Stirring the Plot (A Cookbook Nook Mystery) (27 page)

From Katie:

These are the easiest but possibly the messiest things in the world to make. They’re a tad time-intensive because you have to cut up the marshmallows and caramel squares. You’ll probably want a hot, wet knife when you’re cutting. Also, be aware that when you are rolling these into balls, the gooey mixture is sticky and hot—not so hot as to burn, but be careful.

Katie’s Caramel Popcorn Balls

¾ cup light corn syrup

¼ cup butter

2 teaspoons cold water

2¾ cups confectioners’ sugar

1 cup marshmallows, cut into tiny pieces

12 caramel squares, cut into tiny pieces

8 cups plain popped popcorn

Safflower oil for molding

In a large saucepan over medium heat, combine the corn syrup, butter, cold water, confectioners’ sugar, and diced marshmallows. Heat and stir until the mixture comes to a boil.

Remove from the heat and add the caramel squares and popcorn, carefully combining the hot mixture until the popcorn is coated on each kernel.

Grease your hands with safflower oil and quickly shape the popcorn into tiny balls before the mixture cools. Wrap the balls in cellophane or plastic wrap and tie them off with ribbon. Store at room temperature.

Note from Katie: If you want this recipe to be gluten-free, make sure to use gluten-free marshmallows.

From Bailey:

Okay, Jenna didn’t mention this, but the recipe book that Katie took the recipe for Pumpkin Maple Syrup Cheesecake from is my mom’s! Well, actually, it’s The Pelican Brief Diner cookbook’s. I introduced my mother to this fabulous cookbook publisher in San Francisco—she used to be a local in Crystal Cove—who couldn’t wait to put the cookbook together. Mom adores sweets. I do, too. Especially cheesecake. I also adore breakfast, and there’s nothing that says breakfast better than syrup. Pancakes and syrup. Waffles and syrup. Even scrambled eggs and syrup. Don’t tell me you’ve never swirled your eggs into that last bit of syrup left after you’ve had a pancakes-with-all-the-trimmings breakfast. Anyway, put the two together, and this makes for a delicious and not-too-hard-to-make cheesecake. Follow the baking instructions. The wait time after the cake is baked is crucial.

Pumpkin Maple Syrup Cheesecake

1¼ cups graham cracker crumbs

¼ cup granulated sugar

¼ cup butter or margarine, melted

3 (8-ounce) packages cream cheese, softened

1 (14-ounce) can sweetened condensed milk

1 (15-ounce) can pumpkin purée (about 1½ cups)

3 large eggs

¼ cup pure maple syrup

1½ teaspoons ground cinnamon

1 teaspoon ground nutmeg

½ teaspoon ground ginger

½ teaspoon salt

Preheat the oven to 325°F.

In a small bowl, combine the graham cracker crumbs, sugar, and butter; press firmly on the bottom of a 9-inch springform pan. (Note: if you need to eat gluten-free, you can make this crust using crushed gluten-free sugar cookies.)

In a large bowl, beat the cream cheese and sweetened condensed milk until fluffy. Add the pumpkin, eggs, maple syrup, cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, and salt, and mix well. Pour the mixture into the prepared springform pan.

Bake for 1 hour 15 minutes, or until the center appears nearly set when shaken. (Don’t shake like crazy; a little nudge will do.) Turn off the oven and let the cake stand in the oven for 15 minutes. Remove from the oven and cool for 1 hour. Cover and chill in the refrigerator for at least 4 hours.

To serve, spoon some Maple Pecan Sauce over the cheesecake.

Maple Pecan Sauce

1 cup whipping cream

¾ cup pure maple syrup

½ cup chopped pecans

In a medium saucepan, combine the whipping cream and maple syrup. Bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium-low and continue to boil for 10 to 12 minutes or until slightly thickened. Stir occasionally. (Note: this is a candy, so do not let the mixture go past the caramel color stage. If so, it will burn and you’ll have to start over. So pay attention the last 5 minutes.)

Remove from the heat and stir in the chopped pecans.

Cover and chill the sauce until ready to serve. Stir once before serving. By the way, this sauce is fabulous over plain vanilla ice cream, too!

Dear Reader,

You may not know this, but I write two culinary mystery series under two names—my real name, Daryl Wood Gerber, and my pseudonym, Avery Aames. Avery writes The Cheese Shop mysteries. The sixth book in the series,
As Gouda as Dead
, debuts February 2015. I thought it would be fun for fans of The Cookbook Nook series to have a taste of
cheese
at the end of
Stirring the Plot
. Why not? So turn the page to read the first chapter of
As Gouda as Dead
.

