The Scarlet Suit Murder
Page 7
1/3 cup sliced shallots
1 pound assorted mushrooms
½ cup heavy cream
½ cup milk
3 eggs (organic, cage-free)
½ cup grated Gruyère cheese
Pinch nutmeg
Salt & pepper to taste
Heat oil in a skillet. Sauté the shallots, then add the mushrooms. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and cook, stirring frequently. Sprinkle half of the grated Gruyere over the bottom of the crust. Spread the mushrooms and shallots over the cheese, and sprinkle remaining cheese. Whisk the cream, milk, and eggs in a bowl. Stir in nutmeg, salt and pepper. Pour the egg mixture over the mushrooms and cheese in the crust. Bake at 350°F for 35 minutes. Cool and enjoy!
Recipe #4
Salade aux Épinards
(Spinach Salad)
8 cups baby spinach leaves
2 cans mandarin oranges, drained
1 cup chopped walnuts
1 cup crumbled goat cheese
½ cup sliced red onion
Salad dressing (your choice)
Toss ingredients in a large salad bowl. Drizzle with balsamic vinaigrette or your favorite salad dressing. Makes a light main course that leaves room for the indulgent French desserts found later in this recipe section!
Recipe #5
Croque Monsieur
(Gourmet Grilled Cheese)
Loaf of white miche bread
1 cup grated Gruyère cheese
½ cup grated Parmesan cheese
Dijon mustard
2 tbsp butter
5 sliced tomatoes
Pinch of salt (optional)
Make sandwiches individually in a frying pan. For each sandwich, sprinkle the grated cheeses inside slices of bread. Add a fresh slice of tomato for moisture and sweetness. Heat butter in pan and fry the sandwich until both sides are golden brown. Slather with Dijon mustard. Add a dash of salt before serving if desired. To serve as elegant appetizers, cut sandwiches into mini triangles and pierce each one in the center with a toothpick. Or just keep the sandwiches whole and dig in to some creamy, cheesy deliciousness!
Recipe #6
Soufflé de Carottes
(Carrot Soufflé)
2 cups carrots
2 tbsp flour
¾ cup sugar
1 stick melted butter
1 tsp baking powder
3 eggs, beaten (organic, cage-free)
Cook carrots until soft, then mash. Put in food processor with other ingredients and blend until smooth. Put ingredients in a 2-quart casserole dish. Sprinkle with cinnamon. Bake at 400 degrees for 15 minutes until soufflé rises. Bake additional 40 minutes at 350 degrees. Makes a light accompaniment with any hearty main dish.
Recipe #7
Crêpes au Chocolat avec Grand Marnier
(Chocolate Crepes with Grand Marnier)
2 cups milk
1 1/2 cups flour
1/2 cup cocoa powder
6 tablespoons powdered sugar
2 large eggs (organic, cage-free)
2 tablespoons butter, melted
2 teaspoons Grand Marnier
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 teaspoon salt
Can of whipped cream
Whisk all ingredients until batter is smooth. Refrigerate for 20 minutes. Melt a little butter in a skillet over low heat. Add 3 tablespoons of batter to the pan and swirl so the chocolate makes a free form pattern. Cook crepe for 1 minute until golden. Flip the crepe. Cook for 1 minute and transfer crepe to a plate. Repeat with the remaining batter. Serve your crepes warm with a dollop of whipped cream. Dessert doesn’t get more elegant than this!
Recipe #8
Tarte aux Fraises
(Strawberry Tart)
1 baked pastry shell
1 1/4 cups pastry cream
1 pound fresh strawberries, sliced
1/4 cup strawberry jam
1 tablespoon lemon juice
Spread the pastry cream across the bottom of the pastry shell. Arrange the strawberries in an attractive pattern over the pastry cream. Heat the jam with lemon juice until boiling. Apply the strawberry glaze over strawberries (with a pastry brush if you have one).Refrigerate the tart for a few hours before serving. Serve and enjoy your delectable French creation!
