Bookplate Special (33 page)

Everyone laughed and then cheered.

Grant Baker turned to Tricia and lifted his glass. “Here’s hoping we can”—he paused, and did
not
say “hook up”—“start out by being friends, and see where that leads.”

Tricia raised her glass. “I’ll drink to that.” Out the corner of her eye, she saw Russ frown, but then he raised his glass, never breaking eye contact. “To us,” he mouthed.

Tricia sipped her champagne and smiled. The next few days, maybe weeks, maybe months—might be very interesting indeed.

She drank to that.

ANGELICA’S RECIPES

Combine breadcrumbs, egg, onion, salt, and pepper; mix well. Add to ground beef and mix well. Shape mixture into a loaf in a loaf pan. Mix ketchup with Worcestershire sauce and pour over the top.

Bake at 350º for 70-80 minutes (or until meat thermometer reads 160º).

Serves 4-6.
297

Place potatoes and garlic in a large saucepan and cover with water. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat; cover and cook for 15-20 minutes or until tender.

 

Drain, reserving ½ cup cooking liquid. Mash potato mixture. Add oil (or butter), salt, pepper, and reserved liquid; stir until smooth.

 

Serves 4-6.

Preheat oven to 400º.

 

In a small mixing bowl, combine butter with Parmesan cheese. Add other ingredients and mix well. Cut the baguette into half-inch slices—but do not cut all the way through. Spread mixture on both sides of each slice. Wrap in aluminum foil and bake for 15-20 minutes. (If you like it crispy, open the foil the last 5 minutes.) Serve hot.

 

Serves 4-6.

Clean and chop white part of the leeks. Melt the butter in a large saucepan and add the chopped leeks and garlic. Saute them over low to medium heat until the leeks are soft (about 10 minutes). Stir frequently; do not brown.

 

Add all the remaining ingredients to the pan except the milk/ cream. Bring the soup to a boil and then let it simmer for 15- 20 minutes.

 

If you prefer a smooth soup, mash the potatoes in the pan, or puree them in a blender. Just before serving, pour the milk/ cream into the soup; stir well, and heat through.

 

Serves 4.

In a small mixing bowl, cream butter and cream cheese. Add flour; beat until well blended. Shape into 24 balls. Press balls into the bottom and the sides of greased mini muffin cups.

Preheat oven to 350º. In a skillet, cook the bacon until brown and very crisp; drain. Saute the onions in the same skillet with the bacon drippings for 5 minutes, or until tender, stirring constantly; drain. Place the onions in a medium bowl. Crumble the bacon into small pieces, and add to the onions. Add the eggs to the bacon and onions; beat well. Stir in the half-and-half, salt, nutmeg, and Parmesan cheese. Add the spinach; mix well to combine. Divide the mixture among crust-lined cups (do not overfill).

 

Bake for 25-30 minutes, or until puffed and golden brown. Cool in pan on wire rack for 5 minutes. Serve warm or cool. Store leftovers in the refrigerator.

 

Makes 24.

The poster
on the Cookery’s display window had advertised the book signing for at least a month. Throngs of people were supposed to be in evidence. A temporary cook station had been assembled, with ramekins filled with diced vegetables, chopped chicken, and spices all lined up like props in a stage play.

Tricia Miles forced a smile and tried not to glance at her watch. “Everything looks perfect,” she said with a cheer in her voice she didn’t quite feel.

The “guest” author, her sister, Angelica, stood behind the cook station, head held high, although her eyes were watery and her mouth trembled ever so slightly. “Nobody’s going to come. Not one person.”

“I’m here,” said Ginny Wilson, Tricia’s assistant at her mystery bookstore, Haven’t Got a Clue.

“And I,” said elderly Mr. Everett, Tricia’s other, part-time, employee.

“Don’t forget me,” Frannie May Armstrong said in her ever-present Texas twang. Angelica owned the Cookery, Stoneham’s cookbook store, although Frannie managed it for her. Angelica also owned Booked for Lunch, a retro cafe across the street. Writing cookbooks was just another entry on her colorful résumé.

Unfortunately, the village of Stoneham, known locally as “Booktown,” was more a tourist destination not far from the New Hampshire/Massachusetts state line. Not many of the locals supported the booksellers, who’d been recruited to save what had been a dying village. Shops filled with used, rare, and antiquarian books had done it, too, as evidenced by new prosperity and a much-needed influx of tax revenue.

“Wasn’t a busload of gourmands supposed to arrive for the signing?” Mr. Everett whispered to Frannie.

“I got the call about an hour ago. They cancelled, but asked for a rain check. They may return some time next fall.”

Tricia refrained from commenting. Thanks to the Internet, Angelica had cultivated a relationship with the “Gamboling Gourmets,” who traveled New England throughout the summer, tasting the local cuisines. Tonight’s signing was to be their first outing of the year, and Angelica’s launch party. She’d spent days preparing a table full of desserts—all entries from her newly published book,
Easy-Does-It Cooking
, which had been officially available all of three days.

Tricia had expected at least a few more warm bodies to attend the signing. Mr. Everett’s bride of eight months had come down with a cold, which explained her absence, but surely the employees at Angelica’s café—Jake the cook and Darcy the waitress—might have made an effort to be there. And someone else was conspicuous by his absence.

“Anybody know where Bob is?” Frannie asked.

Bob Kelly, owner of Kelly Realty, and the president of the local Chamber of Commerce, had been Angelica’s significant other for the past eighteen months—ever since she’d come to live in Stoneham.