If you’re not familiar with the Cheese Shop mysteries, let me introduce you to Charlotte Bessette. Charlotte is the proprietor of Fromagerie Bessette—or, as it’s more commonly known by the residents of small-town Providence, Ohio, The Cheese Shop. Charlotte loves offering samplings of bold cheeses and delicious wines, and for the pièce de résistance, solving a little crime. In
As Gouda as Dead
, love is in the air, but so is murder. When a beloved bar owner is discovered murdered on Charlotte’s fiancé’s farm, her betrothed—artisanal cheese farmer Jordan Pace—believes they should reschedule their upcoming wedding, given the dicey turn of events. Of course, Charlotte is torn up over the postponement. Could this put a wedge in their relationship? Even though the whole town is celebrating Valentine’s Day with weeklong events, putting together lovers’ baskets with heart-shaped cheeses at Fromagerie Bessette doesn’t lift Charlotte’s spirits. When a second murder occurs, and it’s clear someone is not feeling the love, Charlotte is more determined than ever to smoke out the killer.

I hope you will join Charlotte and the cast of lovable characters as Charlotte once again seeks to right a wrong. Perhaps you’ll even find a new cheese or a great recipe to share with friends.

For those of you who love The Cookbook Nook series, take heart. There will be more of those to come, too! The fourth installment will debut in 2015.

Savor the Mystery!

Daryl Wood Gerber

“W
HERE ARE YOU
taking me?” I asked. “And don’t ‘Hush, Charlotte’ me again.” I hate being blindfolded. Even as a girl, I despised it. I remembered one time when my oh-so-sly cousin coerced me into following him into a cave. We encountered shrieking bats and spiders and—
ick
—something creepy-crawly with a long tail that skittered across my foot.

“Hush, Charlotte,” Delilah said. The moment I’d arrived home from work, she and Meredith, my other best friend, had hijacked me.

“It’s Thursday night, for heaven’s sake. I’ve got to open Fromagerie Bessette early tomorrow. We have so much to do to prepare for next week’s Lover’s Trail event before I—”

“We’re going to a party.”

“A bachelorette party,” Meredith added.

“Yours.” Delilah pushed me at the small of my back. “Now, move it.”

“Look.” I tried to dig in my heels, to no avail. “I’d be game for whatever you have up your sleeves if I didn’t have things to do.”

Tons of things: decorations to put up and gift baskets to create for the Lover’s Trail event. Not to mention all the things I needed to do for my impending nuptials: a hem to stitch, boutonnieres to fashion. Did my sweet friends care? Not a whit. They were giggling too hard to care about anything.

A brisk gust of February wind attacked me. I shivered from the cold. “Where are we?” I demanded. Delilah had escorted me out of her car a minute ago; we were on foot. On cement. A sidewalk, I was pretty sure. I heard light traffic. I detected the faint smell of cinnamon and coffee. Were we near Café au Lait? I could use a cup of coffee. “At least take the blindfold off. It’s tugging the back of my hair.”

“No, ma’am,” Delilah said.

“
Ma’am
,” Meredith sniggered. “That’s right. You’re going to be a ma’am soon. Maybe we should continue to call you
Miss Charlotte
for a while longer.” More giggles erupted from Meredith. How had Delilah talked her into this escapade? Meredith was usually the reliable and sane one. Sure, back in high school, she had been sneaky, but now? “Sounds like something right out of
Gone with the Wind
,” she continued. “
Miss Charlotte
. Hmm. Which do you prefer,
Miss
Charlotte or
Mrs
. Jordan Pace?”

I didn’t know who, where, or what was on the agenda for tonight, but in three days, on Sunday, I was moving forward with my life and marrying the man of my dreams—Jordan. A sizzle of desire shot through me just thinking about him. Prior to moving to Providence, Jordan had been the chef and owner of an Italian restaurant in upstate New York. One night outside the restaurant, he saw two thugs attack a third man. Without hesitating, Jordan, a former military man, sprang to the third man’s defense. Days later, Jordan entered the WITSEC program to testify against the survivor, whose buddies had been the linchpins of a gambling ring. Entering WITSEC had landed him in Providence, Ohio. Lucky me.

“This way, Miss Charlotte.” Delilah steered me to the right.

A door opened and I breathed easier. I recognized the jingle of the chime above the door. We were entering Fromagerie Bessette. The aroma of a potent Irish Cheddar cheese—our last sale of the day—hung in the air. I detected a hint of the quiche I’d made in the morning, too—apple bacon Gouda. It had been rich with a smoky, savory flavor.

“Let me go and tell me which way to head.”

“Uh-uh,” Delilah said.

