Cook's Christmas Capers (The Angie Amalfi Mysteries)

by Joanne Pence

  "Good-bye, Paavo." She put the extra set of Nona's keys on the small table by the door. "Give Nona my best."

  With that, she turned and walked out of the house.

  o0o

  She stood on the bluff at Land’s End looking out at the Pacific, at the beauty and vastness and endlessness of it. She had no idea what to do. She ached to go back home, but couldn't. To think otherwise was to cause herself endless sorrow.

  The sound of a saxophone again drifted her way. Her strange friend. She walked deeper into the park.

  Tim Burrows sat on the ground between the pathway and the cliff's edge playing Morning has Broken. For a reason she couldn’t name, it seemed an odd choice, and put her nerves on edge. But then, everything seemed to these days.

  She walked over to him and sat. When the song ended, he turned to her.

  "You look unhappy," he said, leaning closer.

  "Yes. I don't know how I'll ever get back to my family and friends. I can't bear it any longer."

  "Maybe I can help you."

  "I don't think so."

  He rested the saxophone on the ground. "Yes, beautiful lady, I can."

  His words…beautiful lady…where had she…?

  Oh, God!

  He took a switchblade from his pocket, and pressed a button. A long blade sprang forward.

  "What's that?" Angie said, scrambling to her feet. "What are you doing with it?"

  He jumped up, standing between her and the path. "This is the way I can help." His voice was soft, almost soothing. "I've helped many others, you know. Men as well as women. Some in lover's lanes. Some alone."

  Men. Women. Lover's lanes…

  "I…I don't…" Angie couldn't think, but just babbled. This couldn't be how it would end. Here, alone, away from everyone she held dear. She stepped backwards, towards the cliff's rim, wondering if there was a way she could climb down it.

  He picked up the sax and slowly, steadily walked towards her. She ran to the edge, but it was a sheer drop. She froze, unable to take another step without falling. He dropped the sax as he lunged at her, grabbing her arms, his fingers like steel. She fought, pushing against him, praying they didn't both plunge to the rocks far below.

  At that moment the earth gave a violent, side-to-side jolt that knocked Tim and Angie to the ground. He let her go as he fell. As she scrambled to crawl away from him her foot accidentally kicked the sax, sending it spinning towards the cliff’s edge.

  Tim got up and ran to his horn, grabbing it just before it went over, but the quake knocked him down again, this time even closer to the brink. He tried to find a foothold, but the soft, loose rock crumbled beneath him, causing his legs to slip over the lip of the cliff.

  Tim held the neck of the horn with one hand, and the other clutched a handful of scrub brush. He stretched the sax towards her.

  "Pull me up!" he ordered. His eyes, his demeanor were no longer the harmless, rather slow man he pretended to be.

  Angie lay flat on her stomach, the ground solid beneath her and no longer shaking. One hand held a shrub and with the other she reached out and took hold of the bell of the saxophone. But then she stopped.

  He was the Zodiac. And he wanted to kill her. The police were wrong about his description, about the type of man he was. No wonder they could never find him! If she helped him, how many more innocent people would he go on to kill?

  "Pull, I said!"

  "You like killing people," she cried. "How does it feel to be close to death?"

  "Damn you! Help me!"

  His weight slowly caused the clump of scrub he held to lift up from the ground.

  Still, she did nothing. Her heart pounded harder. Let go of the saxophone! her mind cried, but she couldn't do it. Instead, she remained still, holding the bell so tightly her fingers began to ache.

  The tuft of scrub ripped free of the earth. With that, he finally let go of the horn and flailed for something to hold, a shrub, rock, anything. His body seemed to hover a moment, and then disappeared.

  There was a single splash in the water, and then nothing.

  Angie inched her way to the edge of the cliff.

  The water swept him far from the rocky shore. When she saw him reappear, he was face down, lifelessly bobbing, until the waves pulled him under once more. She watched and watched for what seemed like an eternity, but he was gone.

  The ground began to shake again.

  "No!" she cried, clutching the saxophone tight against her chest.

  Then all turned quiet for just a moment until…

  She heard chimes playing Lohengrin's Wedding March.

  She screamed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  "Angie! It's all right! Angie!"

  She opened her eyes to hear her cell phone ringing. She had made "The Wedding March" her latest ringtone. Paavo was standing over her. And, thanks be to God, his bushy hair and mutton-chop sideburns were gone.

  She saw her mother and father, her sisters Bianca, Caterina, and Maria, her neighbor, Stan Bonnette, and her dear friend Connie—again with short, fluffy blond hair and wearing cream colored slacks and a yellow jacket instead of a policeman's uniform—all standing around the bed she was in, looking drawn and worried.

  Her fourth sister, Frannie, had answered Angie's cell phone and was now talking quietly.

  She was in a room filled with equipment.

  "Angelina?" her mother said. "Can you hear us?"

  She reached up and felt strange things stuck to her forehead, saw tubes and needles jabbed under the skin of her hand. "What's all this?"

