If Cooks Could Kill Part 30

Paavo looked from one to the other, then said simply, "Let's get this mess cleaned up."

A charred and still smoking green hat popped up from behind a cabinet in one corner and a quaking voice called out, "May I please go home now?"

Chapter 33.

Exhausted, Connie entered her apartment, kicked off her shoes, and flopped onto the sofa. The insurance claim on her shop had been approved, and for the past week she'd been picking out paint colors and wallpaper, and had gone on a buying spree for figurines and knickknacks, plus a line of more upscale home decorations-bra.s.s and pewter and pottery pieces, unique tea, coffee, and chocolate sets, rustic crockery-things Angie had convinced her to buy, the kind of merchandise shoppers couldn't find at Macy's home store. It was fun and filled her with new enthusiasm for her business.

She flipped through her mail and stopped at a letter from Zakarian Jewelers. Inside was a check for $10,000 in reward money. Her heart nearly stopped at the sum.

She and Angie had retrieved her porcelain-face doll from a p.a.w.nshop with the ticket found at Veronica's. At first, they were puzzled, but soon realized what the doll had been used for. Angie handed Connie the doll, saying it was hers to do with as she wished, and then left.

A half million dollars' worth of diamonds lay hidden in the doll's stuffing. Connie could have tried to smuggle them out of the country, fenced them, or turned them in. Her choice.

Her life.

Angie was giving her the chance to do with it as she wanted, but she'd seen firsthand what wrong choices could do to a man, or a woman. She'd turned them in, and then offered to split the reward, if any, with Angie.

Angie refused any part of it, only saying she was glad for the choice Connie had made.

Check in hand, Connie brewed a cup of tea, glancing again and again at the tidy sum.

After all the trouble she'd had, it was only right to do something special with at least a small part of the money. But what?

This whole mess had started with a blind date, a date who'd stiffed her. Maybe she could create a dream date for herself. One so hot it sizzled.

Carmel was one of her favorite places. What about a date there? Romantic images filled her head of a helicopter ride down the Pacific coast to Carmel, dining at the very best restaurant, dancing at the most fun nightspots, a helicopter ride back to the city, and then breakfast at dawn at the top of the Fairmont. Yes! She could really get into this.

Her dream bubble burst. Who would she take?

Girlfriends were out for something like that, fun though it would be to go with Angie, or even Helen Melinger, whose latest motorcycle-riding companion bore a striking resemblance to one of the inspectors Paavo worked with. What was with that?

Anyway, Helen wasn't much fun, and Angie was too busy trying to convince Paavo to take the Corvette she wanted to give him. So far, he was stubbornly refusing.

For something this cool, Connie needed a male friend.

If she took Stan, she'd have to shoot herself.

Max was a possibility. The other day, she'd run into him on the street near Wings. The money Veronica had embezzled had been recovered and used to settle claims from his investors and insurance company, with some left over for his own losses. He seemed to be well on the way to regaining some of the old fire that had made him one of the top financial advisors. He acted as if he wanted to talk to her, but she was going to meet Dennis for dinner and couldn't take the time.

Which brought her to Dennis. His career was on the rocks, and he was going to have to find out what he was all about after a lifetime of having had it-in many ways-too easy. He needed to learn about right, wrong, and consequences, and how lucky he was that Max hadn't pressed charges against him for conspiring with Veronica, and that there was no proof he'd profited from Wallace Jones's counterfeit autographs.

He was thinking about opening a video-game shop, something that would appeal to major gamers and technophiles like himself, as well as first-time Nintendo buyers. It was work he'd enjoy, and, she was sure, could make a go of.

And of course there was Kevin. After learning all she'd been through, he'd begun calling her regularly. He hadn't been lying when he'd said he'd been clean for over a year, which was a record for him. The last time he'd called, they'd talked for over an hour without getting angry or uttering a single swear word. A record for them.

What to do?

She decided to sleep on it, and when she awoke the next morning, she had her answer. When she thought of the way all this had started, it wasn't about a blind date. The date had come later.

She got into her car, glad she'd have another week before her shop would reopen. After a drive across town, she pulled into a parking lot and went into a city building. The doors had just opened to the public.

She filled out the necessary forms, waited in line, and when it was her turn, went up to a clerk, her heart pounding at what she was about to do.

