by Joanne Pence
3 cups canned white kidney beans, drained
8 large cabbage leaves (or Swiss chard), finely shredded
Salt
Ground black pepper
Place olive oil in heavy 8-quart pot with lid over medium-low heat. When hot add the pancetta or bacon and cook, stirring occasionally, until lightly browned. Next, add the onion, garlic, potatoes, carrots, celery, zucchini, tomatoes, parsley, red pepper, oregano, and bay leaves. Stir to combine, then cover the pot and cook for 10 minutes.
Add just enough water to cover the vegetables, and stir. Raise heat to high until liquid just begins to boil. Immediately reduce the heat and simmer, uncovered, until potatoes are tender (15–20 minutes). Add beans and cabbage, stir to combine, and simmer until cabbage is tender (another 15 minutes or so). Season with salt and black pepper to taste. Remove and discard bay leaves.
DAY 2 (OR LATER) WITH THE LEFTOVER SOUP
Cut up one loaf Italian (or French) bread. Place it on the bottom of a casserole, pour soup on the top. If you have enough soup, make another bread and soup layer. Bake the casserole at 350 degrees until the soup is hot. It will be thick. Serve garnished, to taste, with thinly sliced red onion, a little Parmesan cheese, and a drizzle of olive oil.
Enter the Delicious World of Joanne Pence’s Angie Amalfi Series
From the kitchen to the deck of a cruise ship, Joanne Pence’s mysteries are always a delight. Starring career-challenged Angie Amalfi and her handsome homicide-detective boyfriend Paavo Smith, Joanne Pence serves up a mystery feast complete with humor, a dead body or two, and delicious recipes.
Enjoy the pages that follow, which give a glimpse into Angie’s and Paavo’s world.
For sassy and single food writer Angie Amalfi, life’s a banquet—until the man who’s been contributing unusual recipes for her food column is found dead. But in SOMETHING’S COOKING, Angie is hardly one to simper in fear—so instead she simmers over the delectable homicide detective assigned to the case.
A while passed before she looked up again. When she did, she saw a dark-haired man standing in the doorway to her apartment, surveying the scene. Tall and broad shouldered, his stance was aloof and forceful as he made a cold assessment of all that he saw.
If you’re going to gawk, she thought, come in with the rest of the busybodies.
He looked directly at her, and her grip tightened on the chair. His expression was hard, his pale blue eyes icy. He was a stranger, of that she was certain. His wasn’t the type of face or demeanor she’d easily forget. And someone, it seemed, had just sent her a bomb. Who? Why? What if this stranger…
As he approached with bold strides, her nerves tightened. Since she was without her high heels, the top of her head barely reached his chin.
The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties. His face was fairly thin, with high cheekbones and a pronounced, aquiline nose with a jog in the middle that made it look as if it had been broken at least once. Thick, dark brown hair spanned his high forehead, and his penetrating, deep-set eyes and dark eyebrows gave him a cold, no-nonsense appearance. His gaze didn’t leave hers, and yet he seemed aware of everything around them.
“Your apartment?” he asked.
“The tour’s that way.” She did her best to give a nonchalant wave of her thumb toward the kitchen.
She froze as he reached into his breast pocket. “Police.” He pulled out a billfold and dropped open one flap to reveal his identification: Inspector Paavo Smith, Homicide.
In TOO MANY COOKS, Angie’s talked her way into a job on a pompous, third-rate chef’s radio call-in-show. But when a successful and much envied restaurateur is poisoned, Angie finds the case far more interesting than trying to make her pretentious boss sound good.
Angie glanced up from the monitor. She’d been debating whether or not to try to take the next call, if and when one came in, when her attention was caught by the caller’s strange voice. It was oddly muffled. Angie couldn’t tell if the caller was a man or a woman.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Henry said.
“Pat.”
Angie’s eyebrows rose. A neuter-sounding Pat? What was this, a Saturday Night Live routine?
“Well, Pat, what can I do for you?”
