Doughnuts & Deadly Schemes (Culinary Competition Mysteries Book 3) (22 page)
Read Doughnuts & Deadly Schemes (Culinary Competition Mysteries Book 3) Online
Authors: Janel Gradowski
"There are reheating instructions on all of these," Amy said as she stacked the aluminum pans in Carla's freezer. The food care packages were filled with entrees like pulled pork enchiladas, three-meat lasagna, and chicken Alfredo. Her homemade versions of the heat and eat meals from Columbo's Market that Carla loved. "You can use your toaster oven to heat up one meal or the stove's oven if you're both eating one."
"You didn't have to do this, but you know I appreciate it. Especially these cookies. They taste exactly like cherry cheesecake. I love them. One of your best cookie creations ever." Carla slipped her second cookie out from under the plastic wrap covering the plate. "Thanks for bringing them and restocking our kitchen. You've extended our honeymoon by another day. Now we don't need to leave the loft to find food."
Shepler walked into the galley kitchen and grabbed one of the cookies. "Yes. Thank you. After having every meal delivered to our door at the cabin, returning home to an empty refrigerator sucked."
"Sounds like you enjoyed yourselves." Amy placed bottles of milk, orange juice and freshly made limeade in the refrigerator because they would want something other than water or, off-limits for Carla, beer to drink with the meals. "I'm glad you two finally got the chance to relax after everything leading up to the wedding."
"The honeymoon wouldn't have been anywhere near as relaxing if you hadn't helped catch Thane." Carla nodded her head at Shepler. "Even though the psychopath was hanging out behind bars,
somebody
still had to call his buddies at the police department."
He shrugged. "What can I say? Curiosity almost killed the new husband. That case really had me stumped, so I wanted to know what was happening and make sure he didn't get out on some technicality. I only called the station a couple times."
Amy didn't blame him. If it weren't for Chuck, she wouldn't have figured out who the killer was either. Thane had hidden his greedy side very well whenever she'd talked to him. Offering to help design her blog, just for references, had really thrown her off track. It was such a generous gesture—totally the opposite of what he was doing in his spare time.
Thane had picked up more than marketing skills at college, thanks to some unsavory computer-savvy roommates. Word of his arrest spread like hot oil through the downtown businesses, and over twenty owners began coming forward, relaying their stories to the police. There was a lot of evidence against him, including a message on Sophie's laptop that revealed the threat was sent from Finley & Crowe's computer network. There didn't appear to be any way he could evade being sent to prison.
"Did you hear that Matt was moved out of ICU?" Amy asked as she flipped shut the lid of the empty cooler she had used to transport the frozen meals. "He's going to be starting physical therapy next week."
Once Matt was awakened from the controlled coma, he finally explained to Sophie what his cryptic dream statement was about. A few days after Luke was killed, Matt began receiving messages saying that Sophie would be harmed if he didn't pay. He went against Shepler's advice and transferred $10,000 into the extortionist's MoneyMover account. Since Sophie had hidden the threats against her from Matt, he didn't know the money wasn't protecting her.
After the murder, Thane bought a new wardrobe, cell phone, and computer with the swindled money. Matt noticed the lifestyle upgrade and asked his nephew how he could suddenly afford the expensive items, despite not receiving a pay raise. The question unnerved Thane. So he decided to make sure his uncle couldn't point out the sudden influx of money to the police. Supplies to make the trash-can bomb, along with the knife that killed Luke, were found in the luxury high-rise apartment Thane had secretly moved into a few days after he committed the heartless murder.
"Good to know that Finley's doing better. I hadn't heard that." Shepler poured himself a glass of milk and grabbed two more cookies. "It will take a long time to heal the mental scars, too. He was trying to help the kid out by giving him a job. It's going to be difficult for him to come to terms with all of the damage that was done by someone in his own family."
