Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Recipes
Praise for the Della Cooks Mysteries
The Proof Is in the Pudding
“Proves to be just as delicious as its predecessors . . . Della Carmichael’s adventures are thrilling and enlightening. And the delicious set of recipes included with this book are tantalizing. A great combination for a delightful cozy mystery.”
—Fresh Fiction
“A fun, fast-paced mystery for food lovers.”
—The Mystery Reader
“A delightful culinary mystery. The main ingredient (as it were) is the central character of Della Carmichael, who is an entertaining, smart, endearing protagonist.”
—Mysterious Reviews
Death Takes the Cake
“Fans are in for another page-turning treat as the heat is turned up yet again in Della Carmichael’s kitchen. Murder is just one dish on the menu as the ever delightful, sexy, supercook demonstrates that the proof really is in the pudding. Juggling professional rivalries and a romantic suitor with her trademark self-assurance and wit, Della’s sizzling second culinary adventure is a gourmet feast in more ways than one.”
—Hannah Dennison, author of the Vicky Hill Exclusive! Mysteries
“Charming Della takes the cake as she turns this amateur sleuth into an engaging, realistic whodunit.”
—Midwest Book Review
“Full of good humor, engaging characters, and flawlessly planned suspense. It’s a real treat (pun absolutely intended). Readers will not only be charmed and seduced by a solidly plotted culinary mystery with some light romance on the side, but also be in possession of a list of exquisite pastries in the form of recipes.”
—Mysterious Reviews
“You will love the characters, the recipes, and long for the next Della Cooks installment.”
—Armchair Interviews
“It was worth the wait . . . The television studio, the cooking shows, and the recipes all provide a fun background to the solving of the crime. Enjoy.”
—I Love A Mystery
Killer Mousse
“A delectable novel full of delicious moments and charming characters. An appetizing debut!”
—Earlene Fowler, national bestselling author of State Fair
“Melinda Wells provides an exciting, tightly plotted culinary thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat.”
—Nancy Fairbanks, bestselling author of the Culinary Mysteries
“A treat—a classic culinary mystery . . . blending an artful plot with engaging characters in a fast-paced whodunit.”
—Harley Jane Kozak, Agatha, Anthony, and Macavity award–winning author of Dead Ex
“[A] wonderful combination of mystery, romance, redemption, and girl power.”
—Linda Dano, Emmy Award–winning author of Living Great and Looking Great
“A scrumptious morsel of mystery and mayhem. Take a pinch of murder, a dash of danger, stir it all together . . . an amateur sleuth to savor!”
—Linda O. Johnston, author of the Kendra Ballantyne, Pet-Sitter Mysteries
“With verve (and recipes) Wells cooks up a tasty puzzle with a likable protagonist.”
—Richmond (VA) Times-Dispatch
“How nice to discover a story that breaks the mold.”
—San Jose Mercury News
“It will be a winner for readers who like a well-written book with a deftly plotted mystery . . . Not one to miss. [Wells’s] future as a writer is a bright one.”
—Front Street Reviews
“[A] fine first book for a new series . . . Anyone who loves cooking shows and mysteries will want to read this series . . . Killer Mousse is a delicious read.”
—ReviewingTheEvidence.com
“This is the first installment in what promises to be a highly entertaining series. Della is a fun character. For mystery lovers who are also foodies, there’s a wealth of cooking tips and a number of included recipes that are easy and use easyto-find, affordable ingredients. Quite a tasty combination.”
—CA Reviews
“BRAVA! . . . Engaging characters, an intriguing mystery, and suspects galore make this title a winner!”
—Huntress Book Reviews
Berkley Prime Crime titles by Melinda Wells
KILLER MOUSSE
DEATH TAKES THE CAKE
THE PROOF IS IN THE PUDDING
PIE À LA MURDER
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.
PIE À LA MURDER
A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / July 2011
Copyright ©
2011 by Linda Palmer.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ISBN : 978-1-101-53811-1
BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME
Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
http://us.penguingroup.com
To Norman Knight
■Acknowledgments■
I am grateful to the following:
Editor Kate Seaver, I appreciate (immensely) your excellent suggestions, which make these books better. It’s a pleasure to work with you.
Priscilla Gilman and Morton Janklow, thank you for your continuing support and for your expert guidance. You couldn’t possibly have a client any happier than I am.
Claire Carmichael, a terrific novelist and a brilliant instructor, I’m a better writer than I would have been without your “athletic” eyes.
D. Constantine Conte, mentor and treasured friend, I’ve learned so much from you.
Carole Moore Adams, thank you for creating another great recipe for this book!
To the other generous people who have allowed me to share their recipes in this book: Mira Waters, Fred Caruso, John Bonhert, Freda Small (via Abigail Shrier), Jaclyn Carmichael Palmer, and Julie-Anne Liechty. Thank you all.
To the test readers who give me their invaluable reactions: Arthur Abelson, Carole Moore Adams, Hilda Ashley, Gina Anderson, Penrose Anderson, Christie Burton, Rosanne Kahil Bush, Jane Wylie Daley, Ira Fistell, Lynn Harper, Nancy Koppang, Judy Tathwell Hahn, Jaclyn Carmichael Palmer, and Anna Stramese.
Wayne Thompson of Colonial Heights, Virginia, who continues to inspire me and make me laugh.
Berry Gordy, thank you for making me an “honorary Gordy,” and for all that I’ve learned from you.
1
“Della, I’ve got something to tell you. . . .”
In my experience, nothing good ever follows a statement like that.
“You know I was married before, a long time ago.”
“Yes. Why are you bringing it up now?”
“What you don’t know is that I have a daughter. . . . She’s eighteen.”
