by Avery Aames
“But Jacky.”
“We broke up. She said she felt like a surrogate for someone else. She was right. She doesn’t know it’s you. It’s always been you.”
“But—”
A man cleared his throat. I whirled around.
“Am I interrupting?” Jordan loped up the driveway, hands tucked into the pockets of his distressed leather jacket. The glow of lamps along the driveway lit the underside of his chin and the planes of his cheeks. He looked incredibly handsome.
I glanced between Urso and Jordan, and my heart kicked into overdrive. “We were discussing the case,” I said.
“Ahhh.” Jordan drew near, lips pursed.
Did he know? Had he seen? I needn’t feel guilty. I hadn’t instigated the kiss.
“I heard Georgia Plachette is clearing out tonight,” he said to Urso. “She’s broken off all contracts and hostile negotiations. Oscar is leaving with her.” Oscar had roused from his coma at the same time Chip was holding me hostage.
“Who told you that?” Urso asked.
Jordan chuckled. “Tim got it from Luigi, who learned it from Arlo. I also heard that Barton and Emma Burrell are selling after all.”
I gaped. “But if Clydesdale Enterprises isn’t buying their place, who is?”
“Tallulah Barker. She wants to expand her animal rescue facility.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Urso ran his fingers along the brim of his hat. “Think I’ll get some dinner and share the news with the other folks.” He winked at me, and I felt a flicker of something skitter up the back of my neck. Attraction? No, no, double-no.
As he disappeared into the house, the Providence Do-Gooders offered another cheery, “Hello, Chief.”
The door banged closed, and all I could hear were the night creatures, which weren’t many in the winter. Their chirping waned. The evening grew silent.
I wrapped my arms around myself.
“Are you cold, sweetheart?” Jordan drew me into an embrace.
“Not when you hold me.” I craved the scent of him.
“You know, when Chip was in town, it made me realize something. I never want to take you for granted.”
A warmth shot through me. I felt heady with all the male attention. “And now you’re going to tell me you adore me?” I teased.
“No.” He paused. A long moment passed. “I love you, Charlotte. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Had I heard right? My knees went weak.
“Do you think you can see past my, um, situation with WITSEC? Will you—” He dropped to one knee, pulled a small black box from his pocket, and popped it open. A platinum diamond ring twinkled within the velvet folds. “Will you marry me?”
RECIPES
Cheese and Jam Button Cookie
1 cup white sugar
1 cup butter, softened
1 3-ounce package cream cheese, softened
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon vanilla extract
1 egg yolk
2 ¼ cups flour
1 egg white
1 cup favorite jam
In large bowl, combine sugar, butter, cheese, salt, extract, and yolk. Beat until smooth. Stir in flour. Chill the dough for 4-8 hours or overnight.
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Roll the dough into a long tube shape. Cut the dough in slices. Lay on cookie sheet 1 inch apart. Press with spoon. Brush with slightly beaten egg white and add a dollop of your favorite jam.
Bake for 7-10 minutes until golden brown.
* * *
Gluten-Free Cheese and Jam Button Cookie
1 cup white sugar
1 cup butter, softened
1 3-ounce package cream cheese, softened
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon gluten-free vanilla extract or vanillin
1 egg yolk
1 ¼ cups sweet rice flour
1 cup tapioca starch OR potato starch
1 teaspoon xanthan gum
1 egg white
1 cup favorite jam
In large bowl, combine sugar, butter, cheese, salt, extract, and yolk. Beat until smooth. Stir in sweet rice flour, tapioca starch, and xanthan gum. Chill the dough for 4-8 hours or overnight.
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Roll the dough into a long tube shape. Cut the dough in slices. Lay on cookie sheet 1 inch apart. Press with spoon. Brush with slightly beaten egg white and add a dollop of your favorite jam.
Bake for 7-10 minutes until golden brown.
* * *
Grilled Breakfast Sandwich
by Delilah
(MAKES ONE SANDWICH)
2 eggs
Dash of Tabasco
3 grinds of the peppermill
2 tablespoons butter
1 green onion, green ends only
2 slices white bread
2 slices (at least 1 ounce each*) Tomme Crayeuse cheese (may substitute cream cheese or Brie)
First prepare the eggs. Crack the eggs into a bowl; whisk to blend. Add a dash of Tabasco and three grinds of the peppermill.