Recipe #9
Crème Brûlée
(Custard Cream)
6 egg yolks
2 ½ cup heavy cream
6 tablespoons white sugar
2 tablespoons brown sugar
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
Preheat oven to 300 degrees. Beat egg yolks, 4 tablespoons white sugar and vanilla extract in a bowl. Pour cream into a saucepan and stir over low heat until almost boiling. Remove cream from heat. Stir cream into egg yolk mixture; beat. Pour cream mixture into the top of a double boiler. Stir over simmering water for 3 minutes. Remove mixture from heat and pour into an oven-safe dish. Bake for 30 minutes. Remove from oven and cool. Refrigerate overnight. Next Day: Preheat oven to broil. In a bowl combine remaining 2 tablespoons white sugar and brown sugar. Sift evenly over custard. Place dish under broiler until sugar melts. Remove from heat and cool. Refrigerate until custard is set. A hard sugar shell should be covering the custard. Serve warm or cool, depending upon taste. Get a spoon and dig in!
Recipe #10
Gâteau au Chocolat
(Chocolate Cake)
1 package of your favorite chocolate cake mix
14 oz sweetened condensed milk
2 squares unsweetened chocolate, melted
½ cup water
1 package of your favorite chocolate pudding mix
1 cup whipped heavy cream
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Prepare and bake cake mix for two layers.
Cool and remove from pans. In a bowl, mix sweetened condensed milk and melted chocolate. Stir in the water, then instant pudding. Chill for 30 minutes.
Remove the chocolate mixture from the refrigerator and stir. Fold in whipped cream and return to the refrigerator for another hour. Place one layer of cake onto a serving plate. Top with 1 1/2 cups of mousse, then cover with remaining cake layer.
Frost with remaining mousse and refrigerate. Garnish with fresh strawberries, raspberries, or chocolate shavings. Serve and savor!
WHILE YOU’RE DINING ON FRENCH CUISINE,
TURN THE PAGE
FOR SPECIAL PREVIEWS…
Special Preview of Anisa Claire West’s
A FASHION FELON IN ROME
Prologue
West Nyack, New York
Packing My Bags…
Is there any reason why I can’t take my entire wardrobe to Italy? I perused my dresser full of vintage clothes, heartbroken to leave any of the gems behind. You’re only going to be gone for two weeks, dummy. I had to remind myself that my pending trip to Rome was strictly business, and I wouldn’t be in the Eternal City for more than a blink of time. Before I knew it, I would be home sweet home in New York.
Still, I hated the thought of leaving my clingy bellbottom pants and white peasant blouse behind. Additional reminders to self: You are not attending a disco party in the 1970’s. You are flying into one of the most fashionable cities on earth to compete in a highly coveted design contest. I sighed, folding lime green jeans, a mauve tee-shirt and high heel boots into my suitcase. Fashion was meant to be flamboyant, not flat. Truthfully, I’d parade around in my goofy retro garb all day and then glide across a marble floor in a chic ballroom gown all night if I could. But for my business trip to Rome, the vivid denims and cotton tee-shirt would have to satisfy my craving for bold couture.
“I’m going to miss you like crazy,” Richard’s deep voice interrupted my packing frenzy.
“I’m going to miss you too,” I murmured absently, still peering into the abyss of a dresser drawer.
“Stop packing for a second. Come here. Look at me.” Richard pulled me into his arms and forced my eyes to meet his.
“Come on, sweetie. I’m only going to be gone a c
ouple of weeks.”
“Yeah, well I don’t want you flirting with any Italian men when you’re over there. I know the reputation they have…”
“Oh stop!” I hushed him dismissively. “I’m all yours. And have been for almost a year.”
“Is that a subtle reminder about our anniversary next month? Because I don’t need reminding. I’ve got something very special planned for us.” His hazel eyes gleamed with romantic mischief as my imagination wandered to all the possible surprises he could have arranged. Since meeting in the most unlikely of settings---a sports bar blind date arranged by mutual friends---Richard and I had stuck together like Krazy Glue.
