by Maddie Day
He held up his glass and clinked it with mine. “You didn’t stay out of trouble again, but you’re getting the South Lick medal of courage for what you did to Max.”
Sucking in a breath, I hunched my shoulders, then let them down. “It wasn’t easy, but I knew I needed to disable him in some way so I could escape. And when you’re outweighed by a hundred pounds, you do what you can.” I sipped the whiskey. “I’d really wondered if Vince was involved in Erica’s murder. It just seemed weird he’d come all the way down here, and then stay, when he was the first to say how much he didn’t like Erica.”
“We checked him out. Turns out he had a solid alibi for Saturday night. He was still in Chicago.” Buck took a tiny sip of his own bourbon.
“I guess he was simply being nice to the Berrys. And he’s apparently a pretty serious birder, too, so maybe that was his motivation for staying in the area.”
The cowbell jangled. Had Octavia forgotten something? As I watched, Abe pushed open the door and held it.
“I heard something went down here tonight. You okay, Robbie?” Those big brown eyes were pools of concern. “I tried to call but your phone went straight to voice mail. I was worried about you.”
“I’m okay. But the phone got smashed. Totally out of commission.” I smiled, then spied someone behind him.
“Come on in, Sean.” Abe said to his son, who trailed him in. They walked over to our table.
“Sean just told me he met you earlier today,” Abe said.
“That’s right. Hey, Sean,” I said.
“Hi, Ms. Jordan.” Sean extended his hand.
I shook it and smiled at him. “Sit down, guys, and join us. You want a soda, Sean?”
“Yes please, ma’am.” Sean pulled out the chair next to Buck’s.
I stood and gestured with my head for Abe to follow me over to the glass-fronted drinks cooler. “You never told me you had a son,” I said in a low voice once we got there.
“I know. I guess it never came up.” He glanced sideways at me. “I really wasn’t trying to hide him. I have him with me most weekends. Hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind? He’s the nicest, most polite kid I’ve met in a long time. And you’ve taught him a firm handshake, too. Good job.”
“I do my best. The manners he gets from his mother.” He looked me straight in the eyes and swallowed. “We’ve been divorced for a long time,” he said in a rush.
“No worries. Don said you were divorced. Is Sean your only child?”
“For sure. We were teenage parents. Remember what I said about making colossal mistakes?” He whistled. “Not recommended, although I adore the kid, and he’s turned out great, divorced parents notwithstanding.”
I pulled open the tall door. “What kind of soda does your boy like?”
“I’d prefer he has something without caffeine, since I’m choosing.”
I pulled out a bottle of a locally brewed root beer. “You’ll join us in a little bourbon?”
Abe laughed and shook his head. “Afraid not. I’m driving, and with a thirteen-year-old in the car? No way do I want him throwing that back at me in a few years when he gets his license. I’ll take a root beer, too.”
We brought the drinks back to the table.
“Young Sean here was telling me about his math team,” Buck said. “Smart kid.”
“I just picked him up from practice,” Abe said. “They have a meet next week in Bloomington.”
“I was on math team in high school, too.” I smiled at Sean. “Math was simply another kind of puzzle, to me.”
The boy sat up as straight as a perfectly plumb corner post. “Sweet.”
“Do you like to do puzzles, too?” I asked.
“Totally.” He nodded with enthusiasm. “Especially logic puzzles.” He took a long swig of the root beer, and then held his hand over his mouth as the inevitable boy-belch erupted. “Excuse me.”
I only smiled.
“Can you tell us what happened tonight?” Abe looked from Buck to me and back.
I’d opened my mouth to speak when Adele and Samuel burst into the store, followed by Phil. Adele rushed over and wrapped me in her arms, then pulled out a chair and plopped into it.
“Couldn’t believe the news when we heard it on the scanner,” she said, breathless. “Had to get right on over here and make sure you weren’t hurt, didn’t we, Samuel?”
Samuel arrived at the table and pulled up a chair from the next table over. “Yep. And Phil drove up right when we did.”
Adele patted her chest. “Too much excitement for this old lady.”
“Are you all right, Robbie?” Phil’s gaze had never been so intense and full of concern. “I’m sorry I’m late. I tried to call you, but . . .”
“I’m fine, everybody.” I batted away my friends’ concern, even as I took it into my heart. “Adele, you and Samuel didn’t have to come all the way down.”
“Shoot, we were out to dinner at the roadhouse, anyway,” Adele said. “We’d just left.”
“And Phil—well, I’m not sure I’m up for log cabin-ing tonight,” I said.
“That’s about the least important thing in the universe right now,” Phil said, batting away the idea.
Adele’s eyes shone. “Give us the skinny first, and we’ll all help put that log cabin country store together afterwards.”
I looked at Buck. “You want to do the honors?”
He pointed to me. “It’s your story to tell, Robbie.”
I inhaled deeply. “Remember the object I was asking about at the store, Sean? I’d found this funny tool near the cookware shelves earlier in the week,” I told the rest of them.
Sean nodded. Adele did, too.
“I discovered when I got home that it’s a lock pick. Max is a locksmith. I thought maybe he’d left it here, that maybe he killed Erica. Or that Vince had stolen it from Max and he was the murderer.”
