A Pizza To Die For - A Pizza To Die For Part 18
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A Pizza To Die For Part 18

As I made the woman's small pizza, I wondered about Jack, and what angles he was playing in all of this. Could he be a pawn of one of the women, or was it possible he was manipulating them both? I would love to talk to him, but not without having reinforcements behind me, and I didn't mean my sister. I'd take Art Young with me if I could, but I wasn't in any position to ask him for favors at the moment. Our illustrious chief of police would be good to have watching my back, but I couldn't ask him, either. That left Bob Lemon and possibly David Quinton, but it wouldn't be fair to put either of those two in that position.

For now, questioning Jack would just have to wait.

"We need one medium Chicago-style deep dish pizza," Maddy said an hour later when she walked into the kitchen.

"Do we? I could use a fairy godmother myself, and trust me, if I ever find one, I'm not asking her to make that pizza. Don't you remember the last time I tried to make one in my conveyor oven?"

"It wasn't pretty," Maddy agreed, "but I've got a guy out there who's homesick for the Windy City, and he wants you to try hard enough to give you this, whether you succeed or not." She held a crisp new fifty-dollar bill up in the air. "You've just got to try again, Eleanor."

"Fine, I'll do what I can."

"Excellent. I'll go give him the good news," Maddy said as she left the kitchen.

I got out my recipe book, an old binder I'd had since high school, and flipped to a recipe I'd tried before. Making an authentic Chicago-style pizza was out of the question with my conveyor oven; at least, if there was a way to produce one, I hadn't found it yet. Instead, I had something that was as close to it as I'd been able to come up with so far. I added yeast to warm water, and as that was proofing, I mixed flour, sugar, and salt in a bowl. After adding the yeast to the mix, I used my hands to blend it together, adding the necessary oil along the way. When it still wasn't developing into the shape I wanted, I added a little more water in order to form it into a rough ball.

That was where I'd made my first mistake in the past. I'd done some research, and it appeared that I'd been kneading the dough too long. One site on the Internet I'd found claimed that two minutes was all the dough needed in order to form the biscuit-like crust, so I resisted the urge to go past that and stopped when the timer went off. I would have liked three or four hours to let it rise, but I didn't have that much time, so an hour was going to have to do.

While that was set aside and I started planning out my toppings, Maddy came back. "Any idea how long this is going to take?"

"Tell him it's going to be awhile. I'm making the dough from scratch. If he wants to come back in ninety minutes, it should be ready by then."

Maddy smiled. "That's perfect. He's got a meeting, but he'll be back in two hours, if you need that much time."

I looked at my watch. "Tell him that would be perfect."

"Will do. In the meantime, I've got more orders for you."

"No more deep dish pizzas, though," I said.

"Don't worry, we both know there's not a lot of demand for that in our part of the South. I've got two regular crusts, and one thin crust."

"Those I can do in my sleep," I said.

I tried my best to ignore the deep dish dough, but I still glanced at it from time to time. I'd added a little more yeast than I should have, to speed up the process, but obviously I hadn't added enough. Ninety minutes later, the dough had just barely risen above where it had been before. I lightly floured the counter where I hand-kneaded dough, and plopped the whole thing down. I used my new European-style rolling pin until I had a crust that would be oversized for a ten-inch deep dish pan. Forming it on the bottom and up the sides, I trimmed the edges at the top and started applying the filling. I sprinkled mozzarella onto the dough, added some sausage and mushrooms, and then ladled on some sauce. I repeated that one more time, and then finally distributed a healthy layer of grated parmesan cheese over the top. I held my breath as I slid it onto the conveyor. I'd tried to keep it light, but it was still twice the weight of a regular pizza.

As it came out of the other side of the conveyor, I looked at it with some alarm. It was clearly nowhere near ready.

I had two options. I could give my customer a refund and count this as a learning experience, or I could try running it through the oven again. Having nothing to lose, I decided to do just that.

