Crème Brûlée To Slay

by CeeCee James

  I lived on the fourth floor of the building. It was a steal as far as rent went, the building was clean, and the neighbors were nice.

  The door next to my apartment opened just as I reached the top of the stairs. It was Mrs. Costello. Somewhere in her fifties, she had a couple of young adult children who stopped by for dinner during the week, and she often had a plate ready for me as well. I think she felt sorry for me, but I loved it.

  “Georgie! I thought it was you.”

  I cringed, wondering how loud I must sound thumping up the stairs for her to hear me.

  “Hi, Mrs. Costello.”

  “I have some lasagna I just made this evening and thought you might like a slice. I was thinking you lost weight the last time I saw you. Eat! Eat!” She held out a plate.

  I swear, I was the luckiest. “Thank you, Mrs. Costello.”

  “You’re welcome, sweetie. Enjoy.”

  I got my key out and jiggled it in the lock until it slid it. I unlocked it and dropped my load onto the kitchen counter. Home. Instantly, I could feel myself relax. Okay, time to get the bra off, eat food, and get ready for some internet searching.

  A few minutes later, first thing on the list accomplished, I settled on the couch with my laptop and the plate of lasagna. I wanted to learn a little bit more about Gayle Marshall. I typed in her business name, and Gayle’s Old Glories popped right up. I took a bite of lasagna, scrolling. I wanted to see if I could figure out any of her special customers.

  I searched a popular bidding site and saw quite a few things she offered. No saber, though. But if she had private clients, it wouldn’t be something she advertised, anyway.

  A broach resting right where the sword had once been seemed like too big of a coincidence to ignore. But I needed something more to connect her to the sword.

  Frank hadn’t seemed too impressed by it when I told him, but he had texted me to ask me to lunch. I was excited about that.

  After about ten minutes of searching the internet, nothing else was coming up that made sense. I pushed the laptop away, feeling irritated.

  All right, time to make the crème brûlée. Honestly, it sounded like fun earlier, but now that the time was here, I was feeling tired and a little unmotivated. Still, I had a goal and wanted to get it done.

  I washed Mrs. Costello’s plate and then got all the ingredients out and lined up on the counter.

  Recipe

  6 egg yolks

  6 tablespoons white sugar

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  2 1/2 cups heavy cream

  ⅛ teaspoon salt

  Preheat oven to 325 degrees

  Whisk the egg yolks, salt, sugar and vanilla in a mixing bowl until the appearance is creamy.

  Pour heavy cream into a saucepan and stir over low heat. Watch carefully. As soon as it comes to an almost-boil remove from heat.

  Stir the cream into the egg yolk mixture until fully mixed.

  Pour cream mixture into the top pan of a double boiler of lightly boiling water. Stir continuously for about three minutes until mixture slightly coats the back of a spoon. Remove mixture from heat immediately and pour into four 6-ounce ramekins.

  Bake for 35 to 40 minutes or until centers are barely set. The top should be slightly jiggly. Remove very carefully.

  Cool in the Refrigerator for several hours and up to a couple of days. Make sure it’s completely cool to withstand the heat under the broiler.

  When ready to serve, sift 1 tsp of sugar on top of each custard. Place ramekins on a cookie sheet and broil 2 to 3 inches from heat source. Watch carefully. Remove when browned, approximately two minutes.

  Serve within two hours.

  Perfect. I quickly blended the ingredients together. I didn’t have a double boiler, but I used a trick Cecelia taught me. Three minutes later, I poured the mixture into the ramekins. Satisfied that I’d knocked this recipe out of the park, I turned the oven to broil and slid the pan in. I set the timer for forty minutes and then sat down at the kitchen table.

  Resting on a tiny easel was the newest painting I’d been working on since last art class. It was of an ice-cream shop where my Grandma used to take me when I was a little girl. She always treated me to a double scoop whenever I lost a tooth. There was more than one time that I pried one out for that second scoop.

  Smiling at the memory, I dipped my brush in a blue as I studied the scene again. The light in the shop window reminded me of the way the light hit the foyer floor when I’d caught Mr. Miquel pacing on the phone. “You’re late! Why aren’t you here?” he’d demanded to know.

