"Ellison, not again!" Captain Banks shook his head as he, Rafe and Henri were greeted at the loft door by an apron clad, flour covered James Ellison. The smell of burnt sugar and butter touched their noses. All this an indication that major crimes' best detective was attempting to bake. "What is it this time? No, wait let me guess," Simon ventured as the three reluctantly made their way inside. He turned to Rafe. "What's that holiday of Sandburg's that's coming up?" He snapped his fingers hoping to retrieve the answer which was on the tip of his tongue.
"Purim," Rafe told him.
"Purim," Simon repeated. "That's the one. You gotta be trying to make those triangle shaped things." Not waiting for a reply he said, "I'm outta here." He turned to leave.
Jim reached for Simon's arm. "Capt., wait..."
"You're touching me," Simon said with feigned gruffness. Jim removed his hand. As Simon brushed away flour from his sleeve he said, "No way are you talking me into helping you this time." He started for the door again with Rafe and Henri set to follow.
"I'll be the Easter Bunny this year... with no complaints."
The three turned back. "And you'll dye all the eggs?" Simon asked.
"Bring on the Paz kit," Jim answered.
The captain looked to the others who nodded smiling. The image of Detective James Ellison in a bunny suit carrying a basket of brightly colored eggs that he himself dyed was enough to make them consent to just about anything.
As they followed him to the kitchen Jim told them, "It's not like I didn't try it on my own this time."
"It looks it," Henri commented.
The kitchen looked like it had been done in early Betty Crocker. A snowfall of flour blanketed the floor and the counter tops. There were areas where it crunched as they walked. This from spilled granulated sugar. On one counter was a mound of sticky, gooey cookie dough.
"It's harder than I thought," Jim told them. I get the circles cut, put the filling in, and seal the corners. But when they're in the oven they don't stay sealed. The filling oozes out and burns. Then the cookie part burns."
"What recipe are you following, man?" Rafe inquired.
Jim pulled a slip of paper from his apron pocket. "This one. Michelle gave it to me."
The others rolled their eyes. It figured.
Simon held up his hands. " I might as well go for her right now. There's no point in waiting for a bigger disaster."
"You can't do that," Jim said.
"Let me guess. This is something YOU have to do for Sandburg," Simon said.
Jim grew sheepish. "That... and the fact that she's out of town visiting a Rabbi friend of hers."
"Remind me to haul her in when she gets back," Simon told Rafe and H. "There's got to be something on the books about leaving a dangerous recipe in the wrong hands."
The four spent the next hour rolling, cutting and filling the cookie dough, ceremoniously adding more and more flour as it stuck to the counter and rolling pin. In that time they managed to get twelve hamantashen onto the prepared cookie sheet and into the oven. Ten minutes after the pinched corners separated and precious filling seeped out and bubbled across the pan giving off a fresh aroma of burning sugar. Simon ventured that Jim must have dialed down his sense of smell some time ago.
With a tired sigh Jim turned off the oven. He opened the door, removed the cookie sheet and scraped the entire mess into the garbage. Throwing it into the sink he looked to his friends. "I give up." He then took a spoon, helped himself to a can of poppyseed filling and threw himself into a chair by the table.
Seeing this the other three shrugged and did the same helping themselves to either poppyseed or apricot filling.
Blair Sandburg was greeted by the sick odor of burnt sugar that had permeated the hall all the way to the elevator. Unfortunately, he could easily guess from where it came.
He entered the loft to find the four still sitting at the table eating filling from their respective cans.
Seeing him Simon cleared his throat.
"What happened here?"
Rafe spread his arms and said meekly, "Surprise."
Blair moved to Jim and glanced at the can in front of him. "You tried to make hamantashen. Hmm, poppyseed. My favorite." He took Jim's spoon, ate some filling and returned it. Turning to Simon, Rafe and Henri he said, "If you guys don't mind I'd like to speak with *Molly Goldberg here alone."
Simon rose. "Don't mind at all." He took a step to leave then turned back to retrieve the can. "I'll just take this with me."
The three exited the loft humming "The Bunny Hop".
Blair looked after them, then to Jim. "What was that all about?"
Jim shook his head. "Never mind."
Again Blair took Jim's spoon and ate filling. "Jim, what am I going to do with you, man?"
Resigned, Jim leaned back. "I don't know. I just wanted to do something special for you."
Wanting to look Jim in the eye Blair perched himself on Jim's legs. "I appreciate that you want to help share in my traditions but let's say we leave the baking to me. I mean having a sentinel whose a mother hen is bad enough. I don't need one that's a Jewish mother hen." He was pleased when Jim chuckled at this statement.
"And besides," Blair continued, "you do special things for me all the time." They looked at eachother silently for a minute before Blair dropped a kiss on Jim's flour dusted cheek and bounced to his feet. "Come on. I'll even help clean up this mess."
Jim stood. "Okay. And, by the way, Chief, how are you at dying Easter eggs?"
THE END
* Molly Goldberg is probably considered the epitomy of Jewish mother characters. A successful TV show starring Gertrude Berg there is also a popular Jewish cookbook written by the same woman.