Nothing set off her internal alarms, not that she’d laid eyes on the imagined Santa shooter to recognize him again. Heaven depended on her intuition to lead her but this group all looked so sweet in their red suits and white beards. Even the Rasta Santa had an innocent demeanor.
Joe punched Heaven’s arm. “The woman that was giving Kathy a hard time last week, she seems like she’s in trouble.”
Heaven turned her attention to the body builders. They were showing off their backs now, stepping to the end of the catwalk, turning back out with their hands on their hips then popping every muscle from their shoulders to their waist. This was a showy pose and the crowd loved it. Heaven saw the woman Joe had been talking about, the one who had been giving Kathy trouble at the health club. She was pale and wobbling, sweat pouring down her neck as she waited her turn to pose. Heaven moved closer to the stage. She was up next and staggered as she came forward. The crowd started a murmur that turned into a steady hum of concerned voices. They were concerned but also titillated by the possibility of some kind of problem on stage. The contestant turned her back to the crowd, and then, instead of pulling herself taut she crumpled into a heap on the stage floor. Heaven turned to check out Kathy’s reaction and wasn’t surprised to see her smile. Tit for tat. This was a ruthless bunch.
Quickly, with the help of two other contestants and a nurse who must have been on call, the woman was helped off stage. She was sobbing and as she passed Kathy, she lunged at her. She had enough energy to get her hands around Kathy’s neck but then she caved in again, clinging to Kathy and choking out, “You did this to me, you bitch, you—”
Kathy pushed her back in the arms of the two people assisting her with a savage grin. “Looks like I’m up here and you’re not.”
The nurse promptly sat the sick woman down in a straight-backed chair by the side of the stage and checked her pupils and blood pressure. Heaven heard the nurse ask her if she had hypoglycemia, and she muttered something that Heaven couldn’t hear.
The contest went on through two more body parts and Heaven turned her attention back to the stage. The next time she glanced toward the sick bay, the chair was empty and the nurse was writing on a form stuck on a clipboard. Heaven strolled over to the nurse. “I hope that contestant is going to be all right. What was the matter?”
The nurse shrugged. “It happens quite a bit at these things. They don’t eat before a competition. Then you add nervousness and the amount of vitamins these girls take. It’s a wonder they don’t all puke.”
“Was she sick?” Heaven asked.
“Oh, yeah. I always have some barf bags ready.”
“So you work these contests often?”
The nurse, herself with a soft, padded body, nodded. “I guess that tells you something, doesn’t it. That you have to have a nurse on hand for a body building contest says a lot.”
“It isn’t something you’d figure on a nurse for, now that you mention it,” Heaven said sweetly. “Not like a skateboarding contest. After all, they’re just standing there.” She glanced up to see some kind of a grand pose-off going on up on stage, each one of the women going through a variety of poses. The crowd was enthusiastic, clapping and whistling.
“Getting a body to that point of perfection, if that’s what you want to call it, causes a lot of stress on the body and the body builder, if you know what I mean,” the nurse said. Just then a contestant came rushing off stage, red in the face, gasping for water. The nurse quickly squirted water in her mouth from a plastic bottle and the body builder ran back up the stairs.
Heaven moved away, looking around for the sick girl. Kathy had mentioned last week she was a crowd favorite. Now the crowd had forgotten her for the moment and she was puking and shaking in the bathroom somewhere. Was she right about the ruthlessness of competition and had Kathy dosed her sports drink with something? Or was the nurse right and it was just part of the game?
The winners were being announced and Kathy was named reserve champion, which as far as Heaven could tell was first runner up. That seemed very good for a woman who was probably ten years older than anyone else on the stage. While the photos were being taken, Heaven slipped into a couple of shops. She emerged with two big sacks.
“Did you cross someone off your Christmas list, you dog?” Joe asked. He and Kathy were ready to depart, it seemed. Kathy had on some sweats, a coat, and was lugging her trophy proudly.
“No, I just got us three toys so we could vote at the Santa contest. Kathy, congratulations.”
“Thanks, Heaven. I’m sure glad that’s over. Joe asked me to join you for lunch, if that’s okay. I’m starved.”