“I’m sure he’ll have a perfectly reasonable explanation for being late,” Tricia lied. She and Bob weren’t exactly best friends, but she tried to overlook his many shortcomings for her sister’s sake.

“I saw his car parked down the street, near History Repeats Itself,” Ginny volunteered. “It’s been there a while.”

Angelica pouted. “He said he’d be here.”

“There’s still time,” Tricia reassured her.

Angelica nodded, resigned. “Business hasn’t been good lately, and he’s been preoccupied. It probably just slipped his mind.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Tricia said, and hoped her nose hadn’t just grown an inch.

Frannie straightened the stack of unsigned books on the side table, and everyone tried not to make eye contact with Angelica as they waited in awkward silence for someone—anyone—else to arrive. Finally, Ginny suggested Angelica go ahead with her cooking demonstration.

“What’s the point?” Angelica asked, defeat coloring her voice.

“Well, it’s almost seven thirty, and none of us has had dinner. I can’t be the only one eager to try your Hacienda Tacos.”

“Good old Tex-Mex—the best food on Earth,” Frannie piped up and sighed. “Next to a luau, that is.” It was Frannie’s dream to someday retire to the fiftieth state.

Angelica gave a careless shrug and turned on the electric skillet.

Across the street, the newly installed gas lamps glowed. The Board of Selectmen had approved the installation of the old-fashioned streetlights in an effort to capitalize on the town’s history and its new lease on life. Tourists ate up that kind of stuff, and the Board of Selectmen was eager to do all it could to encourage their visits. Unfortunately, when the bookstores closed, the visitors disappeared, leaving no one to appreciate them.

Within minutes, Angelica had prepared the filling, spooned it into corn tortillas, and passed them out to her small—and hungry—audience. The desserts were then sampled, and everyone sipped complementary coffee, not making a dent in the contents of the five-gallon urn borrowed from Angelica’s café.

As Angelica served Mr. Everett another portion of chocolate torte, Tricia gave Ginny a nudge. “Buy a book,” she whispered.

Ginny’s eyes nearly popped. “They’re thirty-four dollars,” she hissed. “I can’t afford it.”

“Use your charge card and I’ll credit your account tomorrow morning. I want Ange to make at least a couple of sales tonight.”

Ginny shrugged. “If you insist.” She set down her cup, grabbed a copy of the coffee table-sized book filled with glossy photos, and marched up to the cash desk where Angelica stood, wringing her hands. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m eager to be the first to get my signed copy of
Easy-Does-It Cooking
.”

Mr. Everett’s nervous gaze shifted to Tricia. She mouthed the words,
Buy one—I’ll pay you back.

“Uh, uh—let me be the second,” Mr. Everett said.

Luckily, Angelica hadn’t noticed the exchange. She pressed a clenched hand to her lips, fighting back tears. “You guys are just the best. Frannie, grab the camera, will you?” Angelica said. Next, she played director, carefully positioning Ginny with her back to the camera, and posed. She shook Ginny’s hand. She raised a finger to make a point. She looked surprised—then serious, and, ultimately, very silly. At last, Angelica reached for her pen, wrote a few words on the flyleaf of Ginny’s copy, and signed her name with such a flourish that it was completely illegible. Frannie kept snapping pictures as Angelica handed the book to Ginny.

Ginny frowned. “Live free or diet?” Was Angelica mocking the state motto?

“Yes, don’t you think that’s clever?” Angelica said. “I’m going to sign that in all the books.”

Though Ginny forced a smile, her voice was flat. “Go for it.”

As Mr. Everett stepped up to have his book signed, Tricia moved to look out the large display window that overlooked Main Street. As Ginny had said, Bob’s car was parked near History Repeats Itself. Tricia’s anger smoldered. How inconsiderate of Bob to ignore Angelica’s very first signing. He had to know how much it meant to her.

Tricia glanced back at her sister and Mr. Everett, still posing for Frannie. In a fit of pique, Tricia decided it was time for action. She’d go find Bob and, if necessary, drag him back to the Cookery by his thinning hair.

Tricia took a Zen moment to calm herself before she spoke. “I think I’ll run out and see if I can find Bob,” she told Angelica. “If his car is parked down the road, he can’t be very far away.”

“I suppose,” Angelica said. “But please hurry back to help us pack up some of these desserts.” She shook her head, taking in the amount of leftover food. “I can’t serve all this at the café. Would you like to take some home, Ginny?”

“Would I? Hand me the Cling Wrap, will you?”

“Be right back,” Tricia called and headed out the door.

The village was practically deserted, and Bob’s car was the only vehicle parked on the west side of Main Street. Tricia crossed the street and started down the sidewalk. Upon consideration, she decided she wouldn’t berate Bob, at least not in front of Jim Roth, owner of History Repeats Itself. It wouldn’t do to go ballistic in front of an audience. Instead, her plan was to poke her head inside the door and cheerfully ask if Bob hadn’t forgotten another engagement—and probably do it through gritted teeth.

The glowing gas lamps really did lend a quaint, old-fashioned charm to the already picturesque storefronts. While an expensive indulgence, they added to the village’s ambiance—especially outside of Haven’t Got a Clue. It went right along with the ambiance she’d created, emulating 221B Baker Street in London.

Tricia was within two doors of History Repeats Itself when she paused to look inside Booked for Lunch. Angelica had done a wonderful job decorating the café. Heck, she’d done a terrific job managing two businesses,
and
starting a writing career. Not that Tricia had ever mentioned to Angelica how proud she was of Angelica’s accomplishments. As it was, her swelled head could barely fit through a standard door.