by Joanne Fluke
2 eggs
5 cups flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon almond extract (or vanilla)
Cream butter, adding sugar gradually. Add unbeaten eggs, then sift dry ingredients and extract. Dough will be stiff.
Fill cookie press and press cookies out onto cookie sheet and decorate. (Lucy sprinkles colored sugar on the long strip cookes and puts bits of candied cherry in the center of the flower shapes.)
Bake at 375 degrees for 10–12 minutes, remove to rack to cool. These cookies keep well in a tightly sealed tin, but you’ll have to hide it well if you want to save them for Christmas.
SAND TARTS
These cookies are named for the dusting of cinnamon sugar that looks like sand. They’re delicious and not very well known anymore. Lucy remembers them from her childhood, when her grandmother used to make them. This is her recipe, written in her style.
Cream ½ cup butter.
Add:
1 cup sugar
2 beaten egg yolks
1 tablespoon milk
½ teaspoon vanilla
Beat mixture until light.
Sift together:
1½ cups flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
Add to first mixture and blend well. Chill for several hours. Roll dough very thin and cut with a star or circle cookie cutter. Place on buttered baking sheet and put a split blanched almond on each cookie. Brush with unbeaten egg whites and sprinkle with mixture of 1 tablespoon sugar and ¼ teaspoon cinnamon.
Bake at 375 degrees for 10 minutes. Cool on racks.
SUGAR COOKIE MURDER
Hannah bent over to examine the large lump of fur. The animal she thought she’d seen was really the expensive fur coat that Martin’s new wife was wearing. The only other animal in sight was the reindeer sugar cookie that was broken near Brandi’s feet, along with the pieces of a Christmas tree cookie, and a bell decorated in red and green icing. Brandi must have taken several cookies from the dessert table and come out here to eat them. The big question was, did she also take the antique cake knife?
Hoping that she’d just slipped and fallen, Hannah reached down to tap Brandi on the shoulder. “Brandi? Do you need help getting up?” she asked, shaking her a little harder and wondering if she should go for help.
Hannah certainly wouldn’t risk moving Brandi, but she’d taken a first aid class in college and she knew there was a pulse point just under the jawbone on the side of a person’s neck. The collar of Brandi’s coat was in the way and Hannah pushed it back. This caused the coat to fall open and Hannah gave a strangled gasp as she caught sight of Brandi’s chest.
“Hannah? Are you out there?” Edna called from the kitchen.
“I’m here.”
“Did you find the knife?”
Hannah glanced down at her mother’s valuable antique knife, buried to the hilt in Brandi’s too-perfectly-proportioned-to-be-natural chest. “I found it…”
Books by Joanne Fluke
Chocolate Chip Cookie Murder
Strawberry Shortcake Murder
Blueberry Muffin Murder
Lemon Meringue Pie Murder
Fudge Cupcake Murder
Sugar Cookie Murder
Peach Cobbler Murder
Cherry Cheesecake Murder
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
JOANNE FLUKE
SUGAR COOKIE MURDER
A HANNAH SWENSEN HOLIDAY MYSTERY WITH RECIPES
KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com
This book is for Haley, Rachael, and Madeline.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Ruel, my in-house story editor.
And thanks to our kids who say things like, “You should make a cookie that tastes like German Chocolate Cake.” (I’ve almost got it, and it’ll be in the next Hannah book!)
I’m grateful to our friends and neighbors:
Mel and Kurt, Lyn and Bill, Gina and the kids, Jay, Bob M., Amanda, John B., Dr. Bob and Sue Hagaman, and to everyone who came running when I said I was testing potluck recipes for this book.
Thank you to my talented editor, John Scognamiglio, for his constant support.
Editors don’t come any better than John.
And thanks to all the good folks at Kensington who keep Hannah Swensen sleuthing and baking to her heart’s content.
Thank you to Hiro Kimura, my cover artist, for his incredible artwork.
Big hugs to Terry Sommers and her family for critiquing my recipes and for letting me use their family recipe, Aunt Grace’s Breakfast Muffins.
Happy Birthday, Terry!
Thanks to Jamie Wallace for shepherding my Web site MurderSheBaked.com
Thank you to Laura Levine (she writes the Jaine Austen mysteries),
Helen Kauffman, and Charlene Timms, for the title suggestions.
They were all great, and you may see them in print yet.
Thanks to Merle and Tracy for information about Alzheimer’s, and to Doris Hannon for asking about “Hot Stuff” and “Silver Fox.”
