by A. Gardner
A light blinks on my cell phone, and I reach out to turn it off. I have a voicemail waiting in my inbox. I must have missed the call when I was going through security. I shrug, punching in my password and listening to it before take-off. I tilt my head when a familiar voice enters my head.
"Yes. This message is for Poppy Peters." The classic Southern accent is one that I've missed. "This is Mr. Dixon from the Calle Pastry Academy. We have an opening to fill for one of our beginner level instructors, and I was wondering if you would be interested. Please give me a call at your earliest convenience."
The phone beeps, and my heart races at the thought of going back to Georgia. I think of the advice Chef Gautier had given me. Calle Pastry Academy is where my culinary journey started. Maybe going back to the beginning isn't such a bad idea? Nothing can come close to what happened my first semester there as a student.
Nothing.
RECIPES
Wedding Day Cheese Soufflé
2 tablespoons butter, plus 1 tablespoon for greasing
2 tablespoons grated Parmesan
2 teaspoons flour
½ cup whole milk
½ cup grated cheddar cheese
2 egg yolks
2 egg whites
⅛ teaspoon salt
Grease a 16-ounce ramekin with butter and coat with Parmesan cheese. In a saucepan, melt butter and stir in flour and milk over medium heat. Whisk aggressively until mixture bubbles. Take off the heat, and add the cheddar cheese. Once the mixture has cooled a little, whisk in the egg yolks.
In a separate bowl, whip the egg whites and salt to form stiff peaks. Gently fold the egg whites into the cheese mixture. Spoon batter into the greased ramekin. Bake at 375 degrees Fahrenheit for about 40 minutes or until the top is browned.
Rose's Sticky Toffee Pudding
Cake:
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
1 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
1 ½ cups all-purpose flour
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 cup dates, pitted and chopped
1 cup chopped walnuts (optional)
¾ cup hot water
Sauce:
9 tablespoons butter
1 ¼ cup brown sugar
6 tablespoons heavy cream
For the cake, cream together the butter and sugar. Incorporate the eggs. Mix in the dates and cinnamon, and then slowly add the flour. Stir in the hot water, and add the walnuts at the end, if desired. Pour batter into a casserole dish and bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 45–50 minutes or until the cake is browned on top. The consistency should be similar to bread pudding.
For the sauce, melt the butter and sugar together in a saucepan on low heat. When the sugar is dissolved, add the cream and continue stirring on low heat until the sauce is warmed through.
Spoon the sauce over each serving of cake right before eating and enjoy.
Marta's Banoffee Pie
Crust:
1½ cups graham cracker crumbs
1 tablespoon sugar
6 tablespoons butter, melted
Filling:
6 tablespoons unsalted butter
½ cup brown sugar
1 can (13.4 oz.) dulce de leche
Topping:
2 ripe bananas, sliced
1 cup heavy whipping cream, lightly whipped
Cocoa powder or chocolate shavings to decorate
*NOTE: This piecrust can also be made using chocolate graham cracker or cookie crumbs.
For the crust, combine the graham cracker crumbs, sugar, and melted butter. With wet hands, push the mixture into the bottom of a 9-inch pie pan. Bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for about 8 minutes. Remove from the oven and let cool.
For the filling, stir the butter and sugar in a saucepan over low heat until combined. Add the dulce de leche, and slowly bring to a boil. Boil for one minute, and pour mixture over piecrust. Let the pie set in the refrigerator for at least one hour.
Once the pie has set, spread the whipped cream over the top. Arrange the banana slices and sprinkle the cocoa powder or chocolate shavings over the top for decoration. Let the pie cool in the fridge for another hour or more before serving.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
USA Today bestselling author A. Gardner is a native westerner exploring the sweet bites of the south. After years of working in the healthcare industry, she moved across the country with her husband and adventurous baby boy. She is a mystery and romance writer with a serious cupcake obsession and a love of storytelling that began at an early age. When she is not writing, she is either chasing after her son, out for a swim, trying out a new recipe, or painting her nails bright blue.
To learn more about A. Gardner, visit her online at: http://www.gardnerbooks.blogspot.com
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BOOKS BY A. GARDNER
Poppy Peters Mysteries:
Southern Peach Pie and a Dead Guy
Chocolate Macaroons and a Dead Groom
Ice Cream Bombes and Stolen Thongs (short story in the "Killer Beach Reads" collection)
Bananas Foster and a Dead Mobster
Strawberry Tartlets and a Dead Starlet
Wedding Soufflé and a Dead Valet
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SNEAK PEEK
If you enjoyed this Poppy Peters Mystery, check out this sneak peek of another exciting novel from Gemma Halliday Publishing:
DEATH OF THE BIG KAHUNA
by
CATHERINE BRUNS
CHAPTER ONE
When I was a little girl, playing waitress was one of my favorite pretend games. Together with my friends who lived next door at the time, we'd rush around and serve imaginary people at my mother's dining room table. In nice weather, we would use the back deck of my house. The state of Vermont has beautiful foliage during the autumn season, and we enjoyed gathering the multicolored leaves, pretending they were different types of entrees. The customers never complained about how long the food took to arrive, nothing was undercooked, and we always received hefty tips. And I never spilled food or broke glassware.
