In a separate bowl combine dry ingredients: flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, pudding mix, cocoa powder.
In a small bowl, whisk together coffee liqueur, Irish cream and sour cream thoroughly.
Add dry and liquid mixtures to the mixing bowl in two additions, scraping down sides and bottom of bowl. Mix until smooth.
Fill baking cups 2/3 full and add a ball of frozen cookie dough to each cupcake just before placing into the oven.
Bake at 350° 18-22 minutes (in a standard oven, less for convection ovens) until a toothpick inserted at the edge comes out clean (inserting in the center will not give an accurate reading as cookie dough will be gooey).
Cool completely, then frost and decorate.
VANILLA BUTTERSCREAM ICING:
1 cup butter (2 sticks), softened
3 - 4 cups confectioner’s sugar, sifted
A pinch of salt
2-3 tablespoons whole milk
2 tsp. vanilla extract
Place softened butter into the bowl of a stand mixer that has been fitted with the paddle attachment. Turn the mixer on a medium setting and cream the butter until it is smooth and has lightened in color, about 3 minutes.
Add confectioner’s sugar, ½ a cup at a time. Add vanilla extract and a pinch of salt. After each cup of powdered sugar has been incorporated, turn the mixer onto the highest speed setting and for about 10 seconds to lighten the frosting.
Add milk until the frosting has reached the preferred consistency.
For a firmer frosting, add more confectioner’s sugar, a ¼ cup at a time. For a softer frosting, add more milk, a tablespoon at a time.
Apply to cupcakes after they have cooled.
Serve fresh. Or cover and refrigerate.
Chapter 22
Treading Flannel
Theodore (The Cat)
MY RESCUER SET me down on her living room and my paws vanished from sight as they sank into the cushy rug. I took a few steps and looked around. Her abode was swankier than the one I used to live in. Scented candles burned, fine art graced the walls, and the overstuffed furniture practically begged to be scratched.
“You’re so handsome, big guy.” She whipped out her phone, took a really cute picture of me, and checked it. “You practically look like you belong here.”
I collapsed onto the rug, rolled back and forth in front of her, then stood up and stretched. I sauntered over to the sofa to watch a little TV, but she caught me mid-jump.
“Sorry,” she said. “You’re not sitting on my couch until you’ve had a bath. My name’s Hildy by the way.” She carried me into her bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the water in the tub.
“What is this bath thing?” I asked Mary who sat on top of the vanity and pulled on her front claws with her teeth.
“Oh.” She stared at the wall. “Just remain calm and it will be over in no time.”
Hildy scruffed me again, lifted me into the tub, squeezed gooey liquid on my back, doused me in water, and sudsed me up. What in the heck was she doing? I complained, gently at first, and then screamed. Bossypants Mary watched, but did nothing to intervene. My entire body trembled as I entered the third stage of starvation.
How could this be happening? What crime had I committed to merit such harsh punishment? My torture continued for hours as she drowned me in water with a cup and then sprayed me with a hose-like contraption. By the time the ordeal ended, I feared I was paralyzed.
“Go ahead, and shake it off,” Hildy said.
I shook as though my life depended on it, but she swooped in with a towel, and rubbed me all over. I didn’t know whether to feel angry, or pleased by the unexpected, post-traumatic massage.
“Hungry, big guy?” She opened the bathroom door and walked out. I followed her, when my superior feline senses were alerted, and I intuited she had another kitty in her apartment.
Uh-oh. How would the other cat deal with my presence? Most likely with feelings of inferiority, displays of jealousy, and a need to compete. I knew that I was a tough act to follow. I was, after all, me.
But of course, Hildy had a cat. Except for the waterboarding, she’d make a lovely pet person. After all, how many people pierced their nose with kitty toys? I spotted her cat in the mirror on the bathroom wall and my heart went out to him. He was a pathetic and bedraggled creature. His fur dripped and clung to his body, his head was freakishly large, and he trembled, just like me. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him.
“Hello,” I said. “My name’s Theodore von Pumpernickle. I come in peace.”
Strangely, he meowed at the same time. I swiveled and peered over my shoulder, but he must have run off. I glanced around the room but I couldn’t find him.
