Finally it was wedding cake time. They weren’t the ones Jaymie and Becca had planned for or expected, but as the Wolverhampton bakery’s professional cake baker, Tami Majewski, was now in jail awaiting trial, they had brought in outside help. A baker who was on maternity leave came forward, drew up pictures, and baked two lovely cakes, one chocolate and one buttercream vanilla. They were perfectly lovely and delicious.
No one mentioned Tami, but she was not forgotten. Gus, accompanied by his wife and toddler, attended the wedding of his best friend and business partner. But he was somber throughout and slipped away early. Jaymie had hoped to talk to him, to see how he was doing in all the tumult, but she knew that Jakob was helping him through it.
Gus had confided in his friend and partner that he hadn’t known what Tami did all those years ago. But he acknowledged that when he finally figured it out, upset and confused about what to do, he did try to muddle the investigation. It was a rash act he regretted, but as angry as he was with her, his sister had always been dear to him. Though horrified at the lives she took, he was doing his best to help Tami now.
Jaymie and Jakob, Becca and Kevin, approached their cakes. Bernie and Heidi had done a wonderful job of refurbishing Delores Paget’s old dressing table, giving it a shabby chic patina and adorning it with swoops of rose and aqua tulle and big silk cabbage roses. They cut their cakes to cheers from the audience, and then started cutting pieces for guests, Kevin and Jakob commandeered to hand out the cake.
Once they were done, Becca returned to their guests but Jaymie lingered at the dressing table. “It’s so beautiful,” Jaymie said, touching the surface on which their cakes rested. “I wonder if I can find a home for it after this.” She didn’t want Delores’s dressing table to go to some stranger.
Valetta materialized beside her. “If you don’t mind . . .” She hesitated.
“Go on?”
“My niece is into the shabby chic stuff. Could I buy it for her? I’ll look after it, I promise.”
Jaymie nodded, feeling the tears well in her eyes and not trusting her voice. She was so happy but her heart hurt, remembering Delores and Rhonda, denied the fullness of adult life, on this day.
“Take it for Eva; our gift,” Jakob said as he returned to his wife’s side and squeezed her close to him. “Another young girl should have better memories with it and give it the home it needs.”
Jaymie buried her face in his chest. Jakob understood her feeling about vintage pieces; he felt the way she did, that some things deserved to be treated well after a life of neglect.
Twilight had deepened into a rich indigo and the sky was scattered with stars. As the evening began to wind down, Jaymie went looking for Heidi. Her friend had gone above and beyond what was expected, and Jaymie wanted her to know how much she appreciated it. Where the heck was she? Joel was getting drunk with a couple of Jakob’s brothers and couldn’t give her a coherent answer, so she hoisted her skirts and went looking. She found her friend sitting alone on the front steps of the house. That was extremely unlike her.
“Hey, girlfriend, what are you doing out here sitting alone?” Jaymie plopped down on the step next to her and put her arm around Heidi’s shoulders. The moon was rising, casting a pale white glow over the forest opposite the house.
“Just a quiet moment,” she said.
That was even more unusual. “Is everything okay?”
Heidi turned her face to Jaymie and smiled, but it was tremulous. “I’m fine. A little tired.”
“Honey, after the Herculean effort you put into my and Becca’s wedding you deserve a week in the Bahamas.”
“Joel can’t get away right now.”
“You could go alone.”
She shook her head. “Maybe in a few months.”
“Heidi, are you sure everything is okay? You seem—”
“Jaymie, there you are!” A strident voice that Jaymie knew too well cut through the still air. “I’ve been looking for you for a half hour.” It was Becca, stalking around the corner to the front of the house. “We need you! Mom and Dad are heading back to Canada with Grandma Leighton and they want to say goodbye.” Becca and Kevin were staying in Queensville and looking after the house and the animals while Jaymie and Jakob had their honeymoon. Alan and Joy Leighton were taking his mother back to London, where they’d stay in Becca’s house for a month, while both couples had their honeymoons.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” Jaymie said. “Heidi and I are just—”
“No, now!” Becca insisted.
