Red Beans And Vice Part 5

"That doesn't sound good. First, tell me about the party. What did you serve this year?"

Heaven always tried for a menu that skirted around the traditional Jewish Pa.s.sover food and Christian Easter items. "I did a Zakuski table this year, very Russian."

"Zakuski?" Iris echoed.

"In the really old days in Russia, before it was just potatoes and cabbage, on their plantations or whatever they called them, people would have food out on their sideboard all the time because when travelers would get to your house they were usually from far away, and they'd been traveling a long time and they were hungry. The steppes you know. So it's the Russian version of Tapas, kinda." "Like what?"

"Blini all piled up with mushrooms. Caviar, beet caviar, eggplant, pirogi dumpling things, and a Kilebiac, a salmon in puff pastry. Other stuff. These Armenian pastries filled with farmers' cheese. Yum."

"How exotic. Did you serve vodka?"

"Of course. I put the vodka bottles in milk cartons full of water in the freezer. And I put flowers in the water so the vodka looked very festive, in an iceberg of flowers."

"Sounds like Martha to me, Mom."

Heaven bristled. "People were putting their vodka in icebergs long before Martha Stewart."

"So, what's the problem? You said you had a lot on your mind."

How much did she want to tell her daughter? "Someone wrote this horrible unsigned letter about Cafe Heaven and also sent it to the newspaper and to the health department."

"Mom, what did it say?"

She decided to paraphrase. "That our waiters had AIDS and our cooks put nose boogers in the food."

"Mom, that's horrible!"

"Yes, it is. There's virtually no way you can stop people from doing something like that. And it can ruin your business."

"The newspaper isn't going to print that c.r.a.p is it?"

"No, but who knows what this sicko will do next. And I have to leave town next week."

"Where to?"

"New Orleans. I'm cooking at a benefit for the oldest nuns in America."

"Poor old dears," Iris said sweetly.

"The order is old, not the actual nuns. But that's not going too well either."

"Tell me."

"I went down there a few weeks ago to a planning meeting and while we were there in the convent, someone wrote bad words in red paint on the convent walls and stole the eighteenth-century cross they brought from France and put termites on their historical staircase."

Iris giggled. "I'm sorry, Mom. I shouldn't laugh but you just painted quite a picture. Did all that happen at once, the graffiti and the cross and the termites?"

"Not quite. But enough about me. You left a message and said you had a good new gig?" Iris had been writing since she finished up at Oxford. Her father was a well-known English rock star and she was writing about music for magazines.

"I go to Brazil next week for a magazine kind of like Tattler, I don't think they have it in America. I get to stay two whole weeks and write a what's-going-on-in-Brazilian-music piece. Won't that be fun?"

"Just be careful-tourists are always getting shot on the beach in Rio-and don't go to any late-night clubs by yourself."

"Mother! You've got a lot of nerve fussing at me about being safe. Some nut is writing hate mail to you and you're heading off to New Orleans where another nut is after the nuns. Nothing that could happen on the beach in Rio could compare. Besides, you-know-who will be with me most of the time." You-know-who was Iris's boyfriend, another member of her father's band and a man as old as her father. It infuriated Heaven.

"Then you'll have bodyguards and a driver and all that. Good," Heaven said shortly.

"Mom, let's not hang up mad. I'll be fine and I'll call you from there next week, if I know where you'll be."

"I'll put the phone number at my hotel in New Orleans on your machine in England. You can get it off that. Or call the cafe. They'll have my numbers."

"I'm worried about you, Mom. Have you told that detective friend of yours about this?"

"No, but that's a good idea, Iris. Bonnie couldn't come to the party today or maybe I would have thought of that when I saw her. Now go to bed, honey. Alone, I hope."

"As alone as one of your nuns, Mom. Be careful. I love you."

"Love you too, honey," she said as Iris hung up.

Heaven, dialing, could hardly wait to talk to her friend Sergeant Bonnie Weber, of the Kansas City Police Department. She couldn't believe she hadn't thought of it before.

Bonnie would know what to do.

"I don't know what to do," Bonnie said between bites. She and Heaven were having lunch at the Cla.s.sic Cup, a bistro owned by one of Heaven's friends, Charlene Welling. Charlene had sent them lots of food: a Cobb salad; a bacon, lettuce, tomato and Brie sandwich; two bowls of two different soups and a piece of grilled salmon with a mango salsa on top. They had it all in the middle of the table and were grazing. "I'm a homicide cop. What do I know from poison-pen letters?"