“What!” I stared at Nicholas D’Martino, the man in my life. He’d never even hinted that he was a father, and certainly not one who had a teenage daughter. His striking Sicilian face with eyes the color of black coffee, high cheekbones, and a nose broken during his years as a college boxer was topped with a full head of dark hair that never quite managed to look combed. A thick lock of it curled down onto his forehead like a question mark, emphasizing his uncomfortable expression. He was looking at me as though he didn’t know how I would take this news. I wasn’t sure myself.
“You’re a journalist,” I said. “Isn’t telling me this after more than a year of our being together called ‘burying the lead’?” I was surprised at how calm I sounded.
His wry smile acknowledged my attempt at humor. He cleared his throat. “I haven’t seen Celeste since she was a baby. Tanis, my ex-wife, lied to get sole custody. She convinced me that it was best for the child, that it was only a technical thing, that I could see Celeste every day. I believed her. Then she left for Europe as soon as our divorce was final.”
Nicholas had taken me on what he’d billed as “a teenage date” in the carnival atmosphere of the Santa Monica Pier, just a few blocks west of my little house on Eleventh Street. First, a mobile dinner of fish and chips wrapped in newspaper and seasoned with a sprinkling of malt vinegar, after which we rode the Ferris wheel and the whirling cups, and tried to work off our meal by climbing the Pier’s rock wall feature. Nicholas beat me to the top by only one foothold—my new personal best.
We were sitting on the beach below the Pier, listening to the music and laughter floating down from above as we watched little diamonds of moonlight sparkle on the surface of the Pacific Ocean. It had been a wonderful evening, up until now. The cone of chocolate frozen yogurt I’d been devouring with such pleasure a moment ago dripped in my hand. Dollops of melting yogurt splattered onto my new tan slacks. Raw silk. The pants were cut so artfully that they managed to make my hips look smaller, and they were the perfect shade with my new butter yellow cashmere sweater. I laid my cone down in the sand and dabbed at the dark spots with a napkin, but I knew the slacks were ruined.
Nicholas put his cone beside mine and carefully covered them both with sand. I wondered if that counted as littering.
“Celeste called me from Vienna, where she’s living with her mother,” he said.
I filled the awkward silence that followed with a question. “Is this the first contact you’ve had with her since she was a baby?”
He nodded. “Over the years I tried to talk to her countless times, but Tanis made sure I was always one step behind them.” He half smiled. “Del, Celeste wants to see me.”
“That’s marvelous,” I said, genuinely happy for him.
His face split into that grin he saved for special triumphs, as when one of his crime stories in the Los Angeles Chronicle was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize. “My daughter’s coming to LA. She arrives tomorrow. And she wants to live with me.”
“Don’t you watch daytime-TV talk shows? It’s a known fact that the biggest threat to a romantic relationship is a man’s daughter from a previous marriage.” Liddy Marshall shook her head as she reached down to pet my big black standard poodle, Tuffy, who was lounging next to her chair at my kitchen table. “Mark my words,” Liddy said, “this girl will be trouble.”
“I know you mean well, but I don’t believe that.” I was thinking of my honorary daughter, Eileen O’ Hara, and the joy I’ve had being her “mother-person,” as she calls me, during the years that her own mother was ill and couldn’t be with her. “I’d like to be her friend. With her mother so far away, she might need an older woman to talk to.”
“Hah!” Liddy threw up her hands. “Good luck! You and Eileen are close because you’re not in love with her father. Teenage girls are more territorial than hungry lionesses.”
I smiled at her with affection. “Have you been watching Animal Planet, too?”
“Scoff if you like, but you heard it here first: your ‘love boat’ is heading for choppy waters.”
“Nicholas and I have been through a lot and our relationship has only gotten stronger. We’re going to be fine,” I said.
I hope.
Liddy had been one of my closest friends for more than twenty years, and she had the kindest heart of anyone I knew, but I reminded myself that she was inclined to be melodramatic. An attractive natural honey blonde—a former Miss Nebraska—Lydia Nelson had come to California to be an actress, but had fallen in love with a cute young dentist named Bill Marshall. She traded movie dreams for a happy life as a wife and mother of twin sons. Now that the boys were away at college in the East, Liddy amused herself by working as an extra in TV shows and movies. As she liked to say, it gave her the fun of being on sets and around actors, but she didn’t have to stay superthin or worry about aging.
Liddy turned toward the computer on my desk in the corner. It was in the kitchen because I used it to plan my TV shows and the cooking classes I taught on weekends. She asked, “What did you say his ex-wife’s name is? It was something weird.”
“Tanis.”
“What did you find out when you Googled her?”
“I didn’t. That’s spying. There is no way I would invade Nicholas’s privacy like that, and I don’t want you to do it either. Promise me.”
“Okay, I promise.”
Liddy sat down and clicked onto the Internet. “I’m all for scruples, but we still need information of a nonspying nature.”
Peering over her shoulder, I saw what she was typing.
“Oh, Liddy—you’re not going to look up what her name means. That’s not information.”
“I believe that names are predictors of personality. Della means ‘cheerful’ and ‘happy.’ That’s you. ‘Lydia’ means ‘life.’ Do you know anyone who enjoys life more than I do?”
“Coincidence. Names are given to infants before they show any traits.”
She ignored my argument, found a meaning-of-names site, and scrolled through the “Ts.” “Does she spell her name with one ‘N’ or two?”
“No idea. It sounds made-up to me.”
“I’ve heard it somewhere before. Oh, right—here it is. One ‘N.’ It’s from the Greek name ‘Tanith.’ ” Liddy jabbed at the screen. “Ah-ha! It’s derived from Semitic roots meaning ‘serpent lady.’ ”
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