2. Line two standard muffin tins with cupcake liners.
3. Whisk boiling water, cocoa, chocolate, and espresso powder together in a small bowl. Whisk eggs, sour cream, and vanilla together in medium bowl until well combined.
4. With electric mixer on low speed, combine flour, baking soda, salt, granulated sugar, and brown sugar in large bowl until blended. Add butter and mix on low until incorporated, about 1 minute. Add egg mixture in 2 additions, then beat at medium speed, scraping down sides of bowl as needed, until combined, about 1 minute.
5. Add chocolate mixture and beat at medium speed until incorporated, about 1 minute. Divide batter evenly among 24 cupcake liners. Bake until skewer or toothpick inserted comes out with a few moist crumbs attached, about 20 minutes.
6. Cool cupcakes in muffin tins for 10 minutes before removing and cooling completely on wire rack.
Chocolate Ganache
4 oz of bittersweet chocolate (or chocolate chips), chopped fine (see note).
½ cup heavy cream
2 Tablespoons powdered sugar
Place chocolate and powdered sugar in medium bowl. Heat cream just to a boil then add to bowl with chocolate. Let sit 30 seconds, then whisk, starting at the center in small circles, until all chocolate is melted and mixture is smooth and shiny.
Chocolate Buttercream
2 cups of powdered sugar
1 teaspoon of vanilla extract
1/14 tsp table salt
8 oz semi-sweet or bittersweet chocolate, melted and cooled
2 ½ sticks (20 tablespoons) butter, softened.
Beat butter (using a stand mixer with a whisk attachment is optimal, but this can be done with a hand mixer if you are thorough) at medium high speed until smooth.
Add powdered sugar and salt; beat at medium-low speed until most of sugar is moistened. Scrape down bowl and beat at medium speed until mixture is fully combined. Scrape bowl and add vanilla and beat at medium speed until incorporated, then reduce speed to low and gradually beat in chocolate.
Increase speed to medium-high and beat until light and fluffy, about 4 minutes, scraping down bowl once or twice.
To assemble:
Use a paring knife to create a hole in the center of the cooled cupcakes. Fill with ganache – this can be done using a pastry bag or filling a zip-top bag with ganache and squeezing to fill cupcakes.
Top with chocolate buttercream icing.
Any uneaten cupcakes should be store in the refrigerator. To serve, bring up to room temperature.
(Pamela DuMond’s note: Why waste the mini cupcake hunks you scored out of the bigger cupcakes? Save the mini hunks, dab a dollop of frosting on them and use them as snacks if a big cupcake is too much food. Store those in the fridge as well.)
Enjoy!
Chapter 9
Buckle my Shoe
Theodore (The Cat)
“Wake up, Cat Mother, wake up,” I meowed and groomed Annie’s face.
She was lying on the floor on her back, and from what I could ascertain, she was still breathing. I was relieved she was alive for a number of reasons. One: I still hadn’t received my Hawaii Surprise wet cat food. Two: she laid smack dab on top of my favorite bouncy toy, flattening the poor thing. No matter how many times I batted her leg, she would not roll over and allow me to retrieve it. Life could be so unfair at times. “Wake up, Cat Mother. Please.”
The pudgy man with the long, greasy hair had given up trying to break into the refrigerator and now sat on the floor, leaned back against a living room wall, and pretended to strum an imaginary guitar as he crooned, “Paint it Black.”
“What the?” Annie bolted upright and rubbed her head. “Oh, Theodore, that was the worst nightmare I’ve had in years! I dreamt that I ran into Johnny Blackfoot, the impossibly good-looking asshat.” She picked me up in her arms and squeezed me, too tightly, and I feared my innards might burst out an end like that poor turkey on Thanksgiving Day. I tried my best not to squirm. I squeaked even though I wasn’t a squeaky toy, for Pete’s sake, but I was all too frequently mistaken for one because of my irrepressible cuteness.
“Even worse, Julia got arrested because her aging rock star crush was murdered at the United Music Award show,” Annie complained. “And while I have no idea what I’m doing napping on the floor, thank the gods it doesn’t matter, because it was all a dream! Who in the heck turned on the bad acoustic version of that Rolling Stones song on and—Ack!”