“You can’t keep your grandma waiting,” Heidi said, pushing Jaymie. “I’ll come with you.”
And so the wedding came to an end, with a bustle of people heading off to various places, kisses, hugs, well-wishes and teary smiles. Jocie, exhausted as she was, was desperately trying to stay awake for every single minute, though her cousins had long ago fallen asleep in the back of their parents’ SUV. Jaymie had a quiet moment with her new daughter and assured her that once Jaymie and Jakob were back, they would all have a wonderful family week at the cottage on Heartbreak Island.
Finally Jakob’s mother and father, with whom Jocie was staying for a week, claimed they were oh, so tired and must go home to bed. Jocie reluctantly agreed and they headed off for the Müllers’ farmhouse, where Jocie’s kitten, Little Bit, awaited them. The little girl twisted in her seat and waved to Jaymie and Jakob as they drove away, the moonlight glinting in the car windows. Becca and Kevin left soon after to return to the Queensville house to feed Denver and get some well-deserved rest on their wedding night. They’d leave for their fortnight in England when Jaymie and Jakob got back.
As the crew Heidi had hired to clean up after the wedding were toting away rented chairs and china and taking down the giant marquee by the light of portable floods, there were a few chairs left, sitting out under the stars in the dew-dampened lawn where croquet and badminton would be played all summer. Jakob held Jaymie close in a teak double Adirondack glider chair, with a sleepy Hoppy curled up on her lap, supported by his strong hands. That was the benefit of marrying a big guy, Jaymie thought, leaning her beribboned and bedecked head on his shoulder; he could cuddle Jocie, Jaymie, and her little dog, too.
She had cake smeared on her dress. And wine. And maybe even some gravy. She smiled. The lovely dress had served its purpose well. Jaymie looked around the circle. Heidi was sitting alone and so was Joel, and both looked kind of miserable. Trouble in paradise? Jaymie wondered. She watched through half-closed eyes. She’d have to explore the problem between them when she got back from her honeymoon.
Valetta and Dee were chatting quietly about some village tangle, as Dee’s husband, Johnny, helped the crew.
“Jaymie, Mrs. Klausner has a problem with one of her grandkids who has been working part-time in the store,” Valetta said. She looked tired, her eyes behind the glasses rimmed in dark smudges.
“Who, Gracey?”
“No, one of the others. I tried to help, but I think I made things worse. She asked me to ask you if you could come and see her once you’re back from your honeymoon.”
Jakob chuckled, a sound deep in his chest that rumbled through her at the same time. “That’s my Jaymie; problem solver to the world.”
She picked up and kissed his broad hand as Hoppy grumbled in his sleep. “I will. Remind me, though. This is going to be a busy summer.”
“Why do you think you’re so good at the problem solving and mystery figuring out?” Dee asked, yawning. “I have my own theory, but I’d be interested in your take on it. It’s your life, after all.”
Jaymie thought it over, gazing up at the stars that blanketed the dark night sky. A nighthawk circled above them, screeching. “I guess . . . these things gnaw away in my brain until I have to start asking questions. Asking questions—and really listening to the answers and putting them together with what other people have told me—is the best way to figure things out. If I hadn’t kept hold of Tami’s fake diary, read it, and realized ther
e were things wrong with it, I never would have figured out she killed poor Rhonda and Delores.”
“And there was that little matter of her coming to your back door and trying to kill you,” Valetta said.
“Yes, there was that.”
Jaymie felt Jakob’s hold on her tighten, enough that Hoppy whimpered in his sleep; in that moment she knew that when something like that happened it would always upset him, but he would never try to stop her from doing what she needed to do. He was so the right husband for her.
Husband! She was married! Despite her curiosity about Dee’s comment that she had her own theory about why Jaymie was good at solving puzzles, she was too tired to pursue it. She stirred. “It’s time to go home,” she murmured. It was her wedding night. In the modern era, maybe that didn’t hold the same weight and meaning that it once did, but she didn’t want to miss it. She got up, took Hoppy out of Jakob’s arms, where he had crept to snuggle, and said, “I think it’s time for this honeymooning couple to go to their cabin in the country.” They would be leaving in the morning for the camping trip, but were spending their first night as a married couple at home, in the cabin.
