Fudge Brownies & Murder

by Janel Gradowski

  "What's up?" Carla asked as she began gently patting Macy's back. The baby's pink tutu skirt was so puffy she needed to smooth it down to get a clear look at her mother. "Is something wrong?"

  "Nothing is wrong. I don't think I've been this happy since you were born." Geri smiled as she took a deep breath. "I'm so in love with Macy, and it has been wonderful reconnecting with you during this new phase of your life." She turned sideways to look at the clock on the wall. "I'll stop blabbering and get to the point. What would you think if I moved back to Kellerton? I put the pieces of my life back together after the divorce in New Zealand, but now I would really like to continue to be a part of your, Macy's, and Bruce's life."

  "I would love to have you stay in the U.S., Mom. I want Macy to know her grandma, instead of just talking to her on a scratchy international phone line once in a while," Carla said.

  Aaaawww! Amy couldn't help but smile. It was wonderful when everything worked out. A killer was brought to justice. Macy was born happy and healthy. The postponed baby shower was about to begin—with Carla's blessing. All was right in the world. Amy placed her hand on Geri's shoulder and said, "I'm so happy you want to stay. I would love to get to know you better."

  Double Orange Brownies

  ¾ cup unsalted butter, at room temperature

  1 ¼ cups sugar

  2 teaspoons vanilla extract

  3 eggs, at room temperature

  ¾ cup all-purpose flour

  ½ cup cocoa powder

  ½ teaspoon baking powder

  ½ teaspoon salt

  1 tablespoon finely minced orange zest

  ½ cup orange marmalade

  Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease an 8 x 8-inch baking pan.

  In a mixing bowl, cream together butter and sugar until light and fluffy. Mix in vanilla extract and eggs. Sift in flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, and salt. Add orange zest. Mix until just combined, making sure to scrape down the sides of the bowl at least once.

  Spread batter evenly in prepared pan. Bake for 40-45 minutes, until edges of brownies begin to pull away from the side of the pan, and a toothpick, inserted near the center, has a few moist crumbs on it. Remove from oven. Drop spoonsful of the marmalade across the top. Let sit until heat begins to melt, about 5 minutes, and then spread evenly over the top to make a glaze.

  Makes 9 servings.

  Chocolate Covered Raisin Brownies

  8 tablespoons unsalted butter, plus more for greasing pan

  2 oz. unsweetened chocolate, coarsely chopped

  1 cup sugar

  2 eggs, beaten

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  ¼ cup flour

  ¼ teaspoon salt

  1 cup chocolate covered raisins

  Heat oven to 325°F. Grease an 8 x 8-inch baking pan with butter.

  Combine the butter and chocolate together in a 2-quart saucepan. Melt over medium-low heat, stirring constantly to prevent scorching. Remove the pan from heat, and stir in the sugar. Add the eggs and vanilla, and stir until batter is smooth. Add the flour and salt; stir until incorporated. Mix in chocolate covered raisins. Pour the batter into the baking pan, and spread evenly. Bake until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean, 40–45 minutes. Refrigerate to make even fudgier.

  Makes 9 servings

  Hot Maple Horchata

  1 cup cooked rice

  1 ½ cups milk

  ¼–½ cup real maple syrup

  ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  Place rice, milk, ¼ cup of maple syrup, cinnamon, and vanilla in blender. Process until smooth. Transfer to a small saucepan. Warm over medium-low heat, stirring frequently to prevent from boiling over, until hot but not boiling. Taste to see if you would like to add more maple syrup as it is heating. When warm, remove from heat, and divide between two mugs. If you would like a smoother beverage, pour through a mesh strainer to remove any larger pieces of rice.

  Chile Rellenos Casserole

  4 4 oz. cans of whole green chiles

  2 cups grated cheddar or Monterey Jack cheese

  ½ cup pico de gallo fresh salsa, drained to remove excess liquid

  8 eggs

  ⅔ cup milk

  1 cup all-purpose flour

  1 teaspoon mild chili powder

  ¼ teaspoon garlic powder

  1 teaspoon baking powder

  Salt & pepper

  Preheat oven to 350°F. Grease a 9 x 13-inch baking pan.