  Was he that upset that his wife wasn’t there? He said his wife was four hours away with her mom.

  Maybe I was over-thinking it too much. After all, he could have been angry with one of the help who hadn’t shown up.

  I thought about the argument that I’d caught Gayle in with Veronica Vanderton. Gayle had been scolding Veronica for eavesdropping, and Veronica had said she could sue her for libel. She also mentioned Gayle had stressed her out so much, she’d needed her asthma inhaler.

  I frowned, wondering just what that gossip was about that Veronica supposedly had eavesdropped on. I rinsed out the brush and then hurried to my laptop. My fingers flew on the keyboard as I typed in Veronica Vanderton’s name. I was curious to see what would come up.

  Just like Gayle had mentioned, a court order showed up for filing chapter thirteen. Not good. After some more searching, I found something else of interest on the Gainesville’s Town Gossip page. I clicked it to read.

  “Blind item. What socialite is finding herself looking for a new nest? And that nest just may be with a married man.”

  Underneath that, someone had posted, “When life isn’t happy at home, birdies often fly from the nest.”

  The next post was “Home? What home?”

  A little cryptic. The same gossip that had been hinted at during the charity dinner. Was Veronica a kept woman? Or did this mean something else entirely different?

  What was that smell? I lifted my head and breathed in. Burnt milk …. Oh no! I jumped from the couch and scrambled into the kitchen, my socks causing me to slide when I hit the vinyl flooring. I slipped on mitts and pulled the pan out of the oven.

  A high pitched whine broke from my mouth. “Nooooo….” Black scorch marks covered what had once been creamy surfaces, turning the tops into lava rock.

  Biting my lip, I set it on the stove top with a bang. I blew out a gust of air. What had I done wrong? I grabbed the recipe and reread it. My timer was still ticking down. In fact I had twenty minutes left on it. Was something wrong with my oven? It’s supposed to be at 325 degrees. I squinted to read the temperature. Horror filled me when I realized I’d accidentally put it on broil. It was that last direction. It had stuck with me.

  I stared at it with a hopeful eye. Do I throw it out? Can I possible save it? Yes! I can save this! I wasn’t going to let lava crust stop me now.

  I plucked a spoon out from the drawer and poked at it. Seemed like it might come off in one piece. Determination filled me as I scraped off the crust of one of the ramekins. Okay, seems like it’s working. I tried not to think of it as a scab as I flipped the crust into the garbage.

  What was left in the dish was black-speckled and oddly watery. Still, I took a bite.

  Immediately, I spit it in the sink. That’d be a big fat nope from me. The charcoal flavor had worked its way into the scalded milk custard.

  Sadly, I scraped the rest of the pans into the trash, and stacked the dishes by the sink. Then I got myself a couple of fig newtons from the cupboard. I bit into one thinking it was hardly a replacement, but it was all I had that was sweet in the house.

  My phone dinged then with a text. It was from Frank.

  —Just finished a high-speed pursuit of someone you met the other night.

  Chapter 12

  Immediately, I replied back—What? Who???

  I held the phone in suspense. Who was it? Minutes ticked by, and after a w
hile, it became obvious he wasn’t going to get back to me right away. I groaned, aggravated. Sure, he worked crazy hours. But how could he leave me with a text like that?

  It was closer to six in the morning when he sent a text back. I’d been fast asleep and hadn’t heard it ding. But it was there when I woke, saying—Lunch later? I’ll tell you all about it then.

  —You got it. I answered.

  I got ready and headed to the Baker Street Bed and Breakfast. That morning was filled with me cleaning and flipping the place. The Johnson’s had left right after breakfast, and we were due to get four couples that afternoon. It sounded like they were going to be easy guests, just in town for a family reunion. Cecelia didn’t need to prepare any meals other than breakfast.

  Which meant I wasn’t needed either.

  I was finishing a bathroom around noon when Frank texted—See you at the park. Bring sandwiches.

  Wait. What? I laughed as I read it. That was so like him. He wanted me to bring food to a lunch he invited me to? I rolled my eyes and finished wiping the mirror, and then washed my hands.