Heaven guided the other two over to a large trash container that was filling up with toys. “I’m starved too, but this won’t take long. I’ve just got to see the Santas strut their stuff. They’re lining up now. I read the sign that says a donation for the Toys for Tots program gets you a vote, so I bought us a stuffed animal, a checkerboard set and an infant toy of some kind that plays music.”
“Thanks for getting these. I’ll pay you back,” Kathy said as they gave their toys to a volunteer who then handed them a ballot. “It’ll be fun to watch someone else sweat through a contest for a change.”
Heaven could hardly wait to grill Kathy about the incident on stage. But she kept her mouth shut for the time being while they got some laughs out of the Santas.
Every Santa had their own music and they walked the catwalk to everything from “Jingle Bells” to a Calypso version of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus” played on steel drums. Then each Santa had to answer a question, something about if he could have one gift, what would he ask for. It was just like the Miss America contest. Heaven could see this was going to take another hour.
“What do you say we make a snap judgment on beauty alone and go eat?”
Joe and Kathy nodded and they marked their ballots and handed them to the volunteer.
“So, who did you two vote for?” Joe asked as they headed for the door.
“I went with the traditional, the guy with the real beard that was so perfect,” Kathy said.
“And I had to go with the fashion victim, the one with the tie-dyed outfit with the rhinestones and the high tops instead of boots,” Heaven confessed.
“I voted for the one with the Marie Antoinette wig, of course,” Joe said as if it were a foregone conclusion.
They headed into the Classic Cup and Charlene Welling, the owner, took them to the front of the line, ignoring the dirty looks of the other patrons who were waiting. When they were seated by the window, just one table from where Heaven had dined last week with Stephanie, Heaven shivered involuntarily.
“What? Are you afraid one of those holiday shoppers will attack us for getting to a table before them?” Joe asked, glancing back at the line.
“No, I was sitting right there,” Heaven pointed to the table to their right, “last week, when all of a sudden, people started running and we heard shots and then the blimp came down and right after that, the pilot bit the dust.”
“Yeah, that was quite a deal,” Kathy said. “What do you think, someone practicing with their new deer rifle?”
Joe shook his head. “Not in the middle of the Plaza. Then Heaven was at the press conference at the Foster’s plant on Friday when some big shot from Africa was found murdered. Two bad things in the same week. It can’t be an accident. I think someone wants the fiftieth year of Foster’s Chocolate to be the last.”
A basket of muffins had appeared. Heaven grabbed a lemon-poppyseed version and slathered it with whipped butter. “But enough of boring old snipers and stabbings, let’s get to the good stuff. What happened with your gender test?”
Kathy looked away, her good humor gone.
For a moment, Heaven wanted to cut her own tongue out. But since she’d already opened her big mouth, she waited for an answer. She stuck a muffin in Kathy’s hand and smiled expectantly.
“The exam was short and hurt my pride more than anyt
hing. The doc was cool. She asked me if I’d changed gender, if I’d been a man earlier in my life. I told her I’d been a mother earlier in my life and she got a kick out of that. She took some blood and then did a pelvic and surprise, surprise, I’m a female. They can create a vagina out of nothing but they can’t create a cervix and stuff.”
Joe paled visibly at such intimate girl talk. These were not parts he was familiar with.
Their food had arrived. Heaven had stuck with breakfast, eggs Benedict, Kathy had gone for lunch, grilled salmon, and Joe was having both, pancakes and a grilled chicken club sandwich.
“So,” Joe asked casually, like he was asking about a recipe, “what did you do to that woman today to get even? She was a mess. Did you put a laxative in her sports drink?”
Kathy looked genuinely shocked. “I didn’t do a thing to her. She may not take body building and the competitions seriously, but I do, and I wouldn’t do to her what she did to me.”
“So, if you weren’t responsible,” Heaven asked, “and I have to tell you I wouldn’t blame you if you were, what was the matter?”
“It happens. I’ve never seen Jane fold like that, but she probably had low blood sugar. No food, the pressure, lots of B vitamins and some other supplements, and all of a sudden, you start to sweat and your stomach turns and you get dizzy. I’ve had the same experience.”
