“I think I’ve solved that mystery,” Shanelle turns around to say, “but I’ll keep it to myself so I don’t spoil the surprise.”
Rita leans forward to speak across me to my mom. “I hear you deserve almost as much praise as your daughter does for figuring out who murdered Ingrid Svendsen.”
“I did some quick thinking a few times,” my mother allows. “But my big contribution was putting out those fires.”
“No kidding,” I say. “After she put out that blaze in the foyer during the candlelight tour, she raced out the next day and not only got the fire extinguisher recharged but bought a second one.”
“Just in case,” my mother says. “And boy, did I need it today. At least that Galena started the curtains on fire instead of the Christmas tree.”
I wonder why. Maybe on some level Galena didn’t want to fry me to a crisp. Even so, it makes me really sad that Damsgard’s gorgeous living room is seriously burned. It’s only because of my parents’ excellent timing that the damage isn’t far worse. And that I’m here to enjoy this sleigh ride. As it is, the fire department is probably tempted to park a truck outside Damsgard until they’re a hundred percent sure we’ve all left town.
“Mr. P deserves a big pat on the back, too,” Trixie says. “I don’t know what it means to hogtie someone but I guess that’s what he did to Galena.”
I am so proud of my parents for coming through in the clutch. I gather Maggie wasn’t feigning helplessness this time; it sounds like she was too terrified to be of any help. I hope Pop keeps that in mind as he weighs his future romantic options.
“All of you made it very easy for me and for the department,” Rita says. “I’m going to look into citizen commendations. You deserve them, in my opinion.”
“Peter Svendsen might not agree with you,” I murmur.
“You’d be surprised,” Rita replies. “He’s certainly not happy about everything that happened at Damsgard but he understands justice must be served. And we all know that often comes at a price.”
“Well, he can renovate Damsgard any way he wants to now,” Shanelle points out.
“I hope he makes some big changes to that third floor,” my mother adds.
“How soon do you think Galena will go on trial?” Trixie wants to know.
“On the murder charge, I would guess in a few months,” Rita says. “In terms of the trafficking allegations, I can’t tell you. That investigation is ongoing.”
The detective already told me she’s confident that prosecutors will build a strong murder case against Galena. Though she’s only begun to search the funeral home, she’s already found two pieces of circumstantial evidence tying Galena to the crime. One is the notepaper used to instruct the teenage Giant W worker to keep the lights down after the speeches—in exchange for a twenty. The other is a shredded copy of the schedule for the Giant W’s opening ceremony, with Kevin the teenager’s home address scribbled on the side.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” I say to Rita, “but I have to ask if Galena was right when she said the police did very little investigation of her brother’s death.”
“I’ve already checked that file. And I remember the case, because it was only last summer. All the patrol officers knew Joe Fuchs, just like they know all the longtime homeless. Unfortunately, in that situation it is very easy to be the victim of violence.”
I don’t doubt that for a second.
“But officers did investigate,” she goes on. “No vehicle turned up with the kind of damage we were looking for. We did make one mistake, though, and that was to conclude that the hit and run was a random tragedy. We knew that the vehicle that hit Joe Fuchs was maroon,” she adds, “and by the way that is the color of the car Ingrid Svendsen rented, and had repaired, in Minneapolis.”
I shake my head. Detective Dembek will be delving into Ingrid’s activities, too, as well as Galena’s. Though it hasn’t been confirmed yet, she believes as I do that the life insurance payments from Vigilanz will prove to be from a policy Ingrid took out in Joseph Fuchs’s name, listing herself as the beneficiary. Unfortunately for Maggie, since those monies were obtained via criminal means, they will be returned to Vigilanz.
But for now I’m going to push all that to the back of my mind. Our sleigh pulls up to a lodge that calls to mind a Swiss chalet. One driver leaps out to tend to the horses while the other leads us to a fire pit that provides all the warmth we need. We sit in a circle and soon a mug of hot apple cider is pressed into my gloved hands. I look around at the glowing faces of my parents, Rita Dembek, Trixie, Shanelle, and Maggie. I even feel fondly toward her tonight, though I still hope she doesn’t find an engagement ring from Pop under her Christmas tree. The only thing that could make tonight better were if Rachel were here, and Jason, too.
