Cookin' the Books
Page 1
Contents
Cover
A Selection of Titles by Amy Patricia Meade
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
A Selection of Titles by Amy Patricia Meade
A Marjorie McClelland Mystery
MILLION DOLLAR BABY
GHOST OF A CHANCE
SHADOW WALTZ
BLACK MOONLIGHT
The Tish Tarragon Series
COOKIN’ THE BOOKS *
The Vermont Mystery Series
WELL-OFFED IN VERMONT
SHORT-CIRCUITED IN CHARLOTTE
* available from Severn House
COOKIN’ THE BOOKS
Amy Patricia Meade
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
First published in Great Britain 2018 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of
Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY.
First published in the USA 2019 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS of
110 East 59th Street, New York, N.Y. 10022
This eBook edition first published in 2018 by Severn House Digital
an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited
Trade paperback edition first published
in Great Britain and the USA 2019 by
SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.
Copyright © 2018 by Amy Patricia Meade.
The right of Amy Patricia Meade to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8849-5 (cased)
ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-973-3 (trade paper)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0182-9 (e-book)
Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.
This ebook produced by
Palimpsest Book Production Limited,
Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland
ONE
‘But everyone loves the way the “blood” gushes out when you bite into them,’ Julian Jefferson Davis argued. Tall, trim, and sporting an immaculately coiffed and gelled head of chestnut hair, he leaned against the display cases that separated the public part of the shop from the kitchen and pleaded his case.
‘I know they do, Jules. And I truly enjoy the squeals when people bite into them, but it takes some time and effort to pipe the center of each Tell-Tale Heart cupcake with raspberry preserves. Right now I can’t afford to hire staff, so I need to use my time wisely.’ Letitia ‘Tish’ Tarragon, dressed in slim, dark-wash cropped jeans, a black short-sleeve T-shirt, and a pair of leopard-print canvas sneakers, balanced herself on the top step of her vintage red kitchen step-ladder and went about mounting the last of eight whitewashed shelves upon the sage-colored walls of her new restaurant and catering business, Cookin’ the Books Café.
‘Honey, I live right down the road. I can help you. Mary Jo is just the next town over. I’m sure she’d help too.’
‘Hmm, maybe for Halloween? That’ll give me two months to settle in.’
‘Halloween would be perfect. The whole business district shuts down and parents bring their little ones for trick or treating. You’d make a killing! Er, no pun intended.’
‘I got it.’ Tish laughed.
‘You truly couldn’t pick a better spot for your business. It’s kismet.’
Located on a quaint main road halfway between Richmond and Fredericksburg and with access to the interstate, the early twentieth-century white clapboard building once served as the first general store for the town of Hobson Glen, Virginia. In time, the general store closed and the building was repurposed as a delicatessen, then a butcher’s shop and, in its most recent incarnation, a specialty bake store. Indeed, a sign reading Cynthia’s Baked Goods of Distinction still hung over the front porch.
‘From your mouth to God’s ears,’ Tish answered hopefully.
‘No need for prayers. Once people get a taste of your food, they’ll be lined up outside the door. What you got planned for opening day?’
‘A Hogwarts-inspired back-to-school menu: Dobby’s pasties, cheese broomsticks, Butterbeer cakes, Sorting Hat pita bread and hummus, and miniature steak-and-kidney pies. I’ll also have my usual range of salads and sandwiches.’
‘Sounds delicious. Kids and parents should love it.’ Jules fanned himself. ‘Just one little word of advice? Air conditioning. Switch it on. The only thing keeping me from fainting on the spot is the cool relief I feel by having my butt planted up against these refrigerated cases.’
‘Thanks for the visual, Jules,’ she muttered as she hammered a second bracket into a section of wall to the left of the store’s front picture window. ‘Better not let the health inspector catch you. He’ll fine me.’
‘Fine you? It’s ninety-five degrees in the shade. He’d probably pay me to trade spots.’ Jules watched as Tish balanced the shelf upon its brackets. ‘So, what are we doing with those?’
‘These are my global displays,’ Tish explained as she stepped down from the ladder and ran a hand through her wavy, bobbed blonde hair. ‘Each one represents a different culture, its literature, and cuisine. There’s one for France, England, Italy, India, Spain, China, Africa, and, of course, America. Eventually, I’ll add one for Japan – once I master sushi and tempura, that is. And then there’s Greece, the Caribbean …’
‘Whoa, slow down. Don’t outgrow the wall space before you’ve actually opened for business.’
‘Sorry, just excited,’ Tish chuckled. ‘I also have to leave room for the bookcase out on the porch. That’ll be my lending library. If someone wishes to read while they eat, they can borrow something. If they wish to take it home and continue reading, they need to—’
‘Buy the book?’ Jules guessed correctly.
‘Or bring another book in to replace it.’
‘Hmm, so what are we putting on the shelves you just hung?’