She screamed again, too harshly for my delicate inner ears, and dropped me with an unceremonious ‘thud’ onto her lap. My hind legs went in one direction, my upper body twisted in the other, and I was not pleased. I did not willingly practice yoga in front of strangers. There were too many poses that had the potential to be undignified. I swiveled my ears back, stumbled off her lap, and trotted away.
She jumped to her feet and shook her finger at the man with the pudgy belly. “You!” she said. “You caught me off guard. I might have been mistaken about your intentions for a few seconds, but now I know exactly who and what you are.”
“I’m glad we finally got that cleared up, love,” Slice said.
“Your kind is not welcome in my house,” Annie said. “I’m going to count to ten and then I want you out of here. One.”
“I love rhyming games. I’ll play along,” Slice said. “Two. Buckle my shoe. Hmm. What’s next? Hang on. Give me a second. Oh, I know. Three.”
“Four.” Annie swept one arm dramatically through the air like she was the talented Vanna White turning letters on The Wheel of Fortune. “I’m showing you the door.”
“You seem like a smart enough lass,” Slice said. “Your math skills are excellent, you have decent timing. Perhaps we could collaborate on a new song after you make me a sandwich.”
“There will be no new songs or delectable luncheon meats for you,” she said. “Because, Five. You’re no longer alive.”
“The rumors of my demise are greatly exaggerated.” He patted his face. “I’m pale by nature, and had a suspicious mole removed last year. I’ve been staying out of the sun. No more naked sunbathing in Ibiza for me!”
Annie strode toward her door, threw it open, and pointed outdoors. “It’s time for you to scram, vacate my house. I order you to leave—now!”
Humans were so fickle. One minute they were sweet, oozing kindness, and complimenting you on how cute you looked. The next, they reneged on their promises of feeding you a pinch of tuna, or dispensing the wet cat food simply because they saw a mouse, a ghost, or spotted a bad picture of themselves on someone else’s Facebook feed. It’s enormously unfair to shoot the cat every time a human has an off day, but it seems to be a popular enough sport. Oh, wait, that’s the dog. Never mind. I pulled myself together, sniffled, and trod toward the open exit.
“Not you, Theodore!” Annie yelled and stuck her foot out in front of me, blocking my way. “I’m talking to the ghost!” She scooped me up, draped me unceremoniously over one arm, and petted the majestic ruff of my neck.
I stiffened my back legs in case she dropped me again as I gazed at my friend, the spirit cat, who sat on the countertop flicking her voluptuous black tail. “My sincerest apologies, Mary. My human doesn’t know that you have an open invitation here. I am not a wren, nor a fair-feathered friend. I am a cat of my word.”
“No worries, Theodore,” she said. “What’s the scoop with the new spirit? Who is he? Why’s he here? What does he want?”
I was rather enjoying the neck massage, but then came to my senses, and squirmed to escape Annie’s tenacious grip on my ticklish underarms. “I think he wants a sandwich. But the rest of it’s confounding, yes? Just look at him. I don’t think he’s bathed in a month.”
“Ghosts can be scary,” Mary said.
“Agreed.” I wriggled out of Annie’s grasp, jumped to the floor, ran a few steps, stopped, and licked my paw. “Even I can tell those leather pants he’s wearing have seen better days. They’re simply too tight. His stomach is pooching out over the
top like a double stuffed baked potato.”
Slice eyed Annie and wiggled his hips. “Perhaps you look at me, love, and fantasize about the ghost of boyfriends past,” he said. “You appear to be the kind of girl who would inspire a rock star to write a romantic song, or possibly two. Buckle my shoe.” He pointed down and raised one eyebrow suggestively.
“Ew,” she said. “Right now I’m the kind of girl who will not buckle yours or anyone else’s shoe, and it doesn’t matter what or who I used to be. The past is over and gone; that’s why they call it ‘the past’. I no longer hang out with rock stars, living or dead. I might have a reputation for solving crimes, and sending spirits to the light, but I don’t think that I’ll be practicing any of my magic tonight, thank you very much. Now I will tell you one more time nicely, and then all bets are off.” She pointed to the door imperiously. “Leave.”