“What do you do so you don’t get sick?” Heaven asked as she stole a bite of pancake from Joe’s side of the table.
“I get up early and eat something. It’s ridiculous to take a lot of strong vitamins on an empty stomach. But some of these girls think the bacon and eggs will show up on the side of their bodies in a big lump.”
Heaven pushed her plate away after that image. It was empty anyway. “I admire you for not wanting to get even. Why was—did you call her Jane?—why was she on your case?”
Kathy shrugged. “Jane Anderson is a nutcase. I think she’s a former fat kid. Or a former anorexic. I can tell she has issues around food. And she works for a food company. Ironic, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah? Which one?” Heaven said idly. She wanted a nap.
“Foster’s.”
Joe and Heaven both perked up. “Foster’s Chocolate?” Joe asked. “What does she do?”
“I have no idea,” Kathy replied.
“Isn’t life funny,” Heaven said. “I’ve never thought much about Foster’s until about two weeks ago when they called me and asked me to create a dish for this New Year’s Eve celebration. Now every day something happens that involves Foster’s, even at a body building contest. I feel like I’m being stalked by Foster’s.”
“I wish we had some right now—chocolate, that is, not stalkers,” Joe said as he got up and threw a wad of money down. “Anyone want to go Christmas shopping with me?”
Heaven got up and hugged both Kathy and Joe. “I’m going for a nap. Kathy, congratulations. Joe, thanks for brunch. Go around to Stephanie’s if you’re hungry for chocolate. She has these new treats, an espresso chocolate pot de crème in a chocolate cup. They rock.”
“Good idea. How are you getting home, though? We came together.”
“I know that but I’m calling a cab. You stay here and shop.”
Joe gestured to Kathy. “Let’s go have some chocolate, reserve champion.”
Kathy held her trophy over her head, much to the amusement of the rest of the café crowd. “Okay, then I’m taking this baby home,” she said with a big smile.
Rabbit in Sweet Sour Sauce
2 rabbits, each cut in six pieces
2 onions, sliced
2 cloves garlic, crushed
2 stalks celery, diced
1 bay leaf
3 sprigs rosemary, finely chopped 3 sprigs sage
2 sprigs parsley
1-2 bottles red wine
Salt and pepper to taste
½ cup olive oil
2 T. butter
Flour for dredging
2-3 T. sugar
cup red wine vinegar
2 oz. bitter chocolate, chopped
cup pine nuts
cup golden raisins
Marinate the rabbit overnight in the vegetables, herbs, 1 bottle wine, salt and pepper. Drain and reserve the marinade.
Heat the oil and butter in a heavy saute pan. Dredge the rabbit in flour and brown. Add the marinade and simmer gently for 1-2 hours, depending on the size of the rabbit pieces.
Dissolve the sugar in the vinegar over a low heat. Add the chocolate, pine nuts, and raisins. Then add this to the pan sauce and simmer together for 5 to 10 minutes. If you don’t like a chunky sauce, you can drain all the sauce off the rabbit, blend it with an immersion mixer, and then add the sweet sour mixture. The vegetables will be pureed and the only chunky elements will be the nuts and raisins. I’ve done it both ways and it’s very good in either style.
Eight
It was Wednesday, December 20th, the day Iris would arrive in Kansas City. Heaven was looking forward to it and dreading it all at the same time. She so wanted her daughter home but didn’t want to share their time together with Stuart Watts. She was also nervous about her ability to refrain from smarting off at Stuart and thus making her daughter angry. Iris had grown to adulthood without them going through the period of alienation that some mothers and daughters experienced. Heaven didn’t want to blow it now. So she filed the imminent arrival in the back of her mind and concentrated on Foster’s instead.
She parked her van in the parking lot of the Foster’s plant. For days she’d been thinking about what had happened on Friday. Who was the dead man really, besides someone the Foster brothers were glad to be rid of, and why had he ended up in the conching machine?