"Sophie will be there for Matt. She's already started making changes at Riverbend so she can spend more time with him, to help with his recovery." The smaller menu at the café was still in place. Sophie had also decided to cut out dinner service several evenings a week on days that had historically seen fewer customers anyway. "Before this happened, she was really afraid of the relationship getting too serious. Now she's totally committed to Matt. Kind of reminds me of another formerly commitment-phobic friend."
Carla blinked her eyes rapidly as she shrugged. "I in no way resemble that remark. You can't get much more committed to a man beyond having his baby."
"I said
former
." Amy laughed. The changes in Carla's life brought on by the relationship with Shepler were astounding, in a very good way. She had never believed that Carla was truly happy keeping her very infrequent relationships carefree and casual. "At least you had an excellent reason for the quickie wedding, even if you didn't let me in on the secret."
"If it makes you feel better, nobody knew except Bruce. I wanted to make it through the first trimester, just to make sure everything was going okay with the pregnancy. My plan was to tell you over a nice lunch this week, not in the middle of a hostage crisis."
Amy gently patted Carla's stomach. "I'm just happy everything worked out the way it did. I hope you realize that since there wasn't time for me to give you a bridal shower, I'm already planning a fabulous baby shower."
Canned Tuna Ceviche
2-5 oz. cans of water packed tuna, drained
1 tbsp. minced onion
¼ c. diced cucumber
¼ c. diced radishes
¼ c. diced bell pepper
1 tbsp. chopped cilantro leaves
2 tbsp. fresh lime juice (or more, to taste)
Hot sauce, to taste
Flake the tuna in a medium-sized bowl. Add all of the vegetables and cilantro. Pour lime juice over top and add hot sauce to make as mild or hot as you would like. Stir, cover, and refrigerate for at least half an hour. Serve with tortilla chips, crackers, or as a topping for tostadas or tacos.
Mexican Orzo Salad
Salad:
1 c. orzo, cooked according to directions & cooled
1 c. frozen corn kernels, thawed
4 green onions, green parts only, thinly sliced
½ c. diced tomato
½ c. diced red or orange bell pepper
½ c. diced cucumber
¼ c. roughly chopped cilantro leaves
1 Tbsp. finely chopped pickled jalapenos
4 oz. queso fresco cheese, crumbled
Dressing
:
⅓ c. lime juice
⅓ c. mayonnaise (light is okay)
1 tbsp. mild chili powder
½ tsp. ground cumin
In a large bowl, gently mix together all of the salad ingredients. Whisk together the dressing, until smooth. Pour over the salad and mix. Keep chilled until ready to serve. Makes 4-6 servings.
Peach Pie Iced Tea
4 bags of black tea
1 cinnamon stick
¼ c. light brown sugar
1-11 oz. can peach nectar
1 tsp. vanilla extract
Bring 3 cups of water to a boil in a medium saucepan. Remove from heat. Add tea bags and cinnamon stick. Stir in the brown sugar until dissolved. Steep for 10 minutes. Remove tea bags and cinnamon stick. Transfer to a pitcher for serving. Stir in peach nectar and vanilla extract. Chill and serve over plenty of ice.
Basic Beer Bread
3 c. all-purpose flour
1 tbsp. baking powder
1 tbsp. sugar
1 tsp. salt
1-12 oz. bottle beer*, at room temperature
2 tbsp. melted butter, divided
*
The beer flavors this simple bread, so keep that in mind when choosing a brew.
Preheat oven to 375°F. In a medium-size mixing bowl whisk together dry ingredients until combined. Pour in all of the beer. Mix until just combined; batter will be lumpy.
Brush a 9x5x3-inch loaf pan with some of the butter. Pour in the batter and brush remaining butter on top. Bake for 35 to 45 minutes or until a skewer inserted near the center comes out clean. Remove from pan and cool on a rack.
* * * * *
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Janel Gradowski lives in a land that looks like a cold weather fashion accessory, the mitten-shaped state of Michigan. She is a wife and mom to two kids and one Golden Retriever. Her journey to becoming an author is littered with odd jobs like renting apartments to college students and programming commercials for an AM radio station. Somewhere along the way she also became a beadwork designer and teacher. She enjoys cooking recipes found in her formidable cookbook and culinary fiction collection. Searching for unique treasures at art fairs, flea markets, and thrift stores is also a favorite pastime. Coffee is an essential part of her life.