  "We had an earthquake," Paavo said, taking her hand in his as he sat at her side. "We think a branch from a tree in Washington Square hit you on the head and gave you a concussion. You were out cold for hours."

  Her hands immediately went to her hair as thoughts of her head being shaved struck. Thank heavens, it was all there.

  "She'll be okay," her sister Frannie said, "since she cares more about damage to her hair than to her brains. That was Nona, by the way. She was wondering how you're doing."

  "Nona? Is she all right?" Angie asked.

  "Yeah. She's the one who saw what happened to you. She was late for the hairdresser's and was running through the park when the earthquake hit. She noticed that you didn't get up when everyone else did, and called nine-one-one, then Paavo. He let the rest of us know."

  "Nona did that for me?" Angie murmured. "Who would have thought it?"

  "She's not that bad," Paavo said. "Anyway, the doctors told us your vitals are fine and there was no significant internal swelling, although you've got quite a goose egg on your head. For some reason, though, you simply would not wake up."

  "I think it was a trauma-induced coma," Caterina said knowingly. She always had an answer.

  "There's no such thing," Bianca, the most practical sister, exclaimed.

  The most mysterious—some would say spooky—sister, Maria, added, "I felt that you were somewhere else, and it took a while for you to come back to us."

  Her mother brushed Angie's hair off her forehead and looked at her lovingly. "I told them you decided it was a way to take a rest after all the running around you've been doing. I wasn't worried at all!"

  "Not much!" Sal's voice was gruff with emotion, his eyes teary, as he looked at the baby of the family in a hospital bed.

  "What about the earthquake?" Angie asked. "Did it do much damage."

  "My shop's a mess," Connie said. "But it's insured. Maybe with the insurance money, I'll be able to get a second chance at making a go of it."

  "Lots of minor damage," Paavo said. "No loss of life, but lots of people hurt…like you."

  "Well, aside from a horrible headache," Angie said. "I should go home and let someone who needs it have this bed."

  "They would like you to stay here overnight for observation," Paavo said. "I'll stay with you, then I'll take you home."

  "And the rest of us will leave you two alone so Angie can get her strength back," Serefina ad
ded. "You gave us a good scare, Angelina. Don't you dare do it again!"

  After kisses and hugs, everyone left.

  "How do you really feel?" Paavo asked.

  "Fine, honestly. But I need to know one thing—did the police ever find out who the Zodiac killer was or what happened to him?"

  "The Zodiac?" Paavo looked at her strangely. "No one knows. Sometime in the mid-seventies or so he suddenly stopped taunting the police and newsmen, and as far as we know, killed no one else. No one ever knew why."

  "That's what I thought," Angie said, sitting up. "Did anyone ever suspect a man named Tim Burrows?"

  "Not that I remember," Paavo said. "But I haven't read up on the case for years. I'll look into it for you, if you'd like."

  "Yes, please!" she spoke quickly. "Could you do it now? Burrows was a vet, Air Force, and his mother lived in Santa Rosa—if he really existed, that is."

  "Angie, calm yourself. What is this about?"

  "Uh…nothing. Just curious." She smiled.

  Paavo gave her a worried glance, but went ahead and called his partner. Yosh was still at work. After a while, Paavo hung up. "Well, Burrows did exist. The police never suspected him of being the Zodiac, but one reporter did give them his name saying someone suggested he might be the killer. In any case, his mother claimed he disappeared some time in 1975. No one ever knew what happened to him. Now tell me, why are you suddenly asking about all this?"

  She debated a moment about how much to tell him. Then decided…not much. "I had the strangest dream. I must have read something about the Zodiac years ago and it came back to me while I was out of it."

  It had to have been a dream, she thought. Just a strange dream. She wondered why she had dreamed it.

  "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked.

  "Yes, now that you're here."

  He bent over and lightly kissed her.

  She put her arms around him. It felt good to hold him. She hadn't really gone back to the 1970s, of course, although she had to admit that the thought of going back in time, or to a parallel universe, or wherever in the world (or out of it) she was, and helping her friends was pretty satisfying. After all, if she hadn't gone back and didn't press to save Nona, would Nona have been falsely charged with murder? Would Connie have joined the People's Temple? Would Stan have been in the mayor's office on that fateful day? And, perhaps most of all, would the Zodiac have killed a lot more people until someone finally put together who he was and stopped him?

  Of course, none of it had actually happened. It was all a dream, a crazy dream.

  It truly was more than her poor brain could handle.

  What she could handle was being home again. Why had she ever thought Christmas was a bother? She realized its true importance—that through it, she could remember that nothing was more important than the people she loved, whether she was with them or not.

  She let go of Paavo and lay back down. "Merry Christmas, Paavo," she whispered, holding his hand.

  "Merry Christmas, Angie."

  Just then, a nurse came in wheeling a cart.

  "Sorry to interrupt," she said to Angie. "I thought you'd want these." From the cart, she pulled the shopping bag filled with Christmas presents ready for the post office and placed it on the counter by the window, and then she took out an old, somewhat dented saxophone, and put it on top of the bag. "I've never seen anything like it," the nurse said, her hand lingering a moment on the sax. "Even though you were unconscious when you were wheeled into Emergency, you were hugging this horn for dear life. I guess it's important to you."