‘Cookbooks, books, and cooking paraphernalia. So for France, we’d have cookbooks by Julia Child and Jacques Pepin—’
‘Natch,’ Jules remarked.
‘Literary works by Proust and Flaubert, and, in the middle, a vintage madeleine pan.’
‘And England would be Jamie Oliver, Nigella Lawson, and your blue Staffordshire tea pot?’
‘Indeed.’ Tish nodded. ‘As well as some Dicke
ns and Christie.’
‘Clever. And where would I find these goodies?’
‘In the big box behind the counter. You want some help?’
‘Nope, I’ll be fine.’ Jules rolled up the sleeves of his neatly pressed white linen shirt and retrieved the box in question. ‘You have tons to do. If I get stuck, I’ll ask for help.’
As Tish set about threading a home-stitched valance made from vintage tea towels on to a brass curtain rod, a curvy brunette in her early forties entered the café bearing an oversized thermos jug.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ she panted. ‘I had to drop Kayla off for her shift at Chick-fil-A, Gregory forgot to tell me football practice started this morning, and then Glen called – he forgot his lunch so I had to drop it off at his office.’
‘We’re fine,’ Tish replied. ‘I’m just sorry you had such a tough morning.’
Jules, however, took a tougher line. ‘Mary Jo Okensholt, are you telling me that your husband made you drive all the way to Fredericksburg to deliver his lunch? Why didn’t he just buy lunch today? Or better yet, why didn’t he drive home and pick it up himself.’
‘Well, he was busy.’
‘So were you. You were out driving your children – his children – to their activities.’ He shook his head and went about steadying a Martin Yan cookbook against a bamboo steamer basket. ‘I hope that family of yours knows how lucky they are to have you.’
‘I hope you know how lucky you are too.’ Mary Jo held the insulated canteen aloft. ‘A double batch of Arnold Palmers with extra ice.’
‘MJ, you’re my favorite woman. I love you!’ he exclaimed as he hastily placed a copy of Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club alongside the steamer and charged toward the thermos. ‘Tish, do you have a funnel?’
Mary Jo dropped the canteen on to the counter and folded her arms across her chest. ‘We’re not in college anymore, Julian. I am not letting you make an iced-tea/lemonade bong from my tailgate cooler. We’re—’
The appearance of a tall, handsome man in the doorway of the café brought an abrupt end to Mary Jo’s ultimatums.
‘Schuyler,’ Tish greeted her new landlord, curtain rod still in hand. She had first met Schuyler Thompson two weeks earlier when he showed her the property after his evening jog. For that meeting, Thompson had been wearing baggy athletic shorts, a sweat-stained T-shirt, baseball cap, and a pair of runners. Today, he was immaculately dressed in a dark-blue suit that brought out the intense azure of his eyes, a red Italian silk tie, well-polished dress shoes, and a mane of neatly styled blond hair. The wardrobe change was not displeasing.
‘Hey, Tish.’ He smiled. ‘I just stopped by to see how things were progressing.’
‘Slow, but sure,’ she declared before going on to introduce her helpers.
‘Pleased to meet you both,’ Schuyler announced after an exchange of handshakes. ‘Just two little things I wanted to tell you. First, Celestine, the caretaker, is going to swing by today and give you all the details about the hot-water heater, the air conditioning, the plumbing – all that stuff. She knows this place better than I ever could.’
‘Air conditioning. Thank you, Lord,’ Jules exclaimed.
‘The second piece of news is that Binnie Broderick, the executive director of our local library, is one of my clients. She was in my office yesterday and asked me what I was doing with my mother’s old place. I told her I had rented it to a literary caterer. The library is holding a fundraiser and Binnie’s caterer backed out at the last minute, so I suggested she speak with you.’
‘That’s terrific news. Thank you!’
‘Well, don’t thank me just yet. The event takes place in three weeks.’
Tish swallowed hard. ‘Three weeks?’
‘Actually, two weeks from this coming Friday. Also, even under the best of circumstances, Binnie can be … difficult.’
‘No worries. We’ll be right by her side.’ Mary Jo stepped forward and placed an arm around Tish’s shoulder. ‘It will be the best fundraiser the library’s ever seen.’
‘I’m sure it will. I have the utmost confidence in Tish’s abilities. And if I can be of any help, please let me know.’
‘Thanks, but I—’ Tish started.
‘Oh, she’ll definitely let you know,’ Jules interrupted.
‘Great. See y’all later.’ Schuyler took off through the door and hopped into the driver’s seat of the black 2016 BMW 3 Series sedan parked outside the store.
‘What was I saying about kismet?’ Jules asked. ‘Not only do you have a business in a prime location, but now you have a prime gig, and, I might add, a very fine, very prime man checking in on you.’
‘That very fine, very prime man happens to be my landlord,’ Tish pointed out.
‘He also happens to be a small-town Southern lawyer. Hello, GQ meets Atticus Finch! Does it get any dreamier?’
‘I’m not sure I’m ready for that, Jules.’