“I was concerned about the restaurant killer in your city.”
Henry’s eye caught Angie’s. “Thank you. I’m sure the police will capture the person responsible in no time.”
“I’m glad you think so, because—you’re next.”
Henry jumped up and slapped the disconnect button. “And now,” he said, his voice quivering, “a word from our sponsor.”
Angie Amalfi’s latest job, developing the menu for a new inn, sounds enticing—especially since it means spending a week in scenic northern California with her homicide detective boyfriend. But once she arrives at the soon-to-be-opened Hill Haven Inn, she’s not so sure anymore. In COOKING UP TROUBLE, the added ingredients of an ominous threat, a missing person, and a woman making eyes at her man, leave Angie convinced that the only recipe in this inn’s kitchen is one for disaster.
She placed her hand over his large strong one, scarcely able to believe that they were here, in this strange yet lovely room, alone. “But I am real, Paavo.”
“Are you?” He bent to kiss her lightly, his eyes intent, his hand moving from her chin to the back of her head to intertwine with the curls of her hair. The mystical aura of the room, the patter of the rain, the solitude of the setting stole over him and made him think of things he didn’t want to ponder—things like being together with Angie forever, like never being alone again. He tried to mentally break the spell. He needed time—cold, logical time. “There’s no way a woman like you should be in my life,” he said finally. “Sometimes I think you can’t be any more real than the Sempler ghosts. That I’ll close my eyes and you’ll disappear. Or that I’m just imagining you.”
“Inspector,” she said, returning his kiss with one that seared, “there’s no way you could imagine me.”
Cold logic melted in the midst of her fire, and all his careful resolve went with it. His heart filled, and the solemnity of his expression broke. “I know,” he said softly, “and that’s the best part.”
As his lips met hers a bolt of lightning lit their room for just a moment. Then a scream filled the darkness.
Food columnist Angie Amalfi has it all. But in COOKING MOST DEADLY, while she’s wondering if it’s time to cut the wedding cake with her boyfriend Paavo, he becomes obsessed with a grisly homicide that has claimed two female victims.
“You’ve got to keep City Hall out of this case. As far as the press knows, she was a typist. Nothing more. Mumble when you say where she worked.” Lieutenant Hollins got up from behind his desk, walked around to the front of it, and leaned against the edge. Paavo and Yosh sat facing him. They’d just completed briefing him on the Tiffany Rogers investigation. Hollins made it a point not to get involved in his men’s investigations unless political heat was turned on. In this case, the heat was on high.
“Her friends and coworkers are at City Hall, and there’s a good chance the guy she’s been seeing is there as well,” Paavo said.
“It’s our only lead, Chief,” Yosh added. “So far, the CSI unit can’t even find a suspicious fingerprint to lift. The crime scene is clean as a whistle. She always met her boyfriend away from her apartment. We aren’t sure where yet. We’ve got a few leads we’re still checking.”
“So you’ve got nothing except for a dead woman lying in her own blood on the floor of her own living room!” Hollins added.
“We have to follow wherever the leads take us,” Paavo said.
“I’m not saying not to, all I’m saying is keep the press away.” Hollins paced back and forth in front of his desk. “The mayor and the Board of Supervisors want this murderer caught right now. This isn’t the kind of publicity they want for themselves or the city. I mean, if someone who works for them isn’t safe, who is?”
“Aw heck, Paavo.” Yosh turned to his partner
. “The supervisors said they want us to catch this murderer fast. Here I’d planned to take my sweet time with this case.”
Paavo couldn’t help but grin.
“Cut the comedy, Yoshiwara.” Hollins stuck an unlit cigar in his mouth and chewed. “This case is number one for you both, got it?”
In COOK’S NIGHT OUT, Angie has decided to make her culinary name by creating the perfect chocolate confection: angelinas. Donating her delicious rejects to a local mission, Angie soon finds that the mission harbors more than the needy, and to save not only her life, but Paavo’s as well, she’s going to have to discover the truth faster than you can beat egg whites to a peak.
