The Secret Poison Garden

by Maureen Klovers

  “You’re very clever, Miss Van Der Hooven,” Detective Benedetto said. “Very clever indeed.”

  “And you are not,” she replied pointedly. “If I recall, you passed by the skin of your teeth.”

  Rita didn’t detect even a hint of anxiety in the Miss Van Der Hooven’s voice. She was as calm and collected as always.

  “Shall I count the ways that you are clever?” he asked.

  “Be my guest.”

  “First, you get in touch with an old student, Ramon Spivak, and offer to front him money for his next big transaction if he steals a vial of ketamine from the veterinarian who used to treat Angelica’s horse back in Vermont. And you make a very specific request: it must be stolen on the weekend that Angelica will be in Vermont for her friend’s baby shower.”

  Miss Van Der Hooven chuckled. “According to whom? A known drug dealer? I’m sure he’d say anything for a plea bargain.”

  “I thought you’d say that. We also dumped your phone records.”

  “Well, trust me, you’re not going to find his phone number.”

  “That is true,” he said, “but we did find a call from Dr. Walker’s office to Ramon’s cell phone.”

  “I suppose that makes sense,” she said. “First, he tried to kill Jay, then his wife finishes the job. I guess the saying’s true—if you want something done right, assign it to a woman.”

  “Yes,” the police chief interjected, “but the problem is that a witness saw you go into Dr. Walker’s office at the time the call was made. She believed he was in his office and, well, there’s no stopping you anyway. But it turns out he was at the boys’ soccer practice at the time.”

  “Really? And who is this witness? The girl who can barely see through her purple hair?”

  “Hannah,” the chief said sternly, “Hannah Bates.”

  “Okay, so Hannah Banana thinks I was in his office then. She’s wrong. That’s all there is to it.”

  “I might have thought that too,” the detective said, “except that the fire alarm went off a minute after you placed the call, and the entire soccer team can vouch for the fact that the coach was there at the time.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe someone other than the coach made the call, but it wasn’t me.”

  “It’s an interesting theory,” the detective said mildly.

  Rita heard the rumble of Miss Van Der Hooven’s swivel chair hurling across the linoleum floor and slamming into the wall, and the satisfying snap of handcuffs clinking shut. Unlike Angelica, Miss Van Der Hooven did not gasp.

  The biology teacher did not say anything, in fact, as the chief said, “Elizabeth Van Der Hooven, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Jay Stiglitz” and began informing her of her Miranda rights.

  When she heard the doorknob turning, Rita jumped back. A second later, the door swung open and she was face to face with Miss Van Der Hooven, who rolled her eyes at Rita.

  “Listening in, were you?”

  Pulling herself up to her full height, Rita looked her nemesis in the eye. This moment had been a long, long time in coming.

  “Who holds the trump cards now?” Rita asked.

  “You may have won this hand, Rita,” Miss Van Der Hooven snarled, “but I will win the tournament.”

  “I don’t think so, Elizabeth. Not this time.”

  “Tell me,” Miss Van Der Hooven said, “if you’re so smart, why would I have tried to kill Jay on Sunday and then not finished the job on Monday?”

  Rita sighed. “I have a feeling I’ll never know for sure. But I suspect that even you, Elizabeth, are capable of remorse.”

  Epilogue

  Rita was pleased with herself as she surveyed the dining room table. Steam was wafting off the garlic bread; the arugula salad was fresh as could be, straight from the garden and studded with crisp julienned apples and perfect little curlicues of parmesan cheese; the lasagna, still bubbling, glistened in the candlelight; and the top of her apple crisp (not, she admitted, the most Italian of desserts) was the perfect shade of brown. Hidden beneath each place setting—which today consisted of her best china and the silverware (as in, actual silver) that nonna had smuggled to America in the false bottom of her trunk—was a note card. And on the note card was Rita’s prized red sauce recipe, neatly typed.

  The whole recipe.