To learn more about Janel Gradowski, visit her online at:
http://www.janelgradowski.com/
* * * * *
Culinary Competition Mysteries
:
Christmas Canapés & Sabotage
(holiday short story)
The Bartonville Series
:
Must Love Sandwiches (novella)
The Queen of Bad Decisions (short story)
Ready or Not (serial)
* * * * *
If you enjoyed this Culinary Competition Mystery, check out this other funny, romantic mystery from
Gemma Halliday Publishing
:
SOUTHERN PEACH PIE & A DEAD GUY
by
A. GARDNER
My first encounter with a southern guy isn't going so well. So far I've admitted I have never tried sweet tea, and my big toe is a little too long for the shoes I am wearing.
Nice one, Poppy
. Now he is going to think I am a weird westerner with a foot fetish. I try hard not to look down at my black, high-heeled boots.
Why am I the only one on campus wearing any black?
"My name is Cole," the man says with a grin on his face. I reach out to shake his hand. My palms are sweating just like every other place on my body.
I haven't even turned thirty yet, and I'm already having hot flashes.
It is going to take me some time to get used to this heat.
"Poppy Peters," I reply. I wipe my forehead and underneath my eyes. I bite my lip when I see a bit of smeared mascara on the side of my finger. It is so humid my makeup is melting off. "Is it always this hot here?"
"Welcome to Georgia." Cole chuckles and shrugs as we walk towards the student bakery. Cole is one of the first students I bumped into at the registration office. His lemon-colored T-shirt shines bright compared to his dark skin, and his impressive physique makes me look at him twice. His eyes are intriguing—an even mix of blue and green.
As we walk, I can't help but admire how lush the vegetation is on campus. Every tree outstretches towards the sidewalks, providing a much needed break from the glaring sun. The patches of grass remind me of ocean waves, if the ocean sparkled like emeralds. Even the flowerbeds near the Administration building had bundles of purple and orange wildflowers that couldn't be contained.
"What's that smell?" I ask. "And don't say it smells like
fresh meat
. I heard a teacher in the Registrar's Office use that joke about a hundred times."
"I'll show you."
I follow Cole across campus until the heavenly smell of baked bread and sugary doughnuts grows stronger. I long for that smell sometimes. It takes me back to my schoolgirl days when I spent my weekends in the kitchen with Grandma Liz. My Grandma Liz came to Calle Pastry Academy when she was in her early twenties. I imagine her tiny frame and long, dancer legs. It's a miracle that she came to this school and still stayed so thin.
"Whoa," I blurt out. My eyes widen when we come to a historic-looking building with brown-orangey bricks and tall windows that line up across the front. Through the glass I see a bustling bakery with a long line of students and campus visitors extending through the front doors and outside onto the sidewalk. I join Cole at the back of the line and discreetly adjust my black top and dark blue leggings. A serious change in wardrobe is in order if I plan on staying here.
When I was in high school, Mom always told me that I wore too much black. Ballerinas like me were supposed to be
light and dainty
, like an airy piece of sponge cake with non-fat whipped cream (no more than a dollop). Although I was one of the top dancers in my grade, I guess I looked too much like a slice of chocolate torte.
"This is the student bakery," Cole says. "We'll all be working here as part of our culinary training. A friend of mine came here a couple years ago. He told me all about it." He lifts his chin and speaks more formally than I'm used to.
"No kidding."
"Uh-huh." He keeps a grin on his face, and clasps his hands neatly in front of him. "The kitchen I work in back home isn't nearly as big as this one."
"And where is home?" I ask. I have him pegged for somewhere here in the South. I can hear it in his voice. Plus, he's way too polite.
"Atlanta," he answers. "Not far from here. But I grew up in Louisiana."
"Gotcha." I inhale another whiff of cooling pastries, and it makes my stomach rumble.
