1 ½ cups warm coffee
2 tbsp cocoa powder
In a bowl, beat yolks with sugar and vanilla until smooth. Fold mascarpone into yolk mixture. Set aside. Dip ladyfingers in coffee and arrange 12 of them in an 8x8 inch dish. Spread half the mascarpone mixture over the ladyfingers. Make a second layer with remaining cookies and mascarpone. Cover and chill for at least 1 hour. Sprinkle with cocoa powder to satisfy your chocolate cravings!
Recipe #10
Biscotti for Dunking
½ cup vegetable oil
1 cup sugar
3 ¼ cups flour
3 eggs (organic, cage-free)
1 tbsp baking powder
1 tbsp anise extract
Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Grease cookie sheets. In a bowl, beat the oil, eggs, sugar and anise flavoring until blended. Combine the flour and baking powder, stir into the egg mixture to form dough. Divide dough into two pieces. Form each piece into a roll. Place roll onto cookie sheet, and press down to 1/2 inch thickness.
Bake for 30 minutes in the preheated oven, until golden brown. Remove from the baking sheet to cool on a wire rack. Slice each cookie crosswise. Place the slices back onto the baking sheet. Bake for an additional 7 minutes on each side. Slices will be lightly toasted. Brew up your favorite coffee and dunk away!
WHILE YOU’RE DINING ON ITALIAN CUISINE,
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Special Preview of Anisa Claire West’s
TASTY CRIMES
Prologue
New York City
Brownstone on East 73rd Street
“Promise me, Marlena, promise me, mi amor!” The strength had drained out of my grandmother’s voice, but her will was stronger than ever.
“I promise you, Nana, I will find out who killed your sister.” I gazed into her warm cocoa eyes that had transformed from lustrous to dull over the past few weeks of her pneumonia.
Accepting a few ice chips that I offered her, the dear woman who raised me wet her throat as tears moistened her eyes. “I always thought that I would be the one to solve Silvia’s murder. How can I leave this world without knowing who killed my sister?!” Her voice was scarcely more than a raspy whisper mingled with a cough.
“Stop tormenting yourself,” I urged, squeezing her wrinkled hand. “You’ve done everything you can to solve Aunt Silvia’s murder. But she was killed in Spain. You’ve been in New York City for the past 50 years. It would have been a miracle if you had been able to solve the crime from here.” I offered her a tiny wedge of fresh orange, but she waved it away.
“That’s why you must go to Spain. Go to my home in Barcelona. My land holds many secrets that you must uncover! Please! No matter what it takes! And bring this envelope with you. It will help you.” She pointed to the mahogany nightstand where a sealed envelope sat waiting for me to claim it.
I picked up the envelope and tucked it close to my heart. “Yes, I will go to Spain, Nana. And I won’t come back to New York until I find out who killed Aunt Silvia. That’s a solemn promise.”
Gently, I pressed my lips to her forehead as she sighed and her eyes fluttered closed like butterfly wings.
Chapter 1
Barcelona, Spain
2 Weeks Later
As the plane slid onto the runway at Barcelona El-Prat Airport, torrents of rain hammered down with it. I had cried my last tear somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean and wore a stony face as I yanked my carry-on out of the overhead compartment. Grieving for my grandmother wasn’t an option; I had a homicide to solve and needed to veil my emotions until my mission was complete. Faces were a blur as I stood in the cramped aisle waiting to get off the plane and catch a whiff of fresh oxygen. After the 8 hour flight from New York, my cascading mocha ponytail was caked in grease and my eyes were blotchy from crying. Feeling like a zombie, I squeezed my way off the narrow jetliner and wheeled my suitcase down the long corridor towards the front of the airport where taxis were queued up.
Immediately, a taxi driver swept my luggage out of my hands and gave my figure a brazen perusal. “Bienvenidos a Barcelona, Señorita.” He gawked at my slender body as he spoke.