  Then she smiled at Angie, and walked out of the room.

  Angie stared at the sax a long moment before she murmured, "Oh. My. God."

  From the Kitchen of Angelina Amalfi

  CHRISTMAS VANILLA HORNS

  1 cup (2 sticks) butter –softened

  2/3 cup unsifted powdered sugar

  1-1/2 tsp vanilla

  ¾ cup ground pecans

  2 cup unsifted all-purpose flour

  Beat together butter, sugar and vanilla. Mix well. Add pecans. Stir in flour until well blended. Shape the batter into a ball and place in a bowl covered with wax paper. Refrigerate it one hour.

  Preheat oven to 325 degrees. Lightly grease cookie sheets.

  Measure 1 Tablespoon of dough, roll it into a cylinder, and then bend it to shape it like a crescent moon, and place on cookie sheet.

  Continue, using all the batter.

  Bake 10-12 minutes until lightly browned. Cool. Dust with powdered sugar.

  ANGIE’S EASY RAISIN-BUTTERMILK SODA BREAD

  ¼ cup white sugar

  2 cups all-purpose flour

  1 tsp baking powder

  ½ tsp baking soda

  ½ tsp salt

  ½ cup raisins

  1 egg

  9 oz. buttermilk (OR 1 8-oz carton buttermilk + 1 oz milk, water, or half-and-half )

  ½ cup sour cream

  In a large mixing bowl, combine flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt, & raisins. Then, in a separate bowl, beat together just until mixed, egg, buttermilk, and sour cream.

  Stir the liquid mixture into flour mixture until flour is moistened. Knead the dough in the bowl 10-12 times. The dough will be sticky.

  Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

  Place the dough in a greased 9-inch round cake pan or greased cast iron skillet. Allow the dough to rest for at least 20 minutes before cooking it. Dust the top with a sprinkling of flour, and then cut a deep slit in an X- shape on the top of the loaf.

  Bake it at 350 degrees for 65-75 minutes, until well browned and bread has a slightly hollow sound when tapped.

  BEST LEMON SQUARES EVER

  CRUST:

  2 cups flour

  ½ cup powdered sugar

  1 cup (2 sticks) butter

  Mix, pat and press into 13 x 9 well-greased pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 15 minutes.

  TOPPING:

  4 eggs

  4 Tbs. lemon juice

  2 cups sugar

  2 Tbs. grated lemon rind

  1 Tbs. baking powder

  4 Tbs. flour

  Beat it all together and pour it over crust. Bake at 350 degrees for 20-25 min. DO NOT OVERBAKE.

  Sift powdered sugar on top while hot.

  Dear Reader,

  If you would like to hear when my next book is released, please drop me an email at notification@joannepence.com – your address will not be shared with anyone.

  Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would very much appreciate an online review at the site where you purchased it. The help you give to an author by providing a good review is truly invaluable. Thank you!

  Best wishes,

  Joanne Pence

  The Thirteenth Santa

  A Rebecca Mayfield Mystery

  Novella

  JOANNE PENCE

  Quail Hill Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. This book may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others.

  Quail Hill Publishing

  PO Box 64

  Eagle, ID 83616

  Visit our website at www.quailhillpublishing.net

  Completely revised from prior editions.

  First Quail Hill Publishing e-book: April 2014

  First Quail Hill Publishing Paperback Printing: April 2014

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Copyright © 2014 Joanne Pence

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13: 978-0616007860

/>   ISBN-10: 0616007868

  Chapter 1

  IT WAS CHRISTMAS EVE and Homicide Inspector Rebecca Mayfield was on a case.

  Garlands of silver tinsel and strings of cheery lights decorated the outdoor parking lot of San Francisco's largest mall. In the center of it, while curious shoppers gawked and impatient drivers raged over the loss of parking spaces, yellow crime scene tape surrounded a black body bag. Homicide detectives were put in charge when a suspicious death occurred, and as soon as Rebecca arrived the concerned merchants of Stonestown descended on her, screaming their outrage over the distasteful police presence. A corpse could dampen tidings of good cheer under the best of circumstances, they protested, but to see one at high noon on the day before Christmas would cause shoppers to flee to the competition.

  Frankly, surveying the crowd, it didn't appear as if anyone much cared.

  Earlier, as she drove to the mall in answer to the SFPD dispatcher’s call, she'd worried about the crime scene because of both the day and the location. She hoped the death would have a simple and obvious explanation—bad health, for example. Joggers, in particular, were big on dropping like flies in the damnedest locations.

  Given the strange smirks on the faces of the patrol cops who guarded the body, though, she had the bad feeling that there’d be nothing at all normal about this case.

  Officer Mike Hennessy was a friend from the Taraval Station. Like her, he was single and therefore a prime candidate for holiday duty. They’d dated a couple of times until both realized it wasn’t going to work. Maybe it was because as a homicide inspector, she was superior to him. Or maybe something else. She didn’t know, and preferred not to analyze it.