by Joanne Pence
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Paavo let Yosh take over the paperwork for the night, promising he’d do what was needed to work on the Cambry case the next day. Madrigal was going to be spending some time in the hospital with her burns, so there was no hurry. That night, he had a fiancée who needed him.
He brought Angie to his house to keep her close as she got over the trauma of all that had happened to her. Being Angie, she pretended she was doing remarkably well for the moment. But he suspected that once she tried to sleep, the nightmares would come. He wanted to be there to help them go away again.
They greeted Hercules, his cat. Paavo had Angie sit on the sofa as he made her a strong glass of bourbon and water over ice. He noticed that Herc jumped up on her lap to be petted. He paused a moment to take in the two of them before entering the kitchen—the two beings who meant so much to him it was almost painful.
His only worry about leaving this house and moving to the Sea Cliff was that his cat might try to find his way back here. Cats often tried to go back to their prior home when their owners moved. He didn’t want Herc to do that given the amount of traffic in the city. He feared what might happen. Hercules had been with him for eight years and saw him through some rough patches. At times, it seemed the cat was the only constant in his daily life in that lonely time before he met Angie, including when he first became a detective and wondered if he’d ever feel comfortable investigating deaths. And Herc had been with him during those terrible days after his best friend and partner, Matt Kowalski, had been killed. Some people thought cats were cold and didn’t care about their people, but Paavo knew differently. Hercules was a true, devoted companion.
“I’m not going to pay any attention to strangers ever again,” Angie declared when Paavo handed her the drink to help calm her shattered nerves. She petted Hercules while Paavo put some soft jazz on the stereo. “I don’t care if they’re people I feel sorry for, even if they drop dead at my feet after asking me to figure out who killed them. I’m not going to do it. No more. Finito! Nada! No way!”
“Good!” he said.
“I’m serious.” She sipped some bourbon.
As Hercules jumped off her lap to head to his food bowl, Paavo sat down beside her. “I don’t blame you for getting caught up in Madrigal’s dramatics. I was there, too. I saw how she acted and how convincing she was. I know you were trying to help what seemed to be a sad, mistreated woman.”
“Exactly. How was I to know she was really a raging psychopath?”
“I suspect Madrigal will be sent to a psychiatric hospital, where she’ll stay for many years, if not the rest of her life. Yosh tracked down Vera who’s fine, and the house didn’t sustain as much damage as it might have if Connie hadn’t called the fire department before a fire was even started,” Paavo said.
“And Joey and Rico are sure to be rehired by Hallston and Sons since they now have proof that none of what happened was their fault,” Angie said.
“Everyone is happy.”
“I hope so.”
“And once again,” Paavo said, “it proved to you that despite some talk of the Cambry house being haunted, it wasn’t. There are no ghosts.”
Her stomach twisted. “Of course there aren’t.”
“Good. I know you were convinced for a while …”
“Don’t be silly.” She didn’t want to talk or think about it. She wrapped her arms around him, her face close to his. “It’s the living I care about.” And then she kissed him.
o0o
Two days later, Angie went back to the Sea Cliff house to see how things were going now, glad to have no murders to think about, no videocasts, and nothing else to distract her from concentrating on her wedding.
Clyde and his men were working in the kitchen and making good progress.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Clyde said. “I got those Parisian tiles for the backsplash above the stove and I wanted to talk to you about where you wanted them. They’re surely pretty.”
Angie didn’t understand. “Parisian tiles?”
“Well, I’m not sure what you call them.” He led her into the dining area and gestured toward the work table. She walked up to it and said nothing as she stared at four large glazed tiles with French country scenes painted on. They were gorgeous and would be perfect on the wall above her red range. But they weren’t hers.
“We can work them into the tile pattern, two up, two down,” Clyde said, “with the plainer tiles that you picked out all around them.” He moved the tiles the way he was recommending they be set.
“I like them a lot, but I didn’t send them to you. There must be some mistake,” she said.