"What about you?" I can see him eyeing me as he pretends to look at something across the quad.
"Oh, I'm just your classic Oregonian ballerina looking for a fresh start."
"Ballerina?" he comments. "You don't look like a ballerina."
"Yep," I laugh. "That's what my over-bearing instructor Elena Povska said right before I fell on the bar and injured my back."
"Ouch."
Cole has that same look on his face that I've seen way too many times. His eyes are soft and sympathetic, and he's trying not to cringe. He's probably imagining my back cracking and me yelling on the floor in pain.
"I always hated it anyway." I grab a strand of my dark hair and look around at the rest of the student body. I stand out here. It feels like high school all over again, except my mom didn't send me off with a packed lunch of tuna on wheat, three pieces of celery, and a sugar-free breath mint.
The dancer's diet.
"What about cooking? How do you feel about that?"
"I
love
it," I respond. "You know, my grandma came here. I always wanted to be just like her."
We move forward in line.
"Really," Cole says. "What does she do now?"
"After she graduated, she went back to Portland and opened her own bakery. My dad sold it after she passed away."
"Sorry to hear that," he replies.
"Circle of life." I brush off the subject and move on to avoid having to hold in any tears. I hate crying in public, even if it is only a little sniffle. "So are you going to be living on campus?"
"The program is so intense that I think just about everyone is."
"Right," I mutter. "Please tell me all the apartments have some wicked AC units or industrial fans or something?"
"Chill," he jokes. "You'll get used to the heat."
I laugh as we finally move indoors to the most coveted part of the line. I take a deep breath and close my eyes as I step across the threshold, enjoying the cool air against my cheeks. Cole watches me with a twisted smile.
"Do you think they'll let me stand in the freezer for a few minutes?" I say quietly.
"Newbies." Cole shakes his head. "What is the weather like in Oregon?"
"Portland is nothing
like this." My eyes pop open when I smell something glorious. Something that teases my taste buds before I even see it. "I smell pie."
"The school's famous peach pie," Cole adds. "We will be learning how to make it pretty soon."
"I've never made a pie that smells like that. It…I don't even know how to describe it."
"It speaks to your soul?" he guesses.
"Soul food," I laugh. "Very funny."
We take a few steps towards the register, and I see the entire display of pastries and baked goods sitting neatly behind the glass. The rest of the bakery is smaller than I expected. There are a handful of café tables and a community board with flyers hanging on the wall. Most customers take their treats to-go. Most of the building is kitchen space. I move closer to get a better look at the assorted flavors of pies, buns, doughnuts, and Danishes. I don't see any labels. Only a chalkboard behind the counter with today's flavors written on it.
"Oh-my-gosh," I gasp, being careful not to drool all over my brand-new top. "It's like the ultimate PTA bake sale in here. I've never seen so many sugary things in one place."
"Don't kill me, but you only have a few minutes to decide what you want. It's almost our turn to order."
"How in the world am I supposed to do that?" My insides start to panic like they used to right before a curtain call.
"Well," Cole says, placing a hand on the counter. "Have you ever had a beignet?"
"Based on our initial sweet tea debate, what do you think?" My eyes jump to a pan of gooey-looking cinnamon rolls with orange icing. "What are those?"
"Buzz's rise and shine orange rolls," he answers. "The founder's son came up with the recipe."
"So many choices," I comment. I tap my heel against the tile floor and get a glance into the kitchen, as a student comes out with a pan of hot blueberry scones. My stomach churns a little as I think about putting on my chef's apron and joining in on the dough kneading and doughnut frying.
"What will you have?" Cole nudges my shoulder. I realize that I've been daydreaming the past few minutes, and now it is time for me to place my order. I'm oblivious. If I had the cash on hand I would order one of everything.
"We'll take two beignets, one of those hot blueberry scones, and an orange roll for Miss Indecisive." He pulls out his wallet and pays before I can object.
I place my hands on my hips and watch as he collects our box of baked delights.