An inexplicable shock of fear coursed through me as I stared up into my boyfriend’s comforting eyes. Why did he have to be so sweet? I felt like I was leaving a giant security blanket behind and jumping naked into January-frigid ocean waters. The man loved me from head to toe, despite the fact that I wasn’t built even remotely like a fashion model. My curves were better suited to a lingerie catalogue than the runway, and Richard adored every fleshy inch of me.
“Okay, enough of this dramatic goodbye. Two weeks and I’ll be standing here with you again trying to wrestle the anniversary surprise out of you.” I grinned at him despite the uneasiness that hung over me like cloud cover.
Richard’s eyes crinkled at the corners with mirth. “Wrestle it out of me? Be my guest, Gianna.” He pulled me deeper into a bear hug as our lips fused.
“I better get back to packing. My flight leaves in 5 hours and I have to be at the airport in 2,” I said gently as he reluctantly released me.
“Why is this actress flying people in from all around the world just to design a dress for her?” Richard asked frowningly.
“Because she can,” I called over my shoulder, zipping shut a compartment of my suitcase.
“It just seems a little extravagant,” Richard continued.
“Well it is. And so is she. Sophia Pucci is the highest paid actress in Europe. She can do whatever she wants. Just be happy for me, Rich. And wish me luck,” I urged, as butterflies somersaulted through my gut.
“You don’t need luck, Gianna. You’ve got artistic talent. More than anyone I’ve ever met. That’s why you were chosen as a finalist from how many portfolios worldwide? 1,000?” he said solemnly as my cheeks flared with modesty.
“Something like that,” I replied before declaring, ”I love you. Or should I say, io ti amo?”
“Your Italian sounds way too sexy,” Richard groaned as I laughed.
“Relax. It only sounds sexy to you because you’re American. Italians hear their language all the time! I’ll probably sound incredibly boring to them,” I giggled.
“You could never sound boring to anyone. So remember, if anyone hits on you…”
“I have a boyfriend in New York who loves me,” I finished for him.
“Yes. But also, those guys could be your long lost cousins.” Richard raised an eyebrow and grinned.
“My grandparents weren’t from Rome, honey. They came from Naples,” I tried to contain my laughter, but it popped from my throat like champagne bubbles.
“They could still be cousins. Several times removed,” Richard insisted, continuing to shield his insecurity over my departure with downright silly humor.
“Okay, fine. I’ll watch out for flirty Italian men. And inappropriately flirty cousins,” I promised lightly before grabbing his face in my hands and whispering:
“Two weeks, just two weeks…”
Chapter 1
Rome, Italy
Sheraton Convention Center
Discreetly, I smoothed on a fresh layer of sheer lip gloss as people piled into the ballroom. My flight from New York had been exhilarating and marked the first time I had crossed the Atlantic Ocean. While others grumbled their way through Customs, I dove into the experience like a wide-eyed child, excitedly flashing my passport and beaming as it received its first stamp. Dumping my luggage at the hotel, I only had time to grab a pistachio gelato as a makeshift breakfast before taking a taxi over to the hotel where I would come face to face with the woman who held a vital key to my future: Sophia Pucci.
Back home in the people-packed suburb of West Nyack, I had my own tailor shop where I specialized in altering clothes for curvy women like me. But a fashion designer running a tailor shop is a bit like a gourmet chef dishing out slop at a diner. Altering clothes was distantly related to the ridiculously competitive fashion design field I hoped to break into, but it wasn’t at all what I wanted to do with my life. Sophia Pucci, who had starred in countless leading roles over the past two decades, had the power to propel my fledgling career to dizzying heights.
“Do you speak English?” An American-accented young woman with shocking blue eyes asked me as she approached from behind.
“Yes, I do. I’m American too,” I replied, assessing her elegant navy jumpsuit and flawlessly matching velvet pumps. Suddenly, I felt inadequate in my curve hugging tee-shirt and equally snug slacks that probably revealed a roll or two of fat. Perhaps three rolls of fat after that extra creamy gelato I had inhaled for breakfast.