  Rita pushed out her chair and stood at the head of the table. She looked lovingly at each face, even Susan’s. Silently, she rehearsed her speech, remembering how she had delivered it this morning, into the bathroom mirror with curlers in her hair and blue face cream smeared from ear to ear. “I have called you all here today,” she had started and then, deciding it sounded all too much like a summons, amended it to, “I have invited you all here today to tell you how wrong I have been about so many things.” The blue face had stared back at her and frowned. Should she put the emphasis on “wrong” or “many”? She had settled on emphasizing “wrong.” And then she had enumerated all of her various grievous errors in judgment and then segued into, “Now, I wish to ask for your forgiveness.” She had not been sure if that sounded contrite enough, so she had decided to throw a “humbly” in there and to be sure to look each one in the eye. Yes, she had thought as she plucked the curlers out of her hair, now that was a speech with gravitas.

  It all came back to her—its careful phrasing and cadences, its dramatic and heartfelt mea culpa. Feeling finally composed and ready, Rita cleared her throat. She was just parting her lips when Sal leapt to his feet.

  “May I propose a toast,” he said. “To my lovely wife Rita, Acorn Hollow’s best wife, mother, cook, investigative reporter, and sleuth.” He winked. “In that order. She is the heart and soul of this famiglia. Sometimes I think she’s the heart and soul of this town too.”

  Sal held his wine glass aloft. “To Rita, on her birthday.”

  The others chimed in. “To Rita.”

  “Grazie mille,” Rita murmured over the clinking of glasses, a bit flustered. A toast to her greatness did not seem like the best introduction to a speech in which she ate humble crow.

  She cleared her throat again. “I have invited you all here today partly because it’s my birthday, but also to tell you—”

  The strains of “Va, Pensiero” interrupted her. She searched for her purse and was just about to shut it off when she noticed that the call was from Angelica.

  Rita shot her family an apologetic little smile and held up a finger to indicate she’d be just one minute.

  “Rita!” Angelica’s voice was strong and clear. “I have the most wonderful news. Craig and I are getting back together.”

  “That’s fabulous, cara! And I’m sorry about—”

  “Don’t mention it,” Angelica said with surprising equanimity, as if Rita’s role in landing her in jail for a night was inconsequential. “No hard feelings.”

  “Well, if you say so—”

  “Sorry, Rita, I’ve got to go. Craig wants to tell his cousin the good news. She’s on the other line.”

  With a sigh of relief, Rita hung up. “As I was saying,” she began again, “I invited you here today to—”

  The phone rang again. This time, it was Phil Baldassaro.

  “Rita,” he said, “I can’t thank you enough for sending Emily my way.” He suddenly sounded sheepish. “I know it’s not the most professional, but we’re dating. And I think she could be the one.”

  Rita puffed out her chest and preened, just a little. Hadn’t she told Marion this would happen? In fact, when she thought about it, she hadn’t just predicted the relationship—she’d made it happen. Rita knew that Phil wouldn’t be able to resist Emily long, not when she was in close proximity and giving him a glimpse of her fabulous posterior every time she picked up a stray paper clip. And, really, Emily was quite sweet.

  “Glad to hear it, Phil—hold on, I have another call.”

  Rita was in quite a good mood as she clicked over to the next call.

  “Yes?” she trilled.

  “R
ita, it’s Al Scalzo.”

  Now there was someone she had never expected to hear from again.

  “You did me a real favor,” he said before she could get a word in, “sending Ted Galloway my way. I needed that. Therapy. Turns out it’s not just for chicks. And he says he might be able to get me a job at the Best Western.”

  “How wonderful! I’m always glad to help.”

  She was going to say more, but just then she glanced at her husband and realized he was peeved.

  “Rita,” said Sal through gritted teeth, “spegni quel maledetto telefonino! Siamo in famiglia.”

  The switch to Italian was a sign he was really annoyed—and didn’t want Susan to understand. She made her excuses to Al, wished him well, turned off her maledetto telefonino, and slid it back in her purse.

  “Mi dispiace,” she said. “Now, where was I?”

  “You keep telling us that you have invited us here for dinner, which is,” Vinnie said, “pretty obvious. Ma, the food’s getting cold. Can’t we just say grace and eat?”

  As she looked at each of them, it occurred to her that they were all eyeing the food greedily—even tiny little Susan. Maybe especially tiny little Susan.

