low in the front and pleated all around in the skirt. It was George’s favorite dress. I always felt fantastic when I wore it.

  He put his arms around me and held me close to him.

  “You smell good,” he said.

  “Must be the bacon spattered in my hair,” I said.

  He laughed. “Must be,” he said. “Or maybe it’s the trout on your chin.”

  The doorbell rang and we went to greet the first of our arrivals, Gini and Alex. Gini looked stunning in a black-and-white top and pants, and Alex actually had on a tie and was wearing a suit.

  “Come in, come in,” I said. “You’re the first.”

  “Good,” Gini said. “I can drink one of your incredible martinis undisturbed, George.”

  “Got any Scotch, George?” Alex asked.

  “That’s like asking Donald Trump if he has any money,” Gini said.

  We were laughing when Tina, accompanied by Peter, opened the front door. “What’s so funny?” she asked.”

  “Just another Donald Trump joke,” Gini said, giving her and Peter a hug.

  George took their coats and went to get the wine they asked for, when the bell rang again and Pat and Denise came in to join us.

  “Lemonade, you two?” George asked.

  “For Pat,” Denise said, “but I think I’ll have one of your martinis, George. I hear they’re phenomenal.”

  “They are, actually,” George said and went to make her a practically vermouthless martini.

  “We’re all here except Janice and Tom,” I said. “Sit down everybody, and I’ll bring you my cheese puffs.”

  “Janice is always late,” Gini said. “I don’t think she can tell time.”

  “I heard that,” Janice said, opening the door and pulling Tom into the room with her. “Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘Save the best till last?’ ”

  “Right,” I said hugging her and taking her coat. She looked superb as always in a red dress with silver buttons. “You are the best, Jan. What are you drinking?”

  “Think I’ll have a glass of Champagne.”

  “Too bad,” George said. “That’s the only thing I don’t have. Will you settle for a Sauvignon blanc?”

  “When the lady asks for Champagne,” Tom said, “the lady gets Champagne.” And he thrust a chilled bottle of Dom Pérignon into George’s hands. “This is to celebrate us all being alive,” he said.

  If I had been Catholic, I would have crossed myself at that point. I might not have been there to drink that Champagne if Marlowe or Shelli had been successful in their attempts to kill me several days in a row.

  Usually I would have had a manhattan because George made the best ones, but a glass of Champagne seemed just right for tonight. I went out to the kitchen and took my cheese puffs out of the oven and brought them into the living room.

  “Attention, mes amis,” I said, raising my glass of Champagne. “Here’s to the Happy Hoofers and the people we love. May we dance until we’re a hundr
ed and two!”

  Cheers and Here’s to us! rang out. Tucker banged his tail on the floor to express his delight at being part of this celebration.

  “Before we settle down to serious eating,” Tina said, “could you guys give me some travel trips for my article on New York? I’m so used to going in and out of the city, I can’t think like a tourist about it. What should we tell our honeymooners coming to New York for the first time?”

  “Bring a large basket of money,” Gini said.

  “Come on now,” Tina said. “There are lots of free things you can do in New York. Help me think of them.”

  “All of Central Park is free,” I said. “You can walk around or sit by a pond near the Alice in Wonderland statue or go see the Imagine memorial to John Lennon.”

  “That’s good,” Tina said. “But they’ll probably discover that by themselves. I want to tell them about some free things they wouldn’t know about if we didn’t tell them.”

  “I made a list once,” Gini said, “of times when you can get into the museums—which are usually really expensive—for free. It’s because I’m cheap. The ones I remember are the American Museum of Natural History, which is free the last hour every day, from four forty-five to five forty-five. At other times, the admission price is just suggested, so if you have the nerve to do it, you can just not take their suggestion and walk in free.”

  “I always feel too guilty to do that,” Pat said.

  “You feel guilty if you don’t wash your hands every time you sneeze,” Denise said.

  “Well, I can’t help it,” Pat said. “I’d rather go to a museum when I know it’s free. Like the Museum of Modern Art is free from four to eight in the afternoon on Fridays. So that’s when I go. And I don’t have to feel guilty.”

  “I’ll still love you even if you sneak into the Natural History Museum without paying,” Denise said.

  The two friends smiled at each other. I loved seeing those two together.