A big hug to all my e-mail and regular mail friends who share their feelings, their baking experiences, and their love for Hannah with me.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Appetizers
Baked Brie
Busy Day Pâté
Caviar Pie
Deviled Eggs
Fiesta Dip Platter
Herring Appetizer
Misdemeanor Mushrooms
Seafood Bread Dip
Spinach Quiche
Spinach Rollups
Hannah’s Addition to Susan’s Rollups
Soups
Corn Chowder
Cream of Cheat Mushroom Soup
Quick Irish Chili
Sally’s Radish Soup
Summer Gazpacho
Salads
Dilly Onion Rings
French Dressing
Ginger Ale Jell-O
Holiday Jell-O Mold
Pretty Coleslaw
Quick Pickle Salad
Waldorf Salad Jell-O
Breads
Aunt Grace’s Breakfast Muffins
Can Bread
Cheesy Spicy Corn Muffins
Cranberry Muffins
Gina’s Strawberry Bread
Sally’s Banana Bread
Soda Bread
Entrees
Baked Fish
Barbecued Anything
Chicken Paprikash
Country Ham Casserole
E-Z Lasagna
Festive Baked Sandwich
Hawaiian Pot Roast
Hot German Potato Salad with Bratwurst
Hunter’s Stew
Irish Roast Beast
Meatloaf
Minnesota Hotdish
Not So Swedish Meatballs
Rose’s Restaurant Turkey
Salmon Loaf
Sauerbraten
Smothered Chicken
Sides
Apple ’N Onion Dressing Balls
Corn Pudding
Green Bean Classic With a Twist
Holiday Rice
Make-Ahead Mashed Potatoes
Oodles of Noodles
Potato Bake or Party Potatoes
Scandinavian Red Cabbage
Silly Carrots
Spinach S
oufflé
Sweet Potato Casserole
Desserts: Cakes
Christmas Date Cake
Chocolate Fruitcake
Coffee Cake
Jell-O Cake
Lady Hermoine’s (Hannah’s) Chocolate Sunshine Cake
Poppy Seed Cake
Rose’s Famous Coconut Cake
Desserts: Pies
Coconut Green Pie
Pecan Pie For A Holiday Crowd
Pumpkin Pie For A Thanksgiving Crowd
Desserts: Cookies
Cherry Bomb Cookies
Christmas Sugar Cookies
Heavenly Tea Cookies
Lisa’s Pieces
Blueberry Shortbread Bar Cookies
Hannah’s “Hot” Brownies
Rhubarb Bar Cookies
Desserts: Other Sweet Treats
Candied Pecans From Lois
Chocolate Fruit Platter
Beverages
English Eggnog
Dimpled Duchess
Extras (that didn’t fit anywhere else)
Mrs. Knudson’s Season Salt
Werner Herman’s Catfish Bait
Baking Conversion Chart
Chapter One
It was a meatball, a really big meatball, and it was rolling out of her closet. It stopped a few feet from the end of the bed, and that was when she noticed its eyes and its face. The eyes stared at her in abject disappointment, and two tears of gravy rolled down its fat bumpy cheeks. It looked so miserable Hannah wanted to reach out and give it a hug.
“You forgot me,” the meatball said, “and I’m an entrée. And from what I hear, your entrées aren’t that good.”
“Yes, they are. We’ve got…”
“I’m doing my best not to take this as a personal insult,” the meatball interrupted her, “but you know I’m a lot more delicious than your mother’s Hawaiian Pot Roast. What really makes me mad is that you left me out, but you put in four of your sister Andrea’s Jell-O molds. Well, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to dump a can of fruit in some Jell-O. If you want her name in the cookbook, you ought to teach her to cook.”
What was the meatball talking about? No ordinary mortal could teach Andrea to cook! Her sister was firmly entrenched among the ranks of the culinary-impaired. Hannah sat bolt upright in bed, prepared to give the Swedish treat a piece of her mind. But there was no longer a round, brown entrée with the delectable scent of mushrooms and beef positioned in front of her closet or at the foot of her bed. With the exception of Moishe, who was curled up at her feet sleeping peacefully, she was alone.
Hannah blinked several times, and then the truth of the situation dawned. She’d been dreaming. The talking meatball had retreated into whatever corner of her mind had created it, but the message it had delivered remained. Hannah had goofed big time. She’d forgotten to include Edna Ferguson’s recipe for Not So Swedish Meatballs in the packet to be tested at tonight’s potluck dinner.
“Uh-oh,” Hannah groaned, feeling around under the bed for her slippers. When she’d wiggled her feet inside the fake fur lining, she patted the mattress to wake the orange and white tomcat who’d been her roommate for the past year and a half. “Come on, Moishe. Time to wake up and smell the kitty crunchies.”
Moishe opened one yellow eye and regarded her balefully. Then the phrase “kitty crunchies” must have registered in his feline brain, because he jumped off the bed with an athletic grace that Hannah could only envy, and padded down the hallway at her side as she headed for the kitchen.