Angelina Amalfi flung open the window over the kitchen sink. After two days of cooking with chocolate, the mouthwatering, luscious, inviting smell of it made her sick.
That was the price one must pay, she supposed, to become a famous chocolatier.
She found an old fan in the closet, put it on the kitchen table, and turned the dial to high. The comforting aroma of home cooking wafting out from a kitchen was one thing, but the smell of Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory was quite another.
She’d been trying out intricate, elegant recipes for chocolate candies, searching for the perfect confection on which to build a business to call her own. Her kitchen was filled with truffles, nut bouchées, exotic fudges, and butter creams.
So far, she’d divulged her business plans only to Paavo, the man for whom she had plans of a very different nature. She was going to have to let someone else know soon, though, or she wouldn’t have any room left in the kitchen to cook. She didn’t want to start eating the calorie-oozing, waistline-expanding chocolates out of sheer enjoyment—her taste tests were another thing altogether and totally justifiable, she reasoned—and throwing the chocolates away had to be sinful.
Angie Amalfi’s long-awaited vacation with her detective boyfriend has all the ingredients of a romantic getaway—a sail to Acapulco aboard a freighter, no crowds, no homicide-department worries, and a red bikini. But in COOKS OVERBOARD, it isn’t long before Angie’s Love Boat fantasies are headed for stormy seas—the cook tries to jump off the ship, Paavo is acting mighty strange, and someone’s added murder to the menu…
Paavo became aware, in a semi-asleep state, that the storm was much worse than anyone had expected it would be. The best thing to do was to try to sleep through it, to ignore the roar of the sea, the banging of rain against the windows, the almost human cry of the wind through the ship.
He reached out to Angie. She wasn’t there. She must have gotten up to use the bathroom. Maybe her getting up was what had awakened him. He rolled over to go back to sleep.
When he awoke again, the sun was peeking over the horizon. He turned over to check on Angie, but she still wasn’t beside him. Was she up already? That wasn’t like her. He remembered a terrible storm last night. He sat up, suddenly wide awake. Where was Angie?
He got out of bed and hurried to the sitting area. Empty. The bathroom door was open. Empty.
The wall bed was down. What was that supposed to mean? Had she tried sleeping on it? Had she grown so out of sorts with him that she didn’t want to sleep with him anymore? Things had seemed okay between them last night. He remembered her talking…she was talking about writing a cookbook again…and he remembered getting more and more sleepy…he must have…oh, hell.
Angie Amalfi has a way with food and people, but her newest business idea is turning out to be shakier than a fruit-filled gelatin mold. In A COOK IN TIME, Her first—and only—clients for “Fantasy Dinners” are none other than a group of UFO chasers and government conspiracy fanatics. But when it seems that the group has a hidden agenda greater than anything on the X-Files, Angie’s determined to find out the truth before it takes her out of this world—for good.
The nude body was that of a male Caucasian, early forties or so, about 5'10", 160 pounds. The skin was an opaque white. Lips, nose, and ears had been removed, and the entire area from approximately the pubis to the sigmoid colon had been cored out, leaving a clean, bloodless cavity. No postmortem lividity appeared on the part of the body pressed against the ground. The whole thing had a tidy, almost surreal appearance. No blood spattered the area. No blood was anywhere; apparently, not even in the victim. A gutted, empty shell.
The man’s hair was neatly razor-cut; his hands were free of calluses or stains, the skin soft, the nails manicured; his toenails were short and square-cut, and his feet without bunions or other effects of ill-fitting shoes. In short, all signs of a comfortable life. Until now.
Between her latest “sure-fire” foray into the food industry—video restaurant reviews—and her concern over Paavo’s depressed state, Angie’s plate is full to overflowing. Paavo has never come to terms with the fact that his mother abandoned him when he was four, leaving behind only a mysterious present. But when the token disappears in TO CATCH A COOK, Angie discovers a lethal goulash of intrigue, betrayal, and mayhem that may spell disaster for her and Paavo.