I’ll try not to think about who else I miss.
“Shall we make some s’mores?” Trixie wants to know.
There’s only one right answer to that question.
We toast marshmallows and layer them over chocolate and graham crackers and it’s pretty much the best campfire I’ve ever been around. I’m about to indulge in my third when Rita claps her hands.
“Ready for your surprise?” she calls.
We whoop and holler, and who comes out of nowhere but Peter Svendsen and five other men, all dressed in pretty wild outfits: white shirts and breeches, clogs, leather strips around the knees that have bells dangling from them, red suspenders, and straw hats decorated with berries. They’re also carrying large sticks and handkerchiefs.
Peter steps forward and executes an elaborate bow. “Most often we do this on May Day but in your honor we will perform for you on this December night. May I introduce our squire”—one man steps forward—“our foreman”—another takes a bow—“and our bagman!” A third man steps to the front, laughing heartily.
“We,” Peter goes on, “are Morris Dancers,” and they launch into a complicated jig that involves hopping, stomping, waving of handkerchiefs, and banging of sticks. The music is country simple, produced by something called a melodeon, which I learn is a type of accordion.
“It’s an English folk tradition,” Peter tells me afterward, when he and his fellow dancers have joined us around the fire pit. “I got into it when I was in school over there.” He chuckles. “Barbara’s not too keen on it but I should tell her it’s better than being in the Mob.”
I feel like an idiot. “Detective Dembek told you about that.”
“I can see why you were suspicious of me. Obviously I’ve never been Ingrid’s biggest fan.”
“Well, now more than ever, I understand why.” I hesitate, then, “I’m so sorry about all the damage to Damsgard. And I’m really sorry about your mother, too. It can’t be easy for you that she’s been arrested.”
He shakes his head. “Damsgard I can fix. My mother, I don’t know. She’s got a lot of explaining to do. Maybe she’ll wise up after paying her debt to society.”
Here’s hoping.
I accept a warm-up of my apple cider and wander away from the group to look at the moon and stars. They’re all out now, shining bright; the clouds have passed.
I hope that happens soon in my own life.
Earlier this evening after the danger had passed, Mario showed up at Damsgard. By then Galena was in custody and the fire trucks were gone. Even the smoke had cleared, and the front window had been patched over with plywood, courtesy of the firefighters.
“It’s old habit,” Mario told me.
We were standing on the porch. I was trying to ignore the mistletoe dangling over our heads and he was looking as handsome as ever, if maybe a little subdued. Sad, even, and I don’t think I was imagining it.
“I keep an eye on you,” he said. “I just can’t help myself. I always get a little worried when your investigations heat up.”
I forgave him. He has a professional interest, too, I told myself, since he’s secretly on the F.B.I.’s payroll. “So you heard about my 911 call?”
“I did hear about it, and I came right over. By the time I arrived here at Damsgard, though, everything was under control.”
So he came by Damsgard twice today. I found a certain satisfaction in that, and it was as hard to ignore as the mistletoe.
“How are you doing?” he wanted to know.
I had the funniest feeling he wasn’t just asking about the aftermath of being locked in the cell. “I’m not great. But I’m okay.”
“You are great, Happy. I’ll dispute you on that as long as you’ll let me.”
Then we had one of those moments, one of those stare at each other moments, that might’ve gone on a short time, it might’ve gone on a long time, I’ll never know. All I know is I don’t like when they end.
But end it did. “I’ll see you around,” he said. “You’ve got my word on that.”
My reverie is interrupted when Trixie rubs my arm. Shanelle is standing right beside her. “You okay, Happy?” Trixie wants to know.
“We’re here,” Shanelle adds. “We’ll always be here, girl.”