  In the kitchen, I grabbed some bread. “Cecelia? Can I make some lunch?”

  She was rolling up dough for cinnamon rolls. “For heaven’s sake. Can you? You mean may you.”

  Oops. I’d forgotten how she hated that. “Yeah, that. Do you mind if I make some sandwiches?”

  “Of course not.” She waved one of her hands. “Don’t be silly.”

  “Thanks. You’re the best.” I grabbed the ham and condiments from the fridge. Quickly, I assembled the sandwiches, knowing he was probably already waiting for me at the park. Serves him right for the short notice. I decided to forgo the chips in favor of a bag of carrots. I added two bottles of water, and was off for the park.

  A few minutes later, I turned into Gainesville’s park and chose an empty stall next to his police car. I peeked into the driver’s seat but he wasn’t in there. I buttoned up my jacket as I surveyed the area. Ah, there he is. On a bench under the trees. I grabbed the stuff and headed over there.

  “Hey lady,” he said, the corner of his mouth turning up ever so slightly. That was pretty much a full-fledged smile for him.

  “Hi yourself. Although I feel like you owe me big time. First you leave me in suspense all night. And then you make me fix the lunch. The one you invited me to,” I reminded him as I handed him a sandwich.

  “Yeah, well I’m practically taking my life into my own hands right now.” he said, holding up the sandwich to inspect it.

  “How so?”

  “Let’s just say I ate your cooking as a kid. And it hasn’t improved a whole lot.”

  I half-punched him in the arm and he laughed. Darn if his laugh wasn’t worth the teasing.

  “I kid. I kid,” he said around a mouthful of ham. “Anyway, I come bearing some news. I figured you’d want to be one of the first to know.”

  “Is it about who you were chasing last night?”

  “Patience, Padwan. No, this is about Adele. She’s in the clear. It definitely wasn’t the food.”

  “For real! How come?” That was great news, and I quickly unwrapped my sandwich, excited to hear what he had to say.

  “The coroner determined that Veronica was murdered.”

  I felt the world sway under me. No way. “What? Are you serious?” I stared at him.

  “They found a puncture mark on her leg. A forensic examination detected histamine at the site of injury.”

  “So, like someone stabbed her? With a hypodermic needle filled with shrimp juice?” This didn’t even make sense and bordered on absurd.

  “It didn’t take a hypodermic needle. Her allergy was so severe that just a scratch with the allergen entering her blood stream was enough. I’m not sure how it was delivered, but the coroner said he’d seen this before with penetration of the skin from fish hooks.”

  I remembered her talking about her asthma. “Where was her EpiPen?”

  “I didn’t know that she had one.”

  “Yes, she said she left it in her purse. So, you’re saying that when she got up from the dining table, she was fine.”

  “There’s no evidence putting the contact with the allergen at the table. She was probably healthy as a clam.” He grimaced. “Sorry, that wasn’t exactly appropriate. Anyway, the puncture the coroner found on her leg was enough to cause the fatal reaction.”

  “The only other person I know who left the table was Mrs. Johnson. But Mrs. Vanderton had already been gone for a few minutes by that point.”

  “We’ll figure it out. Don’t worry.”

  “Now tell me about last night. I almost couldn’t fall asleep after that cryptic text you sent.” I took a bite.

  “I’m sorry. I should have thought of that. How have you been sleeping?” His eyes softened. I knew he was remembering that I no longer took sleep medicine. I’d needed it to sleep even a few hours after Derek died. It had taken me a while, but I’d finally weaned off.

  “So-so. It’s been kind of crazy the last few nights,” I admitted.

  “I’m sorry again. I’ll do better next time with dumping news like that.” He coughed, and I worried about his old war injury. But he didn’t rub at his chest like he normally did. “So anyway, last night I was part of a chase that ended up with me doing a T-maneuver to knock the car off the road. And guess who was in the passenger seat?”

  “Who?”

  “Robert Evans.”

  “Who’s that?” I had no idea.

