Death is Semisweet
Read Death is Semisweet Online
Authors: Lou Jane Temple
Also by Lou Jane Temple
Red Beans and Vice
The Cornbread Killer
Bread on Arrival
A Stiff Risotto
Death by Rhubarb
Revenge of the Barbecue Queens
LOU JANE TEMPLE
ST. MARTIN’S MINOTAUR
NEW YORK
DEATH IS SEMISWEET
. Copyright © 2002 by Lou Jane Temple. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Temple, Lou Jane.
Death is semisweet / Lou Jane Temple.—1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-312-30122-7 ISBN: 978-0-312-30122-4
1. Lee, Heaven (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Family-owned business enterprises—Fiction. 3. Chocolate industry—Fiction. 4. Kansas City (Mo.)—Fiction. 5. Women cooks—Fiction. 6. Cookery—Fiction. 7. Cookery (Chocolate) I. Title.
PS3570.E535 D43 2002
813′.54—dc21
2002068352
First Edition: September 2002
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For
Charlene Welling and Mary Simpson,
who are always there through thick and thin
2 cups flour
1 cup sugar pinch salt
1 tsp. baking soda
4 T. cocoa
1 cup cold water
1 cup Miracle Whip
1 tsp. vanilla
This is a standard Midwestern housewife recipe that was probably printed on the Miracle Whip jar at some time. Bob Bond, a friend of mine, got it from his mother, Evelyn, in Joplin, Missouri.
Combine all dry ingredients. Mix well. Add all liquids and mix to combine. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. Frost with Hershey’s chocolate frosting.
1 stick butter
cup cocoa
3 cups powdered sugar
cup milk
1 tsp. vanilla
Melt butter. Stir in cocoa. Alternate adding powdered sugar and milk, beating until smooth with each addition. Add more milk if needed to obtain spreading consistency. Stir in vanilla.
H
eaven Lee woke with a start. Sections of the
Kansas City Star
and the
New York Times
Sunday papers were on her chest, on the bed, on the floor. She stretched and looked around contentedly, then pulled a variety of pillows toward her and arranged them as a back rest, organizing the scattered papers into two piles, separating the
Times
from the
Star.
It was 10:30 on Sunday morning and she was still in bed.
Sunday was the only day Café Heaven was closed so it was the only day of the week staying in bed late with the paper was a possibility. She had the Kansas City paper delivered every day but the
New York Times
only on Sunday. She didn’t have enough time to read two newspapers every morning. Half the time she didn’t have time to read one in the morning, reading the Star when she got home from the restaurant late at night. Today she’d gotten through the arts and editorial sections before dozing off again. Lazy Sundays didn’t come around too often.
Heaven hopped out of bed and went downstairs for another cup of coffee. She’d gotten up with Hank Wing, had her first cup then. Hank had gone around the corner to spend some time with his mother and attend mass at Holy Rosary Catholic Church with her. Heaven was never invited on these outings. She wasn’t Catholic and Hank’s mother didn’t approve of her, a fact of life Hank accepted better than Heaven did.
Heaven’s home in the Columbus Park district of Kansas City was a storefront. The first floor was one big commercial kitchen, laundry room, dining room and entertaining area, with lots of storage places for foodstuffs and dishes and platters and baskets and wine glasses. Before Heaven opened the restaurant, she’d run a catering business out of this floor.
She poured more coffee and also got a Diet Coke out of the big reach-in refrigerator, anticipating the move to a cold form of caffeine soon. She spotted a big chunk of chocolate sheet cake in the refrigerator and added it to her tray. She returned to the bed upstairs, took a bite of cake and followed it with coffee. Then she grabbed the phone from the bedside table.
She dialed and when someone answered, broke into a big smile. “Hi, honey, it’s your mom.”
“Mom, I’m so glad you called. What are you doing?” The voice on the other end of the line was hesitant, reserved. It was Iris, Heaven’s daughter. Iris had finished her last year at Oxford and was still living in England with her father, the rock musician Dennis McGuinne. She was launching herself as a writer and she was in love.
“I have the day off and I’m still in bed. It’s absolutely glorious. Hank went to church with his mom and I made coffee and got back in bed. In fact, I’ve already had my first nap.”
“Why don’t you just stay there all day. I’m sure Hank will come back and join you,” Iris said, teasing, then felt embarrassed about making a sexual crack to her mom. She was glad her mother couldn’t see her turning red.
Heaven wasn’t going to bite. “I can’t stay in bed because I have a brunch date with Stephanie Simpson. She’s going to teach me about chocolate. But then I’m coming home and staying here. It’s probably the last time this month I’ll get to do this. It’s been busy at the restaurant since Thanksgiving and even though we’re not open on Sundays, it seems like I have stuff to do on Sundays the rest of the month. When will you be home?”
Iris had been firm last year when she explained to her mother that after college, she wasn’t coming back to live in Kansas City. It had been rough to accept, but Heaven couldn’t blame her daughter. Iris had a world view. Heaven just wanted her to remember where her emotional “home” was. After all, Iris had grown up in Kansas City, moving to Cambridge and her father only for her college years. The last four years had been good for Iris and Dennis, or so they both said. Heaven had accepted the separation until this year, when it led to Iris falling in love with a man of whom Heaven was afraid.
“Well, I’m coming on the 20th and today is the 10th, so only ten more days,” Iris said, still with the hesitation in her voice. “I’m really looking forward to it, Mom.”
“Oh, honey, so am I. I told my brother we’d come out to the farm on Christmas Day, but Christmas Eve we’ll have a get-together here, or at the restaurant, I’m not sure where yet. …”
“Mom,” Iris said more sharply than she’d meant to, cutting off her mother’s chattering mid-stream. “Stuart is coming with me.”
Silence for at least ten seconds.
“Mom, are you still there?”
“Gosh, Iris, I would think Mr. Watts would want to spend Christmas with some of his children. How about the ones that are older than you? Doesn’t he even have a grandchild?” Heaven’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Mother, I thought we’d gotten to the point where you accept that I love this man. Now I’ve tried to respect your wishes, and Dad’s too, as far as that goes, and not move in with him. But he’s coming with me to Kansas City and that’s that.”
