Rhubarb Pie Before You Die

by Gin Jones

  O’Connor glared at Mabel, as if it were her fault that he’d handled the matter badly, and his planned moment of triumph had instead turned into humiliation. She’d just made a powerful enemy, but she couldn’t see how she could have handled it any differently. She’d be under arrest by now, probably with Charlie in the adjoining cell, if she hadn’t insisted on bringing in the state detective.

  Cross stood and made a shooing motion before following O’Connor out the door.

  As promised, an officer came and took Mabel’s statement, and another hour later, she was escorted out to the lobby, free to go home, with assurances that the mayor would be held for more intense questioning about Graham Winthrop’s death.

  Charlie was in the lobby waiting for her, which she hadn’t expected but found incredibly comforting.

  He’d arranged for one of his employees to pick up his truck and bring it to the station, so he could drive her back to Graham’s house to get her Mini Cooper. On the way, Mabel asked how he’d known to come to her rescue.

  “I got your message about going to the greenhouse and called you back, but you didn’t answer. Then I left a voicemail, and you didn’t respond to that either, so I started to worry and decided to check to see if you were still at the greenhouse.”

  “I never heard the ping,” Mabel said as she checked her phone. Sure enough, he had called. There was not just one but three messages from Charlie in as many minutes, escalating from asking where she was, to whether she was at the greenhouse, and finally why she hadn’t called him back already. “It must have been after I turned off the ringer. I didn’t want it to go off while I was trying to sneak up on the mayor. Then I was a little too distracted to notice the phone vibrating.”

  “Good to know,” Charlie said. “I thought you were ignoring me, because you didn’t want me around.”

  “I’d never ignore you,” Mabel said. “And if I don’t want you around, I’ll tell you.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, I should have known you wouldn’t be shy about telling me to go away if you wanted me to.”

  “I don’t usually want you to go away,” she said. “It was really nice to see you waiting for me in the lobby.”

  “As long as you like seeing me, how about planning to do something together that’s got absolutely nothing to do with work or murder.”

  “I could definitely use a break from both,” she said. “What did you have in mind?”

  “How about lunch tomorrow at Jeanne’s Country Diner?”

  “I’ll meet you there at noon if that’s good for you.”

  “For you,” he said solemnly, “any time, any place.”

  * * * *

  While Charlie waited to make sure she didn’t encounter any more trouble outside Graham Wilson’s house, Mabel climbed into her Mini Cooper gingerly, aware of her bruises and the shock of her ordeal. As she pulled away from where she’d parked, muscle memory took over, and she drove the short distance home.

  As she entered the kitchen, the residual adrenaline from her fight for her life was fading and being rapidly replaced by exhaustion. She couldn’t give in to the fatigue quite yet though. Emily and Rory were seated at the table, waiting for her.

  “Are you all right?” Rory asked. “We heard what happened, how the mayor tried to kill you and Lena to cover up his murder of Graham.”

  Mabel wondered if the grapevine had also heard about what was even worse—in Danny’s mind, at least—the lack of biological ties to the previous mayor.

  “I always thought there was something off about Danny,” Emily said. “He had such negative energy in his aura. I never thought he’d be a threat to you though.”

  “I’m fine,” Mabel said, “but I need to go check on Billie Jean and her babies. I hadn’t expected to be gone so long when I left this morning.”

  “They’re fine,” Emily said. “I checked on them as soon as I heard you were at the police station.”

  “Then I need to pack for Maine.”

  “You can’t leave now,” Rory said.

  “Of course not,” Mabel said. “I’ll take a nap first. I’m too wired to sleep right now, but I’m sure I’ll be ready once I’m done packing.”

  “But what about the farm?” Rory asked. “I thought you were going to stay until you could hire a manager and get him settled in.”

  “I am.” Mabel swayed a little with exhaustion, and dropped into a chair before she fell over. “But first I need to go to Jeff’s funeral.”

  Emily and Rory both sighed in relief.

  Emily said, “We’ll take care of the cats and kittens while you’re gone.”

  “Thanks,” Mabel said. “I’ll ask Terry to take care of Graham’s seedlings until I get back. I’m definitely going to plant a field of rhubarb next spring. I’ll talk to Sandy about jointly buying them from the estate and dividing them between us, now that we know she didn’t kill for them. I might even offer to fund some of her research if she’ll agree to name the first breakthrough variety she develops after Graham’s wife.”

  “Speaking of naming, the kittens will need names soon,” Emily said. “They could be varieties of rhubarb.”

  “Until recently, I didn’t even know there was more than one variety,” Mabel said. “And I’m not keeping the kittens, so they’ll be named by whoever adopts them.”

  “You’ll still need temporary names,” Rory said. “We’ll help with that when you get back. There are lots of suitable variety names. I can think of Victoria, MacDonald, Sutton, Cherry, and Ruby right off the top of my head.”

  “The farm will need a new name too,” Emily said. “Rhubarb is sour, but it doesn’t stink like garlic and lavender do.”

  “You could call it Skinner Farm,” Rory suggested.

  “I’ll think about it,” Mabel said before excusing herself to go upstairs and pack until she collapsed in exhaustion.

  By the time she fell asleep, she’d already decided her friends were right. The farm needed a new name. One that reflected both its history—a recognition of Aunt Peggy’s initial work in starting it—and its future, with a new beginning under Mabel’s oversight.