"I'd like to adopt a dog," she said. "I live alone, with a goldfish." She forged ahead, her words a torrent. "I'd like a female. She doesn't need any fancy pedigree, just a mutt is fine. I don't want one that's big, and not too little, and not a puppy. A dog with a few years on her, some maturity, a little experience in the ways of the world, so to speak. One that doesn't want or need much exercise. A walk a few blocks each day, and one who doesn't mind hanging around a shop with a small backyard while her owner works. Just a nice companion."

The woman studied Connie's face. "Maybe a dog who's known love, but has had some disappointments-I mean, misfortune-and now hopes to settle down in a quiet but warm and loving home."

Connie brightened. "Exactly."

"Come this way."

Nervously, Connie followed her to a small room. About ten minutes later, the woman led in a medium-sized dog that resembled a cream-colored dustmop. Its stumpy tail wagged, and, peering at her through silky hair, its enormous dark brown eyes melted Connie's heart.

"Her owner was an elderly woman who died recently. She's been here a month already, but few people seem to want an older dog, especially a mixed breed. She's five years old, well trained, well behaved, quiet, and loving."

Connie knelt down to play with her a bit, then lifted her onto her lap. "She seems perfect. What's her name?"

"Oddly, she was named after a woman of ill repute in the Old West called 'Diamond Lil'-she's called 'Lily.'"

Diamond? Connie laughed. Definitely perfect. She looked the dog in the eye. "Lily, my girl, it's you and me, now."

Lily gazed up adoringly, and happiness filled Connie head to toe.

How great was that?

From the Kitchen of Angelina Amalfi ANGIE'S ALMOND PRALINE MERINGUE LAYER CAKE-LE SUCCeS ALMOND PRALINE.

cup blanched almonds cup sugar 3 tablespoons water To make the praline, spread almonds on baking sheet and roast at 350 degrees for 1015 minutes, until brown. Stir several times. Combine sugar and water and set over medium-high heat. Stir occasionally as liquid boils and turns thick. When sugar is caramel brown, remove from heat, add almonds, mix, and turn onto lightly oiled tray. When cold and hard (about 20 minutes), break up and grind in electric blender.

MERINGUE.

12 tablespoons soft b.u.t.ter cup flour 6 oz. ground blanched almonds 1 cup sugar 1 tablespoons cornstarch 6 egg whites 1/8 teaspoon salt teaspoon cream of tartar 3 tablespoons sugar 1 teaspoons vanilla extract 1/8 teaspoon almond extract Preheat oven to 250 degrees. Rub b.u.t.ter over two large baking sheets, then dust with flour. Using an 8-inch cake pan or pot lid, make three 8-inch rings on sheets by placing the pan on the sheet and marking around edges with tip of rubber spatula. Set aside.

Mix together almonds, sugar, and cornstarch. Set aside.

Beat egg whites until foamy. Add salt and cream of tartar and beat to soft peaks. Add sugar, vanilla, and almond extract and continue to beat until egg whites form stiff peaks.

Using about of the almond-sugar mixture at a time, rapidly fold into egg whites, deflating eggs as little as possible.

Use pastry bag or spatula to place egg mixture into areas marked on baking sheets. Bake about 3040 minutes at 250 degrees. They will not rise, but will lightly brown and are done when they can be easily pushed loose from baking surface.

b.u.t.tER CREAM AND CHOCOLATE FROSTING.

1 cup sugar 6 egg yolks 3/2 cup hot milk 12 oz. (3 cubes) unsalted b.u.t.ter 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 3 tablespoons kirsch (or dark rum or strong coffee) 2 oz. unsweetened baking chocolate, melted cup almond praline (from recipe above) In heavy saucepan, beat sugar and egg yolks until they are a thick, pale yellow. Gradually stir in hot milk and set over medium heat. Stir 45 minutes until thick enough to coat spoon but do not allow to a simmer. Remove from heat. Quickly add b.u.t.ter a little at a time, stirring to melt and absorb. Last, mix in vanilla and kirsch.

Remove a quarter of the mixture. Add chocolate to it and set aside.

Add almond praline to the remaining () b.u.t.ter cream.

Putting it all together: Build cake by placing one meringue on a cake rack. Cover with 1/3 of b.u.t.ter cream. Add second meringue and spread of remaining b.u.t.ter cream on it. Cover with final meringue. Spread remaining b.u.t.ter cream over sides of cake. Spread chocolate frosting over top of cake.

Optional: Press ground almonds all around sides of cake.