Mary stuck her nose up in the air and sniffed. “Do I smell brie? It’s wafting from the direction of that man wearing the silver thong who’s entering your apartment.”
“Sorry I’m late, Cupcake,” the ghost of Dr. Derrick Fuller walked through the open door, minced through Annie’s outstretched arm, and headed in Slice’s direction. “I heard there was a party happening at your hovel and concluded my invitation was lost in the mail. Lucky for you, I figured it out, and now I’m here!” He grabbed Slice’s hand and shook it. “What a joy it is to meet you again in person, my dear old friend. How have the years slipped past us so quickly? I fondly remember our clubbing days and nights in Prague, Budapest, and Berlin, not to mention Shanghai.”
“Do we know each other?” Slice asked.
“Not now, Derrick.” Annie tapped her foot on the floor.
“There’s that fabulous Stanley Suffington sense of humor,” Derrick said. “I’ll never forget the delightful vacation hours we shared topless sunbathing, bottomless hot-tubbing, not to mention all the jet-skiing excitement. Might I say, Slice, I am tickled to be the one to officially welcome you to the In-Between life. Consider me your Host with the Most, your e-Ticket to the Great Beyond, and your All Access VIP pass to the most fun and excitement you’ve had since Coachella in the doublewide Winnebago with the German triplets. The Kuchen was simply amazing.”
“Thank you for that refreshing walk down memory lane,” Slice said, “I vaguely remember performing in Coachella, but sadly, I’ve never sampled their Kuchen. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I suggest you use a sunscreen with an SPF of 50 or higher. I promised the Beverly Hills Dermatology Clinic I’d use my celebrity status to share a health related PSA.”
“That’s it!” Annie slammed the door, made her way to her couch, threw herself on her back, and fired up her computer. “I give up. You win. I’m done.”
“Uh, oh,” Mary said. “That sounds like defeat talking. Your owner doesn’t seem to be the sort of dame who gives up so easily. Maybe she needs a pep talk.”
“You’re right.” I jumped up onto the couch next to Annie, stepped onto her lap, circled, and whapped my tail across her face.
“Ow! Stop,” she said, and batted it away, spitting out hairs.
But I was determined to cheer her up, so I treaded her soft thighs vigorously with my sturdy paws. If a Theodore von Pumpernickle lap massage couldn’t make one happy, nothing could make one happy.
“Ouch!” Annie said and nudged me aside. “I don’t want your needle sharp claws piercing that region of my body.”
I sniffed. Too frequently good deeds were overlooked or misconstrued. I decided to take stock of the situation from the other side of our couch. I made a U-turn off her lap, and walked across her computer’s keyboard, its warm keys soothing the pads of my feet like fleecy slippers on a chilly winter night.
“Get off my computer!” Annie yanked the machine high into the air as I tumbled off it, and expertly rebounded on the couch. “Today is like the worst day ever!”
“I second that,” I meowed, as I circled onto a pillow in the far corner of the couch, and hunkered down for what seemed like the longest night of my life.
Chapter 10
Everything Goes Better with Bacon
Annie
I picked up Julia from the LAPD lock up around noon the next day and drove her home to her decent one bedroom condo in Beverly Hills, California. About a year ago, her mom had fronted a hefty down payment and co-signed on the property so my BFF could stop bleeding out rental money and accrue real estate equity. One day, that could pay out toward her retirement.
Julia’s place was nice, without being swank: the building was thirty years old, didn’t have a doorman helping with groceries, but featured relatively low HOA fees. Her 850-square-foot half-a-million-dollar investment pad highlighted views of an alley, a festively painted oil derrick, and a wall covered in graffiti, and yet was still increasing in value every day that she owned it.
I sat on the granite floor of the master bathroom as Julia took a hot shower, the steam billowing into the room. “How was your night in the pokey?” I asked.
“Lucky for me, last night’s theme was drunk and disorderly, not actually pokey night,” she said. “I’m out of shampoo. Grab me a bottle from under the vanity, please.”
