Death is Semisweet

by Lou Jane Temple

  “Why,” Janie said loudly, “do we have to have chocolate cake on Christmas? Why not pumpkin pie or mincemeat like other people?” She tipped the plate with the slice of cake over and smashed it into the table, catching a few cards in the frosting. “I hate chocolate!” she said and stormed out of the room.

  For a while no one else moved or made a sound.

  Heaven and Iris were on horseback, riding behind Del and his family, who were also on horseback. There was about two inches of new snow on the ground. It was something out of a picture postcard for Colorado or some other Western state, only this time it was Kansas that looked so lovely. They were riding on the Flint Hills side of the family farm.

  One side of the property, the northern side, was farmland. The southern side was the start of the Flint Hills, cattle country. Del and his father before him raised crops on one side and cattle on the other. The family had gone south into the grazing land for a holiday ride.

  “I got married for the first time right over there,” Heaven said as she pointed to a hill just to their west. “There were horse and buggies and lots of folks came on horseback to the ceremony, and see that little chapel out on the hillock? The Presbyterian minister brought his fancy robes and married us right out there. It was quite a party.”

  Iris looked at her mother. “I always think of you as a rock-and-roll, urban girl. What a prairie bride you must have been.”

  “It’s the most beautiful place, isn’t it?” Heaven was lost in her memories of that day.

  “You know how people used to say that the television show Seinfeld was about nothing? Well, this place is the Seinfeld of America,” Iris said, without rancor.

  “It might be about nothingness, but it’s not about nothing,” Heaven said as she looked out on the rolling plains covered with snow.

  The horizon met the ground effortlessly, the color of both blending into the other. The bright blue sky of earlier in the day had dulled into a gray that popped out only slightly from the snowy plains. They had all cantered over a pasture, Iris and Heaven both squealing with delight and a little fear. Heaven only rode three or four times a year so she wasn’t used to the power of a big horse running. Now they were almost back to the farm and the horses suddenly turned from an east/west direction to the north, where their barn was located.

  The whole family rode into the barn and took the tack off the horses, fed them some Christmas oats and headed into the house. When they got inside, Heaven’s purse was ringing.

  Heaven didn’t talk all the time on her cell phone, she thought it was tacky, but she felt much safer traveling around alone and driving home late at night from the restaurant with a cell phone in her bag.

  “Hello and Merry Christmas,” Heaven said. She paused and then said, “Thanks, Hank. We’ll see you in a couple of hours. Me too.” She clicked the phone off and looked at Iris. “We better go, honey.”

  “What’s the matter, Mom?”

  “Hank says Stephanie called him at the hospital. She said to call her as soon as we got back. Her cousin Jane stormed out of Christmas dinner. But that’s not why he called.” She didn’t continue, though, staring out the window at the rolling hills, wanting to go back a couple of hours and stay there. She heard laughter coming from the kitchen, her sister-in-law Debbie rattling pans.

  “What, Mom?”

  “Someone broke every window at Café Heaven and wrote graffiti all over the front of the building.”

  “Did Hank see it?”

  “No, Bonnie Weber called him. The patrol unit called her, knowing she was my friend. They didn’t think anything inside had been touched. I guess someone wrote, ‘Death Is Semisweet’ all over the outside of Café Heaven.”

  Chocolate Marshmallow Gingerbread

  1 pint dark molasses

  9 oz. unsalted butter

  ½ cup strong coffee

  ½ tsp. salt

  1 tsp. allspice

  4 tsp. cinnamon

  2 tsp. ground mace

  1 tsp. clove

  4 tsp. ground ginger

  2 tsp. nutmeg

  1 ½ tsp. baking soda

  4 ¾ cups cake flour

  ¾ cooking apples

  3 T. brown sugar

  1 pint sour cream

  2 eggs

  ½ cup semisweet chocolate bits

  1 cup miniature marshmallows

  2 tsp. vanilla

  Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

  Combine 2 cups molasses, butter and ¼ cup coffee and heat to boil. As soon as it bubbles, remove from heat and let cool.

