I removed a pork tenderloin I’d started marinating the day before. Professional culinary literature urges the prospective personal chef to bring the first meal—a marvelous dinner using your best recipes—gratis. This is to show your client what a good and generous person you are. Arthur, if he’d been noticing, might already think I was a good and generous person. On the other hand, he probably thought I was a klutz. Still, that assessment could change once he ate his deliciously tender, herb-spiced, free pork dinner.
“Tell me about the parole board,” I urged Tom, to distract myself from fretting about Arthur.
He sighed and continued to chop. “There you go again. Worrying.”
I tapped buttons on my kitchen computer to bring up the chocolate cookie recipe I was working on. “Come on,” I said, trying my best to sound reasonable. “I just want to know how the board operates. And I’m interested in your theory as to the reason Doug Portman had an anonymously written card containing a threat, and maybe some poison, too, and why he wanted to give it specifically to you.”
Tom sliced the chocolate into dark, fragrant chunks. “First things first. There are six members on the state parole board, all appointed by the governor. Statutorily, two of them have to have a law-enforcement background. Portman didn’t have a law-enforcement background, but I know he watched the newspapers. All the parole board members do. Every day, they’re scared some felon they let out on parole might have committed a big crime. The board members really don’t want that kind of thing coming back to haunt them. So.” He pushed away the chopped chunks from the first chocolate bar and started on the second. “I think Portman got that card from someone I put behind bars, and he let out. But why would someone he let out come back and threaten him?”
I printed out the cookie recipe. “Maybe it’s someone he denied parole to, who’s finally out now. The name Barton Reed doesn’t ring a bell? The guy at Cinda’s?”
He shook his head. “I’d have to see a picture.” He finished chopping the chocolate with a flourish, then rinsed his knife in the bathroom. When he came back, he gave me a long, gentle hug.
“You don’t have to figure this out, Goldy,” he murmured in my ear. “We should have the crime lab results back by Tuesday. Why not let go of this until then?”
“Whatever you say,” I replied in a low voice. We both knew I never gave anything a rest, but dear Tom chose not to point this out at that moment. He merely mumbled something unintelligible, hugged me tight, and said he was going upstairs to check on the boys. I promised him I’d join him in a bit.
In truth, there was only one thing I could do to start cracking a case: Cook.
CHAPTER 8
I pressed the tenderloin through the plastic wrap. Before roasting, it had to reach room temperature, so the inside could cook along with the outside. I stabbed the pork with the sharp end of my digital readout thermometer, a help if you want to serve succulent, juicy meat but have a client who is trichinosis-phobic, then preheated the oven. I didn’t want to take a guess as to the types of phobias Arthur held dear, but judging from our chats, fears about food were a distinct possibility.
Once the meat was in the oven, I set the beater to cream the butter for the cookies. Then I pulled out a bowl of wild rice that had soaked overnight. After one of our shows, Arthur had confessed he had wines to introduce to his best clients, and needed to do it at an in-home party, rather than in a bustling restaurant. He disliked cooking, even though he was pretty good at it. Could I help him?
Yes. And I would feed him in the bargain. I was taking a cereal concoction, the pork tenderloin, wild rice steamed in homemade beef stock, and a large salad of arugula and steamed asparagus. All free, to show my goodwill.
Within ten minutes the kitchen was filled with the enticing fragrance of herb-flavored roast pork. I started the rice cooking in the homemade beef stock and turned my attention to the library-reception cookie recipe. As I carefully mixed dry ingredients into the creamy, bronze dough, my injured arm began to ache. My mind’s eye raced backward to the van plummeting down the snowy slope. Really, it was a miracle I’d survived.
I mixed the chopped chocolate, dried cherries, chocolate chips, and nuts into the batter. A van behind me … Yes, I vaguely remembered now, it had been one of those shuttle vehicles that ran between the ski resorts and Denver International Airport. But another vehicle close behind the van? I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remember. Nothing came.
As I scooped the chocolate-cherry-nut-studded batter onto cookie sheets, I recalled reading many an article about high-country drivers fleeing scenes of weather-related accidents. Sticking around on a snowy, slick roadside in poor visibility could be more hazardous than taking off. At least, that’s what hit-and-run drivers claimed after a snowstorm, if they were apprehended—a rare occurrence.
The thermometer beeped. I removed the sizzling pork, checked the timer on the luxuriantly scented wild rice, and slapped in the first cookie sheet. A wave of fatigue swept over me. It was past eleven. I had to finish the cookies and let the meat and rice cool. Then I could go to bed.
But something kept nagging at me—something besides the death of Doug Portman, besides the threatening poison patches, besides even the accident. What was it? I sifted through my emotions. What was I feeling? Numb.
Snowboarders’ Pork Tenderloin
2½ pounds pork tenderloin (2 tenderloins)
½ cup Dijon-style mustard
1 tablespoon pressed garlic (4 large or 6 small cloves)
¼ cup best-quality dry red wine
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 tablespoon dried thyme, crushed
½ bay leaf
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
½ teaspoon granulated sugar
Trim fat and “silver skin” from tenderloins. Rinse, pat dry, and set aside. Place all the other ingredients in a glass pan and whisk together well. Place tenderloins in the pan, turn them to cover with the marinade, cover the pan with plastic wrap, and place in the refrigerator for 6 hours, or overnight.
Thirty minutes before you plan to roast the pork, remove the tenderloins from the refrigerator to come to room temperature.
Preheat the oven to 400°F. Use a roasting pan with a rack; line the bottom of the pan with foil and place the tenderloins on the rack. Roast the tenderloins until an instant-read thermometer inserted in the center registers 140°F—about 20 to 25 minutes. Do not overcook the pork: the center should still be pink when served. Remove from the oven and slice.
Makes 10 servings
Chocolate Coma Cookies
1 cup blanched slivered almonds
4 ounces bittersweet chocolate (2⅓ 1.5-ounce bars of Godiva Dark or 1½ 3-ounce bars of Lindt bittersweet chocolate)
1 cup dried tart cherries
12 ounces semisweet chocolate chips (1 regular-size bag)
2 cups rolled oats
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
½ pound (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup packed dark brown sugar
1 cup granulated sugar eggs
2 eggs
1½ teaspoons vanilla extract
Preheat the oven to 350°F. Butter two cookie sheets.
In a nonstick pan, toast the almonds over medium-low heat, stirring constantly, for about 5 to 10 minutes, until they have just begun to turn brown and emit a nutty aroma. Turn out onto a plate to cool. Chop the chocolate bars into small chunks, no larger than large chocolate chips, and set aside.