The Diva Says Cheesecake!

I’m making a triple chocolate cheesecake for my daughter’s slumber party. I don’t want to use cookies in the base, can I make it with honey graham crackers and cocoa powder?

Busy Mom in Graham, Arizona

Dear Busy Mom,

You absolutely can! It’s a great way to get in more chocolate flavor without making the base too sweet.

Sophie

I was appalled, even though I knew the police sometimes came up with a lesser charge to keep someone in jail while they investigated a murder. If it were only Marsha’s claim that Bernie had threatened Tate, then he might be out quickly. Or perhaps they would only question him and not detain him. But the blood on Bernie’s car was an issue. I peered at it again, wishing I could declare it to be strawberry jam or some other harmless substance. But it sure looked like blood.

“It will take a while to get the test results back on the car,” said Wong. “He’ll have to post a whopper of a bond, though, especially since he could flee the country and head back to England. ”

I thought about my own bank account balance, which no one would describe as a whopper. Maybe between Mars and me, we could manage it.

A loud truck rumbled along the road and squealed to a halt. A man and woman emerged and acknowledged Wong.

Nina and I moved out of the way so they could load Bernie’s car on the truck and take it to the impound lot. We walked toward our homes.

Nina stopped at her house to collect Muppet. The midday sun was getting uncomfortably hot. We rushed back to my house and air-conditioning. Muppet and Daisy romped in the backyard for a minute before returning to the house. I poured cold water into their bowl and put the kettle on for a large pitcher of iced tea. And then I phoned Mars again.

Thankfully, he was already at the police station and confirmed Alex’s presence. “We’re still early in this process,” said Mars. “They’re questioning Bernie right now. Alex is with him. He gave me the name of a bail bondsman. I’m setting that up so we can get Bernie out of here ASAP.”

“Do you need money?”

“We’ve got that covered. What we need is for you to find the real killer.”

A tall order, but I was relieved that they had enough money to bail Bernie out. I put Mars on speaker. “Nina is here with me. Tell us what you know.”

Mars sighed. “I’m clueless. The first I heard of it was when Shane phoned me from the restaurant and said Bernie was being arrested for murder.”

“Mars, where did the blood on Bernie’s car come from?” asked Nina.

“Blood?” Mars uttered it in a whisper. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“I was hoping you could explain it. Maybe Bernie cut himself in the garage?” I asked with a smidgen of hope.

“Not that I know of.” He paused and his voice changed. “Bernie and I don’t drive a lot. He usually walks to the restaurant. I haven’t been in the garage in days.”

“What are you saying?” asked Nina.

“I’m not sure. We keep the trash cans in the garage, but we’re not out there puttering on the cars or woodworking. You’re the same way. When is the last time you were in your garage?”

It hadn’t been that long for me. “I drove to see my parents last week. But I know what you mean. I can easily go for a week without driving if I don’t have an event or a convention in town. But that doesn’t change the fact that there’s blood on Bernie’s car door.”

Nina and I could hear voices in the background. Mars said quickly that he had to go, and the call was disconnected.

“Swell,” Nina grumbled. “We’ve got nothing but Marsha.”

I poured boiling water over teabags in a large heat-safe glass pitcher. “We have one other potential lead—Worried in Old Town. If there was really something illegal going on at Blackwell’s Tavern, then that would open a whole new arena of possible suspects. It could let Bernie off the hook entirely if we can establish some kind of criminal activity.”

“How are we going to find her? Are you planning to wave that envelope at people on King Street and hope someone recognizes the stationery?”

I chuckled at the thought. “As fun as that might be, I took the note to Wolf. He needs to know that something fishy might be going on. If nothing else, it will plant doubt in his mind about Bernie. And in my column, we’re running a request that she contact me. How about dinner tonight when Bernie is sprung? I need to get some groceries anyway.”

“Dinner! That sounds great. While you shop, I’ll see what the scuttlebutt is about Tate in general and about Marsha specifically.” Nina took off with Muppet.

* * *

Dragging my shopping cart along, I gladly suffered the heat on my way to the store, relieved that I didn’t need my car to get there. I didn’t know what time, or heaven forbid, even what day Bernie might be sprung, but I had him in mind while I shopped. It wasn’t easy planning his favorite dinner, because he could eat whatever fancy dish he wanted every day at The Laughing Hound. I decided that he would prefer to be outdoors after sitting in an interrogation room, so I chose pork tenderloin and giant shrimp that we could cook on the grill. I added red peppers, yellow squash, mushrooms, and asparagus for veggie kabobs, potatoes that could steam in foil on the grill, and a loaf of Italian bread. I loaded up on cream cheese, with Bobbie Sue’s cake contest in the back of my head, added blueberries, blackberries, and strawberries, and I was done.

The cashier with graying hair in need of a trim wore a name tag that said JENNY. She looked at me with sad eyes. “I heard about Bernie. If there’s anything I can do . . .”

“Thank you.” I loaded my bags into my cart, then asked, “Did you see Bernie anywhere last night?”

She squinted at me. “That would help him, wouldn’t it?”

“It might.” It all depended on when and where she saw him.

“I’ll ask around.”

I thanked her and left the store. Bernie had friends everywhere.

I went home and unloaded the groceries, thinking all the while about Bernie. I honestly didn’t know where to start. The only real lead was Marsha, and for some reason, I didn’t feel like she was being honest with us. I whipped up easy cream cheese and blueberry parfaits as dessert, then tackled a triple chocolate cheesecake with a chocolate crust, a chocolate cream cheese middle, and a chocolate mousse for the top. I slid the entire cake into the refrigerator to firm, wishing it would be ready by the time Mars and Bernie were home, but knowing it needed to settle in the fridge overnight.

If Bernie didn’t want to come to my house for dinner, that would be fine. I could understand. But in that case, I would bring dinner to the two of them. If nothing else, they would have something to nosh on when they felt like it.

I had no sooner finished the cheesecake than my old friend Humphrey Brown called. “I heard,” he said. “What can I do to help?”

I invited him to join us for dinner and phoned my next-door neighbor Francie. She was a hoot, and very sharp. She had lived in Old Town for decades and knew the older crowd who had resided here most of their lives. An avid birdwatcher and gardener, Francie’s face reflected her time in the sun. She didn’t bother with makeup. I wasn’t sure anything could hide her deep wrinkles, but it didn’t matter. Francie wore them with pride.

As it turned out, Bernie was released early enough to grab a nap and a shower. I had set the table outside, and marinated the pork and the veggies ahead of time. Nothing was left to be done, except light the grill and cook our food.

Nina came early and whipped up Very Berry Coolers just in time for Humphrey and Francie to arrive.

Francie’s golden retriever, Duke, romped off to play with Daisy and Muppet, who didn’t appear to realize that she was much smaller. Nevertheless, she held her own with the big dogs.

Humphrey had gone to school with Natasha and me. Apparently, he had a crush on me back then, which I hadn’t known about until I was an adult. He was the palest person I had ever met, with a wan physique that rivaled Barney Fife. I always suspected a strong wind could topple him. Poor Humphrey had a difficult time meeting women. It probably didn’t help that he was a mortician at a local funeral home.

While the meat sizzled on the grill, we nibbled on cherry tomato bruschetta and grilled shrimp.

When we sat down to eat and I sliced the pork tenderloin, Bernie said in his very calm, cool British accent, “I want you all to know that I did not murder Tate.”