  Cut peppers into strips. Lay strips between several layers of paper towels. Gentle press to remove excess moisture. Layer half of the strips evenly over the bottom of the pan (won't cover completely). Top with half of the cheese. Arrange rest of pepper strips on top. Spread salsa on top of peppers then sprinkle with remaining cheese.

  In a mixing bowl, whisk together eggs, milk, flour, chili powder, garlic powder, and baking powder. Season with a bit of salt and pepper, if desired. Pour batter evenly over peppers and cheese. Bake for 30-35 minutes, until lightly browned, and egg mixture is set.

  Makes 8-10 servings

  * * * * *

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Janel Gradowski lives in a land that looks like a cold weather fashion accessory, the mitten-shaped state of Michigan. She is a wife and mom to two kids and one Golden Retriever. Her journey to becoming an author is littered with odd jobs like renting apartments to college students and programming commercials for an AM radio station. Somewhere along the way she also became a beadwork designer and teacher. She enjoys cooking recipes found in her formidable cookbook and culinary fiction collection. Searching for unique treasures at art fairs, flea markets, and thrift stores is also a favorite pastime. Coffee is an essential part of her life.

  To learn more about Janel Gradowski, visit her online at: http://www.janelgradowski.com/

  * * * * *

  BOOKS BY JANEL GRADOWSKI

  Culinary Competition Mysteries:

  Pies & Peril

  Chicken Soup & Homicide

  Doughnuts & Deadly Schemes

  Christmas Canapés & Sabotage (holiday short story)

  Barbecue & Bad Juju (shorts story in the Killer Beach Reads collection)

  Fudge Brownies & Murder

  The Bartonville Series:

  Must Love Sandwiches (novella)

  The Queen of Bad Decisions (short story)

  * * * * *

  SNEAK PEEK

  If you enjoyed this Culinary Competition Mystery, check out this other funny, romantic mystery from Gemma Halliday Publishing:

  SOUTHERN PEACH PIE & A DEAD GUY

  by

  A. GARDNER

  CHAPTER ONE

  My first encounter with a southern guy isn't going so well. So far I've admitted I have never tried sweet tea, and my big toe is a little too long for the shoes I am wearing. Nice one, Poppy. Now he is going to think I am a weird westerner with a foot fetish. I try hard not to look down at my black, high-heeled boots. Why am I the only one on campus wearing any black?

  "My name is Cole," the man says with a grin on his face. I reach out to shake his hand. My palms are sweating just like every other place on my body. I haven't even turned thirty yet, and I'm already having hot flashes. It is going to take me some time to get used to this heat.

  "Poppy Peters," I reply. I wipe my forehead and underneath my eyes. I bite my lip when I see a bit of smeared mascara on the side of my finger. It is so humid my makeup is melting off. "Is it always this hot here?"

  "Welcome to Georgia." Cole chuckles and shrugs as we walk towards the student bakery. Cole is one of the first students I bumped into at the registration office. His lemon-colored T-shirt shines bright compared to his dark skin, and his impressive physique makes me look at him
twice. His eyes are intriguing—an even mix of blue and green.

  As we walk, I can't help but admire how lush the vegetation is on campus. Every tree outstretches towards the sidewalks, providing a much needed break from the glaring sun. The patches of grass remind me of ocean waves, if the ocean sparkled like emeralds. Even the flowerbeds near the Administration building had bundles of purple and orange wildflowers that couldn't be contained.

  "What's that smell?" I ask. "And don't say it smells like fresh meat. I heard a teacher in the Registrar's Office use that joke about a hundred times."

  "I'll show you."