“Gracias,” I replied curtly, sliding into the cab and hoping he wouldn’t try to make conversation. I had grown up speaking Spanish with my grandmother and could easily converse with anyone in the city, but I was in no mood to speak any language with some leering cab driver. “Take me to the Alonso Hotel in the Gothic Quarter. Por favor,” I requested, hoping the middle aged man would take the quickest route so I could get out of his suffocating cab. I desperately needed a shower and a huge glass of iced coffee.
Trying to ignore the lewd glances the driver kept tossing me in his rearview mirror, I reflected on all that I had left behind in Manhattan. At 29, I had just been promoted to Vice President of Sales at my job at BoldTech, making me the youngest VP in the history of the company. My friends had all agreed that I was making a colossal mistake by quitting to go chase ghosts from half a century ago, but I needed to honor the promise I had made to my grandmother. The woman had sacrificed more than enough since my mother abandoned me when I was 7 years old. Now it was my turn to sacrifice for my grandmother and find out who had murdered her younger sister in 1962.
“Are you here on vacation?” The driver asked in Spanish.
“No,” I stated the syllable in a monotone, staring out the window at the Medieval buildings that whizzed by in a rainy haze.
“Then what brings you to Barcelona?” The cab driver asked in a jovial tone that made me seethe. Why couldn’t he just understand that I didn’t want to talk to him? In New York, there’s a sign on the back seat of every yellow taxi that proclaims one’s right to a “silent ride,” but clearly things were different in Barcelona.
“I’m here on business,” I evaded, scowling deliberately so he could see me in the rearview mirror.
“Ah, a business woman,” he mused as my scowl intensified. “Well, you must find some time for pleasure as well during your stay in Barcelona. How long will you be here?”
“As long as I need to be,” came my unfriendly reply. “If you don’t mind, I’m not feeling very well after my plane ride and just need to sit quietly.” My eyes met his in the mirror, and I could tell that he was offended, but I really didn’t care. If he knew how grave the reasons for my trip to Barcelona were, then he would understand why I needed peace and quiet.
Long minutes later, we arrived at the Alonso Hotel as I tipped the driver fairly and rushed with my bag to the reception desk. “Buenos dias. I have a reservation under the name Marlena Falcon,” I announced to the bubbly front desk clerk.
“Yes, I see here, Señorita Falcon. I’ll need to see your passport, please.” The young girl smiled at me as I smiled wanly back and handed her my identification.
“Do you know where I can get a really good cup of coffee around here?” I asked, hearing the desperation in my own voice. “All they gave us on the airplane was some nasty, stale instant brew.”
The girl, whose name tag read Talisa, replied with a soft laugh, “Yes, right down the block there’s a great place called Dario’s Cappuccino Boutique. Best coffee in Barcelona in my opinion.”
“Mmmm, I can smell the coffee beans roasting now,” I murmured, rubbing my hands together in anticipation of a strong, frothy cup of java.
Taking my room key, I wheeled my suitcase to the elevator, trying to prioritize the rest of my day: Coffee first. Shower later. Opening the door to my room, I frowned at the depressing décor all shaded in maroon and beige. The walls could use a new coat of paint, and the furniture was in dire need of shampooing. Oh well. I wasn’t going to be spending much time in my hotel room anyway. Armed with nothing more than my grandmother’s sealed envelope and my own intuition, I was sure to be spending countless hours combing the city for Aunt Silvia’s acquaintances…if any were still living. Knowing that the crime’s age was my one biggest obstacle, I nonetheless was driven to figure out who had
smothered my aunt to death when she was just 26 years old…
Tasty Crimes - Kindle edition by Anisa Claire West. Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.
Special Preview of Anisa Claire West’s
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.
Coretta spoke up and addressed the crowd in her most authoritative voice: “I apologize for this inconvenience. Apparently, there has been some sort of electrical failure that has caused a blackout. I would advise you to take out your cell phones and use the lights from those devices until I can find some candles. A candlelit art reception, not bad, right?” She spoke lightheartedly, trying to allay the concerns of her guests.