Heat sauté pan on medium high. Grease the pan with ½ tablespoon butter. Chop the green onion ends. Drop the onion ends into the heated butter. Cook for one minute. Add the whisked eggs. Reduce heat to simmer. Stir the eggs until cooked through.
Heat griddle to 400 degrees.
Butter the outsides of each slice of bread using the remaining butter.
Slice the cheese and set aside.
Set the bread, butter side down, on the griddle. Top each side with half of the cheese. Mound the cooked eggs on one side of the bread with cheese. Set the other side of bread with cheese on top. Cook for two to three minutes until the bread on the griddle is a medium brown. Using a spatula, flip the sandwich and cook another two to three minutes.
Pancakes with Gouda and Figs
(SERVES 2)
Pancake Mix [Use grandmother’s pancake mix recipe * see below]
Eggs
Milk
Oil
4 ounces Gouda cheese, cut into 12-16 very thin slices
4-6 figs, stems removed, and then sliced
Make the pancake mix according to directions (below).
Warm the maple syrup by heating a pot filled with water. Set the syrup carafe into the boiling water. Turn off the heat.
Heat griddle to 400 degrees. Make 16 pancakes. After flipping the pancakes, top each with a piece of Gouda cheese. Cook until the underside of the pancake is desired color of golden brown.
Set the pancakes on two plates. Top with sliced figs. Drizzle with warm maple syrup.
* * *
Grandmother’s Pancake Mix
1 ½ cups flour
3 ½ teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon sugar
1 ¼ cups milk
1 egg
4 tablespoons butter, melted
Mix together the milk, egg, salt, baking powder, sugar, and butter. Blend in the flour until smooth.
Heat a frying pan or griddle over medium heat. Pour about ¼ cup pancake mix, using large spoon or ladle, onto the griddle. Let pancake heat to warm brown and flip with a spatula. Brown the other side. Serve hot.
* * *
San Simon Frittata
4 eggs
½ cup Parmesan cheese, shredded
½ teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon white pepper
1 tablespoon plus 2 teaspoons of olive oil
1 turkey sausage, about 4 ounces, diced
2 teaspoons rosemary
¼ cup red onion, diced
¼ cup scallions, diced
½ cup chopped Roma tomatoes
3 ounces San Simon cheese, sliced [may substitute other cow’s milk cheese]
Preheat oven on broil.
Mix eggs and Parmesan cheese, salt, and pepper in a bowl and set aside.
In 8-inch skillet, sauté 1 tablespoon of oil. Toss in diced turkey sausage and rosemary. Sauté on medium high for 3-4 minute
s. Drain.
Wipe skillet. Add 1 teaspoon of oil. Toss in onion and scallions. Sauté on medium high for 3-4 minutes until tender.
Add turkey sausage and egg mixture.
Cook, using spatula to lift cooked edges and allow uncooked eggs to ooze underneath, 3-5 minutes.
In separate 8-inch skillet (that can be safely put into the oven), sauté 1 teaspoon of oil. Place hot-oiled skillet upside-down on top of egg mixture skillet. Flip. Cook eggs in new skillet for 2 more minutes.
Pour chopped Roma tomatoes in center of the frittata; spread to edges.
Arrange San Simon on top.
Broil frittata in oven for 3-5 minutes. (Be careful not to burn the cheese.)
Remove from oven (remembering to use a POTHOLDER for hot handle).
Slide frittata onto serving plate.
* * *
Sweet Potato–Nutmeg Quiche
(SERVES 4-6)
1 cup sweet potatoes (canned, or 2 sweet potatoes cooked to tender*)
2 tablespoons brown sugar
1 teaspoon nutmeg, plus a dash
6 ounces (3⁄4 cup) whipping cream
2 eggs
1 pie shell (home baked or frozen)
4 ounces shredded Swiss cheese
Put cooled sweet potatoes in bowl.* Sprinkle with brown sugar and 1 teaspoon of nutmeg.