  Combine dry ingredients except for brown sugar, chocolate bits and marshmallows.

  Butter a 9-X-13-inch pan; peel apples and slice about ¼ inch thick. Cover the bottom of the pan with overlapping apple slices. Sprinkle with the brown sugar.

  Blend the sour cream into the cooled molasses mixture. Combine with dry ingredients. Beat in eggs. Blend in chocolate, marshmallow and vanilla. Add the rest of the coffee to get a thick but pourable batter. Bake about 40 minutes, until a toothpick comes out dry in the center. Cool and serve in inverted squares so the apples are on top.

  Eleven

  The windows of Sal’s barber shop were crowded with faces peering out. Mona, Joe, Murray, Heaven and Iris were there, and Sal, of course. Everyone was lined up watching the glass crew across the street replacing the windows in Café Heaven as if it were a play on a stage, put on for their amusement. Only no one was amused. The words, “Death is Semisweet” had been written in dark brown paint, paint the color of dark chocolate. They looked ominous.

  “What did you do last night, Heaven,” Sal asked, “camp out over there so no one would come in and help themselves to the vodka?”

  Heaven, staring vacantly across the street, shook her head and took another piece of chocolate chip gingerbread that Mona had brought in. They were all anxiety eating. “Hank had already called the glass service. Bonnie told him who to call. They work twenty-four hours, the glass people, because lots of barroom brawls and breaking and entering occur at night. By the time Iris and I got back from the farm—”

  Murray broke in. “Hank called me and I came right down and met the glass guys, opened up. They nailed up these four-by-eight pieces of plywood for the night.”

  “—they were already almost done covering up the windows,” Heaven continued.

  “Securing the premises, they call it,” Iris offered.

  Mona sniffed. “I’m sorry. I just don’t get it. What in the world do you have to do with all of this chocolate mess?”

  “She’s a friend of the Chocolate Queen,” Murray offered.

  “Who just happens to be related to the Fosters,” Sal added. “And we know what’s happened to the Fosters lately.”

  “Mom also let the police have a meeting of all the Foster family at the café,” Iris said.

  Joe, who’d been quiet until he’d finished two cups of coffee, was now ready to speculate. “And Heaven is one of the featured chefs at Foster’s big chocolate party on New Year’s Eve.” He looked sharply at Heaven. “Don’t tell me you’re going to show up at that event after this.”

  Iris was nodding vehemently, obviously agreeing with Joe. “I told Mom last night they should cancel it. It would be just asking for trouble to have some big party sponsored by Foster’s right now. Yes, Mom could get hurt, but there’s also the possibility that everyone that attended could get mowed down with an automatic weapon or something. I’m beginning to think that the brother who got arrested for killing that African guy was framed. So many things have happened since then that I have this mental picture of a deranged chocolate hater out there, armed and dangerous.”

  Heaven left the window and flopped down on one of the many Naugahyde and chrome chairs that lined the barber shop. “Remember that brother Claude is out on bail. He could still be on some terror spree. But the deranged part I think is true, whoever it is. That’s why I’m going to the hospital this morning. Hank had an idea last night.” She stopped talking, de
ep in thought, and the whole room waited quietly for her to tell them Hank’s idea.

  After what seemed like hours but was just a few seconds, Sal cleared his throat loudly. “Are you gonna tell us or what?” he said gruffly.

  Heaven started. “Oh, sorry. Well, Hank and Iris and I were discussing the fact that it seemed like someone really had a grudge against either chocolate in general or Foster’s in particular and Hank suggested that Bonnie and I talk to a therapist who deals with eating disorders to see what a professional thought of the whole idea. Could a person be so fixated on a certain food that they’d actually kill because of it?”

  “Right. I bet what Hank really said was that maybe Bonnie should consult an eating disorder shrink and somehow you stuck your nose in,” Sal said as he laid out his combs and clippers.

  Heaven folded her arms over her chest. “So? It’s my restaurant that just got vandalized. I guess that puts me right in the middle of this. Besides, I sell food for a living. I’m curious about food crackpots, so this will benefit me as much as Bonnie.”