  I follow Cole across campus until the heavenly smell of baked bread and sugary doughnuts grows stronger. I long for that smell sometimes. It takes me back to my schoolgirl days when I spent my weekends in the kitchen with Grandma Liz. My Grandma Liz came to Calle Pastry Academy when she was in her early twenties. I imagine her tiny frame and long, dancer legs. It's a miracle that she came to this school and still stayed so thin.

  "Whoa," I blurt out. My eyes widen when we come to a historic-looking building with brown-orangey bricks and tall windows that line up across the front. Through the glass I see a bustling bakery with a long line of students and campus visitors extending through the front doors and outside onto the sidewalk. I join Cole at the back of the line and discreetly adjust my black top and dark blue leggings. A serious change in wardrobe is in order if I plan on staying here.

  When I was in high school, Mom always told me that I wore too much black. Ballerinas like me were supposed to be light and dainty, like an airy piece of sponge cake with non-fat whipped cream (no more than a dollop). Although I was one of the top dancers in my grade, I guess I looked too much like a slice of chocolate torte.

  "This is the student bakery," Cole says. "We'll all be working here as part of our culinary training. A friend of mine came here a couple years ago. He told me all about it." He lifts his chin and speaks more formally than I'm used to.

  "No kidding."

  "Uh-huh." He keeps a grin on his face, and clasps his hands neatly in front of him. "The kitchen I work in back home isn't nearly as big as this one."

  "And where is home?" I ask. I have him pegged for somewhere here in the South. I can hear it in his voice. Plus, he's way too polite.

  "Atlanta," he answers. "Not far from here. But I grew up in Louisiana."

  "Gotcha." I inhale another whiff of cooling pastries, and it makes my stomach rumble.

  "What about you?" I can see him eyeing me as he pretends to look at something across the quad.

  "Oh, I'm just your classic Oregonian ballerina looking for a fresh start."

  "Ballerina?" he comments. "You don't look like a ballerina."

  "Yep," I laugh. "That's what my over-bearing instructor Elena Povska said right before I fell on the bar and injured my back."

  "Ouch."

  Cole has that same look on his face that I've seen way too many times. His eyes are soft and sympathetic, and he's trying not to cringe. He's probably imagining my back cracking and me yelling on the floor in pain.

  "I always hated it anyway." I grab a strand of my dark hair and look around at the rest of the student body. I stand out here. It feels like high school all over again, except my mom didn't send me off with a packed lunch of tuna on wheat, three pieces of celery, and a sugar-free breath mint. The dancer's diet.

  "What about cooking? How do you feel about that?"

  "I love it," I respond. "You know, my grandma came here. I always wanted to be just like her."

  We move forward in line.

  "Really," Cole says. "What does she do now?"

  "After she graduated, she went back to Portland and opened her own bakery. My dad sold it after she passed away."

  "Sorry to hear that," he replies.

  "Circle of life." I brush off the subject and move on to avoid having to hold in any tears. I hate crying in public, even if it is only a little sniffle. "So are you going to be living on campus?"

  "The program is so intense that I think just about everyone is."

  "Right," I mutter. "Please tell me all the apartments have some wicked AC units or industrial fans or something?"

  "Chill," he jokes. "You'll get used to the heat."

  I laugh as we finally move indoors to the most coveted part of the line. I take a deep breath and close my eyes as I step across the threshold, enjoying the cool air against my cheeks. Cole watches me with a twisted smile.

  "Do you think they'll let me stand in the freezer for a few minutes?" I say quietly.

  "Newbies." Cole shakes his head. "What is the weather like in Oregon?"

  "Portland is nothing like this." My eyes pop open when I smell something glorious. Something that teases my taste buds before I even see it. "I smell pie."

  "The school's famous peach pie," Cole adds. "We will be learning how to make it pretty soon."

  "I've never made a pie that smells like that. It…I don't even know how to describe it."

  "It speaks to your soul?" he guesses.

  "Soul food," I laugh. "Very funny."