  Would they even remember her speech tomorrow, or would they just remember that the lasagna was cold and rubbery? And, in light of her recent phone calls, perhaps she had not been so wrong after all. She had been right about Angelica and Craig, and Emily and Phil, and Al Scalzo’s need for therapy. When it came right down to it, she’d done a world of good in the past few weeks. She’d nabbed a murderer and an attempted murderer (after incorrectly fingering Angelica which, really, was just a momentary glitch), solved the mystery of the widow Schmalzgruben’s dead husbands (even if she had opted not to share her discovery with Detective Benedetto), removed Emily Bachmann from her husband’s employment (doing both his soul and her romantic and professional prospects a good turn), enhanced Detective Benedetto’s reputation, sent the newspaper’s circulation skyrocketing, and still managed to win the Columbus Day festa bake-off and pasta competitions. Really, she wouldn’t be surprised if the mayor gave her the keys to the city.

  With a twinkle in her eye, Rita said, “I’ll keep it short then. I love you all and I’m very proud of you. Sal, you’ve done me proud as a supportive husband. Vinnie, I’m proud of you for going back to school. Gina and Marco, I’m proud of you for the way you protected your little brother. You’re a chip off the old block.”

  Gina’s jaw dropped. “You knew?”

  “Well, to paraphrase Miss Van Der Hooven, ‘I know everything.’”

  They all laughed. Maybe it was Rita’s imagination, but the laughter sounded more uneasy than joyful, as if they were wondering what other secrets she was privy to.

  “And Susan,” she said, “benvenuta alla famiglia.”

  “Grazie mille, Rita. Spero di essere una buona nuora.”

  At first, Rita was not sure that she had heard Susan correctly. As spoken by Susan, the language had lost all of its musicality and was reduced to sounding like an endless string of diphthongs, which to Rita’s ears was about as pleasant as the sound of nails on a chalkboard. But when she repeated the words silently to herself, with the right accent and rhythm, she realized it was perfect Italian: Thank you so much. I hope to be a good daughter-in-law.

  “I’m taking a night course in Italian at the community college,” Susan explained, blushing. “With Vinnie, actually.”

  Wonders never ceased.

  Ripped from the Pages of Rita Calabrese’s

  “Top Secret” Recipe Book…

  Vellutata di zucca (Butternut squash soup)

  The literal translation of the name is much more fitting than the commonplace English name. Vellutata di zucca means “butternut squash velvet”—and this soup is nothing but velvety!

  4 tablespoons butter, divided

  1 yellow onion, diced

  12 fresh basil leaves, chopped

  2 butternut squashes

  5 cups chicken broth

  1 cup Parmesan cheese, grated

  Salt and pepper to taste

  1 sprig rosemary, stems removed and needles chopped

  6 sprigs thyme, stems removed and leaves chopped

  Preheat oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Cut each squash in half lengthwise and place, flesh side up, in a roasting pan. Spread one tablespoon of butter on each half and roast for approximately 50-60 minutes, until you can easily pierce with a fork.

  After the squash is done, melt 2 tablespoons of butter in a large soup pot on the stove. Sautée the onion in the melted butter until translucent. Then scoop the flesh of the butternut squash into the soup pot (but not the skin) and add the basil, rosemary, thyme, chicken broth, Parmesan cheese, and salt and pepper as needed. Simmer for 20 minutes and then purée the entire mixture with a stick blender until smooth. Serve with warm crusty rolls.

  Pasta all’Arrabbiata

  All’arrabbiata (“angry style”) sauce derives its heat from chili peppers. It’s a good sauce to make if you a) want your man to be come un leone, b) want to fare un maschio (“make a baby boy”), c) want to express your anger through food, or d) just like your food hot, hot, hot! The amount of chili pepper in this recipe will make a moderately spicy sauce, but if you are arrabbiatissima and want to see your husband (or someone else who deserves it) really sweat, just add more chili pepper!

  My nonna made this sauce by simmering a whole chili pepper in the pot, but I find that using chili pepper flakes more evenly distributes the spice.