"You forgot the coffee," I joke. I drink coffee like I drink water. It was the only way I could practice ballet ten hours a day and still stay standing. Cole hands me a napkin and the orange roll I stared at while in line. "Thanks, you're a peach."
"You're different from other women I've met here so far," he comments. He takes a bite of his beignet and quickly wipes the powdered sugar from his lips. We snag the last open café table and sit down across from each other.
"I know," I reply with a mouth full of citrus icing.
Dang, that is good.
My eyes dart to a sign pinned on the community board as I chew. It flaps in the breeze whenever someone opens the bakery door.
"It's the high-heeled boots, right? They're a little too Goth for my taste, but I had to have them."
"No." He grins. "I like the boots. Keep the boots." He breaks the blueberry scone in half and hands me a piece. I see steam rising from the center and the rich, royal blue color of the blueberries inside. "How does a ballerina end up in a place like this? Aren't you guys all about working out all day and eating tofu?"
"I hate tofu," I reply. The paper on the community board waves as a breeze drifts through the front door. At first I only glance at it, but then my gaze freezes on two words that are printed in all caps.
MISSING STUDENT
. I stare at the picture on the poster of a younger looking student named Tom Fox who, according to the poster, went missing last semester. Underneath Tom's picture that was copied from his student ID there is a contact name and phone number for a woman named Brooke.
"Uh, Poppy?" Cole chuckles.
I realize that I have been studying the poster of Tom Fox instead of listening to Cole. He's staring at me curiously.
"Sorry." I tilt my head towards the community board. "Do students disappear often around here?"
"There's at least one per semester," he jokes. "But, honestly, stuff like that happens at every school, doesn't it?"
Not one this small.
"Maybe."
"Anyway," he continues. "Back to my question before you spaced
out. Are you a culinary genius and you're just not telling me?"
"Okay, fine," I admit. "I've never worked in a kitchen before, but I'm a fast learner." I pause from devouring my orange roll and think back to my dancing days. I hated them. Every morning I would wake up wishing I had followed the advice that Grandma Liz gave me before she died. She told me to do what I love and the rest would all fall into place. Some of my best memories are baking with her. Grandma Liz was fearless. Anything I asked her to make she would try, and it always turned out to be amazing.
"You've at least made a pie before, right?"
"Of course I have," I answer, raising my eyebrows.
"From scratch?" he adds.
I let out a long breath.
"Define
scratch
." I bite the inside of my cheek and wait for him to tease me some more, but he doesn't. I'm too embarrassed to admit that I used store-bought dough the last time I made pie.
"Don't worry about it." He nods and continues eating his half of the blueberry scone. "I'll be your first official tutor."
"Thanks. I think I'm going to need it."
I've always had the baking bug, as Grandma called it, but all of high school I put it on the back burner to perfect pliés for my Juilliard audition. Mom said that four years there would work wonders for my career, and she was right. Until the day that all changed. After my back injury pushed me out of the dancing world, I realized I wasn't only good at
one
thing. I had a chance at a fresh start. A clean slate. I remember the look on my mom's and dad's faces when I told them I applied to go to Calle Pastry Academy like Grandma had. They thought I was joking. The sensible thing to do would be to become a professional ballet coach in Los Angeles or New York City. I love big cities, but I don't love them as much as a tray of Grandma's homemade snickerdoodles with extra cinnamon.
"Welcome to pastry school, Lil' Mama." Cole laughs.
* * *
My heart races as I knock on the door to my new apartment. When the school first opened in the early 1900's it was a restaurant and hotel. Later, when it was converted into a cooking school, the hotel portion became student dorms, and since then the campus has grown. The student apartments are a newer addition, but walking up to them still felt like walking up to my college dorm room. The apartment buildings look like the rest of the buildings on campus. They are all made of tan-colored stone with rows and rows of bright green brush surrounding the edges. Every patch of green on campus has fruit trees and budding wild flowers. Being surrounded by all this foliage reminds me of home, minus the mosquitoes the size of mini cupcakes.