"Ah, well, I've never - " I began, but he was gone. I hung up the phone and frowned. Most of my clients start out anxious, I reassured myself. Once I serve them food, they're content. Only Arthur didn't want me to serve the food. He didn't even want me to finish cooking it. Ah, sufficient unto the day was the catering thereof. Or something like that.

With a flourish, Tom handed me a custard cup brimming with warm rice pudding. He'd sprinkled the pudding with cinnamon and garnished the top with a massive dollop of whipped cream. The cream melted slightly and slid sideways on the warm pudding. I took a bite: the dessert was dreamily thick, like a homey, melt-in-your-mouth porridge from heaven.

"Incredible," I said, and took another greedy bite. "I'm getting better already."

"That's why I made it," Tom said triumphantly. "Think the boys would want some?"

We listened. The faint thump of rock music reverberating through the ceiling was a sure sign the boys weren't listening to Tudor-style lute music.

"Better leave them alone," I replied. "After all, rice pudding is also great chilled."

Tom smiled appreciatively and dug into his own custard cup. "Julian seems good," he commented. "Tired, though."

"I'm worried about him."

"Miss G., you worry about everything. He loves being back in Colorado and he loves the film class, he told me so himself. Maybe he'll make how-to-cook-vegetarian videos after he graduates."

I smiled and scraped the bottom of the pudding cup. "Thanks for the treat. Can you possibly help me with the cooking I need to do for the rest of the weekend?"

"Cooking with you is only my second favorite thing we do together."

I laughed. From the walk-in, I drew out unsalted butter and eggs. Then I retrieved a bag of premium bittersweet chocolate chips and several bars of Godiva Dark from our pantry shelves. The library's Christmas Open House was in two days and I'd be away from my kitchen tomorrow. I asked Tom if he would chop the Godiva; he smiled and held out his hand.

I removed a pork tenderloin I'd started marinating the day before. Professional culinary literature urges the prospective personal chef to bring the first meal - a marvelous dinner using your best recipes - gratis. This is to show your client what a good and generous person you are. Arthur, if he'd been noticing, might already think I was a good and generous person. On the other hand, he probably thought I was a klutz. Still, that assessment could change once he ate his deliciously tender, herb-spiced, free pork dinner.

"Tell me about the parole board," I urged Tom, to distract myself from fretting about Arthur.

He sighed and continued to chop. "There you go again. Worrying."

I tapped buttons on my kitchen computer to bring up the chocolate cookie recipe I was working on. "Come on," I said, trying my best to sound reasonable. "I just want to know how the board operates. And I'm interested in your theory as to the reason Doug Portman had an anonymously written card containing a threat, and maybe some poison, too, and why he wanted to give it specifically to you."