  “The kid who was the valet from the dinner. His buddy was driving the car, which was a real bummer for us because we couldn’t bring Robert in. And get this. The car had just come from an area that’s known for fencing stolen property.”

  “Are you serious? That’s insane!” I finished my sandwich, wondering if Mr. Miquel had any idea whom he’d hired.

  “Yeah. Even worse, he’s out on bail awaiting trial. If we’d caught Robert leaving the house, we would have brought him to jail and a judge would have jerked his bail. But, as it is, the driver had no known priors and Robert said that he was an unwilling participant in the driver’s car escape.”

  “Even though it was his car?”

  “Yep. Our hands were tied. But we’ll get him.” Frank shoved a carrot stick in his mouth and crunched. Frowning, he lifted the bag to examine it. “Who brings carrots as a snack?”

  “You don’t like eating healthy?” I teased.

  He crunched some more and stared at me. “I feel like I’m in grade school.”

  “I’ll make something better tonight. You didn’t give me much time.”

  He paused while chewing, and the corners of his eyes creased with worry.

  “What?” I pushed his shoulder. “Are you serious about not liking my cooking?”

  “I’m trying to remember if my health insurance is paid up.” This time I got a full-fledged smile from him at my gasp. He was so darn cute. I had to glance away to keep up the appearance of being indignant. But deep inside, I was giving myself a victory lap. I was getting him to smile more and more, lately. Therefore, I won.

  He went on to say, “You know I’m just kidding. Besides, I think I’m developing a taste for charcoal.”

  “You behave or you’ll be cooking the next dinner.”

  “Aw, I couldn’t do that to you. My cooking is even worse than yours.” He wadded up his garbage and stuck it in the bag.

  I stood to brush off the crumbs from my pants, and then began to pack the containers. He did the same, but he was moving so slowly I could tell he was delaying.

  After the last piece of plasticware was tucked into the bag, he reached out and pulled me in for a hug goodbye. I felt him hesitate, then he leaned away a tiny bit and looked into my eyes. Slowly, he bent down and gave me a kiss.

  Our first one. Soft, but not too sweet, it gave me butterflies like crazy. Good ones. The kiss was unexpected, but I was glad about that. It didn’t give me a chance to overthink it.

  I smiled up at him. He grinned
back and stuck his hands in his pocket and glanced at the ground, like he was having an aww-shucks moment. Then he seemed to remember that he was a military veteran and cop. He puffed out his chest with a bit more machismo.

  “I’ll see you later then,” I said, running my hand down his arm.

  “Yeah. Maybe sooner than later.” His aww-shucks expression was returning. I almost wondered if he was planning to kiss me again when his phone rang.

  Instant mood breaker. We took a step apart, and he fished his phone from his pocket. He checked the number and grimaced.

  “Sorry. I have to take this.” He gently squeezed my arm, then turned to walk away. A few seconds later, I heard him answer, “Hello?”

  I sighed at the abrupt end to our date, and looped the lunch bag over my arm. Thinking about the kiss, I couldn’t help a tiny smile. It was a weird thing. There was a time in my life when I couldn’t imagine that I would ever be able to move past Derek. But now, with Frank, moving on turned out to not be what I’d always feared—that Derek would be replaced. It was more like my heart had grown bigger to accommodate someone else. It was a good feeling.

  As I walked to the van, my mind went to Robert. He’d been so cocky the night of the charity dinner, handing me back my keys with a wink. I remembered when I’d first walked outside in my search for Veronica Vanderton and had overheard a part of his phone conversation. Something about, “Don’t forget, ten o’clock tonight.”

  I’d assumed it meant when he was getting off work, but now I wondered. Did he have something to do with Veronica’s death? Had he snuck in and stole the sword when everyone was distracted by the dead body? Was that what he was doing at the fencing house?

  I wiped my hand on my pants and shivered, thinking of how we’d brushed hands when he gave me the key. I’d thought Robert had ducked his head when he’d seen Frank because he’d been embarrassed to be caught winking at me. But was it because he really was a criminal? Maybe he’d been afraid Frank might recognize him.

  I started up Old Bella, and waited for the usual backfire. When it didn’t happen, I relaxed in the seat.