by Avery Aames
“What do you mean, you’re not going back to England?” Matthew gulped.
“My luck’s changed while I’ve been here,” Sylvie said. “So I’ve decided this is where I should settle.”
“Settle?” Matthew’s voice bordered on strident.
Sylvie grinned. “I negotiated a twenty percent finder’s fee for the treasure I found.”
Of course she did. She was no dummy. Her self-sacrificing speech to me was a sham.
“I’ve rented a little place near Charlotte.”
“Near me?” I chirped.
“And I’ve put the down payment on a lovely shop on Cherry Orchard. Poor dear was going under.” Sylvie leaned in. “Bad money management.”
“Which store?” Matthew clenched Meredith’s hand so tightly he was draining the color out of it.
“The candy shop. I’m turning it into a women’s boutique. I’ll call it Under Wraps, specializing in items that go under or over anything. I’ll give that old nag Prudence Hart a run for her money.”
My heart started going pitter-pat as I worried about the repercussions for Matthew, Meredith, and the twins. And yes, for me, too. Prudence would be less than pleased with this little turn of events and blame me.
Sylvie fluffed her hair and eyed me with disdain. “Guess what? I’ll give you a makeover for free, Charlotte.”
“I don’t need—” I snapped my mouth shut. The gall. I would not rise to the bait.
Sylvie smirked. “Isn’t it wonderful? I’ll be here for my girlie girls. What that old court said doesn’t really have to stand, you know.”
“Uh, yes, it does,” Matthew blurted. “They’ll be living with me. Full time.”
“Whatever. You’ll let me see them as much as I want. You’ll want them to know that I love them and cherish them. After all, I am their mother, and we all know, after this week’s tragedy, how negligent parenting can influence children.” Sylvie twirled a finger. “Oh, Charlotte, by the by, come take a look at the gift I gave the girls.”
Matthew said, “Aren’t the girls with Pépère?”
“They were, but I can always find them.” Sylvie sniffed. “It’s a mother’s instinct.”
Matthew snorted. “Stink is right,” he mumbled.
I heard the comment and giggled. So did Meredith. She thwacked his shoulder.
With a firm grip, Sylvie grasped my wrist, drew me outside, and gestured toward the side of the theater where there was a narrow strip of grass. On it stood a massive brown puppy with long hair. It was flanked by the twins, who were using wide-toothed combs to groom its hair.
“He’s a Briard,” Sylvie said. “And get this. He’s named after Brie, the cheese.”
“The city,” I said.
She frittered a hand at me. “Who knew there was a cheese dog? It’s a herding dog for cheese. Well, for sheep, actually. I got him from that breeder in town.”
“You mean the animal rescuer,” I corrected.
“Whatever. She said the Briard is a fierce defender of family and farm, and he’s so fast, I’ve named him Rocket. Isn’t he a cute little thing?”
Little? By the look of his paws, he would grow to more than one hundred pounds.
I shook my head. “Sylvie, you can’t start a new business and take care of a puppy, too.”
“Oh, I don’t intend to. I told the girls that Rocket would be staying with them and their father.”
I.e., me.
“What?” The roots of my hair twitched with anxiety. Any second now, I’d explode.
“Say yes. You wouldn’t want to break their sweet hearts, would you?” Sylvie offered a sly gotcha smile.
“You can’t. I can’t,” I sputtered, doing my best to keep myself under control. “I can barely manage a career and the twins and Rags. And Clair’s allergic.”
“Tosh! Not to dogs. Besides, kids need pets. Oh, look at the time.” She didn’t even attempt to give a cursory glance at her watch. She was on the run, yet again. “Amy, Clair! Mumsie’s got to be off. Work calls.” She swept them up in hugs and kisses, and seconds later, flew away, leaving emotional destruction that wasn’t visual to the naked eye in her wake.
As a team, the twins tugged on Rocket’s bright red leash and drew him toward me.
“Isn’t he beautiful, Aunt Charlotte?” Clair said.
“And friendly,” Amy added. “Bend down. Let him sniff you.”