“C’mon.” I could navigate blindfolded through the shop without their help. I often dreamed about Fromagerie Bessette—or as the locals called it, The Cheese Shop—and its displays of cheeses, honey, mustards, and specialty crackers. Yes, I was a major cheese geek. Being a cheese shop proprietor was a dream job. I had inherited the shop from my grandparents, who had migrated from France to the States after World War II and had raised me to love the shop as much as they did.

Delilah joggled me. “Oops.”

Although I would have been safe if I’d been allowed to grope along on my own, with Delilah as my guide, I instinctively reached out in front of me. Good thing I had. My foot hit something hard. “Ow.” I grasped what had attacked me—a display barrel, the old oak cask kind with metal struts. “You did that on purpose.”

“Did what?” Delilah guffawed.

“Shh,” Meredith cooed. “Charlotte, just a few more feet.”

Gingerly, I shuffled across the hardwood floor praying I wouldn’t wind up with ten stubbed toes. At least I was wearing a pair of Uggs boots; they were padded and perfect for the winter. I still couldn’t understand a girl wearing them in the summer, but I wasn’t a fashion guru.

“Where are we headed?” I asked. “The annex?” The wine annex, which my cousin managed and stocked with some of the finest wines this side of the Rockies, was situated to the right through a stone archway. “Ooh, are we having a wine tasting?” I was always up for one of those.

“Sort of,” Meredith said.

I had known Meredith and Delilah since I was in grade school. The two of them were like night and day. Meredith was blond and sun-kissed with freckles; she had a rosy disposition. In contrast, Delilah had dark curly hair, striking features, and a wicked sense of humor. Meredith was an elementary teacher and soon would run the Providence Liberal Arts College. She was married to my cousin, and stepmother to my preteen, twin nieces—I referred to them as my nieces; they were really my first cousins. Delilah ran The Country Kitchen diner across the street. She had returned to Providence after her career on Broadway stalled. Weekly on Monday, the three of us and a few other women went out for girls’ night. I imagined tonight’s bachelorette soirée was going to be an entirely different kind of event.

“What are we going to do at the party?” I said.

“It’s a secret,” Delilah answered.

“How many people?”

“Just a few of us.”

“All girls?” I asked.

“No boys allowed,” Delilah said.

“Well, almost no boys.” Meredith snorted.

What had gotten into her?

A chilly wisp of air tickled my nose. Abruptly Delilah pivoted me and ushered me in the direction of the cold. Good thing I’d worn a cashmere sweater and heavy winter leggings. I knew where we were headed. Downstairs, into the cellar. My cousin and I, with Jordan’s help, had installed a wine and cheese cellar. It was one of the best investments we had made. Even after cheese makers shipped wheels of cheese to us, we preferred to age some of them a tad longer.

I stepped down the stairs, drinking in the luscious perfume of cheese. The temperature in the cellar ranged from a cool fifty-five degrees to a toasty fifty-eight. Heat affected the speed with which wine and cheese aged. We had painted the cellar white and had fitted it with wood racks. In addition, we had commissioned a local artist to paint a faux window with a view of the rolling hills of Providence in the eight-foot, semiround alcove. Below the painting stood an oak buffet as well as a mosaic-inlaid table with chairs. Perfect for a small gathering.

My left foot touched the cellar floor. “C’mon, ladies, out with it. I smell something nutty with a hint of charcoal and fresh herbs. Are we having a cheese tasting party?”

I heard more tittering. Not from my guides. From other party members already in the cellar.

“Please say something,” I pleaded. “Wait, do I also smell . . . suntan oil?”

Meredith brushed my arm with something furry.

I recoiled. “Ew, what is that?”

“It’s a paintbrush, silly.”

I moaned. “We’re having an art party?” I’d heard about them. They were very
au courant
. “I’m not an artist. Isn’t this supposed to be all about
me
?”

“No, you goon,” Delilah said. “This party is about all of
us
giving you a fabulous send-off into married life. Get with the program.”

“Don’t worry,” Meredith reassured me. “None of us are artists.”

“You are, Meredith,” Delilah chimed.

“I’m not sure about ‘this kind of art.’” Meredith pinched me.

“What do you mean ‘this kind of art’?” I cried, truly hating being in the dark . . . about anything. “Take off my blindfold. Now!”

“Don’t get snippy.” Delilah released my hand and moved behind me. She started to untie the scarf she had slung around my head. “One, two, voilà.”

“Surprise,” the other party guests yelled.

When my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized each was wearing a cream-colored artist’s smock over warm winter clothing, and each held a glass of sparkling wine. A gorgeous spread of appetizers was laid out on a long table behind them: biscuits stuffed with ham, mini quiches, and one of my all-time favorites, a cranberry-crusted cheese torte.

“Turn around,” the women said in unison.

When I did, I couldn’t believe what I saw.