Mix in cream and eggs. Pour mixture into pie shell.
Sprinkle with Swiss cheese. Dash with more nutmeg.
Bake 35 minutes at 375 until quiche is firm and lightly brown on top.
* * *
Torpedo Sandwich
Urso’s favorite
(MAKES 2)
Torpedo-shaped rolls, 6 each
4 tablespoons mayonnaise (plain; not salad dressing style)
2 teaspoons Dijon mustard
2 teaspoons maple syrup
1 teaspoon ground pepper
1 teaspoon salt
2 green onions, white tips only (or scallions)
8 1-ounce slices maple-infused ham
8 1-ounce slices Jarlsburg cheese
Slice the torpedo-shaped rolls lengthwise.
In a bowl, combine the mayonnaise, mustard, syrup, pepper, salt, and green onion tips.
Slather each side of the torpedo-shaped rolls with the mayonnaise mixture. Top the bottom half with 4 slices of ham and 4 slices of cheese. (At this point, you might desire to heat the bottom half. Place under broiler for 2-3 minutes until cheese is bubbling.)
Place the top half on the sandwich and cut the roll on the diagonal.
Serve with crispy potato chips
*More cheese may be added, to your liking. After all, it is a grilled cheese sandwich.
*Note this recipe is not gluten-free. To make it gluten-free, substitute 1 ½ cups gluten-free flour of your choice and keep the rest of the ingredients the same.
*To cook fresh sweet potatoes: Peel two sweet potatoes. Cut sweet potatoes into quarters. Fill a 6-quart pot three-quarters full of water. Bring to boiling. Set the sweet potatoes into the pot. Cook for 15-20 minutes, until a fork slips into the potatoes easily and comes out. Remove the potatoes and let cool. Mash for quiche.
Turn the page for a preview of
Avery Aames’s next
Cheese Shop Mystery …
To Brie or Not To Brie
Coming soon
from Berkley Prime Crime!
A blissful moan escaped my lips. Had I died and gone to heaven? I took another bite of the ciabatta, spinach, and goat cheese crostini—one of many appetizers sitting on the granite counter in The Cheese Shop kitchen—and sighed again. Adding minced sun-dried tomatoes to the recipe had done the trick.
I downed the remainder of the scrumptious morsel and eyed the array that I had started preparing at six a.m. The jalapeños packed with mascarpone and seasoned with Cajun spices had nearly seared the roof of my mouth, but the ricotta-stuffed mushrooms had a good balance. All in all, the experiment was a success. I had at least ten winning choices for the taste testing.
As I collected cartons of cream to use in the desserts I planned to make, I paused. Did I smell smoke?
I tore out of the walk-in refrigerator. Flames not only licked upward from the sauté pan on the stove, they spiraled from the twenty-five-pound bag of flour beside it.
“Fire!” I yelled to no one. I was alone in the shop. Lured by the ciabatta crostini, I had forgotten that I was frying shallots for one more dish. “Shoot, shoot, shoot.” I hadn’t patted the shallots dry enough. Water must have boiled a spit of oil out of the pan, which had then caught fire and nailed the flour bag.
“You dope, Charlotte.” I knew what danger lurked in a kitchen. That would teach me to multitask. Why did I always think I could do everything at once? Wonder Woman, I was not, though at the age of seven I had liked her costume so much that I had begged and pleaded to wear it for Halloween. What girl hadn’t?
I dumped the cartons of cream on the counter, swooped to the stove, grabbed a lid, and threw it onto the sauté pan to douse the flame. Then I switched off the gas beneath the burner, snatched one of the oven mitts, and batted the bag of flour. I quenched the fire, but smoke coiled toward the ceiling, and the fire alarm began to bleat.
“Dang.” I chucked the oven mitt, hoisted one of the wicker stools nestled under the counter, placed it beneath the alarm, and climbed on.
