The Main Corpse by Diane Mott Davidson
Authors: Diane Mott Davidson
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Detective and Mystery Stories, Women Private Investigators, Cooking, Large Type Books, Colorado, Caterers and Catering, Cookery, Bear; Goldy (Fictitious Character), Women in the Food Industry
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almost one - and sank into one of our kitchen chairs. Tom had put out a crusty loaf of sourdough bread and a large wedge of Bel Paese cheese. He handed me a glass full of spritzy bubbles.
Jake's Dog Biscuits
2 « cups whole wheat flour
« cup powdered milk
« teaspoon garlic powder
« teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon brown sugar
6 tablespoons margarine or shortening
1 egg, beaten
3 tablespoons liver powder
« cup ice water
Preheat oven to 350ø. In a large bowl, combine flour, powdered milk, garlic powder, salt, and sugar. Cut in shortening. Mix in egg, then add liver powder. Add ice water until mixture forms a ball. Pat out dough « inch thick on a lightly oiled cookie sheet. Cut with any size cutter and remove scraps. Bake 30 minutes. Cool before serving.
"Here's to good work situations," he said seriously, raising his glass.
I clinked my glass against his and sipped. "Speaking of which. I saw Shockley."
"Please don't ruin my cooking experience," he said with the same jolly sarcasm. He turned enthusiastically back to the dog biscuit dough. "And before you say one word, I'll tell you why I'm doing this. Jake needs to trust us. So we've got to pamper him. Show him that we care."
"I certainly hope making homemade dog biscuits at one o'clock in the morning does the trick."
Undiscouraged, Tom grinned again. "Besides that, Shockley made me so damn mad yesterday, I'm thinking of having his secretary give him some of these with his coffee Monday morning."
I groaned. Would that idiot police chief never stop bothering my husband? "Now what?"
"First tell me about your party. The food turned out all right, didn't it? Did the tent and ovens get there on time? How about Macguire?"
I briefly recapped the evening's events, concluding with my worry that Marla's erratic behavior might lead to another bout with heart disease.
"Trouble with an assay?" Tom frowned. "Why didn't she ask Tony about it before confronting Albert?"
I sipped the champagne. "Discretion and tact have never been Marla's long suits, Tom. Besides, the mine is Albert's baby, not Tony's. Anyway, I'm sure that now she wishes she had had a tete-a-tete with Tony instead of bawling out his partner in front of everybody."
"This is going to put the captain in a foul mood," Tom mused. "Glad he'll have the rest of the weekend to think about it."
"You mentioned that he had upset you."
"Upset me? Upset me? You mean, after I've worked two months on the case against David Calvin, the fact that Shockley has ruined it for me has upset me? Nah."
David Calvin had shot and killed his ex-wife not five miles from our home. Calvin hadn't liked the fact that his ex was going out with somebody, so he'd shot the boyfriend, too. The boyfriend had been in a coma for two months. I knew that Tom had recovered Calvin's murder weapon and vehicle, and had been confident about getting a conviction.
"Oh, Tom, don't tell me. What did Shockley do now?" Tom heaved a huge sigh and fingered his glass. "We have investigative keys. What that means is, say we know a guy was wearing a black shirt, that he used a thirty-two, that he shot the victim four times. Those facts are the keys. They are secret. Very, very secret. The reason we don't divulge the keys is that we use them in questioning the suspect. Say we ask about the weapon, without being specific. The guy says, 'But I don't even own a thirty-two!' Then we know we've got our guy."
The kitchen began to fill with a savory, homemade-bread aroma. Lucky Jake. I cut myself a slice of sourdough, smeared it with the creamy cheese, and waited for Tom to continue.
"Shockley was so proud of all the work we've - no, wait - the work I've done, that he blabbed about it to a lawyer friend of his. The captain needs to impress people. Anyway, that attorney just
Jake's Dog Biscuits
2 « cups whole wheat flour
« cup powdered milk
« teaspoon garlic powder
« teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon brown sugar
6 tablespoons margarine or shortening
1 egg, beaten
3 tablespoons liver powder
« cup ice water
Preheat oven to 350ø. In a large bowl, combine flour, powdered milk, garlic powder, salt, and sugar. Cut in shortening. Mix in egg, then add liver powder. Add ice water until mixture forms a ball. Pat out dough « inch thick on a lightly oiled cookie sheet. Cut with any size cutter and remove scraps. Bake 30 minutes. Cool before serving.
"Here's to good work situations," he said seriously, raising his glass.
I clinked my glass against his and sipped. "Speaking of which. I saw Shockley."
"Please don't ruin my cooking experience," he said with the same jolly sarcasm. He turned enthusiastically back to the dog biscuit dough. "And before you say one word, I'll tell you why I'm doing this. Jake needs to trust us. So we've got to pamper him. Show him that we care."
"I certainly hope making homemade dog biscuits at one o'clock in the morning does the trick."
Undiscouraged, Tom grinned again. "Besides that, Shockley made me so damn mad yesterday, I'm thinking of having his secretary give him some of these with his coffee Monday morning."
I groaned. Would that idiot police chief never stop bothering my husband? "Now what?"
"First tell me about your party. The food turned out all right, didn't it? Did the tent and ovens get there on time? How about Macguire?"
I briefly recapped the evening's events, concluding with my worry that Marla's erratic behavior might lead to another bout with heart disease.
"Trouble with an assay?" Tom frowned. "Why didn't she ask Tony about it before confronting Albert?"
I sipped the champagne. "Discretion and tact have never been Marla's long suits, Tom. Besides, the mine is Albert's baby, not Tony's. Anyway, I'm sure that now she wishes she had had a tete-a-tete with Tony instead of bawling out his partner in front of everybody."
"This is going to put the captain in a foul mood," Tom mused. "Glad he'll have the rest of the weekend to think about it."
"You mentioned that he had upset you."
"Upset me? Upset me? You mean, after I've worked two months on the case against David Calvin, the fact that Shockley has ruined it for me has upset me? Nah."
David Calvin had shot and killed his ex-wife not five miles from our home. Calvin hadn't liked the fact that his ex was going out with somebody, so he'd shot the boyfriend, too. The boyfriend had been in a coma for two months. I knew that Tom had recovered Calvin's murder weapon and vehicle, and had been confident about getting a conviction.
"Oh, Tom, don't tell me. What did Shockley do now?" Tom heaved a huge sigh and fingered his glass. "We have investigative keys. What that means is, say we know a guy was wearing a black shirt, that he used a thirty-two, that he shot the victim four times. Those facts are the keys. They are secret. Very, very secret. The reason we don't divulge the keys is that we use them in questioning the suspect. Say we ask about the weapon, without being specific. The guy says, 'But I don't even own a thirty-two!' Then we know we've got our guy."
The kitchen began to fill with a savory, homemade-bread aroma. Lucky Jake. I cut myself a slice of sourdough, smeared it with the creamy cheese, and waited for Tom to continue.
"Shockley was so proud of all the work we've - no, wait - the work I've done, that he blabbed about it to a lawyer friend of his. The captain needs to impress people. Anyway, that attorney just
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