  While this sauce is traditionally served with penne pasta, I like it with strozzapreti (“strangle the priest” pasta). I’d never want to strangle Father De La Pasqua, but the name packs an angry punch just like the sauce…and the long, hearty strands are delicious!

  Butter or olive oil for sautéing, as needed

  2 cups pancetta (Italian bacon), diced (optional)

  1 yellow onion, diced (omit if using marinara sauce that already contains onions)

  6 cloves garlic, minced

  2-3 teaspoons chili pepper flakes

  6 cups marinara or nonna’s secret red sauce

  Sauté pancetta in butter or olive oil as you prefer. Do not drain off fat. Add diced yellow onion and sauté until translucent. Add minced garlic and chili pepper flakes; keep heat low and keep moving garlic so that it does not become brown and bitter. Add marinara or red sauce. Simmer until at a gentle boil. If necessary, thin by adding a small amount of pasta water. Serve with your favorite pasta.

  Sweet Potato Gnocchi with Short Rib Ragú

  Sal loves my sweet potato gnocchi, even the addition of sweet potatoes is nontraditional. That may be because it showcases the bounty of my garden, or because it’s good, hearty, “stick to the ribs” fare for my meat-loving husband.

  For best results, only boil gnocchi that you will be serving immediately. Refrigerate the unboiled leftovers for up to 5 days or freeze the leftovers for later.

  For the gnocchi:

  2 large sweet potatoes

  15 oz. ricotta cheese, drained

  2 tsp. salt

  ½ tsp. nutmeg

  2 tbsp. brown sugar

  3 cups white flour

  For the ragú:

  2 tbsp. olive oil

  1 cup diced celery

  1 cup diced yellow onions

  1 cup diced carrots

  1 ½ lbs. beef short ribs, cubed, excess fat trimmed

  ½ cup red cooking wine

  10 oz. beef broth

  28 oz. crushed tomatoes

  4 cloves garlic, crushed and minced

  1 bay leaf

  To make the ragú: Heat olive oil in frying pan. Sauté celery, onion, carrots, and garlic until soft; transfer to a slow cooker. Brown meat in the frying pan and add to slow cooker. Add all other ingredients; cook on high for 5-6 hours.

  To make the gnocchi: Drain ricotta for at least two hours by scooping ricotta into a wire mesh over a bowl, placing in the refrigerator, and allowing excess
liquid to drain into the bowl. Press down if needed to squeeze out extra moisture. Pierce sweet potatoes all over with a fork. Bake sweet potatoes in oven or microwave on high until a knife can easily slide right through the potato. Allow potato to cool until comfortable to handle, then cut lengthwise and scoop flesh into a passatutto (literally, “everything passes through”) or potato ricer set on the smallest, i.e. narrowest, setting. Press through passatutto or potato ricer, so that long, thin strands of potato are extruded into a large bowl. (If you’re like my daughter Gina and totally lacking in kitchen gadgets, just use a fork to mash the sweet potato flesh in a large bowl.) Add drained ricotta cheese to the bowl. In a separate bowl, mix the flour, salt, nutmeg, and brown sugar. Add this dry mixture to the bowl containing the sweet potatoes and ricotta cheese. Stir until combined; then use your hands to form the mixture into a ball of dough. Divide dough into six roughly equal smaller balls. Then use your hands to roll each smaller dough ball into a rope-like segment approximately 1 inch in diameter. Cut into segments roughly the length of the distance from your knuckle to the tip of your thumb (gnocchi is derived from the word for “knuckle”!) and then roll over a gnocchi shaper or press down on the surface with a fork. This will give the gnocchi all of those nooks and crannies for the sauce to get stuck in! Place gnocchi into a large pot of boiling water and cook until the gnocchi float on the top. That is sign that they are done!

  Scoop a serving of gnocchi into each serving bowl and top with ragú, making sure to include plenty of liquid.

  Pumpkin Ravioli with Brown Butter, Hickory Nuts, and Cranberries

  This dish really showcases the bounty of fall! While I love the earthy flavor of wild, foraged hickory nuts, you can substitute walnuts if you are less creative or adventurous (or simply have the misfortune of living far from any hickory nut trees!).

  For the pasta (unless using store-bought egg pasta and/or wonton wrappers):