By the time I meandered into Hildy’s chef’s kitchen, she had changed into comfy pajamas, was chopping ingredients, and sautéing aromatic delicacies on her stovetop. The sun was setting over the ocean in a glorious display of autumn colors through the bay window. I investigated the spacious room’s nooks and crannies, and wove around Hildy’s feet as she dished our meal onto elegant bone china.
She set my plate on a mat on the marble floor. “You can start without me,” she said and took a seat at her fancy table.
I devoured the most delicious fish concoction that I’d ever eaten. “Oh, Hildy, thank you.” I meowed in between bites.
“You’re welcome.” She scrolled through her laptop. “It appears you’re lost, big guy. Some woman named Annie Graceland is looking for you.” She ruffled the fur on top of my head and typed an email with her other hand. “She’s even offering a meager reward.” Her hand hovered over the “Send” button, but instead, she closed the laptop, and finished her meal. “Ms. Graceland’s post said your name is Theodore, and that you like The X-Files.”
She walked into her living room, picked up her remote, and pointed it at the wall. She hit a few buttons and voilà; my favorite show was in high definition on her enormous, flat screen TV.
I inhaled sharply when I saw Mulder and Scully, and I couldn’t help but wonder what Anderson Cooper would look like on a screen that big. His silver-haired mane would most likely appear magnificent.
She plopped down on her couch and placed a crystal tumbler on a coaster on the coffee table. “It’s been a stressful couple of weeks. I poured myself a Robin Kelly Southern Nights’ Cocktail, and I can’t wait to watch some re-runs. I don’t see the harm in you staying with me for one night. We can snuggle a bit, I’ll give you some nip, and you’ll remind me of the good old days when I still had a cat. What do you think?” She patted the seat next to her and held out her hand. “Let’s send Annie Graceland a message tomorrow.”
Mary materialized on the top of the TV and balanced precariously. “I don’t know if this is a good idea,” she said. “Annie’s worried about you. You’re in a strange woman’s house. And she—”
“The ‘strange’ woman who rescued me has a name, and it’s Hildy.” I meandered toward the sofa and paused to rub the side of my face on the coffee table’s leg. It was real wood, not that cheap particleboard at Annie’s apartment. My skin was sensitive and could detect the difference.
“I know that. But if Hildy had a cat in the past, she knows your person is sick with worry about you. A real cat person would message Annie, and do her best to return you tonight.”
“What do you know about real cat persons, Mary?” I jumped onto the couch and stood next to the Hildy, somewhat indecisive. “Did you ever have your own cat person? Someone who loved you? Someone who fed and looked out for you? Or did the maids at whatever mansion you lived at when you were still living take care of you?” I moved closer to Hildy and treaded her flannel-clad thigh with my front paws.
Mary eyed me like I’d just taken a swipe at her. “There’s a whole lot of things you don’t know about me, Theodore von Pumpernickle.”
“You were the one that got me into this mess,” I said. “I’d be one crazy cat to believe that you are the one who’s going to get me out of i
t.”
Hildy stared at my paws and took another swig of her cocktail. “That’s awfully sweet of you, big guy,” she said. “You’re so cute. I’m half tempted to keep you.”
“Maybe she should keep you,” Mary said. “Maybe Annie deserves a new cat. A cat who genuinely misses her.”
“Fine,” I meowed.
I treaded and treaded, but Hildy’s legs were firm and sinewy, not soft and comforting like Annie’s. It dawned on me that no amount of diligent work on my part would ever tenderize them, and I stopped. “I do miss Annie.” I sniffed. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Mary.” I turned my back to my rescuer and peered up at the wall. A few wisps of black smoke curled around the top of the TV where she had perched moments earlier.
But, Bloody Mary had left the building.
Southern Night (Aka -- Comfy Peach) Cocktail)
by
Robin Kelly
INGREDIENTS:
1/3 of a glass Southern Comfort
1/3 of a glass Peach Brandy
1/3 of a glass either Peach Schnapps or Cranberry Peach Juice (This depends on how potent you want this drink to be!)
If you want this to be a slushy and cool type of drink, add crushed ice mix.
DIRECTIONS:
Mix. Shake with the ice.