“Sacre bleu,” a woman yelled from the front of the shop. Rebecca galloped into the kitchen. “Charlotte, I smell smoke.” She skidded on her heels. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” I teetered on tiptoe, the hem of my pumpkin-colored sweater rising up my midriff, the heels of my loafers loose. “I’m trying to hit the red button.” I jabbed at the darned thing with my index finger but missed my target. The smoke alarm began to howl like a banshee.
“You can’t turn it off that way.” My young assistant covered her ears. “You have to remove the battery.”
Swell. Out of spite, I poked at the red button one more time before unclipping the alarm case, which came loose but remained fixed to the ceiling by its wires. I plucked at the battery, breaking a nail in the process—double swell—and removed the battery from its slot.
Just as the siren stopped blaring, I felt something give way beneath my feet. “Oh, no.” The seat of the wicker stool burst. I let rip with a yelp, lost my grip on the alarm, and careened heels-first through the seat’s hoop. The wicker and rubber matting on the floor cushioned my landing, but the undersides of my bare arms scraped the rim. I would have black-and-blue bruises, but at least I hadn’t broken my skin, or worse, my neck.
Rebecca rushed to help, her ponytail flapping behind her, her pencil skirt preventing her lanky legs from making long strides. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”
“Only my ego.”
“What were you thinking? We have a ladder.”
“Do you see it nearby?” I said. “No, you do not. I didn’t have time. I had an emergency.”
“Impulsive,” she muttered.
“Proactive,” I countered.
“Okay, okay.” Rebecca offered a hand to help me out of my confinement.
Spurning her goodwill, I snuggled my feet into my loafers and, balancing both palms on the broken chair’s hoop, slipped one leg out, followed by the other. I brushed bits of wicker from my clothes and tugged the hem of my sweater over my chinos. After a stunned second, I burst into giggles.
Rebecca covered her mouth with the back of her hand and sniggered. When she regained control of herself, she said, “What kind of quiche are you making—let me rephrase that—were you making?”
“I wasn’t.” Each day at Fromagerie Bessette—what the locals liked to call The Cheese Shop—we made a different quiche to sell to our customers, but I had finished the dozen long before I had started in on the wedding menu. Every autumn, as the days grew shorter, my inner clock went cuckoo. For weeks, I had been waking before dawn. “I was testing out wedding appetizers.”
“Bien sûr. But
of course.”
I smiled. Ever since she had started working at the shop, Rebecca had been practicing her French. She loved the way my grandparents, who had owned the place before ceding it to my cousin and me, settled into their native tongue. To date, I think she had learned close to a hundred phrases.
“How is the menu coming?” she asked.
“Pretty well, except for one.” The shallots—now ruined—were intended to go into a radicchio marmalade that would garnish a filo dough turnover filled with breast of turkey and smoked Gouda.
I headed to the kitchen sink to freshen up.
“Why are there ice cream fixings on the counter?” Rebecca trailed me.
“I’m planning on trying out a few new desserts.” I wasn’t a caterer—I was a cheese shop owner—but when my best friend had asked me to come up with an eclectic menu for her wedding, I had promised I would do my best.
“Maybe you should have waited until you had more hands to help.”
I frowned. The last thing I wanted after a kitchen fiasco was sage advice from a twentysomething who was ten years younger than me. Wonder Woman wouldn’t take it, would she?
“I wasn’t expecting you,” I said as I rinsed my hands and patted them dry on a fluffy white and gold–striped towel. “It’s your day off, isn’t it? I thought you were spending it with your fiancé and his parents. You were going on a tour of Amish country.”
“Speaking of desserts,” she said, ineptly changing subjects, “remind me to show you an all-cheese wedding cake that I saw on the Internet.”
I glanced over my shoulder. Was there trouble brewing in Romance Land? Was that why she had come to work? “Are you okay?”
“The cake was so cool-looking,” she went on, fluttering her fingers to describe the shape. “Wheels upon wheels of assorted cheeses. Cheddar, Smoked Gouda, Cashel Blue, and Ashgrove Double Gloucester, all topped with a wedding couple carved out of cheese.”
I raised an eyebrow and pursed my lips, my standard look when demanding an answer to a question.
“I’m fine,” she assured me. “Really.”