“Oh good. I don’t speak Italian, so maybe you can help me,” she exhaled nervously and pulled a sheet of paper out of her purse. “Is this where we’re supposed to meet Sophia Pucci?”
“Yes, as far as I know. But I don’t think she’s arrived yet,” I replied, glancing around the room, troubled by how many faces filled the venue. “Are you one of the dress design finalists?”
“Yeah, are you?” The woman’s demeanor tightened as she perceived me as a competitor.
“Yes. But I thought there were just supposed to be four of us. Who are all these other people?”
“Jewelry designers. And hairstylists. And make-up artists. To name a few,” a male voice with a decidedly English accent informed brusquely from a few steps away. “Ms. Pucci has flown in quite an entourage from all around the world. You two are lucky you made the cut. She didn’t choose any other Americans.”
“And how do you know all this?” I inquired curiously, noting the man’s sleek dark moustache and arresting green eyes.
“I’m Leonard Jilton. Ms. Pucci’s assistant. I organized this whole event.” He extended a hand that I accepted for a shake.
“Oh yes, I remember seeing your name on the application papers. I’m Gianna Macchio.”
“And I’m Denise Craylin,” my competitor interjected testily. “Nice to finally meet you.”
“Likewise ladies. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to prepare for Ms. Pucci’s arrival. Feel free to help yourselves to some hors d’oeuvres and wine that we have on the tables over there.” Leonard Jilton pointed to an impressive buffet as my stomach rumbled.
Eagerly, I made my way over to the buffet, wondering what the Italians would consider to be a main course. The “hors d’oeuvres” were a veritable banquet of eggplant parmagiana, baked ziti, and several varieties of crusty bread. The cool pistachio gelato had been sweet, but I needed to sink my teeth into some real food. Loading up a plate with half a baguette and drenching it with herbed oil, I took an ecstatic bite, trying not to make too much noise. As I was depositing another bankroll of bread into my mouth, the room suddenly buzzed with energy followed by a burst of applause…
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CHAMPAGNE DECEPTION
Milan, Italy
A Black, Moonless Night in May
Inside the art gallery, Coretta put the finishing touches on a tray of Italian hors d’oeuvres set on a table lined with bottles of the finest champagne. It was eight o’clock precisely, and the gallery was about to open its doors to introduce her paintings to the world. Swallowing a breath of nervousness, Coretta smoothed the fabric of her scarlet cocktail dress while listlessly twirling her shoulder length mahogany hair. It was time to open the doors to the public; she
couldn’t wait another minute longer.
With trembling fingers, she unlocked the doors and opened them wide for the avid art lovers who stood queued up in the balmy spring air. Immediately, they pushed through the doors, clamoring to reach the walls and place early bids on her best paintings. Coretta smiled in stark disbelief; this kind of fame and popularity were completely new to her. A few months ago, she couldn’t even get an art dealer to look at one of her paintings and now here she was with a gallery opening devoted to her work. Discreetly, she pinched her forearm, giggling silently as she observed the customers fight over her paintings.
From the darkest corner of the gallery, Coretta continued to watch in awe as the elegant art lovers fussed over her labors of love. Emerging from the shadows and strolling over to the buffet table for a glass of champagne, Coretta scanned the room for her lover. They had quarreled earlier when he misplaced three paintings that she had planned to feature in the display, and now she wanted to make amends.
Coretta selected a flute of champagne and lifted the delicate glass to her lips, indulging in a sip. The icy bubbles rolled smoothly across her tongue, and she closed her eyes, savoring the moment. She pressed the rim to her lips for a second sip when a strident beeping assaulted the hushed atmosphere of the gallery and the lights simultaneously dimmed to black. The recently opened gallery contained no back-up generator, and the entire space was immediately as dark as the moonless spring sky. The glass of champagne slipped out of Coretta’s fingers and crashed onto the floor as she jumped in fright.
Groping in the blackness, Coretta bumped her knee against a metal table and squealed with pain as the group on the other side of the room became agitated. The sounds of bodies bumping into each other and glasses crashing to the ground elicited a scream from one woman and grumblings in Italian from several of the other guests.