When it came out the second time, the top was a little too done for my taste, but at least the exposed edges of the crust were golden brown. It was by no means the prettiest pizza I'd ever made, but he wasn't paying me for appearance. At least I hoped that wasn't part of the deal.

Wearing hot pads on each hand, I lifted the pizza from the conveyor and decided to deliver it myself. Maddy's eyebrows shot up when I walked out, but she pointed me to the table where a man in a business suit was waiting eagerly for what I had to offer.

As I stood by his table, I said, "I'm making no promises on this. If it's not to your liking, I'd be happy to give you a full refund, but if I do, know that I'll never try to make one of these again."

I put it down in front of him, and he just stared at it.

"Is something wrong?" I asked. I must have been right. The entire pizza had probably been overcooked.

"A knife would be nice," he said with a pleasant smile, "and I wouldn't say no to a fork, either."

"Sorry," I said with a nervous laugh. After I retrieved tableware for him, he made a grand show of cutting into the pizza and serving himself a slice. I moved away from his table, but stayed close enough in case he didn't like it. He took a single bite, and then put his fork down.

"I'm sorry," I said as I approached him, ready to return his fifty-dollar bill. "I know it's not what you were expecting."

"Are you kidding? I never dreamed you'd come this close," he said with a broad smile. "Nice job."

I couldn't believe the wave of relief I experienced. "I'm so glad you like it."

Janice Blake touched my arm as I headed back to the kitchen. "What exactly was that you just served that man?"

"It was a special order," I said. I wasn't about to encourage anyone else to order a deep dish. It was too unnerving to have them on my menu. "I hope you didn't want one. They take a great deal of time to prepare."

"Heavens, no," she said. "I was just wondering what it was doing in a pizza parlor. I can't imagine eating a slice of that."

"Don't worry. Your thin crust should be out in a minute."

Funny, but I thought it had looked delicious once he'd cut into it. If it hadn't been so much work, I might have made more, but there was no way it was going on my menu.

Twenty minutes later, Maddy came back with another order. She lingered as I prepared a fourteen-inch pepperoni and sausage, and as I slid it onto the conveyor, she said, "You just made that man's day."

"I can't believe he liked it."

"Have a little faith in yourself. I thought it looked great."

"I got lucky," I said.

My sister smiled at me. "Sometimes it's better to be lucky than it is to be good."

"If you say so. How are we doing out there?"

Maddy shrugged. "This should be it, and then we'll be ready for our own lunch break. Any chance you can make one of those monsters for us?"

"Not without at least two hours' notice," I said.

"Okay, I'm not willing to wait that long for anything but turkey, and that's just at Thanksgiving. Why don't you slide an extra pizza through for us so we can eat before we go out detecting."

As I reached for a ball of dough, I said, "Okay, but I wasn't aware that we were doing any investigating this afternoon."

"Come on, Eleanor. We've stirred some folks up, but we're not that much closer to finding out who killed Judson than we were when we started."

"I agree. I'm just not sure where to look."

Maddy thought about it, and then said, "We need to go back to Chastain. I don't know about you, but I'd like to find out more about this Jack fellow. He seems to be showing up everywhere, doesn't he?"

"I admit that I'm curious myself," I said, "but I thought we might be able to use some reinforcements."

"I don't think that's going to be necessary," Maddy said.

Had my sister completely lost her mind? "Why do you say that? This could be one scary dude."

"Think about it, Eleanor. Who do you think warned Lacy that she should speak with us? I'm willing to bet that the message came from Jack himself. We should be fine, as long as he knows that you're Art's friend."

"I'm not sure I should say that," I said. "I said some things to Art that I shouldn't have, and I don't think I'm his favorite person in the world at the moment."

Maddy shrugged. "Sometimes friends disagree, but the question is-is there any way that Jack will know that?"

I thought about it, and realized that my sister was right. "No, he won't have a clue. Besides, Art wasn't that upset with me. He still wants to protect me from harm."

"Then we'll go in with the attitude that Jack will be afraid to touch us."