This one can be potent! Drink responsibly.
Chapter 23
A Sad Puppy
Mozart (The Dog)
AFTER THE FIRST night that the super nice lady visited our home, she practically moved in. Don’t get me wrong—I liked her. She was sweet and who doesn’t like someone who smells like liver?
Even though two days had passed, Cody spent practically all his time with her. In between their special closed-door time in his room, we ate, drank, and went for a few walks. Life was sad except for the pizza leftovers. But that night, when it was very dark, we walked down to the beach, and Cody decided it was the perfect moment to sneak me onto the sand.
He had a flashlight and had brought a tennis ball. He left the leash on me just in case the puppy police showed up, but then we played fetch for a few minutes. Everything was going great until I returned the toy to him, ran away, crouched on the ground, wagged my tail, and waited for him to throw it again. But he was busy petting the woman’s neck, cleaning her face with his mouth, and he ignored me.
She sighed loudly, and seemed to enjoy it, but she was interrupting our special playtime. I felt a little jealous and I barked.
“I’m on it, Mozart!” Cody picked up my ball and threw it, hard.
It sailed through the air and landed a few feet in the ocean. I raced across the sand, plunged into the water, and grabbed it. I ran back, dropped it at his feet, and quivered in excitement. But they had returned to their grooming rituals.
I wandered away dejected, plunked down on the beach, and gazed out at the ocean. The waters were rougher than Lake Michigan, and seemed a little angry as they pounded the hard sand. I missed my home in Chicago; the loud belching sounds of buses and the rattle of trains, listening to the Cubbies’ baseball games, and meeting my pals at the dog park. I dropped my chin onto my front paws and rested my eyes.
A small black cloud misted in from the surf, hovered next to me, and turned into Mary, the spirit cat. “You look like a sad puppy,” she said. “What’s the problem?”
I had no idea how she did that vanishing and re-appearing thing, but it was pretty neat. “Oh, you know. My person has a new person,” I said. “I’m just the dog. Everyone forgets the dog.”
“Don’t feel bad,” she said. “Humans groom each other all the time, you know. That’s why there are so many of them.”
“But everything was fine before,” I moaned. “Cody worked a lot. Then he’d come home and play with me. On occasion he had other special friends, but no one who ever smelled as good as Julia.”
She sniffed. “Liver. That’s a hard act to follow. When was the last time you did something fun?”
I sighed and stared at my paws. “We just played ball.”
She shook her head. “Not everyday kind of fun. I mean something super wonderful. Magical, even. Tell me about the funnest thing you ever did.”
I waggled my eyebrows and chewed on my leg. “Once, when I was a puppy, I found something dead in the alley. It was buried in leaves and garbage, but I was determined, and I dug it up. Then I rolled in it. That was so much fun.” Warm fuzzy memories flooded my brain, and I panted. “But, Cody wasn’t very happy.”
“Oh, poo!” Mary said. “Cody has to understand that your tribe is instinctually driven to mask your scent. Your ancestors, the wolves did it.”
“Cody used the word ‘stink-ually’, too. He gave me a really long bath.”
“Just because you’re a dog doesn’t mean you live your life to make your master happy.”
“Yes it does.”
“Well,” she said. “He looks pretty content right now with his tongue in that woman’s ear. What makes you happy, Mozart?”
“I don’t know anymore.”
“Hmm.” Mary glanced around. “Look. Over there.”
I peered in the direction she was staring. “What?”
“A pile of rotting sea weed. It’s disgusting. You should go roll in it.”
My ears perked up. “You think?”
“Have you never rolled in seaweed before?” she asked.
“No.” I sat up and scratched my ear with my back foot.
“Well then,” Mary said, “Go forth and conquer. Have some fun. And then we can get back to business.”
“I already did my business.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said.
I looked at the pile, the excitement grew, and I felt my butt wiggle all on its own. I sprang into the air, raced across the beach, and dove into it. I grabbed some strands with my mouth, threw them into the air, rolled on my back, and yelped in delight. It was slimy, ropey, and gooey all at the same time. It felt wonderful. Nothing could compare to that dead squirrel back in the Chicago alley, but this was a close second, and I barked excitedly.