I wriggled my skirt to mid-thigh and crouched next to the dog.
On cue, Rocket licked my face and stole my heart.
“You’re going to let us keep him, aren’t you, Aunt Charlotte?” Amy said.
Rocket nuzzled up to me and laid his huge puppy paw across my thigh.
By the impish gleam in the twins’ eyes, I could tell that they knew I would. And Clair, surprisingly, wasn’t sneezing. Maybe she truly was allergic to her mother and nothing else, I thought with sinful glee.
“Clair.” I handed her the leash. “Take Rocket to the rear of the theater. We’ll deal with this matter after the show, okay?”
They scampered off with Rocket—a wobbly mass of adorable—trotting between them.
I spun around to return to the theater and spied Jordan traipsing up the stairs toward the entrance. The golden glow of floodlights hit the planes of his face and magnified the strong cheekbones and the energy in his gaze. Ripples of joy swept over me. He spotted me and paused, one hand in his trousers pocket. Could any man look more stunningly sexy?
But then his mouth twisted down in a frown and his gaze turned hard. He said, “I run a little late and you replace me?”
“Replace you?”
“I saw the kiss he gave you.”
“Who gave me?”
“The dog.”
Like an idiot, I cut a look over my shoulder at the retreating dog, and back at Jordan, whose mouth twitched as his eyes now sparkled with mischief.
He swept me into his arms and planted a killer of a kiss on my mouth. “Tell me I’m a better kisser.”
“You’re definitely better,” I mumbled into his lips.
“Now tell me you’re ready for our trip.”
“Am I ever.” Unwarranted, a list of chores flew through my head.
“Uh-uh.” Jordan tapped my nose. “No list-making. When the show is over, you’re racing home and putting a few things into a suitcase. We leave tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow? But I have to iron, pack, and bake muffins and casseroles for the week I’d be gone just in case Matthew doesn’t have enough energy to put a hamburger together for the twins.”
“Uh-uh. You’re off the hook. I’ve arranged for my sister to check in on Matthew,” Jordan said.
“Jacky would do that for me?”
“She’s in nesting mode.” He hugged me again.
“What about airline tickets you purchased? You can’t possibly switch them at such short notice.”
Jordan twirled an imaginary mustache. “I have my ways.”
“Charlotte!” Grandmère appeared outside the front of the theater. “Curtain!”
“Coming.” I gazed at Jordan and realized I needed a promise from him. One simple promise. I walked my finger up his chest. “Remember, I said I’d only go on this vacation on one condition.”
He tilted his head in that sensual way that sent delicious shivers to my toes. “What’s the condition?”
“You tell me everything about you. What you did before you moved to Providence. What your real name is. The truth.”
He paused, as if the request was too much, then held up his palm and said, “I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.”
A different kind of shiver shimmied through me. Why did I get the feeling that he’d said those words a lot of times? To a judge.
And why didn’t I care?
RECIPES
Porcupines
1 lb. chopped turkey
½ cup rice
½ cup Parmesan cheese, shredded
1 tablespoo
n parsley
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pepper
1 egg
FOR SPICY CATSUP
6 tablespoons catsup
1 tablespoon Worcestershire sauce
1 tablespoon horseradish sauce
For Porcupines
Preheat oven to 300 degrees.
Mix everything together. Easy.
Roll into balls the size of walnuts.
Place the balls on a cookie sheet, slightly apart.
Bake 30 minutes.
Turn the heat up to broil.
Broil for 5 minutes.
Remove the cookie sheet from the oven. Place baked porcupines on paper towels to drain.
Serve with spicy catsup.
For spicy catsup
Mix catsup, Worcestershire, and horseradish and serve. (Really easy.)
Cherry Scones
MAKES 6–8 SCONES
½ cup dried cherries
4 tablespoons butter, softened
cup milk
2 tablespoons orange juice
cup sugar
1 egg, beaten
2 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
Powdered sugar
Whipped butter
Pre-soak dried cherries in ½ cup hot water for 10 minutes. Drain and discard the water.