I opened the door with my foot and leaned in to take a closer look. “You have five shampoo bottles. Do you want the product that makes fluffy hair straight or the stuff that makes straight hair fluffy? There’s something organic that saves the orphans who manufacture it…”
“I want the stuff that gets rid of bed bugs, ringworm, and possible lice infestation,” she popped her head out from behind the shower curtain. “I want the one that makes me smell like I’m forest fresh after a dewy rain, and washes away sadness and heartache better than chocolate and an excellent single malt scotch. I can’t believe Slice was murdered. I am bereft. My life will never ever be the same.” She hiccupped.
“You need some cheering up, something that makes you feel good about living and breathing and carrying on.” I plucked out the large green bottle with a twenty-something model on the label who sported impossibly white teeth and splendiferous hair, and handed it to my BFF. “If there was ever hope in a bottle, I believe it’s in this one.”
Julia looked at the container and burst into tears. “Slice would have totally gone for this girl. I can’t believe he’s really dead.” She squeezed a dollop of shampoo into her palm, sniffled, and handed the container back to me.
Considering the ex-love of her life was haunting me, I figured that Slice was only ‘kind of’ dead. Kind of dead like he wanted me to make him a sandwich. Kind of dead like believing he was ‘The Cat Whisperer’. But maybe this wasn’t the right time to tell Julia that… Perhaps this was the time for me to keep my mouth shut and just be a supportive pal.
“Oh come on,” I said and eyed the busty model on the product’s label. “Slice would have picked you over this shampoo bimbo any day.”
She sniffled. “No, he wouldn’t have.”
“Stop underestimating yourself!” I said. “She’s got hair extensions, fake boobs, and too much filler in her upper lip. I can see it without even squinting. I’ve got nothing against a little age-defying help of the plastic kind, but one needs to err on the side of caution: less is more.”
“No, like seriously, Slice dated that girl,” Julia said. “Her name is Kristy McKristenson and they ran off to Ibiza together for a month. He had a beachfront love shack there on an acre of property.”
“How do you know this stuff?” I set the bottle on the floor.
“I read it in People Magazine when Slice was picked as ‘Sexiest Man Alive of 2005’.” She pulled back the shower curtains, held out her hand, and blinked. “Could you hand me a towel? I got shampoo in my eyes and I can’t see. Whatever’s in that dewy forest-y stuff stings.”
I yanked one off the holders and tossed it to her. “Julia, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve known you since high school, and seriously, what guy in his right mind would want a girl with a bad, fake rack when
your natural ones deserve their own zip code?”
“I thought exactly that when she sent me those topless selfies,” Slice said.
“Ack!” I screamed as he materialized in the puffs of steam that billowed through the room, hopped up, and perched on top of the vanity.
“What’s wrong? Did you get some of that stuff in your eyes, too?” Julia patted herself dry, wrapped her hair in the towel, and shrugged on a bathrobe. “They say it’s all natural. Well, so is cayenne pepper, but you don’t see me pouring that on my head.”
“If I’m dead,” Slice said, “Explain this.” He pointed to his leather jeans.
“They’re too tight,” I said, but refused to look down. “You obviously put on weight.”
“What’s too tight?” Julia asked, frowned, and cinched her robe. “I have not put on weight. Jeez, they practically starved me in jail.”
“You were only there one night,” I said.
“You know what I’m talking about,” Slice said and pointed to his lap again. “One two. Buckle my shoe.”
“Three, four.” I glared at him and jabbed my finger toward the room’s exit. “Leave through that door.”
“What’s with you and the euphemisms?” he asked.
“I do know how to find my way out of my own bathroom. It is my apartment, after all. What’s gotten into you?” Julia strode past me into her bedroom. “I was the one who lost the love of my life. I’m allowed to wallow. Entitled to feel sorry for myself. Even throw a little pity party if I want to.”
“Yes, you are.” I pushed myself to standing and followed her. “Put me in charge of refreshments, por favor. We can invite Grady, order a pizza, some calzones, and rent a movie. How about a thriller? Something high octane with lots of explosions; that will take your mind off your old love.” I peeked over my shoulder and saw Slice trailing behind me. “Maybe I should whip up a batch of Paint it Black cupcakes.”
The Annie Graceland Cupcakes Cozy Mystery Box Set #2: Books 5 - 7 Page 33