PAAVO'S KARELIAN HOT POT 1 lb. boneless beef chuck, cubed 1 lb. boneless pork, cubed 1 lb. boneless lamb, cubed 23 large white onions, sliced 1 teaspoons salt White pepper to taste 2 tablespoons allspice b.u.t.ter Lightly brown the meat, a little at a time, in b.u.t.ter. Saute the onions.

Using a ca.s.serole, layer the meat, onion, salt, pepper, and allspice.

Add enough water to almost cover the meat. Place a tight cover on top. Bake in a 325-degree oven for 23 hours or until meat is tender. (If too much water remains in the pot-it should be almost dry-cook for 10 minutes or so at the end with the lid off.) Serve spooned over hot mashed potatoes or cooked wild rice.

ANGIE'S TUSCAN BREAD SOUP Tuscan bread soup, or "ribollita" (reboiled), is made with leftover minestrone.

DAY 1, MAKE A THICK MINESTRONE.

4 oz. pancetta (or bacon), diced 1/3 cup olive oil 1 white onion, diced 3 garlic cloves, minced 4 red potatoes, diced 3 carrots, diced 2 celery ribs, diced 2 zucchini, diced 3 cups fresh or canned tomatoes, diced 20 sprigs parsley, leaves only, chopped teaspoon crushed red pepper (to taste) teaspoon dried oregano 2 bay leaves, broken in half 3 cups canned white kidney beans, drained 8 large cabbage leaves (or Swiss chard), finely shredded Salt Ground black pepper Place olive oil in heavy 8-quart pot with lid over medium-low heat. When hot add the pancetta or bacon and cook, stirring occasionally, until lightly browned. Next, add the onion, garlic, potatoes, carrots, celery, zucchini, tomatoes, parsley, red pepper, oregano, and bay leaves. Stir to combine, then cover the pot and cook for 10 minutes.

Add just enough water to cover the vegetables, and stir. Raise heat to high until liquid just begins to boil. Immediately reduce the heat and simmer, uncovered, until potatoes are tender (1520 minutes). Add beans and cabbage, stir to combine, and simmer until cabbage is tender (another 15 minutes or so). Season with salt and black pepper to taste. Remove and discard bay leaves.

DAY 2 (OR LATER) WITH THE LEFTOVER SOUP.

Cut up one loaf Italian (or French) bread. Place it on the bottom of a ca.s.serole, pour soup on the top. If you have enough soup, make another bread and soup layer. Bake the ca.s.serole at 350 degrees until the soup is hot. It will be thick. Serve garnished, to taste, with thinly sliced red onion, a little Parmesan cheese, and a drizzle of olive oil.

Enter the Delicious World of Joanne Pence's Angie Amalfi Series From the kitchen to the deck of a cruise ship, Joanne Pence's mysteries are always a delight. Starring career-challenged Angie Amalfi and her handsome homicide-detective boyfriend Paavo Smith, Joanne Pence serves up a mystery feast complete with humor, a dead body or two, and delicious recipes.

Enjoy the pages that follow, which give a glimpse into Angie's and Paavo's world.

For sa.s.sy and single food writer Angie Amalfi, life's a banquet-until the man who's been contributing unusual recipes for her food column is found dead. But in SOMETHING'S COOKING, Angie is hardly one to simper in fear-so instead she simmers over the delectable homicide detective a.s.signed to the case.

A while pa.s.sed before she looked up again. When she did, she saw a dark-haired man standing in the doorway to her apartment, surveying the scene. Tall and broad shouldered, his stance was aloof and forceful as he made a cold a.s.sessment of all that he saw.

If you're going to gawk, she thought, come in with the rest of the busybodies.

He looked directly at her, and her grip tightened on the chair. His expression was hard, his pale blue eyes icy. He was a stranger, of that she was certain. His wasn't the type of face or demeanor she'd easily forget. And someone, it seemed, had just sent her a bomb. Who? Why? What if this stranger...

As he approached with bold strides, her nerves tightened. Since she was without her high heels, the top of her head barely reached his chin.

The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties. His face was fairly thin, with high cheekbones and a p.r.o.nounced, aquiline nose with a jog in the middle that made it look as if it had been broken at least once. Thick, dark brown hair spanned his high forehead, and his penetrating, deep-set eyes and dark eyebrows gave him a cold, no-nonsense appearance. His gaze didn't leave hers, and yet he seemed aware of everything around them.