"Don't play dumb with me. You're always going to those conferences and I know they aren't always about murder. Now that you're a big shot sergeant." Heaven couldn't resist teasing her friend a little bit. Bonnie had resisted taking the sergeants' exam for several years, saying it would take more time away from her family. But now that her kids were in high school, she'd moved up.

"Heaven, I don't blame you for being upset and scared. These creeps can bring a person down. And the extra added element is that you serve food. That makes it easy to start rumors and it makes you vulnerable to people's fears about their health. All of these food safety problems, the killer hamburgers and stuff. It's made the public gun-shy."

"Gun-shy. Good one," Heaven said wryly. "Can't you rummage around and find a profile on this type of weirdo?"

"Yes, I probably can. But you already talked to one of the top experts in the country and he gave you good advice, it sounds like, even if it was a little late. I'll go into the FBI web site and see what I can find. Heaven, it could be anyone."

She had to laugh. "You mean I'm universally hated?"

"Start in and move outward. Personally, it could be a spurned lover from years ago who harbors a grudge. Or it could be someone who has obsessed over you from seeing your picture in the papers and reading about your brushes with death. That can be s.e.xually exciting to some people."

"What's the next circle out? My business?" Heaven picked a big slice of avocado out of the Cobb salad and popped it in her mouth.

"Yes, I would say that's next. Someone who didn't get a job and wanted one, or did get a job and couldn't keep it. Someone who got bad service or had to wait for a table or thinks he got sick from the food. Someone who doesn't like the open mike nights. Someone who personally doesn't like one of your employees." Bonnie waved for a waiter. "Could I have some coffee?" she asked when one hurried over. Heaven's table was always considered VIP at the Cup.

"And then?" Heaven asked glumly.

"People who don't like the groups mentioned in the letter. Someone who hates gays, or waiters, or cooks," Bonnie said calmly, not feeling Heaven's sense of doom and drama.

"What's the largest circle?" Heaven asked.

"The poison-pen version of random violence. Someone who could have chosen any restaurant to terrorize, and you just happened to get chosen."

Out of nowhere three desserts appeared, compliments of Charlene, who waved at them from behind the coffee counter. The two were quiet for a while as they tasted a baked apple with cinnamon ice !ream, a dense dark-chocolate brownie, and a piece of key lime pie.

"Will you do one thing for me, Bonnie?"

"You know I will within my limitations."

Heaven polished off the last bite of the brownie. "Will you ask around the department? Maybe some other restaurant has been getting these too and we just don't know about it. Or maybe some other kinds of businesses that hire lots of gay people have been targeted. We might be able to eliminate one or two of these possibilities."

"Now that I can do," Bonnie Weber said.

Heaven rolled over on Hank again. She kissed his neck and the little hollow where his collarbone fit on his chest. She licked his shoulder, wanting to set the taste of him in her mind. "I'll miss you," she whispered.

Hank ran his hand through her hair. "You're only going to be gone for a few days. Why are you acting this way?"

"I'm afraid."

Hank pulled her down until her head was on his chest. He wrapped her up in his arms and let the beat of his heart calm her. After a few minutes he sensed that she was more relaxed. "I don't think I've ever heard you say that before, that you're afraid. What of?"

"The fact that there are people out in the world that I don't know that may want to do me harm scares me. Whoever wrote that letter about my restaurant scares me. The person who vandalized the convent in New Orleans scares me. The fact that some or all of these things could be just random really scares me."

Hank stroked her head. "If you know what you're up against, you can figure out how to fight it. I know you're a warrior, Heaven."

"I'm a tired warrior. I feel defeated."

"Then I'm going to take your mind to a completely different level for a minute. I have a favor to ask you."

"Anything, as long as it doesn't require warrioring," Heaven said, rolling over and propping her head up with one arm so she could look at Hank.

"I have a package of little gifts and a letter that I'd like for you to take to my cousins in New Orleans. They live in a Vietnamese enclave just out of town. Its called Versailles. I think it's very well known and shouldn't be hard to find."

"Of course, but why not send them UPS?"

"Because I want them to meet you, that's why. This way there will be no embarra.s.sment, no one has to ask the other to dinner or something that might be strained. You can deliver the package and they will get to meet you. And you them, of course."

Heaven was touched. "Is this because your mom has told them what an evil white witch I am? You want to show them I don't have horns?"

"I want them to see the remarkable woman that I love. That's all."

"Aren't you afraid that when they see how old I am, plus being an Anglo, it will just make things worse?"