“That’s good.” To my credit, I sniffle only the tiniest bit. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to need you.”
“Just remember what I always say,” Trixie murmurs.
“Here we go again,” Shanelle mutters.
“Things work out the way they’re supposed to,” Trixie finishes. “I really do believe that.”
I glance back at the fire pit, where my father, mother, and Maggie are all sitting in a companionable row. Now there’s a tableau I never would have expected. I guess it just goes to show that you never know what’ll happen next.
You just have to wait and see.
Diana loves to hear from readers! E-mail her at www.dianadempsey.com and sign up for her mailing list while you’re there to hear first about her new releases. Also join her on Facebook and follow her on Twitter.
Continue past the two holiday recipes for an excerpt from Ms America and the Brouhaha on Broadway, the exciting fifth installment in the Beauty Queen Mysteries series ….
Fruitcake
(From JoyOfBaking.com)
“This Fruit Cake recipe is adapted from Nigel Slater's The Kitchen Diaries and it is by far the best one I have ever made. It is jammed with raisins, currants, dried cranberries, dried figs and prunes, dried apricots, and candied fruit and peel (candied fruit is preserved fruit that has been dipped several times in a concentrated sugar syrup). Nuts are also included as is ground almonds. Do try to make your fruitcake about three to four weeks before Christmas so you can brush it with alcohol several times and allow the flavors to mingle and age. This cake can be frozen so it might be a good idea to make two and then you can freeze one for later in the year.
“Each person has their own list of 'must have' foods for Christmas. For me, it is this Fruit Cake; that wonderful combination of nuts and dried fruits with barely enough cake batter to hold it all together. If you have ever made a British Fruit Cake you know that what really sets this cake apart is how we repeatedly feed the cake, over time, with alcohol (usually brandy, sometimes rum). This gives the Fruit Cake a subtle brandy flavor and a moist texture, plus it also allows the cake to be stored for ages and ages. Of course, the step of repeatedly brushing alcohol on the cake means we have to make it well in advance of Christmas. But is that so bad? With all the hustle and bustle of the Christmas season, doing our baking several weeks in advance can only be a good thing.”
(Diana here): I have not yet made this fruitcake but I plan to this holiday season. In anticipation, I bought a new springform pan and have ordered candied fruit from The Great American Spice Company. I may not “steep” it to the extent Happy’s mother does, but I will use her approach, as described above. Merry Christmas!
Ingredients:
1 cup (227 grams) unsalted butter
1/2 cup (110 grams) light brown sugar
1/2 cup (110 grams) dark brown sugar
3 large eggs
3 tablespoons brandy, plus extra for brushing the cake
Juice and zest of one orange
Zest of one lemon
3/4 cup (65 grams) ground almonds
1 cup (100 grams) hazelnuts, walnuts, pecans, or almonds, chopped
1 1/2 pounds (680 grams) of an assortment of dried and candied fruits
3/4 pound (340 grams) of an assortment of raisins, sultana, dried cranberries and/or cherries
2 cups (260 grams) all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
Preparation:
1. Butter, or spray with nonstick vegetable spray, an 8-inch (20 cm) springform pan. Line the bottom of the pan with buttered parchment paper. Also, line the sides of the pan with a strip of buttered parchment paper that extends about 2 inches above the pan.
2. Preheat oven to 325° F (160° C).
3. In the bowl of your electric mixer, or with a hand mixer, beat the butter and sugars until light and fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add the brandy, juice and zest of the orange, and zest of the lemon. Then fold in the ground almonds, chopped nuts, and all the dried and candied fruits.
4. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, salt, and baking powder. Fold this into the cake batter.
5. Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and, if desired, decorate the top of the cake with blanched almonds. Place the pan on a baking sheet. Bake for 1 hour. Reduce the temperature to 300° F (150° C) and continue to bake the cake for another 90 minutes or until a long skewer inserted into the center of the cake comes out with just a few moist crumbs. Remove the cake from the oven and place on a wire rack to cool completely.