Abe’s gaze shifted to Sean. Oops. A young person in the room. I covered my mouth, wondering if I should cut this talk of murder, but then Abe rolled his hand, gesturing for me to continue.
“As I was leaving a message for Octavia, I saw someone walk along the side of my building, so I called nine-one-one. Then Max came in the service door. With a gun.” I felt again my heart pounding in my throat, smelled the liquor on Max’s breath, saw the gun pointed at my heart. I squeezed my eyes shut, then blew out a breath as I opened them. I was alive, I was safe, I was with people I loved. People who loved me right back.
Sean’s eyes went wide. So did Phil’s.
Abe covered my hand with his. “You must have been so frightened.”
“You can say that again. Terrified. He was the one who smashed my phone while I was talking to the dispatcher. But I, um”—I gazed at their faces—“I managed to disable him and get away.”
“That’s all that counts,” Adele said. “Exactly what they taught us in that self-defense class.”
“Interesting,” Buck said. “You know we found your sandwich press in the alley behind Tiffany’s shop, in the Dumpster. Octavia was looking at Tiffany for the murder before we figured out she’d been . . . what she’d been doing all night.” He glanced at Sean, who didn’t seem to notice the correction.
“But that alley is also behind Max’s locksmith shop,” I said.
“Exactly.” Buck took a tiny sip of his drink.
“Did Max kill Erica with the press?” Phil asked.
“No. He told me she’d come by his house in the early hours after the party.” I gazed at Sean. No need for lurid details. “They, um, had an argument. Erica fell down the steps and hit her head pretty badly.”
“So he brought her over here to hide the fact she died at his house?” Adele asked.
“Right,” I said.
“What about the press?” Buck watched me.
“He said he whacked her with the press here. You know, to make it look like she was killed here. Same thing about breaking the glass in the door. He picked the lock, but he d
idn’t want anyone to connect the murder with him.” I blew out another breath.
“Mr. Holzhauser is way bigger than you, Ms. Jordan,” Sean said, his gaze intent. “How’d you get away from him?”
I glanced at Buck then back at Sean. “What I learned in the self-defense class came in handy.”
“You disabled him with a self-defense move?” Abe asked. “I’m impressed.”
I cleared my throat and ran my finger around the neck of my sweatshirt. I was going to do my best never again to think about how the pick had felt going into Max’s eyes. I looked at each of them in turn. “Speaking of murderers, I wonder if we’ll ever find out the truth about Erica and Jon Shermer.”
Adele tapped the table. “We got Samuel’s nephew on the case. Could be he’ll uncover some tidbit the police overlooked.”
“He’s good, that boy,” Samuel added. “If anybody can figure it out, William can.”
I emptied my glass. The bourbon warmed me and stretched the evening’s threat to my life to a comfortable distance. “Think we can stop talking about murder now?” I asked, setting my chin on my hand.
“You bet,” Abe said.
The vintage store phone rang, the one in which I’d installed modern innards. “Who could that be?” I hurried over to answer it, picking up the old-fashioned receiver hanging on the side of the wooden cabinet.
“Robbie?” It was the deep voice of my father. His voice was so clear it sounded like he was down the street instead of in Italy.
What a delicious surprise. “Roberto!” I hadn’t been able to call him “Dad” yet. Maybe when I visited him at the end of December I’d start calling him by whatever my Italian half-sister did. “How are you?”
“I am well, grazie a dio. But are you? I had the strange feeling you are hurt, that I should call to you. When your mobile did not answer, I find this number.”
My eyes welled up and my throat tightened. I glanced over at the table of my friends and family, lit by the soft holiday lights. My eyes took in the glowing Christmas tree, the shelves of cookware, the kitchen area.
“I am fine. I’m not hurt.” I swallowed. “Yes, I’m fine.”
Recipes
Apple Spice Muffins
Makes twelve. Preheat oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit and grease a standard muffin pan.
Ingredients:
2 eggs
½ cup brown sugar
½ cup milk
2 cups chopped apples (about three small), any variety
1 tsp vanilla
2 cups whole-wheat flour
1 Tbsp baking powder
½ tsp baking soda
½ tsp salt
1 tsp ground cinnamon
½ tsp nutmeg
½ cup finely chopped walnuts
Directions:
Combine eggs, sugar, milk, apples, and vanilla, and mix well.
Separately combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt, spices, and walnuts.
Stir dry ingredients into wet with a fork until just mixed. Spoon into a muffin pan. Bake 20–25 minutes or until brown on top. Remove from pan and cool on rack.
Serve warm with butter, peanut butter, or cream cheese.
Colorful Coleslaw
Serves six. With thanks to Bill Castle.
Ingredients:
6 cups shredded red and green cabbage
2 carrots, peeled and shredded
⅔ cup mayonnaise
2 Tbsps vinegar (cider vinegar or white vinegar)
2 Tbsps vegetable oil
1 Tbsp fresh prepared horseradish
2 Tbsps sugar, or to taste
¼ tsp ground celery seed
¼ tsp salt, or to taste
Chopped fresh dill
Directions:
Toss cabbage in a large bowl with the carrots.