Hank laughed. "Two of my cousins are general pract.i.tioners and run a family practice together, and a third is a dentist. They should be able to handle any geriatric medical emergencies that might occur."

"I think I'm having one now." Heaven grabbed Hank's hand and put it on one of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"A medical emergency?"

"Yes. Heart palpitations," she whispered in his ear, and pulled him to her.

Trinity Rice Cakes 3 cups cooked rice 1 onion, peeled and diced 3 stalks celery, diced 1 green pepper, diced 1 red pepper, diced 3 cloves garlic, diced 3 T. olive oil plus a little oil for frying 3 eggs, separated and the whites beaten stiff 2 T. flour 1 tsp. baking powder cup grated Parmesan cheese your choice cup fresh herbs: basil, rosemary, thyme, marjoram, parsley, oregano kosher salt and black pepper Heat the oil in a heavy saute pan and add the onion, peppers, garlic, and celery. Saute until soft. Add salt, pepper, and herbs, and saute another couple of minutes. Remove from heat, cool a little and then pulverize in a food processer. Toss the rice with the flour and the baking powder. Add the vegetable and herb mixture and the beaten egg yolks to the rice and mix, then add cheese and beaten egg whites. Heat some oil in a crepe or saute pan and drop in small dollops of the dough, flatten and fry on each side until the edges are crispy. Drain on a paper towel and serve with a curl of prosciutto or country ham for a starter. You can make a larger version as a side dish for an entree. You can also mix in some cooked wild rice or some barley.

Five.

Heaven, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were the one who caused all the trouble at the convent. Not one bad thing has happened since you've been gone." Nancy Blair was teasing Heaven over lunch at Galatoire's.

"Do you think I should have stayed home?" Heaven asked as she tasted her Pompano Almondine. "This is great. I wonder where they get the pompano."

"Florida. But who knows what it really is? Any old flat-bodied fish, they call it pompano nowadays."

Heaven was surprised Nancy knew about the types of fish bodies. "Are you a cook, Nancy?"

"We had great food at my houses. We were known for it. Not that I wanted our clients hanging around eating food. No, I wanted them to do their business and get out. But there is another level of customer that demands food and drink along with their romantic interludes. At first I had Antoine's send over food and a waiter, but there is little markup in something that's already retail, so I started providing that service myself."

"You sound like a savvy businesswoman, Nancy. No wonder you're rich."

Nancy Blair ignored the compliment, lost for a moment in reverie. "Back then, on Sundays I'd cook for all the girls. They could have their children come to dinner, too. If I was in a good mood, I'd let them invite their pimps. I thought pimps were utterly useless, didn't understand why girls that worked in a respectable house like mine still felt the need to give their money to some man, money they'd worked hard for. By the time I took mine and the pimp took his, the working girl didn't have a chance."

The irony of what she had just said was lost on Nancy, Heaven could see. Her exploitation had been just, while the pimp's exploitation was unjust? "What would you cook?" Heaven asked.

"Pot food. The south has a great history of pot food, something made out of a cheap cut of meat and cooked for a long time to be tender. I made great ox tails, Jambalaya, gumbo. Sometimes I'd roast a turkey or some ducks. One of my husbands was a hunter, and we'd have venison stew."

"Now we're getting to the good stuff," Heaven said with a smile. "The husbands."

"I wish they'd been the good stuff," Nancy Blair chuckled.

"How many times were you married?"

"Counting my present husband, six."

Thank G.o.d she beat me, Heaven thought. "I didn't realize you were married now. You seem like a single woman and you didn't mention a husband when we had lunch before."

A look of genuine pain came over Nancy's face. Heaven wasn't sure if she was sad or having a physical attack. "Most people think we're divorced. Jimmy's been gone from New Orleans for two years now. He was considerably younger than I was."

"Where is he?"

"I wish I knew. I sent him money about three months after he left. He was in San Diego then. I haven't heard since. Don't know if he's dead or alive."

"I know this is nosy," Heaven said, "but was the amount of money you sent enough to tide him over for a year and a half? Maybe you'll hear from him when he needs more."

Nancy laughed. "I'm not that generous, Heaven. Even if he invested wisely, he's been out of money for a year. After all, I wanted him to come back at that time. I wouldn't give him enough rope to go and hang me with."

"And now? Do you still want him to come back?"

"I could say no and mean it right this minute, but if he was to come through that door, I don't have a clue what I'd do; fire my revolver at his pretty head or kiss him."