Clyde looked puzzled. “Hmm. I wonder if she meant them as a surprise.”
“She? Do you mean one of my sisters? Is that who brought them here?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “Is Natalie a sister?”
Angie’s blood ran cold. That was the name of the woman who’d been killed here many years ago.
“You saw Natalie?” Angie asked, her voice small.
“Sure did. She’s certainly pretty. She mentioned that she once lived here,” Clyde said. “But about the tiles … do want them?”
Angie turned her head in one direction, then the other. She saw nothing around her except the walls of the lovely albeit strange house she was coming to think of as home. She heard the sound of workmen in the kitchen, saw Clyde waiting expectantly for her answer. No one—nothing else—was near.
Or so it seemed.
She did her best to keep her voice firm and clear, but couldn’t stop a small tremolo and even a nervous laugh as she said, “Believe me, there’s not a ghost of a chance I’d ever turn down such a rare and incredible gift.”
From the Kitchen of Angie Amalfi ...
Since Angie loves to cook, below you’ll find three mouth-watering recipes. You might also be interested in Angie’s Cook’s Dessert Cookbook which contains 50 of her fabulous Italian dessert recipes, including an easy tiramisu, a simple cannoli, lots of biscotti, as well as a number of non-Italian but still mouth-watering recipes such as almond praline meringue cake, linzer torte, and even some French macarons.
ANGIE’S SIMPLIFIED CASSOULET RECIPE
Traditional, French cassoulet can take a day or more to prepare, and often uses duck. Since Angie is always busy, she’s come up with a simplified recipe that’s almost as good … and even better for those who don’t care for duck!
1 Tbsp. olive oil
4 pork loin chops (1 lb.), 1/2 inch thick
1/4 lb. Andouille sausage (or kielbasa), sliced
1 onion, chopped
2-3 cloves garlic, minced
1 carrot, sliced (optional)
1 can (10-1/2 oz.) beef stock or condensed beef broth
1 bay leaf
1/2 tsp. dried thyme leaves
1 can (19 oz.) cannellini beans or other white beans, drained, rinsed
2 Tbsp. each: flour and water
Heat oil in large skillet that has a cover. Cut the pork chops into large chunks and cook until browned on all sides (don’t trim fat for more flavorful stew). Move to one side of skillet. Add sliced sausage, onions, garlic; and if you wish, sliced carrot. Cook 2 minutes., stirring occasionally.
Add beef stock (or broth), bay leaf and thyme; stir. Cover skillet with lid. Bring mixture to boil. Reduce heat to medium-low; simmer 25 min. or until pork is cooked through. Stir in beans and cook until beans are warmed through.
Mix flour and water. Add to ingredients in skillet; mix well. Cook another 5 min. or until thickened, stirring frequently. Remove and discard bay leaf before serving.
SLOW & EASY PEACH COBBLER
This recipe is simplicity itself, all it requires is time for the crock pot—yes, the crock pot—to perform it’s magic.
Ingredients
4 cups fresh or frozen sliced peeled peaches
1/4 cup sugar
1 cup “Bisquick®” or bisquick-type mix
1/2 cup s
ugar
1 cup milk
Ice cream or whipped cream
Spray a large (6-quart or so) crock pot with cooking spray and turn it on the “low” setting.
Place peaches in a large bowl and add the 1/4 cup of the sugar. Mix them together and then place them in the crock pot.
In medium bowl, add bisquick-type mix, the 1/2 cup sugar, and milk, and gently beat with whisk until blended and no longer lumpy. Pour the mixture over the peaches.
Place the cover on the crock-pot and cook on low heat for 3 hours or until cobbler is set in center. Best served warm with vanilla ice cream or whipped cream.
NO KNEAD CIABATTA BREAD
Be careful adding the ice to your oven to make steam. Don’t let what happened to Angie happen to you!
2 cups flour
1/8 tsp yeast
1-1/2 tsp salt
1 cup warm water
Put all ingredients in a mixing bowl, mix thoroughly, then cover with foil & let sit overnight, at least about 16 to 18 hours (doesn’t really matter) at room temperature.