In a bowl, whisk together the remaining ingredients except the dill. Pour the mixture over the cabbage and carrots and toss to coat thoroughly.
Refrigerate until serving time, then sprinkle fresh dill on top.
Santa Barbara-Style Eggs Benedict
Serves two hungry people or four lighter eaters. With a nod to Hallie Ephron and her easy from-scratch recipe for the hollandaise.
Ingredients:
2 whole wheat English muffins
1 ripe avocado
1 egg
½ cup butter
1 ½ Tbsp lime juice
¼ tsp salt
tsp ground chipotle pepper
Directions:
Warm two plates.
Peel and slice the avocado.
Make the hollandaise sauce by melting the butter slowly in a small heavy-bottomed saucepan. Whisk the egg with the lime juice and add to the melted butter along with the salt and chipotle. Whisk over low medium heat until the sauce thickens. Be careful or it turns into scrambled eggs. Keep it on a very low heat and stir occasionally until ready to serve.
Fry four eggs lightly on both sides over medium heat, fully cooking the whites but leaving the yolks slightly runny.
Split and toast the English muffins; butter if desired. Place two halves on each plate, add an egg to each, arrange avocado slices on top, and spoon the hollandaise sauce over all. Serve immediately, with salsa or hot sauce on the side.
Overnight French Toast
Ingredients:
1 loaf French bread (13 to 16 ounces)
½ cup Grand Marnier
8 large eggs
2 cups half-and-half
1 cup milk
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp ground cinnamon
¼ tsp ground nutmeg
½ tsp salt
1 cup chopped pecans
Sour cream
Maple syrup
Directions:
Slice French bread into 20 slices, 1-inch thick each. (Use any extra bread for garlic toast or bread crumbs).
Arrange slices in a generously buttered 9-inch by 13-inch flat baking dish in 2 rows, overlapping the slices.
Drizzle the bread with the liqueur. In a large bowl, combine the eggs, half-and-half, milk, vanilla, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt and beat with a rotary beater or whisk until blended but not too bubbly.
Pour mixture over the bread slices, making sure all are covered evenly with the milk-egg mixture.
Spoon some of the mixture in between the slices. Cover with foil and refrigerate overnight.
The next day, an hour before the time you want to serve, preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit.
Sprinkle pecans over the top and bake uncovered for 40 minutes, until puffed and lightly golden. Serve with maple syrup and a dollop of sour cream on each serving.
Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of
Maddie Day’s next Country Store Mystery
WHEN THE GRITS HIT THE FAN
coming in March 2017
from Kensington Publishing!
Chapter 1
Who knew people could be so nasty to each other? While I cleared plates, I watched and listened as a mix of grad students and professors from Indiana University discuss medical sociology during their weekly dinner meeting at my restaurant, Pans ’N Pancakes. This week I’d served Chicken Ezekiel on rotini to fifteen of them, with garlic bread and a salad with winter greens from a local farmer who was harvesting even in February. From the empty plates, it sure looked like the meal had been a success.
The conversation? Not so much. Some of the terminology went right over my head. But when Charles Stilton glared at my friend Lou Perlman, the meaning was unmistakable.
“It was unethical of you to take the ideas in my paper and present them as your own,” Lou went on, the silver rings on her fingers flashing as much as her eyes as she pointed at him across the wide table. “You agreed to sponsor me, but I sure didn’t agree to give up my original research.”
“You’re a doctoral student,” the diminutive professor said, his bright green shirt a spot of color in the room. He picked up his glass of red wine and sipped. “I’m a tenured profe
ssor in the same field. I can’t help it if our research is pursuing parallel ideas. I didn’t steal a thing.” He gazed at my shelves of vintage cookware and blinked, as if the conversation was over.
I’d met Professor Stilton in the preceding weeks. He’d been polite and friendly to me but had gotten into tiffs at a few of the gatherings. I’d have to ask Lou what was up between them.
A woman I hadn’t seen before pushed back her chair. She stood and set her hands on the table. “That’s enough, you two. These meetings were supposed to be a congenial intellectual gathering, not some mudslinging session.”
Charles stroked his tidy black goatee. Ignoring the woman, he turned to the man on his right. “How about them Pacers?”
I watched Lou fume, nostrils flared, lips pressed together. She pushed her chair back and stalked to the restroom.
The woman who’d admonished them had come in late and I hadn’t been introduced to her. Shaking her head, she picked up her plate and brought it to where I stood at the sink in the kitchen area that adjoined the rest of the space.
“Thanks,” I said. I extended my hand. “I’m Robbie Jordan, proprietor here.”
She set down the plate and silverware and shook hands with a firm, vigorous touch. “I’m Professor Zenobia Brown. But just call me Zen.” A wiry woman, she stood a couple of inches shorter than my five foot four, and was at least a couple of decades older than my 27 years, with salt-and-pepper hair cut in a no-nonsense short do with the top a little bit spiked. She smiled. “My mom thought with a last name like Brown I needed a unique first name. Anyway, I’m a professor in the department. I live halfway between South Lick and Bloomington and I’ve been meaning to get over here for one of your famous breakfasts. Still want to.”