6. Using a skewer, poke holes in the top of the cake and brush with a little brandy. Wrap the cake thoroughly in plastic wrap and aluminum foil and place in a cake tin or plastic bag. Brush the cake periodically (once or twice a week) with brandy until Christmas. The cake will keep several weeks or it can be frozen.
White Christmas Dream Drops
(Diana here): We can thank Dustin and Erin Beutin of Tustin, California, for this recipe, which won Sunset magazine’s Grand Prize for Holiday Cookies.
They are good! I recommend you take to heart the 1-tablespoon portion size when you spoon the meringue onto the cookie sheets. I made mine a little big but I can correct that mistake next time. And there will be a next time … ;-)
Note from Sunset: “Unlike traditional meringues, which are crisp all the way through, these are still chewy on the inside, like mini pavlovas—but with white chocolate chips and plenty of peppermint. For an elegant touch, dip the edges in melted dark chocolate.”
Ingredients:
2 egg whites, room temperature
1/8 teaspoon cream of tartar
1/2 teaspoon vanilla
1/8 teaspoon salt
3/4 cup sugar
1 cup white chocolate chips
1/3 cup + 1 1/2 tablespoon coarsely crushed peppermint candies
Preparation:
1. Preheat oven to 250°. Beat egg whites and cream of tartar in a deep bowl with a mixer, using whisk attachment if you have one, just until soft peaks form. Add vanilla and salt. With motor running and mixer on high speed, add 1 tablespoon sugar and beat 10 to 15 seconds, then repeat until all the sugar has been added. Scrape inside of bowl and beat another 15 seconds. At this point, meringue should form straight peaks when beaters are lifted. Fold in chocolate chips and 1/3 cup crushed peppermint with a flexible spatula.
2. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper, using meringue at corners as glue. Using a soup spoon, drop meringue in rounded 1 tablespoon portions slightly apart onto sheets, scraping off with another spoon. Sprinkle with remaining crushed peppermint.
3. Bake 30 to 35 minutes, until meringues feel dry and set, but are still pale. Reverse pan position at halfway point. When done, turn off oven, open door, and let cookies stand 10 minutes. Let cool on pans.
Yield: 32 cookies. Time: 1 ¼ hour. Can make 2 days ahead. Store
airtight.
MS AMERICA AND THE BROUHAHA ON BROADWAY
(Beauty Queen Mysteries No. 5)
Ms America Happy Pennington can’t sing a note, but that doesn’t keep her from landing a consulting gig on a Broadway musical. All would be A-OK on the Great White Way were it not for one hitch: a death on stage during a preview performance.
Might it be murder? Happy has to wonder …
For the deceased had oodles of enemies, including a big-time producer in search of another mega-hit; an A-list rival for a to-die-for Manhattan co-op; and a sultry stage photographer who just can’t stop filming Happy’s husband—especially when he’s got his clothes off.
Heartthrob show host Mario Suave puts in an appearance, too. Because even though he’s dating a sexy soap star, he just can’t stay away from everybody’s favorite beauty queen ...
CHAPTER ONE
I know a lot of superstitious beauty queens. I myself have never been one of them. But I have the funniest feeling that may change here in New York City.
Trixie Barnett—the reigning Ms. Congeniality and one of my best friends ever—unleashes a delighted giggle. “I still can’t believe we’re watching a Broadway show from the wings! I feel like such an insider.”
“An Off-Broadway show,” Shanelle corrects. Ms. Walker, otherwise known as Ms. Mississippi and as dear to my heart as Trixie, can be a stickler for details. “And since we’re consultants for this fiasco, we are insiders.”
Unfortunately, Shanelle’s deployment of the “f” word is only too apt. Dream Angel: The Musical is the most ramshackle piece of musical theater this beauty queen has ever laid eyes on. And that includes the grade-school productions my husband Jason and I sat through when our Rachel was a wee minx.
Ms America and the Whoopsie in Winona Page 24