  From now on, Stinkin’ Stuff Farm would be Skinner Farm, and at least until she could hire a manager, Mabel would be a farmer.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This story was inspired, first, by memories of a great-uncle’s two-hundred-foot-long row of rhubarb plants and his sister’s expertise with jams. Then a pregnant feral cat showed up in my yard, and I trapped her and kept her (and her eventual kittens) in a dog crate until the kittens were weaned and homes were found for everyone. Her tomcat boyfriends kept visiting my yard, but none of them would admit to paternity, so we named her Billie Jean, after the song. When I was populating the cast for Rhubarb Pie Before You Die and wanted to include a greenhouse cat, my experience with feline fostering became a part of the story.

  The inspirations for a book, and even the writing of it, are just the beginning of the process though. I am fortunate to have so much help and support to turn the manuscript into a published book. I’m particularly grateful to my editor, Norma Perez-Hernandez, who tells me when I do things right, not just when I do them wrong! Her team at Kensington Publishing, from the copy editors and the art department to publicity and marketing, work so well together to turn a manuscript into a book that people hear about and want to read.

  I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on creating a story if it weren’t for my agent, Rachel Brooks, who keeps a close eye on the business/publishing side of things, so I don’t get distracted by it all.

  I’m also grateful for the Argh Ink community, who surround me with wisdom and happiness, and Sisters in Crime, which offers education, advocacy, and sisterhood.

  RECIPES

  Rhubarb Crisp

  My mother always used white sugar instead of the more traditional brown sugar when she made rhubarb crisp.
I loved the shocking contrast in each bite, mixing the soft, sour rhubarb and the crunchy, sweet topping. The recipe was lost for years, and when I went looking to recreate it by studying crisp recipes, either the topping was too soft and cookie-like or else it used brown sugar, which seemed to blunt the sweet-sour contrast a bit. Finally, I used a basic apple crisp topping recipe from The Joy of Cooking, and just replaced the brown sugar with white sugar, omitted the cinnamon, and it was exactly what I remembered from childhood! This recipe allows you to make it either way.

  4 cups rhubarb, washed and chopped into half-inch pieces

  1/2 cup flour

  1/2 cup sugar (white or brown)

  1/4 cup butter

  1/4 teaspoon cinnamon (only if you use brown sugar)

  Place rhubarb in a casserole dish.

  Combine the flour and sugar, and then cut in the butter until the dough is crumbly. Sprinkle on top of the rhubarb.

  Bake about 30 minutes at 350 degrees.

  Blueberry Rhubarb Jam

  This is my favorite jam of all time, I think. The rhubarb cuts the potentially cloying sweetness of the blueberries and also thickens the texture nicely. It’s inspired by Madelaine Bullwinkel’s Gourmet Preserves Chez Madelaine, although I like to use a potato peeler to remove strips of lemon peel and then cut it into tiny slivers instead of grating it, and I add extra peel, so there’s a little burst of lemon in each spoonful. This jam is messy to make, spitting bubbles of blueberry juice all over the stove and counter, but well worth the effort. You can chop up the rhubarb in advance and freeze it until blueberries come into season, which breaks up the work into more manageable bits of time.

  2 pounds rhubarb, washed and cut into half-inch slices

  2 pound blueberries, rinsed

  1/4 to 1/2 cup water

  5 cups sugar

  Zest of one lemon, cut into tiny slivers

  2 Tablespoons lemon juice

  Place rhubarb, blueberries, and water in a heavy pot, like a Dutch oven, at least 4-quart-sized. Simmer on medium heat, stirring occasionally until the fruits are soft and mushy, and the liquid is bubbling softly.

  Add sugar, half a cup at a time, bringing the jam to a bubble again each time before adding more sugar. Add the lemon zest and continue to cook for about fifteen minutes until the jam comes to a full boil, stirring with increasing frequency as it gets closer to a boil. It will probably spatter at the end, which will tell you it’s almost done, so you may want to partially cover it in the last five minutes or so. Add the lemon juice right before turning off the heat.

  For short-term use (within a week or two), simply pour into clean jars, add lids, let cool, and then refrigerate. For longer-term use, it can be frozen in freezer-safe containers or processed by submerging the filled pint or half-pint canning jars in boiling water and boiling them for ten minutes after the water returns to a boil.

  Makes about 4 pints. The recipe may be halved for a small batch, but, really, you’ll regret it if you don’t make all 4 pints!

  Stewed Rhubarb

  My maternal grandmother’s brother and sister both had extensive rhubarb patches at their homes, where I visited frequently as a child. It was used mostly for desserts, although I have a vague recollection of being told it was good for one’s digestion, and that it should be served frequently, stewed, as a side dish, more like a vegetable than a fruit (although it would still need some sugar to be palatable). Most recipes for stewed rhubarb today are less medicinal and are intended for use as a topping for ice cream or pancakes or the like, and that’s what I use it for too, unlike Mabel’s aunt.

  8 cups rhubarb, washed and cut into half-inch pieces

  1/4 cup water

  2 ½ cups sugar

  3/4 teaspoon cinnamon OR 1 Tablespoon lemon juice and the zest of one lemon

  Combine rhubarb, water and sugar in a heavy pot, like a Dutch oven. Bring to a boil and then simmer until the fruit is soft and has the consistency of jam or applesauce. Stir in the flavoring of choice, either cinnamon or lemon.

  Makes 4 or 5 pints. For short-term use (within a week or two), simply pour into clean jars, add lids, let cool and then refrigerate. For longer-term use, it can be frozen in freezer-safe containers or processed by submerging the filled pint or half-pint canning jars in boiling water and boiling them for ten minutes after the water returns to a boil.