A long round of hugs, kisses and well-wishes followed, while Hoppy ran off, did his business, and returned. Jaymie, still in her wedding dress, then had to hike up her skirts and go on poop patrol, while everyone watched and laughed hysterically, the result of exhaustion and wine. She discarded the baggie of poo in the appropriate container with much catcalling from her friends and laughter about doggie bags.
And finally, they headed home, happy silence in the pickup truck cab, her in her stained wedding dress and he jacketless in his suit pants and white shirt, undone at the neck. She glanced over. She found him impossibly handsome and loved everything about his face, including his slight beard. She reached over and caressed his cheek as he kissed her palm. He was her Jakob, and she loved him.
The cabin was a warm island of comfort and solitude. As they turned all the lights off, locked up and carried Hoppy upstairs with them, arms around each other’s waists, she knew that ahead lie her biggest adventures yet. And as her stained wedding dress pooled on the floor beside the four-poster rustic log bed in the big master suite of the log cabin, the gown swiftly claimed by Hoppy as his bed for the night, she gave herself over to complete joy, down to the bedrock of her soul.
From Jaymie’s Vintage Kitchen
Salmon Loaf with Mushroom Cream Sauce
by Jaymie Leighton
Sometimes when you try to cook from an old recipe there are techniques or ingredients that mystify you. Sometimes, though, the puzzle is something else entirely. In the case of this Salmon Loaf from my grandmother’s cookbook, it was the handwriting that was hard to decipher. She must have been in a hurry, because her normally elegant script is a scrawled mess. I can relate; occasionally in the kitchen I’m in a slapdash hurry too!
Salmon Loaf is one of those ubiquitous recipes from the Depression era, when high-quality protein was too expensive for many households. As surprising as it seems today, canned salmon was considered a cheap alternative to beef. I think its popularity was due to the fact that the tins stored well. The taste for salmon loaf lasted well into the fifties. On Pinterest I saw a 1950s ad for a popular brand of canned soup that included a recipe for Salmon Loaf; it encouraged the home cook to heat up a can of mushroom soup as a sauce, but I guarantee you my Mushroom Cream Sauce is a thousand times better and almost as easy!
I have considerably altered Grandma Leighton’s recipe and added the delicious mushroom sauce. I think it takes what could have been a mundane recipe over the top!
Baked Salmon Loaf
Serves: 4 generously
Ingredients:
Note: the original recipe called for a one-pound can of salmon, but I don’t think they make that size anymore. So I improvised! Also, while I used the less-expensive pink salmon, to keep it budget-friendly, I think it would be delicious with good red salmon!
1 14.75-ounce can of salmon and 1 6-ounce can, skin and bones removed and flaked
2 eggs, lightly beaten
½ cup milk
½ cup breadcrumbs (I used seasoned, and it turned out just fine!)
1 tbsp lemon juice
1 tsp Old Bay seasoning (optional; use ½ tsp salt if omitting)
Freshly ground pepper, about half a teaspoon
1 tbsp melted butter
1 tbsp finely minced fresh dill
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter an 8½ by 4½ by 2½ loaf pan. Combine ingredients in order given and pack firmly into the pan (mine was nonstick, but I buttered it anyway!). Bake for 40 minutes; remove from oven, and let stand for 5 to 10 minutes before trying to slice! I turned it out onto a plate for slicing, and it worked beautifully.
Mushroom Cream Sauce
Ingredients:
3 tbsp butter
1 cup sliced button mushrooms
1 tbsp all-purpose flour
Freshly ground sea salt and pepper
1 cup milk
½ cup heavy cream
In a medium saucepan melt the butter and sauté the mushrooms until soft. Add flour and freshly ground sea salt and pepper, whisk together, then let combine for a couple of minutes over low heat. Add the milk and heavy cream, whisk and let simmer, thickening. Pour over slices of salmon loaf and enjoy!