She’d attempted contact with Bonnie but every time she called, the sergeant was out of the office or in a meeting. Heaven thought things must be breaking fast for Bonnie not to call her back, either that or she was avoiding Heaven’s theories. The only thing left to do was come to the scene of the crime herself on some flimsy excuse and hope to find some answers.
And as an extra added bonus she was going to look up Jane the body builder. She knew she was just being nosy, but at least it would keep her mind occupied so she didn’t have time to fret about Stuart Watts.
Heaven made a beeline for the offices of Claude and Harold. She’d called ahead and found out they were at a meeting and wouldn’t return to the plant until ten o’clock. It was now 9:30. That gave Heaven thirty minutes to talk to the help. She figured she’d get more information from them than from the big shots.
“Oh, hello,” Heaven said to the secretary who seemed to work for both the Foster brothers. Her desk was positioned between their two offices. She was the bulldog that had caught Heaven listening to the brothers at their office door. As they had never been officially introduced, Heaven decided to ignore that encounter. “I’m Heaven Lee, one of the chefs participating in the New Year’s Eve chocolate party. I called Claude, or was it Harold, and told him, whichever him it was, I’d pop down today. I have a few delicious ideas for the event.”
The secretary, a matronly looking woman who actually had her hair back in a bun, looked at her blankly. “When did you call? I don’t remember a call.”
Heaven gave her a big smile, playing a happy airhead. “Monday, or was it Tuesday? I’m sure your phone has been ringing off the hook, what with the unfortunate accident on Friday. I was here for the press conference, you know.”
The secretary bit. “I remember you,” she said tersely. “But accident? I don’t know how you’d call it an accident when Mr. Bodden had a mile of wire wound around his neck, or at least before the brothers’ niece showed up and pulled it off.”
“Who was Mr. Bodden again?” Heaven asked in an unconcerned voice, like she really didn’t care and was just being polite.
The secretary’s face clouded up. Her look indicated there was something about the deceased she hadn’t liked. “Well, when the brothers—we all call them ‘the brothers’—dec
ided they wanted to process the chocolate, not just make the candy, they went to several cacao growers, I think mainly in West Africa but they also went to Mexico, I recall. They were looking for someone who wanted to be able to take their product from the tree to the box to partner with them. Mr. Bodden was it.”
“Oh, I get it, cut out all the middlemen, eh?”
The secretary looked proud, then the pride disappeared from her eyes. “That was the idea.”
Heaven saw something to pick at. “But I’d guess by the fact that Mr. Bodden turned up dead that it didn’t work out like that.”
Alarm. The secretary took her defensive position, arms spread out from one side of the desk to the other, fingers locked on either corner as if Heaven was going to try to go through her drawers, looking for evidence. “The brothers, Harold and Claude Foster, have been my employers for twenty-two years and I have never seen them solve a problem with violence of any kind,” she said with pursed lips.
“No, of course not,” Heaven said reassuringly. “I saw some other Africans here on Friday. It could be some old feud from back home. Maybe someone saw this as a good time to settle a score. Or there’s always random violence to blame nowadays. But I get the impression that you didn’t think the partnership was going well, before the, eh, unfortunate event on Friday.”
The secretary shook her head firmly. “No, I think Mr. Bodden wasn’t the honest person that the brothers thought he was. I surely didn’t like the way he started acting like he owned the place. And then there was the fire.”
Heaven tried not to salivate. Stephanie’s cousin had been right to think the fire had something to do with all the trouble. “Well, now that you mention it, on Friday I noticed a big, black, sooty place out on the slab between the buildings. Did that have anything to do with the fire?”
The secretary leaned forward conspiratorially. “Thousands and thousands of dollars of cocoa beans, up in flames. The brothers say it was just vandalism, that some kids climbed over the fence and set a fire, but those beans aren’t stored out there in the middle of the yard where they’d be exposed to the weather. You can’t tell me a bunch of kids took the time to move dozens of sacks of cocoa beans that weigh a ton just so they could play a destructive prank. I think that Oliver Bodden had something to do with it, although I can’t for the life of me figure out why anyone in the business would do such a thing, destroying expensive product. I smell a rat.”
Death is Semisweet Page 9
