The Grilling Season

by Davidson, Diane Mott

• ISBN13: 9780553100006
• ISBN10: 0553100009
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 1997-10-01
• Publisher: Bantam Dell Pub Group

Summary

For fans of Diane Mott Davidson's unique blend of sumptuous fare and first-class suspense,The Grilling Season,her seventh in the cordon bleu series, is truly a mystery to savor. Hired to cater a hockey party, Goldy comes up with a winning menu featuring zesty South of the Border Appetizers, succulent Goalies' Grilled Tuna and iced Stanley Cupcakes. Yet Patricia McCracken, her client and long-suffering friend, won't be satisfied until Goldy adds a hefty side order of revenge. . . Patricia is convinced obstetrician and her Health Maintenance Organization--penny-pinching ACHMO--are to blame for the recent loss of her baby. And the doctor in question is none other that John Richard Korman, Aspen Meadow's leading ob/gyn and Goldy's ex-husband, whose clean-cut good looks hide his dirty habit of battering women. Now, Patricia is suing the doctor and ACHMO for malpractice, but that's not enough. She wants Goldy's advice on getting even--and coming out on top. At first, Goldy relishes the fact that her ex-husband is finally going to pay. Even so, it's a horrid shock when John Richard is arrested for the murder of his current girlfriend, glamorous Suz Craig. . .especially when it's Goldy who makes the gruesome discovery. Shaken by the thought that she could easily have been the victim, Goldy feverishly throws herself into her work. But with her new husband, homicide cop Tom Schulz, delegated to the background of the case, and her fourteen-year-old son begging to prove his father innocent, Goldy has no choice but to sift through Aspen Meadow's premium mix of sizzling gossip and reheated rumor for clues. Will Goldy's fresh-baked Chocolate Comfort Cookies give her the strength to disentangle a baffling mystery that threatens her catering deadline, her relationship with her son, and even her life? The Grilling Season,replete with tantalizing recipes, is Diane Mott Davidson's tastiest mystery yet.

Author Biography

Diane Mott Davidson lives in Evergreen, Colorado, with her husband and three sons and is at work on her next novel.

Excerpts

Getting revenge can kill you.  If you want real revenge, you have to be willing to pay.  Life is not like the movies.

Unfortunately.

With these happy thoughts, I measured out fudge cake batter into cupcake liners and slid the pan into the oven.  I set the timer and reminded myself for the thousandth time that I'd let go of the need for revenge.  I wasn't a hot-blooded teenager.  I was a thirty-three-year-old caterer with a business to run and work to do.  Half-past six on a cool August morning?  What I needed was coffee.

You never let go of the thirst for revenge.

Yeah, well.  Maybe hearing other people's sad stories sparked thoughts of my own.  Or in this case I'd heard one unhappy story, one story needing justice.  But what could I do for a client in emotional pain?  I'd agreed to cater her hockey party.  A nurse had told my client, Patricia McCracken, that hosting this sports celebration would distract her from her problems.  But whenever we discussed the menu, Patricia didn't want to talk about vittles; she wanted to talk about vindication.  And I was as unenthusiastic about jumping into her revenge fantasy as I was about washing dishes after a banquet.

For six years, I'd run the only food-service business in the small mountain town of Aspen Meadow, Colorado.  My son, Arch, was fourteen years old.  Just over a year ago, I'd married for the second time.  Add to this the fact that I'd already sought punishment for the scoundrel who'd recently wronged Patricia McCracken.  I'd barely escaped with my life.

I retrieved unsalted butter and extra-thick whipping cream from my walk-in refrigerator, then reached up to my cabinet shelves for aromatic Mexican vanilla and confectioner's sugar.  Stay busy, I had advised Patricia.  It'll help.  Make your guest list.  Plan your decorations.  Some people despise slates of tasks and errands.  But I revel in work.  Work keeps my mind off weighty matters.  Usually.

Take this morning, for example.  After finishing the cupcakes, I needed to check my other bookings, make sure our sick boarder was sleeping peacefully, then rush to pick up Arch from an overnight party.  Before zipping back to my commercial-size kitchen in our small home, I was going to deliver Arch to the country-club residence of his can't-be-bothered father.  My ex-husband, ob-gyn Dr. John Richard Korman, was the father--and scoundrel--in question.  He was also the man my client Patricia McCracken obsessively hated.  He was the man I had escaped from.  He was known to his other ex-wife and me as the Jerk.  Small example of Jerk behavior: Dr. John Richard Korman would no more pick up his son from an overnight than he would beat some eggs for breakfast.  And careful of that word beat.

I stared at the menu on my computer screen and struggled to refocus on the task at hand.  After much hesitation, Patricia had finally decided that her party would be a two-month-late celebration of the Colorado Avalanche winning the Stanley Cup.  But making the plans with her hadn't been easy.  One week she didn't care about the menu; the next she obsessed about details, such as how long to grill fish.  After many discussions, Patricia had finally ordered Mexican appetizers, grilled fish from Florida (the Avs had beaten the Florida Panthers in the Cup finals and I'd dubbed the entrÚe Goalies' Grilled Tuna), three kinds of salads, puck-shaped biscuits, and homemade potato rolls.  Plus a dessert Patricia's husband had dubbed Stanley Cupcakes.  I sighed.  After dropping off Arch this morning, I still faced a truckload of food prep.  Not only that, but this evening's event promised to be raucous, perhaps even dangerous.  I mean, hockey fans?  Now there are folks who take revenge seriously.

I turned away from the computer.  Our security system was off, so I opened the kitchen window and took a deep breath of summery mountain air.  The postdawn Colorado sky glowed as it lightened from indigo to periwinkle.  From the back of my brain came the echo of Patricia's furious voice.

"I'm telling you, Goldy.  I need to see someone punished.  "

I slapped open the other window and tried to block out her anger by inhaling the crisp air skimming down from snow-dusted mountains.  August in the high country brings warm, breezy days and nights cool enough for a log fire.  Heaven.

Unless you have to deal with John Richard Korman, my own inner voice reminded me.  Then it can be hell.

---

Excerpted from The Grilling Season by Diane Mott Davidson
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.