As a handful of people dug into their pockets for their cell phones, Coretta felt a body press against her backside. “Excuse me,” she murmured to whomever had collided with her. The moment she spoke, a gloved hand smacked against her face and covered her mouth while a menacing arm pressed into her belly and knocked the wind out of her. Gasping for air, she wriggled in the death-grip of the gloved man, frantically biting on his covered hand to get him to release her. As her teeth sank into the thick fabric, his grasp tightened even more around her waist until she thought her ribs would shatter.
Roughly, the man dragged her backwards towards the darker recesses of the gallery. Lighting the way with a tiny flashlight clenched between his teeth, he pushed Coretta down the stairs into the cellar…
Amazon.com: Champagne Deception eBook: Anisa Claire West: Kindle Store
Special Preview of Anisa Claire West’s
A PASTRY THIEF IN PARIS
Prologue
Paris, France
Sometime after Midnight…
Forget all the romantic images of Paris where starry-eyed tourists climb to the top of the Eiffel Tower and kissing lovers sail along the River Seine. Make no mistake. Paris after dark is a ruthless jungle, and it’s no place for a woman to be roaming the streets alone. Fatefully, on one chilly night when the moon was full and the air was thin, I learned this truth the harsh way.
Strolling outside my apartment by Collette’s Pastry Shop, where I worked part-time during daylight hours, I gasped to see a sleek figure dressed from head to toe in black. Donning a ski mask and carrying a burlap sack in one hand, the figure slipped away into the Parisian night before I could make sense of what had just happened. Creeping over to the shop, I flinched to see the door wide open. The figure in black had been inside the shop!
Softly, I made my way inside, holding my breath as though another criminal were about to jump out and attack me. But the door hadn’t been broken or disturbed at all. Oddly, the cash register was also in tact and not a single Euro was missing. The shop hadn’t been looted and nothing appeared out of place. Slithering into the kitchen, I used the moonlight drifting in to illuminate my view of the room. All the appliances were in their proper spot and, again, nothing had been ransacked.
Opening up the refrigerator door, I blinked, wondering if my eyes were deceiving me. Several trays of pre-made pastries were tidily lined up for the next day’s sales. Thick orange mousse filled up cannoli shells and glazed strawberry tarts were in their designated place. But one shelf of the refrigerator was conspicuously empty.
“The cream puffs!” I exclaimed, realizing that an entire tray of the French sweets was missing.
Feeling like Alice in Wonderland, I groped around in my purse for my phone and called the police to report a most unusual robbery…
A Pastry Thief in Paris - Kindle edition by Anisa Claire West. Mystery, Thriller & Suspense Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.
Dear Reader:
Thank you for reading A Fashion Felon in Rome. I hope you enjoyed reading about Gianna’s sleuthing & romance with Massimo! I welcome your feedback and make an effort to personally respond to every email I receive. Write to me at [email protected].
Happy Reading!
Cordially,
Anisa Claire West
Titles Available by Anisa Claire West
ROMANTIC SUSPENSE
& COZY MYSTERY
A Fashion Felon in Rome
A Pastry Thief in Paris
Cappuccino Twist
Champagne Deception
Cookie Dough Crook
Cupcake Shop Clues
Dark Chocolate Murder
Deep Dish Lies
Hotcake Homicide
Hot Fudge Fraud
Northern Moonlight
The Scarlet Suit Murder
Wild Autumn
FANTASY
Silver Goddess Series:
Island Tango, Book 1
Orca Dance, Book 2
Leopard Rhythm, Book 3
Mermaid Gold, Book 4
HISTORICAL ROMANCE
Eternal Melody
ANTHOLOGIES
Chocolate Covered Crimes
Exotic Daydream
Passion’s Raindrops
Silver Goddess
Sweet as Pie Crimes
Tasty Crimes
About the Author
Anisa Claire West graduated with honors from Yale University and also holds a Master of Arts degree in Literature and Teaching. Learning about cultures is Anisa’s passion, and she has studied more than half a dozen languages including French, Arabic, and Italian. A certified yoga instructor, Anisa embraces mind-body fitness, animal advocacy, and a compassionate lifestyle. She also enjoys Italian cuisine and has sampled more than a few of the recipes included in this book!
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