Meanwhile, preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Mix butter, milk, juice, sugar, and egg. Add in flour and baking powder. Beat until all flour incorporated. Add in cherries. Mix well.
Drop large dollops onto a cookie sheet. Bake for 15–17 minutes until golden brown.
Dust with powdered sugar. Serve with whipped butter.
Goat Cheese Fondue
(regular or gluten-free)
SERVES 4
¾ cup heavy cream
8 ounces goat cheese
1 tablespoon white pepper
1 tablespoon green onion (green tips only)
1 tablespoon white wine
2 teaspoons flour OR 2 teaspoons tapioca flour (for gluten-free)
1 baguette bread OR 20–30 gluten-free crackers
Broccoli florets, steamed
Carrots, sliced raw
Celery, sliced raw
Warm the heavy cream in a pot until hot but not burning. Use low heat, about 3–4 minutes. Add the goat cheese in chunks.
Stir with a whisk to prevent clotting. Add the pepper, green onion tips, wine, and flour OR tapioca flour. Stir approximately 5–7 minutes until the mixture is as smooth as it can be.
Prepare your plates with vegetables and bread cubes OR gluten-free crackers. Eat family-style.
Note: The thickness of the fondue might vary. If it’s too thick, add a little cream. Too thin, add a little more cheese.
Second note: I like to snip the green tips of onions with scissors for even cuts.
Third note: To steam broccoli perfectly every time: Bring to boil 1 cup water in a 6 quart pot with ½ teaspoon salt. Cut up 1–2 heads of broccoli into bite-sized pieces. Add to boiling water. Cook 4 minutes. Pour off boiling water. Cover again. Let sit for 4 minutes. Remove lid and rinse broccoli in cold water to stop the cooking process.
Blue Cheese and Garlic Fondue
2 cloves of garlic
½ cup half-and-half
2 ounces Point Reyes Blue Cheese (or your favorite blue cheese)
1 tablespoon tapioca flour
Cut garlic cloves in half. Rub garlic around the inside of a fondue pot. Heat fondue pot to medium heat. Add the half-and-half. Add cheese and stir until it is all melted. Add tapioca flour and stir again so there are no lumps. This all takes about 5–7 minutes.
Serve warm in a small crockpot with cut vegetables like broccoli florets, celery sticks, carrot sticks, and asparagus. It may also be served with crackers and/or bread cubes.
Note: This tastes delicious as a warm dressing on a green salad.
Vidalia Onion and Bacon Quiche
SERVES 6
6 slices Applewood-smoked bacon, cooked crisp
¼ cup sliced green onions
½ large Vidalia onion, sliced thinly
2 teaspoons olive oil
1 teaspoon white pepper
4 ounces shredded Swiss cheese (use more, if desired, to taste)
1 pie crust (home-baked or frozen)
¼ cup cream
¾ cup milk
4 eggs
1 teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon ground pepper
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Bake or sauté bacon until crisp. Remove from heat and cool on a paper towel. Break pieces into thirds.
Slice the green onions and Vidalia onions.
Sauté the green onions and Vidalia onions in olive oil at medium heat until they turn limp and slightly brown/caramelized. Remove from heat and drain on a paper towel.
Sprinkle white pepper and 2 ounces of the shredded cheese in the unbaked pie crust.
Lay onions on top of the cheese. Lay bacon on top of the onions.
Mix milk and eggs and seasonings together.
Pour milk mixture into the pie crust.
Sprinkle with the remaining cheese.
Bake 35–40 minutes until the quiche is firm and lightly brown on top.
Turn the page for a preview Of Avery Aames’s next book in the Cheese Shop Mysteries ...
Clobbered by Camembert
Coming soon from Berkley Prime Crime!
“I thought I’d seen a ghost,” Matthew said.
“It wasn’t Chip.” I popped off the lid of another Tupperware box of decorations we’d lugged from The Cheese Shop. “Chip lives in France, not Providence.”