‘It’s been over a year since the divorce,’ Mary Jo cajoled. ‘Don’t you think it’s time to get out there again?’
‘Yeah, even if it’s only to flirt or have a fling,’ Jules rejoined.
‘I’m not a “fling” sort of gal. You both know that. I’m also not into all those fads, like online dating or speed dating or Tinder—’
‘Oh, no. You definitely don’t want to go on Tinder.’
‘What’s Tinder?’ Mary Jo asked.
‘I’ll show you when you’re older,’ Jules teased.
‘I don’t want to go on anything,’ Tish continued. ‘I would love to meet someone eventually, but right now I’m focused on starting my business.’
‘That’s great, but you just can’t work here and then go upstairs and binge-watch Netflix every night,’ Mary Jo argued.
‘She’s right, you know. It’s not like fate’s going to drop Mr Right on your doorstep.’ Jules brought a hand to his face in mock surprise. ‘Oh, snap! It just did!’
As Tish dismissed Jules’s silliness with a wave of her hand, a white Mercedes E-Class with tinted windows rolled in and parked in front of the porch. The trio watched as a stout woman in her early to mid-sixties emerged from the driver’s side. She was dressed in a gauzy floral sheath dress, pearls, white sandals, and a wide-brim white hat that would have fit in better at Ascot than in a small Virginia town on a Monday morning.
‘Good morning,’ she greeted in a well-bred Virginian accent as she stepped through the screen door. ‘I’m Lavinia Broderick, Executive Director of the Hobson Glen Library. You must be Miss Tarragon.’
‘I am, but, please, call me Tish.’ The caterer extended a welcoming hand.
Without accepting the greeting, Binnie Broderick pushed past Tish and went into the shop. ‘Mr Thompson told me that you are something of a caterer.’
Tish retracted her hand and pulled a face. ‘Yes, a literary caterer.’
‘Hobson Glen Library holds their annual fundraising dinner in less than three weeks and our previous caterer has cancelled on us. Do you think you could do the job, Miss Tarragon?’
‘Possibly. Why don’t we discuss the details first?’
Binnie drew a heavy sigh and removed her hat, revealing a head full of hot-rollered and teased hair that proved that the Southern adage of ‘the higher the hair the closer to God’ was still alive and well. ‘The library benefit, along with our Strawberry Social and decorated holiday homes tour, is one of the highlights of Hobson Glen’s social season. Approximately three hundred people from Hobson Glen and neighboring towns – including some of Richmond’s finest families – attend the event for a three-course dinner and dancing.’
‘Guests travel from the city for this?’ Tish was slightly incredulous.
‘Of course. Hobson Glen Library is one of the oldest libraries in the Commonwealth.’
‘That’s quite an accomplishment for a state so rife with history,’ Tish praised.
‘We are quite proud.’
‘With good reason. So, given that this is a county-wide affair, I
assume that I need to create a relatively high-end yet budget-friendly three-course menu for three hundred guests?’ Tish surmised.
‘That’s right, and a signature cocktail or two.’
‘Cocktails?’
‘Yes, we sell them in souvenir glasses. Some years, those drinks raised more money than the admission tickets themselves.’ Binnie gave a loud guffaw.
‘Hmm.’ Tish hadn’t anticipated the need to create original cocktails. She flashed a panicked glance in Jules’s direction; his mixology skills were legendary.
‘Cocktails won’t be a problem, ma’am,’ he assured.
‘I should hope not. Schuyler assured me that you could handle all my needs.’
‘And he was correct,’ Tish agreed. ‘So what sort of theme did you have in mind?’
‘Theme? Well, books of course,’ she scoffed, as if Tish were completely daft.
‘Yes, I understand that books are the focus, but which works would you like to highlight? I offer themed specialized menus for events like these. I don’t have anything printed right now, but I can, for instance, do a Hemingway-inspired menu based upon the food described in his books, a Midsummer Night’s Dream lawn party, a recreation of Babette’s Feast, a Great Gatsby gala, an Alice in Wonderland tea party, a Christie-inspired murder mystery dinner—’
‘Good heavens, no! We don’t want any of that nonsense. This is a gathering of business people, not readers. These folks are too busy doing things to sit around with their nose in a book. The fundraiser is about wearing your prettiest, sparkliest clothes, drinking cocktails, posing for photos, and going home feeling that you did something good for your community.’
‘So you don’t want a literary theme?’
‘Of course I do. It’s a library, for heaven’s sake. Make the food about books. Book titles, authors – make it cute, though. Nothing too deep. The most we want our guests thinking about is how many zeroes to write in their checkbooks.’ She grinned.
‘That isn’t really what I do—’
‘Maybe not, but it is now, isn’t it? Otherwise, I’ll take my business elsewhere.’
Tish had never before experienced such strong dislike for someone she had just met. ‘Cute theme,’ she noted as she typed into her phone. ‘What about menu options?’