"Your apartment?" he asked.

"The tour's that way." She did her best to give a nonchalant wave of her thumb toward the kitchen.

She froze as he reached into his breast pocket. "Police." He pulled out a billfold and dropped open one flap to reveal his identification: Inspector Paavo Smith, Homicide.

In TOO MANY COOKS, Angie's talked her way into a job on a pompous, third-rate chef's radio call-in-show. But when a successful and much envied restaurateur is poisoned, Angie finds the case far more interesting than trying to make her pretentious boss sound good.

Angie glanced up from the monitor. She'd been debating whether or not to try to take the next call, if and when one came in, when her attention was caught by the caller's strange voice. It was oddly m.u.f.fled. Angie couldn't tell if the caller was a man or a woman.

"I didn't catch your name," Henry said.

"Pat."

Angie's eyebrows rose. A neuter-sounding Pat? What was this, a Sat.u.r.day Night Live routine?

"Well, Pat, what can I do for you?"

"I was concerned about the restaurant killer in your city."

Henry's eye caught Angie's. "Thank you. I'm sure the police will capture the person responsible in no time."

"I'm glad you think so, because-you're next."

Henry jumped up and slapped the disconnect b.u.t.ton. "And now," he said, his voice quivering, "a word from our sponsor."

Angie Amalfi's latest job, developing the menu for a new inn, sounds enticing-especially since it means spending a week in scenic northern California with her homicide detective boyfriend. But once she arrives at the soon-to-be-opened Hill Haven Inn, she's not so sure anymore. In COOKING UP TROUBLE, the added ingredients of an ominous threat, a missing person, and a woman making eyes at her man, leave Angie convinced that the only recipe in this inn's kitchen is one for disaster.

She placed her hand over his large strong one, scarcely able to believe that they were here, in this strange yet lovely room, alone. "But I am real, Paavo."

"Are you?" He bent to kiss her lightly, his eyes intent, his hand moving from her chin to the back of her head to intertwine with the curls of her hair. The mystical aura of the room, the patter of the rain, the solitude of the setting stole over him and made him think of things he didn't want to ponder-things like being together with Angie forever, like never being alone again. He tried to mentally break the spell. He needed time-cold, logical time. "There's no way a woman like you should be in my life," he said finally. "Sometimes I think you can't be any more real than the Sempler ghosts. That I'll close my eyes and you'll disappear. Or that I'm just imagining you."

"Inspector," she said, returning his kiss with one that seared, "there's no way you could imagine me."

Cold logic melted in the midst of her fire, and all his careful resolve went with it. His heart filled, and the solemnity of his expression broke. "I know," he said softly, "and that's the best part."

As his lips met hers a bolt of lightning lit their room for just a moment. Then a scream filled the darkness.

Food columnist Angie Amalfi has it all. But in COOKING MOST DEADLY, while she's wondering if it's time to cut the wedding cake with her boyfriend Paavo, he becomes obsessed with a grisly homicide that has claimed two female victims.

"You've got to keep City Hall out of this case. As far as the press knows, she was a typist. Nothing more. Mumble when you say where she worked." Lieutenant Hollins got up from behind his desk, walked around to the front of it, and leaned against the edge. Paavo and Yosh sat facing him. They'd just completed briefing him on the Tiffany Rogers investigation. Hollins made it a point not to get involved in his men's investigations unless political heat was turned on. In this case, the heat was on high.

"Her friends and coworkers are at City Hall, and there's a good chance the guy she's been seeing is there as well," Paavo said.

"It's our only lead, Chief," Yosh added. "So far, the CSI unit can't even find a suspicious fingerprint to lift. The crime scene is clean as a whistle. She always met her boyfriend away from her apartment. We aren't sure where yet. We've got a few leads we're still checking."

"So you've got nothing except for a dead woman lying in her own blood on the floor of her own living room!" Hollins added.

"We have to follow wherever the leads take us," Paavo said.

"I'm not saying not to, all I'm saying is keep the press away." Hollins paced back and forth in front of his desk. "The mayor and the Board of Supervisors want this murderer caught right now. This isn't the kind of publicity they want for themselves or the city. I mean, if someone who works for them isn't safe, who is?"

"Aw heck, Paavo." Yosh turned to his partner. "The supervisors said they want us to catch this murderer fast. Here I'd planned to take my sweet time with this case."

Paavo couldn't help but grin.