  We take a few steps towards the register, and I see the entire display of pastries and baked goods sitting neatly behind the glass. The rest of the bakery is smaller than I expected. There are a handful of café tables and a community board with flyers hanging on the wall. Most customers take their treats to-go. Most of the building is kitchen space. I move closer to get a better look at the assorted flavors of pies, buns, doughnuts, and Danishes. I don't see any labels. Only a chalkboard behind the counter with today's flavors written on it.

  "Oh-my-gosh," I gasp, being careful not to drool all over my brand-new top. "It's like the ultimate PTA bake sale in here. I've never seen so many sugary things in one place."

  "Don't kill me, but you only have a few minutes to decide what you want. It's almost our turn to order."

  "How in the world am I supposed to do that?" My insides start to panic like they used to right before a curtain call.

  "Well," Cole says, placing a hand on the counter. "Have you ever had a beignet?"

  "Based on our initial sweet tea debate, what do you think?" My eyes jump to a pan of gooey-looking cinnamon rolls with orange icing. "What are those?"

  "Buzz's rise and shine orange rolls," he answers. "The founder's son came up with the recipe."

  "So many choices," I comment. I tap my heel against the tile floor and get a glance into the kitchen, as a student comes out with a pan of hot blueberry scones. My stomach churns a little as I think about putting on my chef's apron and joining in on the dough kneading and doughnut frying.

  "What will you have?" Cole nudges my shoulder. I realize that I've been daydreaming the past few minutes, and now it is time for me to place my order. I'm oblivious. If I had the cash on hand I would order one of everything.

  "We'll take two beignets, one of those hot blueberry scones, and an orange roll for Miss Indecisive." He pulls out his wallet and pays before I can object.

  I place my hands on my hips and watch as he collects our box of baked delights.

  "You forgot the coffee," I joke. I drink coffee like I drink water. It was the only way I could practice ballet ten hours a day and still stay standing. Cole hands me a napkin and the orange roll I stared at while in line. "Thanks, you're a peach."

  "You're different from other women I've met here so far," he comments. He takes a bite of his beignet and quickly wipes the powdered sugar from his lips. We snag the last open café table and sit down across from each other.

  "I know," I reply with a mouth full of citrus icing. Dang, that is good. My eyes dart to a sign pinned on the community board as I chew. It flaps in the breeze whenever someone opens the bakery door. "It's the high-heeled boots, right? They're a little too Goth for my taste, but I had to have them."

  "No." He grins. "I like the boots. Keep the boots." He breaks the blueberry scone in half and hands me a piece. I see steam rising from the center and the rich, royal blue color of the blueberri
es inside. "How does a ballerina end up in a place like this? Aren't you guys all about working out all day and eating tofu?"

  "I hate tofu," I reply. The paper on the community board waves as a breeze drifts through the front door. At first I only glance at it, but then my gaze freezes on two words that are printed in all caps. MISSING STUDENT. I stare at the picture on the poster of a younger looking student named Tom Fox who, according to the poster, went missing last semester. Underneath Tom's picture that was copied from his student ID there is a contact name and phone number for a woman named Brooke.

  "Uh, Poppy?" Cole chuckles.

  I realize that I have been studying the poster of Tom Fox instead of listening to Cole. He's staring at me curiously.

  "Sorry." I tilt my head towards the community board. "Do students disappear often around here?"

  "There's at least one per semester," he jokes. "But, honestly, stuff like that happens at every school, doesn't it?"

  Not one this small.

  "Maybe."

  "Anyway," he continues. "Back to my question before you spaced out. Are you a culinary genius and you're just not telling me?"

  "Okay, fine," I admit. "I've never worked in a kitchen before, but I'm a fast learner." I pause from devouring my orange roll and think back to my dancing days. I hated them. Every morning I would wake up wishing I had followed the advice that Grandma Liz gave me before she died. She told me to do what I love and the rest would all fall into place. Some of my best memories are baking with her. Grandma Liz was fearless. Anything I asked her to make she would try, and it always turned out to be amazing.