  “How did you get Bonnie to agree to you going along?” Mona asked, always in awe of her friend’s chutzpah.

  Heaven got up and stretched her arms. “Ouch. I’m sore from riding a horse yesterday. I asked Hank if he could recommend someone over at the medical center. Then I asked him if he would call that person up early this morning and tell them that the police needed to consult with her, turns out it’s a her, right away about a case. After he did that I called Bonnie and told her it was all set up, that we were going to see a food shrink about eating disorders at ten this morning.”

  “Smooth,” Mona said, shaking her head.

  “Iris, what did you get for Christmas from your mommy?” Joe asked, changing the subject.

  Iris beamed. “My mommy is taking me to Paris in April, just the two of us.”

  “If the deranged chocolate killer doesn’t get me first,” Heaven said lightly. “Murray, I called the insurance man and he says my insurance covers the windows. Will you make sure the glass guys leave an invoice so we can give it to the insurance company?”

  Murray held up his hands like he was on top of it. “I’m going to stand right here until they’re done, and also make sure the painters get here and fix the graffiti. They said they wouldn’t be here until mid-morning.”

  “Thank you and you can even charge me for your time. Iris, what are you going to do, honey?”

  “I think Joe and I are going to go have a real breakfast at the Corner.”

  “Then I’m outta here. I’ll come back to the restaurant as soon as we’re done. Our meeting is at the hospital so I won’t be too long,” Heaven said and walked out the door.

  “They’ve got to cancel that party,” Iris said as she watched her mother cross the street.

  · · ·

  “There’s lots to choose from,” Dr. Helen Walker said, tossing a paper across her desk toward Bonnie Weber and Heaven.

  Bonnie took the page and looked up with a quizzical expression. “What’s this?”

  “A little article I found on the effects of chocolate on the human brain. At least three hundred known chemicals have been identified in chocolate. Most of these chemicals create good feelings.”

  Bonnie folded up the copy. “Can I take this with me to read later?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Heaven broke in, impatient. “Can you just give us the drift?”

  “Well, the best known is probably caffeine, which is only present in chocolate in small quantities. But there’s also another weak stimulant, theobromine. Then there’s phenylethylamine, which is related to amphetamines. All of these increase the activity of neurotransmitters in portions of the brain that control our ability to pay attention and stay alert.”

  “Sounds like coffee. Is that all?”

  Dr. Walker shook her head. “They’ve done some work out in San Diego. Chocolate may have something similar to THC, the active ingredient in marijuana, and that component could be creating the drug-induced psychosis that’s associated with chocolate craving.”

  Bonnie beamed. “Now we’re talking.”

  The doctor held up her hand. “It isn’t exactly THC, it’s called anadamide. The brain also produces anadamides naturally. All these neurotransmitters, such as anadamide and theobromine, break down quickly after they’re produced by the brain. But there’s some evidence that some other chemicals in chocolate inhibit the breakdown, so you feel better, longer. It’s really amazing stuff.”

  “So is it addictive?” Heaven asked.

  “Not physically, but certainly I’ve had some patients that were psychologically addicted.”

  “Do you have any right now?” Bonnie asked, knowing the doctor wouldn’t want to share that information.

  Dr. Walker smiled and shook her head. “Good try.”

  “Come on, doc, I’ve got two homicides and a string of vandalisms that are all focused on chocolate, and Foster’s in particular,” Bonnie said.

  “I understand, and I will say that I don’t have anyone I’m treating right now that comes right to mind.”

  “But if most of the things that chocolate does to our brains are things that we consider positive, why would anyone hate chocolate candymakers?” Heaven asked.

  “Most of the people I treat, most people with eating disorders, have terrible self-esteem and self-worth issues. If you think of yourself as a bad person and chocolate makes you feel good, happy for a few minutes, then you have conflict about chocolate,” Dr. Walker said.

  “Sounds perfectly logical,” Bonnie said as she stood up and put the article in her big purse. “I can see another Twinkie defense coming my way. Thanks for the information. If someone comes in and confesses to being the Foster’s Chocolates killer, I don’t suppose I’ll be getting a call?”