Once Moishe had been fed and watered and she’d poured herself a cup of strong coffee, Hannah sat down at the kitchen table that was on the cusp of becoming an antique and considered the problem of Edna Ferguson’s meatballs. Since the whole thing was her fault for forgetting to include them, she’d have to find time to test them herself. One thing for sure…Edna wouldn’t be the soul of understanding if she couldn’t find her favorite recipe in the cookbook.
Hannah glanced down at her coffee mug. Empty. And she didn’t even remember drinking it. If she showered and dressed right now, before she was fully awake, the lure of a second mug of coffee would make her hurry.
Before the second hand on her apple-shaped wall clock had made twelve complete revolutions, Hannah was back in the kitchen. Instead of her robe, she was wearing jeans and a dark green pullover sweater. Her feet were encased in fur-lined, moosehide boots to stave off the chill of the first cold week in December, and her towel-dried hair was already springing up into a riot of red curls.
“Coffee,” Hannah breathed, pouring a mug, inhaling the fragrance and taking the first steaming sip, “is almost as good as…” but before she could decide exactly what it was almost as good as, the phone rang.
“Mother!” Hannah muttered in the same tone she used when she stubbed her toe, but she reached for the phone. To let the answering machine get it would only delay the inevitable. Delores Swensen was relentless. If she wanted to talk to her eldest daughter, she’d keep on calling until she was successful.
“Good morning, Mother,” Hannah forced a cheery note into her voice and sank down in a chair. Conversations with Delores had been known to last as long as an hour.
“Good morning, dear. You sound like you got up on the right side of the bed,” Delores replied, matching Hannah’s cheery tone and raising her a cliché. “I know this Christmas potluck has been a lot of work for you and I called to see if there was anything I could do to help.”
Warning bells went off in Hannah’s head. When Delores tried to be this helpful, she had an ulterior motive. “That’s nice of you, Mother, but I think I’ve got everything covered.”
“I thought so. You’re so organized, dear. Did I tell you that Luanne found an antique silver cake knife with a provenance that dates back to the Regency period?”
“No, you didn’t,” Hannah said, getting up to pour more coffee and stretching out the phone cord to within an inch of its life. Luanne Hanks was Delores and Carrie’s assistant at Granny’s Attic, the antique store they’d opened right next to Hannah’s bakery, and she was a genius at finding valuable antiques at estate auctions.
“I thought you might want to use it tonight. It has a lovely old-fashioned Christmas tree on the handle.”
“Didn’t you say it was Regency?”
“That’s right, dear.”
“But I didn’t think they had Christmas trees in Regency England.”
“They didn’t. But don’t forget that the Regent’s family was German. And since this particular knife was used at court, it’s decorated with a German Christmas tree.”
“I’d love to use it,” Hannah said. “It’ll fit in perfectly.”
“That’s what I thought. When I showed it to Winthrop last night, he thought it would be appropriate to cut a cake from the period.”
Hannah frowned at the mention of her mother’s “significant other.” She had no basis in fact, but she had the inkling that “Winnie,” as her niece Tracey called him, wasn’t precisely on the level. She’d asked Norman Rhodes, Carrie’s son and the man she occasionally dated, to check Winthrop out on the Internet. Norman had done it, but he hadn’t found anything shady about the British lord who was visiting Lake Eden “for a lark.”
Hannah pulled herself back to the problem at hand. “I think using the cake knife is a great idea, but as far as I know, no one is bringing a cake made from a Regency recipe.”
“Yes, they are, dear. You’re forgetting about Lady Hermoine’s Chocolate Sunshine Cake.”
“Lady Hermoine?” Hannah’s voice reached a high note that would have shocked the Jordan High choir director who’d assigned her to the second alto section. “Who’s Lady Hermoine? You know that’s my original recipe!”
“Of course I do, but there’s a slight problem, dear. You see, the knife is very valuable. I didn’t want to let just anyone use it, so I fibbed a bit.”
“What’s a bit?”
“I said that Lady Hermoine’s Chocolate Sunshi
ne Cake originated a lot earlier. If it’ll make him happy, is there any harm in letting Winthrop think the recipe’s been in our family for hundreds of years?”
Hannah sighed. She didn’t like lying even when it was for a good cause, and Winthrop’s happiness wasn’t high on her list of good causes. “Your fib won’t work, Mother. My cake uses frozen orange juice concentrate and that certainly wasn’t around back then!”
“That’s all right. Winthrop won’t notice. And on the off chance he does, I’ll say the original recipe called for orange marmalade.” Delores gave a sigh and when she spoke again, her voice held a quaver. “That’s all right, isn’t it?”