The bedroom had also been torn apart and the mattress slashed. This was far, far more frightening than what had happened to her own apartment. There was anger here, perhaps hatred.
“What is going on?” she cried. “Why would anyone destroy your things?”
“It looks like a search, followed by frustration.”
As she wandered through the little house, she realized he was right. It wasn’t random destruction as she had first thought, but where the search to her apartment had appeared slow and meticulous, here it was hurried and frenzied.
“Hercules!” he called. “Herc? Come on, boy, are you all right?”
Angie’s breath caught. His cat…He loved that cat.
“Do you see him?” she asked, standing in the bedroom doorway.
“No. They better not have hurt my cat,” he muttered, his jaw clenched. They looked under the bed, in the closets, and throughout the backyard.
She was afraid—and for Hercules, more afraid that they’d find the cat than that they wouldn’t. If he had run and was hiding, scared, he should return home eventually, but if he was nearby, and unable to come when called…
They couldn’t find him.
Finally, back in the living room, Paavo bleakly took in the damage, the ugliness before him. “Who’s doing this, Angie, and why?
For once Angie’s newest culinary venture, “Comical Cakes,” seems to be a roaring success! But in BELL, COOK, AND CANDLE, there’s nothing funny about her boyfriend Paavo’s latest case—a series of baffling murders that may be rooted in satanic ritual. And it gets harder to focus on pastry alone when strange “accidents” and desecrations to her baked creations begin occurring with frightening regularity—leaving Angie to wonder whether she may end up as devil’s food of a different kind.
Angie was beside herself. She’d been called to go to a house to discuss baking cakes for a party of twenty, and yet no one was there when she arrived. This was the second time that had happened to her. Was someone playing tricks, or were people really so careless as to make appointments and then not keep them?
She really didn’t have time for this. But at least she was getting smart. She’d brought a cake with her that had to be delivered to a horse’s birthday party not far from her appointment. She never thought she’d be baking cakes for a horse, but Heidi was being boarded some forty miles outside the city, and the owner visited her on weekends only. That was why the owner wanted a Comical Cake of the mare.
Angie couldn’t imagine eating something that looked like a beloved pet or animal. She was meeting real ding-a-lings in this line of work.
Still muttering to herself about the thoughtlessness of the public, she got into her new car. A vaguely familiar yet disquieting smell hit her. A stain smeared the bottom of the cake box. She peered closer. The smell was stronger, and the bottom of the box was wet.
She opened the driver’s side door, ready to jump out of the car as her hand slowly reached for the box top. Thoughts of flies
and toads pounded her. What now?
She flipped back the lid and shrank away from it.
Nothing moved. Nothing jumped out.
Poor Heidi was now a bright-red color, but it wasn’t frosting. The familiar smell was blood, and it had been poured on her cake. Shifting the box, she saw that it had seeped through onto the leather seat and was dripping to the floor mat.
About the Author
JOANNE PENCE was born and raised in San Francisco, the setting for her Angie Amalfi mystery series. A graduate of U.C. Berkeley with a master’s degree in journalism and a Phi Beta Kappa key, Joanne has taught school in Japan, written for magazines, and worked as an operations analyst. Her background, as well as her Italian and Spanish heritage, is reflected in her series. She lives in Idaho with her husband, sons, and a multitude of pets.
For information about Joanne, her books, and some great recipes, visit Joanne’s website at www.joannepence.com. She would love to hear from you via e-mail at [email protected], or by writing to PO Box 64, Eagle, ID 83616-0064.
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Praise for Joanne Pence’s
Angie Amalfi Mysteries
“A winner…Angie is a character unlike any other found in the genre.”
Santa Rosa Press Democrat
“Deliciously wicked…Don’t miss one tasty bite.”
Jacqueline Girder
“High energy and a high fun factor…Joanne Pence has an amazing knack for building fascinating characters and compelling plotlines.”