Killer Confections8 Delectable Mysteries(540)
He smiled gratefully. “I make a mean venison stew. Why?”
I crossed my fingers under the kitchen table. “Well, tonight’s Monday night, of course, and that’s our traditional night for potluck suppers. You see, everyone at the table has to make their own favorite dish to share. Of course, you wouldn’t be making venison stew because we don’t have any, but—”
“But I do.”
“What?”
He smiled broadly, like the old Billy Dee Grizzle. The milk must have taken its effect. “That ain’t no problem at all. Got me an eight-pointer tied to the roof of my car right now.”
“You what? I thought you gave up hunting.”
“Well, now, I didn’t shoot it. I picked this one up alongside the road. With all that shooting going on, them deer crowd the road for safety, and every now and then one of them gets just a little too close. Like this one done.”
I nearly gagged. “You mean you want to make a road kill stew right here in my kitchen?”
Billy Dee looked almost hurt. “This here ain’t no run-of-the-mill road kill, Miss Yoder. There’s hardly a scratch on it, and besides, it was as warm and red as a fresh-baked cherry pie when I picked it up.”
“Thank you. Cherry pie will never be the same again.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Did anybody else see you pick up the deer?”
“Not a soul. I was the last car to leave, and by the time I pulled up here, they’d all gone in.”
Call me daring or just plain foolish, but I’d already survived two whizzing bullets and was feeling surprisingly adventuresome. “Quickly, pull your car around the back side of the barn. I’ll go open the main door. You skin and gut it in there.”
The look on Billy Dee’s face was priceless. “Don’t that take all!”
“Of course, you’ll do a good job of cleaning up in there when you’re done, and you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone?”
“I swear! I mean, yes, ma’am!”
By the time I’d squared Billy Dee away in the barn, and watched him at work for a while, the Congressman and his aide had returned. One by one, I cornered the guests and gave them my spiel about it being potluck night, and, much to my great surprise, one by one they volunteered dishes. Even Jeanette was cheerful and cooperative, which only goes to show you that a near miss by a bullet can do wonders for one’s morale.
The Congressman volunteered to make Senate Bean Soup, but since he didn’t have time to soak the beans, he settled on a doctored-up version of canned baked beans.
Lydia said she knew a wonderful recipe for vegetable curry she was sure everyone would like.
“But I don’t have curry powder,” I explained. “The Amish aren’t big on exotic Oriental dishes.”
“Well, do you have cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, coriander, cumin, garlic, and chili?”
“Everything but cumin.”
“Then I can make my own curry. A cumin-less curry unfortunately, but still a curry.”
Happily, I found the spices for her. You have to admire a woman who knows how to make her own curry powder, that’s for sure.
Joel, bless his heart, was as flexible as a willow twig in April. Before I’d even told him about the produce haul, he was all set to make something.
“You do have potatoes?” It was more of a statement than a question.
“Of course!”
“Apple sauce?”
“Organic to the core.”
“And sour cream, for those who want it?”
“That would be Matilda’s. She’s the nervous one.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind. What are you making?”
“Latkes. Jewish potato pancakes. After all, in just six more weeks it will be Chanukah.”
“Bless you.”
“That will be my main dish contribution. Then for dessert, I’d like to make my famous broiled bananas.”
“Double bless you.”
Linda wasn’t quite as cooperative as I’d expected, at least not until I’d mentioned that Sam had sold me some six different varieties of leafy green things with foreign-sounding names.
“There’s a Belgian something, a Swiss something, a Roman something—or was that Romanian?”
“Well, I might put together a nice fresh salad,” she conceded.
I decided not to clarify the fresh part. “Great! And I have lots of dressing in the fridge.”
Linda looked like I must have when Billy Dee mentioned his road kill. “You mean commercial, bottled dressings?”
“Yeah. Brand names even.”
“Hmm. I do have an hour of hatha yoga this afternoon, and Ms. Parker did want me to do some channeling before dinner. Perhaps I have just enough time to make up a bottle of natural dressing. Without preservatives in it. You wouldn’t happen to have organic dandelion vinegar and fresh tarragon, would you?”