When the time is up, the dough should be “poofy.” Put some flour on the top so it’s not too sticky to work with, then carefully move the dough (smashing it down as little as possible) into a VERY well-floured 1 lb banneton. Cover the banneton with foil and then let it sit and grow AT LEAST another two hours. (How much extra time it rises won’t hurt it. Angie has let hers rise up to 4 hours.)
Heat a pizza/baking stone in oven for an hour at 495-degrees.
Then, turn dough out of banneton onto parchment paper trying not to deflate the dough. Score the top of it with a razor (3 “slits” across the top, about 1/8” deep), and then put parchment paper and dough onto baking stone. (Angie puts the parchment paper on a cookie sheet without sides and then lets it slide off the cookie sheet onto the baking stone.)
Add about a cup of ice cubes to bottom of oven. (Since the bottom of Angie’s oven has coils, she puts them into a cast iron frying pan that’s on the lowest oven rack, the pizza stone is on the oven rack immediately above it). Then quickly shut oven door. Lower temp to 450 and cook 25 minutes.
The best bread ever!
Plus ...
Reviews are gold to authors. If you’ve enjoyed this book, a review on Amazon’s Add a Pinch of Murder page would be most appreciated.
To find out what’s happening in the lives of Angie and her friends, please sign up now for Joanne Pence's Angie & Friends Mailing List. . Keep in mind, there’s also an Angie & Friends “time-travel fantasy mystery” called Cook’s Curious Christmas, as well as Angie’s own cookbook called Cook’s Dessert Cookbook.
Also, Paavo’s co-worker, Inspector Rebecca Mayfield, and Angie’s cousin, Richie Amalfi have their own best-selling mystery series. Rebecca is a by-the-book detective, who walks the straight and narrow in her work, and in her life. Richie, on the other hand, is quite a bit NOT by-the-book. But opposites can and do attract, and there are few mystery two-somes as opposite as Rebecca and Richie. Their first full novel adventure takes place in One O'Clock Hustle.
The next Angie & Friends mystery is Cook’s Big Day. For your enjoyment, here's Chapter One:
Chapter 1
Monday, 1 p.m. - 5 days, 2 hours before the wedding
Angelina Amalfi felt as if she were walking on air as she entered the ballroom of La Belle Maison, the premier wedding reception location in San Francisco. Once a mansion located partway up the northeast slope of Telegraph Hill, the home had been renovated some years earlier into an events venue. While the main floor held an elegant reception area with sofas and arms chairs, a commercial kitchen, and staff offices, the entire upper floor had been converted into a large, opulent ballroom with crystal chandeliers and gold sconces.
Picture windows faced north and east, commanding a view of San Francisco Bay from Alcatraz Island to the Bay Bridge. White-cloth covered tables circled the dance floor.
It was Monday afternoon, and that coming Saturday Angie’s long-awaited wedding would take place—the date that she and everyone who knew her had come to think of as her Big Day.
With Angie was Sally Lankowitz, La Belle Maison’s events coordinator. She had the privilege—her word—to see to it that the wedding reception went exactly the way Angie hoped it would, from the meal to the placement of the wedding cake, to the band, the music, the dancing, the photographers, and the timing of each important step along the way. She was a pleasant woman with over-sized red-framed glasses that perched on a stubby nose and covered a round, ruddy-cheeked face. Her brown hair was short and curly, and she wore a simple cotton print dress with sensibly short, squat heels. And no wedding ring.
Angie had toured the facility and met with Sally a few months earlier when she first contracted with La Belle Maison to hold her wedding reception. But now everything felt more real, as if it were actually going to happen. Her Big Day was unimaginably close.
“This room is going to look simply beautiful,” Sally gushed, holding her arms out, hands raised as she walked to the center of the large space and turned all the way around. Angie’s eyes followed where Sally’s hands led. “I do love the soft rose color you chose. It's so feminine, it will make you stand out even more with your dark hair and snow white dress. You’ll be like a china doll.”