Yeah, only in a perfect world…
"Carrie Jorgenson?" A deep male, accented voice boomed in my ear.
I jerked myself out of my thoughts. A tall, powerful-looking Polynesian man was standing to my left, glancing down at me with a somewhat impatient look upon his face.
With trepidation, I rose from my chair. "Yes, I'm Carrie."
The man looked me over without comment and extended his hand. "Hale Akamu. I'm the owner of the Loco Moco Café." He gestured for me to sit down again.
"It's very nice to meet you. This is such a wonderful location for a restaurant." The café was close to the beach and situated smack in the middle of the highly popular Aloha Lagoon Resort in Kauai.
It was a perfect day weather-wise, something I had learned not to take for granted growing up in snow-ridden and rural Vermont. The sky was a cloudless blue like the ocean, waves were gentle, and the temperature warm without nagging humidity. Hale and I were the only ones inside the building, besides a server and two customers at the counter.
He ignored my comment, perhaps thinking I was sucking up—which, of course, I was. Desperation can do strange things to an unemployed person.
Hale eyed me sharply. "References?"
I swallowed hard and produced a manila folder from my shoulder bag. "Yes, they're from back home on the mainland. I just moved here a few weeks ago."
He gave a curt nod and glanced at the page while I took a moment to study him. He was very good looking, similar to Tom Selleck from his Magnum, P.I. days, with thick, dark hair and eyes black as coffee without a hint of cream. I knew he was in his early forties because I'd checked him out on Goo
gle the night before. In addition to the restaurant, he owned a mammoth-sized shopping mall on the island of Oahu. Hale had inherited a vast amount of wealth from his parents when they'd died in a car accident about twenty years ago. It sounded like a horrible tragedy for a child to endure—anyone actually—and for a moment I pitied the man. Unfortunately, there was something about him that immediately registered high on my radar in terms of dislike.
Even during our brief exchange, he managed to puff his chest out in an exaggerated manner while looking down his nose at me. He clearly thought I was beneath him. As if this wasn't enough to repulse me, I saw his eyes focus on my chest for the briefest of seconds. When he raised them again and found me staring back at him, his mouth twitched into a small grin.
Yeah, not in a million years, buddy.
Hale tapped his pen on the tabletop with an authoritative air. "I don't see any serving experience here."
Darn. Kim was right. I had called my best friend from back home last night, and she had advised me to lie about my experience. "Make up some hole-in-the-wall restaurant," she'd advised. "He'll never check."
But I couldn't do it, especially now, not with those calculating eyes pinned on me. "I-I did work in customer service."
Hale pointed at the sheet of paper. "Walmart. You worked for a Walmart. It's not the same thing."
This was not turning out the way I had hoped. It was my third interview in as many days, and I was slowly running out of options. Brad, my boyfriend, worked as a surfing instructor at the resort and had told me that the Loco Moco was hiring.
I decided to level with the man. "Please, I really need the job. I'm willing to do almost anything."
He narrowed his eyes, and a sly smile formed at the corners of his mouth. "Oh really?"
Ugh. Bad choice of words, and this guy had letch written all over him. I heard myself babbling. "Um, I meant wash dishes or sweep the floor."
His eyes swept over me, and my discomfort grew. "Well, that's a shame."
Yikes. Yes, Hale was a pig. I was almost certain of it.
"Excuse me, Hale."
Hale glanced up. "Yeah, what is it?"
A man about my age glanced from me to Hale and seemed embarrassed. "You asked me to let you know when Carmen got back from lunch."
Hale scowled and rose to his feet. "I'll be back in a minute, Miss Jorgenson. Don't go anywhere."
As he spoke the words, I noticed how quickly the color rose in his neck and cheeks. Whoever this Carmen was, I sensed she might be in for a bit of a tongue-lashing. Hale swaggered behind the front counter on his long, powerful legs, head held high and erect. His dark eyes circled the restaurant while he walked, as if afraid he might miss something, and the well-defined nose stuck out so far I feared he might suck up all the air in the place. He disappeared through the double swinging doors with portholes, which I assumed led to the kitchen.
I let out a long, steady breath and tried to calm myself. I seemed destined to strike out again. Maybe panhandling on the beach was in my future.
I looked up to see the other man watching me with unabashed interest. Well, he wasn't just any man. This guy was as hot as the inside of a volcano.
He flashed me a perfect, gleaming white smile. "Interview?"
I nodded. "I don't think my chances are good."
"Ah, I wouldn't say that. We've all been working overtime because the place has been so busy. And Hale does not like to pay overtime." He extended a hand. "I'm Keanu Church."
"Carrie. Nice to meet you." His hand was smooth and cool to the touch.
"Likewise." Keanu had dark wavy hair, a natural tanned look to his skin, and crystal blue eyes the same color as the ocean. Although he was slim, powerful muscles bulged underneath the short-sleeved white T-shirt that said Loco Moco Café on it. The jeans he wore fit him perfectly everywhere, and I do mean everywhere. He was tall, but anyone was tall when compared to my five-foot-four-inch stature.