Keep reading for a sneak peek
at Victoria’s new Merry Muffin Mystery,
Muffin to Fear,
available now!
While Merry is distracted by her quickly planned marriage to Virgil Grace and a blissful honeymoon in New York, her friend Pish invites the ghost-hunting crew from the TV show Haunt Hunt to investigate Merry's home, Wynter Castle. Merry soon discovers that not only is the crew out of sync, there are so many feuds and squabbles, it's a miracle they get a show produced at all.
It all goes from bad to worse when the show's psychics claim to have contact with people murdered on Merry's property. When two cast members are found dead, Merry and Virgil must figure out who’s picking off the Haunt Hunt team before their hard-earned happily ever after is cut short.
Prologue
Reader, I married him.
That is certainly the most famous line of all from romantic fiction, is it not? In Charlotte Bronte’s masterwork Jane Eyre, it goes: “Reader, I married him. A quiet wedding we had . . .” And so I start with that, as it was true for me. What was there to wait for? About three weeks after Virgil Grace asked for my hand in marriage we stood by the fireplace in the parlor and with Pish presiding—he has the legal right to perform weddings and has done the honors before—Gogi, Hannah, Lizzie, Emerald, Binny, Doc and a few others stood with us as we quietly wed. I said “I do,” Virgil said “I do,” and we all cried, even Virgil. It was the best moment of my life, facing him, our hands joined, and watching one tear well in each of his gorgeous brown eyes and trickle down his cheek.
We then left town the morning after a raucous reception, driving to New York City to stay at Pish’s condo for a two-week honeymoon. Pish had returned from there to Wynter Castle in time for the wedding after taking Roma Toscano, the opera singer, back and visiting his mother, who was now off with Pish’s aunt Lush on a cruise. His apartment is luxurious; I know it well because my friend is a masterful party giver. I have spent many an evening in his New York home as he played show tunes while various entertainment types lounged singing, chatting, or getting quietly blotto. He was an investment counselor for years with many wealthy clients from the various arms of the entertainment industry and still retains a few, but since he took his own financial advice he doesn’t need to work. One of his best investments was property, he has always said, and his condo, in a lovely building overlooking Central Park, has more than doubled in value since he first bought it.
It’s also superbly comfortable, with a housekeeper who comes in every morning for three hours except on the weekend. Virgil and I stayed in bed the first two days, fortunately on a weekend so I didn’t have
to deal with Mrs. MacGregor, a dour Scotswoman who gets along well with Pish’s mother, and that’s saying a lot. They have what I call a Sourpuss Alliance. I was finally forced to get out of bed Monday morning for food and a shower, and to be decently dressed by the time Mrs. MacGregor arrived. Being married to Virgil is the best combination workout regimen and diet I’ve ever been on, and that’s all I’ll say about that.
After the weekend in bed we did other stuff; we watched old movies, Barefoot in the Park and The Out-of-Towners, since we were in New York. We ate out, attended the theater, shopped, walked hand in hand in Central Park—autumn in New York is the best—visited friends (it was a lot of fun introducing him to my old friends) and went to an ice hockey game between the Rangers and the Islanders. I thought I’d loathe it, but it was fun! It was thrilling hanging on to Virgil while he fist-pumped at every goal and jumped up and down . . . rooting for the Rangers, of course. Why it’s “of course” I don’t know, but that’s all he said when I asked who we were going for. He bought an oversized Rangers T-shirt, which I wore to bed at his request.
Kinky!
After two glorious weeks, I awoke on the last day and lay on my side, watching him sleep. He’s the kind of guy who grows a beard moment by moment, and dark stubble clothed his steely jaw, dark lashes resting on his tanned cheeks. In repose his face isn’t quite as strong-looking, his cheeks softer, throat skin slack, dark unruly hair mussed. His shoulders are broad and sturdy. He sleeps with one arm flung up over his head, and he has a dark swirl of hair across his upper chest that narrows and points down intriguingly under the covers.
Leave It to Cleaver (A Vintage Kitchen Mystery Book 6) Page 26