“He was blond, broad-shouldered, and fast. The guy could run. What if it was him?”
I blew a stray hair off my face. “My ex-fiancé is not loping through the Winter Wonderland Faire in the middle of February. Last I heard, he hated winter.” And hated me, but that was water over the falls.
“I worry that he’ll hurt—”
“It wasn’t him. We have tourists. Lots and lots of tourists. One looked like him, that’s all.” A fog of breath wisped out of my mouth. I buttoned my sweater and tightened the gold filigree scarf around my neck to ward off the morning chill.
Every year, in celebration of Providence’s Founder’s Day, the Village Green transformed itself into a three-day Winter Wonderland Faire. Farmers, vintners, and crafters from all over Holmes County and beyond joined in the weekend fun. It was a tourist draw in a season when tourists should have been scarce. Overnight, small white tents with picture windows, peaked roofs, swinging doors, and fake green grass floors appeared. Twinkling white lights outlined each tent.
I stood in the middle of ours and removed glittery wedge-shaped ornaments from the decoration box. “Let’s change the subject.”
“Okay, Miss Touchy.” A grin inched up the right side of my cousin’s face. He could be such a tease. He plucked another taste of what I called ambrosia—he’d already eaten three—off a small platter of cheeses I’d brought to sample while we worked. “Hungry?” He waved it under my nose. “Mmm-mmmm. This is a delicious cheese. What is it?”
“Zamorano. A sheep’s cheese from Zamora, Spain. Sort of like Manchego. The milk comes from Churra sheep.” I’d eaten my fair share as an early morning snack.
“It’s nutty and sort of buttery.”
“Your new favorite,” I teased.
“How’d you guess?” He slipped the cheese into his mouth and hummed his appreciation.
While I decorated the tent with gold and burgundy ribbon looped through crystal wedge-shaped cheese ornaments, Matthew hoisted a box of wineglasses onto the antique buffet that I’d brought in to serve as our cheese counter and started to unpack them. We were setting up Fromagerie Bessette, or Le Petit Fromagerie as we were calling our little enterprise, as a cheese- and wine-tasting venue. For the first day we would offer Vacherin Fribourg, a yummy cheese, perfect for fondue, Haloume from Greece, which
sort of tastes like a Mozzarella, and the Zamorano. Our wines would include a creamy Mount Eden chardonnay from Santa Cruz, a peppery Bordeaux, and the boisterous but not over-the-top Sin Zin zinfandel. Each customer would receive a burgundy souvenir plate embossed in gold with “Say Cheese.” For major purchases, we would direct eager customers back to Fromagerie Bessette.
In between boxes, Matthew filched another sliver of cheese. “The Zamorano would pair well with the zinfandel, don’t you think?”
I laughed. “It’s good with all reds and even sherry.”
“Hmph. Showing off?”
“You bet.”
Matthew, a former sommelier and now my business partner, was doing his best to learn about cheese. In exchange, he instructed me about the complexities of wine. Our arrangement was what you would call a fair and delicious swap.
“Well, it’s killer,” he repeated. “Truly killer.”
A chill shimmied through the tent. I twisted the knob on the standing heater beneath the buffet table and cozied up to it. At least my ankles would be warm. We’d have the heater on all the time once we opened the tent to customers.
The front door flew open. “Darling!” Matthew’s buxom ex-wife, Sylvie, bolted into the shop waving a handful of glossy flyers. A cool breeze swirled through the tent until the door swung shut.
“Speaking of exes,” I said dryly as I felt my eyebrows fly upward.
“What are you ... ?” Matthew sputtered. “Why ... ?” He gaped at Sylvie with outright shock.
I didn’t do much better. The lacy purple teddy Sylvie wore barely covered her ample chest and her you-know-what. I couldn’t imagine that the purple muffler and ankle-high Uggs she was wearing provided enough warmth to bear the nip in the air.
“Did you forget to put on clothes?” Matthew managed to blurt out.
“I’m advertising, love,” Sylvie announced in her clipped British accent as she waved the flyers.