Before we could exchange any more pleasantries, the sound of a woman shrieking met our ears. I glanced around. There was now one lone customer at the counter, reading the newspaper, and he seemed disinterested.
"I don't care what he did," Hale yelled. "The customer is always right. And since you have no idea how to treat the public, you're fired."
"You're not firing me because of that idiot, and you know it."
Hale's voice was similar to a low, angry growl. "Get your stuff and leave."
The woman's tone was menacing. "I would advise against firing me, Hale. For your own sake."
"It's Mr. Akamu to you now. And your empty threats don't bother me. You're no longer an employee here. Pick up your things and get out."
I expected more sobbing, but instead the woman's tone was venomous. "You'll be sorry for everything you did to me. I'll make you sorry."
Hale laughed. "Threatening me, huh? Yeah, like that's the first time I've heard that line before. Get your pathetic self out of here."
Keanu's expression was grim while his eyes remained focused on the swinging doors.
Less than a minute later, a woman who looked to be in her midthirties pushed through them, a purse in one hand and a tote bag in another. She turned and lifted her middle finger in salute toward the kitchen. "You haven't heard the last from me, you freaking tyrant."
Only she didn't say freaking.
As I watched the woman depart amidst a sea of sobs, my insides filled with dread. I turned to Keanu. "Why did he fire her?"
Keanu sighed. "A patron left her a nickel tip, and she made a snide comment to them. Hale overheard and went nuts. It's nothing new. Believe me. He fires someone at least once a month. It's like he needs to make a quota or something."
A giant knot formed in the pit of my stomach. Do I really want to work here? Uh, no. But then again, what other choice did I have? All of my life I'd wanted to escape from my hometown and had dreamed of living on a tropical island. When my boyfriend had landed a position as a surfing instructor, I'd asked if I could tag along. Although his reaction had been less than favorable, he'd agreed.
Brad and I had been dating for close to a year, but instead of becoming closer over time, it seemed as if we were growing apart. He'd come out a few months ago to get settled and had recently started to ask around about a job for me. Another surfer had told him there might be an opening at the café.
Keanu broke into my thoughts. "It sounds like your chance for a job might have improved."
Before he could say anything further, Hale pushed through the swinging doors and strode back over to us. He had papers in one hand and a giant coffee mug that read Hale Rules in the other. He placed the papers in front of me.
"Carrie, is there any chance you could start work right now?" Hale pointed outside to where the tables were starting to fill. "Our dinner rush will be starting soon, and as you might have overheard, we're suddenly shorthanded."
I wasn't a superstitious person. Plus, I needed the job. Yet I had a bad feeling about coming to work at a place where the owner was obviously disliked. Plus, what if he came on to me? I didn't need that hassle. Maybe I could accept the position for now but still look around for something better.
Hale waved an impatient hand in front of my face. "Hello? Are you still with us, Miss Jorgenson?"
I gulped and forced the words out before I had a chance to change my mind. "Ah, yes, I can start right away."
He nodded and pointed at Keanu. "Good. Take her into the kitchen and show her around until Vivian frees up. Then she can shadow her around for the rest of the day—get drinks and stuff for the customers. A little later on you can show her how to run the register."
Keanu nodded. "Sure thing."
Hale pointed at the papers on the table. "Fill out your W-4 and I-9 and give these to Keanu before you leave."
"Of course. Thank you very much."
He looked down at me, but it felt more like a leer and practically made my skin crawl. When he reached for my hand again this time, I flinched. It was moist and clammy
and sent a shudder of repulsion through me. Ick. I hastily pulled away.
"I look forward to having you here."
Before I could muster a reply, he was over at the register, laughing with a customer who had come inside to pay his bill. Hale slapped him on the back and rang the man's credit card through the machine, between taking sips of coffee from his egotistical mug. He then turned and disappeared into the kitchen again. I turned to Keanu, who gave a slight shrug.
"I guess congratulations are in order. Come with me. I'll show you where you can put your purse and find you an apron. I'll get a name tag made up for you too."
I followed him through the swinging doors into the shining kitchen, still shocked that I actually had a job. I couldn't wait to tell Brad.
"You're an import, aren't you?"
It took me a moment to realize that Keanu was talking to me. "Yes, I've lived in Vermont my whole life."
Keanu grinned, and for the first time, I noticed the adorable dimple on the left side of his mouth. "Did you get tired of all that white stuff?"
I laughed. "Something like that. Plus, I've always wanted to live in a tropical paradise."
He ran a hand through his dark hair, and I found myself wondering if it was as soft as it looked. "Tropical, yes. Paradise—eh, not so much. So tell me, what's snow like? I've never seen it."
"Shut up."
He smiled. "I'm dead serious. I've always wanted to ride a snowmobile. Maybe I'll go check out Vermont sometime."
From his physique, he seemed better suited to a pair of swim trunks and a surfboard than a ski parka. "You were born here?"