I remembered how nervous Lacy had been, and wondered if this man Jack would have the same reaction. He might not look intimidated, but he'd known that Art Young, or any of his friends, weren't to be trifled with. "Okay, you've convinced me. It sounds like we've got a plan."

Before we left for Chastain, I put up another sign, making sure that the tape was securely attached to the window frame this time. If anyone wanted a pizza, they were just going to have to wait until we got back.

Maddy and I were walking out the door when Greg showed up.

"What are you doing here at this time of day?" I asked him. "We were just headed out."

"I figured as much," Greg said as he looked at the sign. "Where are you off to this time?"

Maddy answered, "We're going to Chastain to talk to another possible suspect."

He nodded. "No surprise there. Do either one of you mind if I tag along?"

"Greg, you shouldn't get involved in this," I said. He had a bright future ahead of him, and I didn't want to be responsible for any black marks on his record because of something I did.

"And yet oddly enough, I am," he answered. "Besides, I might do you both some good."

"How's that? You don't honestly think that we need a man to protect us, do you?" Maddy's voice had a serious edge to it. I knew Greg was on tenuous ground, and I hoped he realized it as well.

His reaction surprised me as he laughed heartily. "Are you kidding me? If something happens, I'm counting on you two to keep me out of trouble."

"Then why should we bring you with us?" Maddy asked, clearly starting to soften her stance.

"Because," Greg said with a grin, "I happen to know quite a few folks in Chastain. They might ignore you, but I have a feeling I can get them to talk. What do you say? Is it worth it taking me with you now?"

"Why not?" Maddy asked, and then turned to me. "That is, if it's okay with you."

"It couldn't hurt," I said.

As we piled into Maddy's car, I asked Greg, "How do you happen to know so many people in Chastain?"

"I've got family there," he said as we drove. "My third cousin knows everybody in town, and what's more important, they all know him."

"Will he be around this afternoon?" I asked.

"Trust me, he's always nearby. I think the farthest he's ever been away from home is Asheville."

"Not exactly a world traveler, is he?" Maddy asked.

"He claims he's not missing much, and I'm not entirely certain that he's wrong," Greg said from the back seat. "So, do you two mind if I ask you who exactly we are investigating?"

We brought him up to speed on Lacy, Gina, and Jack, and our theories about their relationships.

He whistled softly under his breath. "The guy must think he's bulletproof. I've never had the nerve to string two women along at the same time in my life."

"Trust me, it's not from a lack of courage that you haven't done it," I said. "It's more like common courtesy."

"Call it what you will," he said. "Do you have a last name for this guy?"

"Sorry, we don't," I said. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"It shouldn't be. Chastain isn't all that big. Don't worry, we'll find him."

As we neared Chastain, Maddy asked Greg, "Where should I go?"

"There's an auto shop just outside of town limits. Pull in there."

Maddy did as she was directed, and as she pulled to a stop, Greg said, "It might be better if you both wait here."

"Guess again, sport," Maddy said as she opened her door and got out.

"Eleanor," Greg said with a hint of pleading in his voice.

I looked at Greg and shrugged. "You can't tell me that you're surprised she won't listen to you."

"No, but I was hoping. To be honest with you, I'm not sure Newt will talk in front of you or Maddy."

I stopped. "His parents actually named him Newt?"

"It's short for Newton, which he hates even more. He's a little rough around the edges, but he's a good guy. Is there any chance Maddy will let me handle this? If she goes barreling in there, he won't say a word. I can promise you that."

Maddy took that moment to rap on the glass from outside the car. "Are you ladies coming, or not?"

"I'll talk to her," I said.

Once Greg and I were outside, I said, "Maddy, this is Greg's cousin. He's going to ask the questions, okay?"

"Okay," she said.

"Maddy, I mean it."

"I agreed, didn't I? Let's go. We don't exactly have loads of time here."

"Then you should let me handle it myself," Greg said.

"Sorry, but you're still a junior grade detective, and Eleanor and I have to be present during all interrogations."