“Mozart. No bark.” Cody said, but returned to petting the woman.
“Oh, Mary,” I said. “That was the most fun I’ve had since I moved here. What should we do next?” I shook all over, and sand flew everywhere.
“Look over there.” Mary stared into the distance. “Someone knocked over a trash can. You never know what you might find...”
“You’re right.” I raced toward it.
“Mozart.” Cody yelled. “Get back here!”
But I was on a tear and desperately needed to burn off a little steam. He could continue to groom the delectable smelling blonde, and I’d be back in no time.
He’d never miss me. What’s the worst that could happen?
Chapter 24
A Vampire Movie
Annie
I SHOVED my phone in front of the guy’s face. “That is the Facebook page for Fit-Pro Camp. And that is a picture of Hildy Crawford with a Himalayan mix cat in the background, who happens to be my cat, and I want him back!”
“That’s actually a picture of Hildy Crawford showing off Fit-Pro’s new line of workout gear,” the male receptionist said.
I slammed my fist on the granite countertop in the lobby at Fit-Pro Camp. “My name is Annie Graceland, I am a citizen of the United States of America, and I have inalienable rights. I demand—do you understand what that word means?—I demand to speak with Hildy Crawford immediately!” I winced and cradled my hand with my other hand.
“Absolutely,” the hairless male receptionist wearing the muscle T-shirt said. “Unfortunately, as I already explained to you, Ms. Crawford is out of the office. Why don’t you leave your name, number, and questions, and I’ll pass along your information as soon as she checks in.” He thrust a pad of paper at me across the counter.
I pushed it back at him. “No,” I said. “No matter where I go, all I ever do is fill out little pads of paper, forms, take surveys, and online questionnaires
. I’ve completed thousands of these things, but no one really cares, and nothing ever changes. The oceans are still polluted, politicians will always be narcissistic, and as soon as I fall in love with a boy band, they get in a tiff and break up.”
“The on and off again One Direction split is killing me,” the receptionist said.
“My mother was never the same after The Beatles broke up,” I said. “Life isn’t fair, and while I’ll never fully come to terms with that, I need a few things to remain constant in spite of the world’s chaos. One of those is my cat. All I want is my cat back.”
“Right.” He scribbled on the pad. “‘No one cares, nothing changes, boy band tiffs, wants cat back.’ Your name and email please?” He smiled and pushed the pad back in my direction.
I sighed and inked down my contact details.
“Waste of time. I wouldn’t even bother telling him,” Anthony leaned back on a chair in the waiting area and rested his shiny black shoes on top of the fitness magazines on the coffee table. “Hildy Crawford doesn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone other than Hildy Crawford, or John Fartier. She’s been after my job for at least six months. I’m surprised she hasn’t gotten it yet, seeing that I’ve taken a leave of absence to shack up with you.”
I stabbed the pen into the paper and shoved it back at the hairless man. “Thank you,” I said and walked out the door.
I strode through the parking lot, past the Ferraris, the Porsches, the Priuses, and walked straight into a ten-foot tall green hedge. Shrubbery poked into my face and my arms, but I didn’t care any more. I just clamped my hands over my mouth, and screamed into them.
“There, there, Graceland.” Anthony rubbed my shoulder. “I know it must come as a shock after all this time that you kept your true feelings deep inside, hidden from me as well as the rest of the world. But there comes a time in one’s life when you have to ’fess up and be honest, even if honesty hurts. And then, you can move on with life.”
“But I can’t move on with life.” I backed out of the bushes, sat down on a neon yellow parking bump, dropped my forehead into my hands, and started crying. “I can’t move on without Theodore. He is the sun to my moon. The light to my dark. He makes me giggle. He fills all these little holes in my life that I didn’t even know were there until he was gone. I never thought I’d lose him until we were both really, really old, and now I am stuck in a Purgatory of sorts. It’s not quite life, but not quite death. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I go to work, and I’m functioning on minimum capacity. My boyfriend probably thinks I’m a loon. I… I…” I hiccupped.
Cupcakes, Bats, and Scare-dy Cats (An Annie Graceland Cozy Mystery Book 6) Page 9