“Thank you.” Angie guessed that was a compliment. She was short, only five-two, and being likened to any kind of “doll” didn’t sit well.
“Now,” Sally said, with a momentary clasping of her hands, “let’s talk about your wedding cake. I’m sure it will be gorgeous, so I suggest that you—”
“There you are!” A woman's harsh, shrill voice called.
Angie turned to see a young woman storming towards them. She was tall, with long, wavy blond hair, and wore a tight black suit with a short skirt. The heels on her black shoes were at least four-inches high.
Angie stood a little straighter.
“Oh, Ms. Redmun,” Sally said. She didn’t sound happy. “I don’t believe we have an appointment.”
“I don't need an appointment for this. I only have a couple of quick issues.” Ms. Redmun flicked a lock of highlighted dirty blonde hair off her brow as she glanced at Angie. She was attractive and appeared to be in her mid-to-late twenties. “Do you work here as well?”
“No,” Angie said. “My wedding reception will be held here Saturday.”
“Oh. Nice.” Her tone was dismissive. “My entire wedding will be held here Wednesday evening. An evening soiree will allow us to use the deck as long as Ms. Officious here”—she waggled her thumb at Sally—“can understand my simple request.”
Sally looked taken aback. “Excuse me—”
“Wednesday?” Angie asked. “Your wedding is on a Wednesday?”
“Yes, because—”
Sally interrupted. “Let me introduce the two of you. Angie Amalfi, Taylor Redmun. Now, Taylor, I'll be done with Angie in just a little while. She does, after all, have an appointment. If you'd like to wait in the waiting room, Laurie will get you some coffee.” Angie’s antennae rose even higher. Sally had always been all but cloyingly courteous to her.
“No need. I'll just wait here.” Taylor folded her arms and glared at them both.
Sally again faced Angie. “As I was saying, you probably want to have your cake on the north side of the room. From the windows, there's a beautiful view of the bay, which makes a lovely backdrop for photos of the cake cutting ceremony.”
“I see,” Angie murmured. She wanted to pinch herself that soon she would actually be the bride cutting a wedding cake. “That sounds lovely.”
“I'm having mine put on the south wall,” Taylor loudly announced. “How good can any photos be with glare from the windows ruining everything? I’ve learned from my camera people in Hollywood that that’s a no-no. I mean, really.”
Her words caught Sally’s attention. “I don’t believe we have the furniture set-up for your wedding marked that way.”
“I know.” Taylor strolled closer to S
ally, hands on hips. She abruptly turned her back on the events coordinator and perused the room but continued to speak. “It's one of the few little things I wanted to tell you. In fact, I have no idea why any bride would want to have her cake on the north wall. The more I thought about it, the more I knew you were wrong to suggest it.”
Sally's cheeks turned red. “I see, well, we’ll discuss it later.” As she glanced at Angie, her brown eyes seemed smaller than ever behind her large eyeglass frames. “Now, Angie, where were we? The cake, there, by the windows?”
“Well,” Angie murmured. “Maybe by that south wall is a better idea.”
“The glare is slight, and has never been a problem, I assure you. The south side of the room has the staircase. The cake makes a much better presentation as the guests come up the stairs if it’s at the opposite end of the space,” Sally said, her voice getting higher with each word.
“What’s more important?” Taylor asked. “A moment’s presentation or a lifetime of great photographs? Also, I want my DJ to be on the west wall. No sense him being on the east and blocking the view from the windows.”
“But the plumbing for the ice machine and refrigeration for the wet bar are on the west wall,” Sally said.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Taylor all but sneered at Sally. “I’d like the wet bar on the east wall, and my DJ, who will be playing my personal playlist, over there on the west.”
Sally looked increasingly distraught. “The wires for the speakers are on the east wall.”
“I wonder if I want my band in front of the windows,” Angie murmured.
Sally twirled her way. “But as I was saying, the wires—”