  “I will do my best to convince that individual to do the right thing,” the doctor said enigmatically.

  Heaven wiped her hands on the kitchen towel draped through her apron strings and picked up the phone.

  “Yes?”

  “This is Marie Whitmer, from the executive offices at Foster’s.” The voice on the other end of the line sounded tense, worried.

  “And this is Heaven Lee, but I guess you know that since you asked for me. We met the day that Claude was arrested. What’s up, Marie?”

  There was a pause. “The brothers wanted me to call you and let you know they have decided to cancel the event scheduled for New Year’s Eve. They are afraid that either people wouldn’t attend or if they did attend …” Silence.

  “That something bad might happen to them?” Heaven offered.

  “Exactly. The Fosters wanted all you chefs to know they will still donate the proceeds of the recipe book sales to the food bank and they hope to have a party at some time in the future, when all this quiets down.”

  “I think that’s a good judgment call under the circumstances. No sense in getting other innocent people involved, eh, Marie,” Heaven said, anxious to get back to the walnuts she was frying in olive oil. She made a gesture for Paula Kramer, the pastry chef and baker, to check them.

  “Innocent people. Oh, God,” the voice on the other end of the line said, cracking into sobs. “It’s my fault.”

  “Marie, what are you talking about? I know it must be hard for you,” Heaven said in her most soothing voice.

  “I’ll never forgive myself if poor Claude goes to jail,” she said and then the phone went dead.

  “Marie!” Heaven yelled. Was Marie just on edge because her job and her boss were both in jeopardy, or was she trying to confess? The kitchen phone rang again. Heaven considered just letting it ring. It was getting late and she needed to help with the prep. The café wasn’t open for lunch this week between Christmas and New Year’s Eve but they had lots of reservations for dinner.

  She’d never been able to resist a ringing phone.

  “What?” she said sternly as she answered, trying to indicate she was a busy woman.


  “I’m at your back door. I have to go to the paper store, where we get our tissue and wrappers and stuff. Can you come with me?” It was Stephanie.

  “Ha. I wish. I’m coming out,” she said as she hung up the phone and walked out the kitchen door. Heaven slipped into the passenger’s seat of Stephanie’s old BMW which was already parked where the delivery trucks usually pulled up the alley. “I can’t go anywhere. I’m behind. Did you see the outside of the restaurant earlier, before the painters?”

  “Oh, yes. I was compelled by prurient interest to drive by on my way to work. I feel like I’ve brought you bad luck. Our whole family is falling apart and somehow you’ve been sucked into the vortex.”

  Heaven patted her friend’s hand. “I didn’t really get to talk to you last night, just that call from the car when Iris and I were rushing to get back to Kansas City. Tell me more about your cousin.”

  Stephanie rolled her eyes and smiled a half-hearted smile. “After lunch Janie disappeared for a while. I say that now, but I was so worn out I didn’t notice yesterday. Her father and I were taking naps in our chairs and everyone else was playing gin rummy. I think she’d been in the kitchen secretly binging on chocolate cake and all of a sudden she came out, upended a piece of cake in the middle of the card table and raved about how she hated chocolate.”

  “At your mom’s?”

  “Yes, it was quite the scene. Everyone was telling her to sit down, telling her she must be overly tired, to have some tea. She dodged the whole pack and ran out the back door. The last I saw her she was running down the sidewalk without a coat, jumping into her car and whizzing away.”

  “Wow. She’s had a meltdown. How is she today?” Heaven’s mind was racing. Janie had just turned into a prime suspect.

  “She’s gone.”

  “What do you mean gone?”

  Stephanie shrugged. “I mean no one has seen her or spoken to her since she left my mother’s. Her folks are frantic. They had a key and went to her house but it didn’t look like she’d been home. They’ve called the police—”

  “But she hasn’t been gone long enough for a missing persons report,” Heaven finished Stephanie’s thought. “I think we should let Bonnie know about this. When she tells the missing persons unit that Janie is involved in two homicides, they’ll start looking for her.”