by Joanne Fluke
TROPICAL ANGEL COOKIES
Preheat oven to 275 degrees F., rack in the middle position.
(Yes, that’s two hundred and seventy-five degrees F., NOT a misprint.)
6 large eggs
¼ cup dried pineapple, finely chopped (measure AFTER chopping)
¼ cup dried mango, finely chopped (if you can’t find it, double the dried pineapple—measure AFTER chopping)
1 cup coconut flakes, finely chopped (measure AFTER chopping)
¼ teaspoon cream of tartar
½ teaspoon vanilla
¼ teaspoon salt
1 cup white (granulated) sugar
2 Tablespoons ( cup) all-purpose flour (Pack it down when you measure it.)
Separate 6 large eggs and put the whites in one container and the yolks in another.
Cover the container with the yolks and put it in the refrigerator. You can use it to make yolk-rich scrambled eggs for breakfast in the morning, or you can use the yolks to make a Chocolate Flan with Caramel Whipped Cream.
Set the egg whites on your kitchen counter until they’ve come up to room temperature. (This will give them more volume when you whip them up into a meringue.)
While you’re waiting for your egg whites to warm to room temperature, use your food processor with the steel blade (or a chef’s knife with a cutting board) to finely chop your dried pineapple, dried mango, and coconut flakes into very small pieces.
Prepare your cookie sheets by lining them with parchment paper (this works best) or brown parcel-wrapping paper. Spray the paper with Pam or another non-stick cooking spray and dust it lightly with flour.
Hannah’s 1st Note: You can also use Pam Baking Spray or another brand of baking spray that has the flour already in it.
Hannah’s 2nd Note: These cookies are a lot easier to make if you use an electric mixer because you must beat the egg whites until they form soft peaks and, ultimately, stiff peaks. You can use a copper bowl and a whisk, but it will take some time and muscle.
Beat the egg whites with the cream of tartar, vanilla, and salt until they are firm enough to hold a soft peak. Test this by shutting off the mixer and dotting the egg whites with the side of a clean rubber spatula. When you pull up the spatula, a soft peak should form.
Hannah’s 3rd Note: For those of you who haven’t made meringues before, soft peaks slump a bit and bend over on themselves. That’s what you want at this stage. A bit later on in the recipe, you’ll want stiff peaks. Those stand straight up and do not slump or bend over.
With the mixer running on MEDIUM HIGH speed, sprinkle the egg mixture with approximately one third of the sugar. Turn the mixer up to HIGH speed for ten seconds. Then turn the mixer down to MEDIUM HIGH speed again.
Sprinkle in half of the remaining sugar, turn the mixer up to HIGH speed for ten seconds, and then back down to MEDIUM HIGH speed again.
Sprinkle in the remaining sugar and follow the same procedure, turning the mixer OFF when you’re through.
Sprinkle in the flour and mix it into the egg white mixture at LOW speed. (You spent all this time whipping air into your meringue. Now you don’t want to whip any air back out!)
Take the bowl out of the mixer and, using your rubber spatula, carefully fold in the chopped dried pineapple, mango, and the finely chopped coconut.
Use a spoon to drop small mounds of meringue onto your cookie sheet, no more than 12 mounds to a standard-sized sheet. (If you make 4 rows with 3 meringue mounds in each row, that should be perfect.)
Bake your Tropical Angel Cookies at 275 degrees F. for approximately 40 minutes (forty minutes) or until the meringue part of the cookie is slightly golden and dry to the touch when you tap it lightly with your finger.
Cool the cookies on the paper-lined baking sheet by setting it on a cold stovetop burner or on a wire rack.
When your Tropical Angel Cookies are completely cool, peel them off the paper and store them in an airtight container in a cool, dry place. (Unfortunately, your refrigerator is NOT a dry place. A cupboard shelf will do just fine as long as it’s not near your stove.)
Yield: 3 to 4 dozen crunchy, melt-in-your-mouth cookies with a delightful tropical flavor. Warning: Tropical Angel Cookies are like potato chips. You can’t eat just one!
Chapter Seven
Hannah stood in the adult beverage aisle, staring at the display on her cell phone. Norman had sent her the recipe and it was the reason she was here at Florence’s Red Owl grocery store. Once she’d read through the recipe, she’d decided that the beer muffins would go perfectly with the Chicken Stroganoff she’d made for tonight’s dinner. As always, she’d made extra just in case anyone dropped by and she was glad that she’d invited both Mike and Norman to have dinner at the condo with them.
“One sixteen-ounce bottle of pale lager,” Hannah read the ingredient aloud, but it still didn’t make sense. Of course she knew that a lager was a type of beer, but what kind was it? For the first time in her life, she wished that she were more familiar with beer terms. Did “pale” mean the same as “light,” the way it did with skin color? According to the ad she’d seen on television, a light beer had less calories than regular beer. Perhaps that was it. Or did “light” refer to the alcohol content? She seemed to remember Michelle saying something about three-two beer having less alcohol than regular bottled beer. But this recipe called for a sixteen ounce bottle of beer, so that couldn’t possibly be the answer.
Hannah reached out to take down a bottle of beer from the shelf. It was Coor’s Light and “light” might be “pale.” But was it a lager? She wasn’t sure so she grabbed one of the six-pack holders that Florence provided for mix and match beer samplings. She unfolded the holder, stuck the Coor’s Light in one of the six divisions, and put the holder in the bottom of her shopping cart.
The next beer she examined was Newcastle Brown Ale. If it was brown it couldn’t be pale, so it lost out on that count. And if it was ale, it might not be a lager. She put it back on the shelf.
The next beer was a total mystery. It said Pilsner Urquel. Was a pilsner a lager? She just wasn’t sure. But she could see that the liquid inside the green bottle wasn’t brown, so she stuck it in the six-pack holder. A bottle of Budweiser was next and that made three different bottles in her cart. There were three more spaces in the six-pack holder and Hannah found another beer that said Lagunitas IPA. Perhaps the P stood for “pale” so she added that to the mix. A bottle of Corona was the next beer she took, followed by a bottle of Beck’s. She was just getting ready to push her cart to the next aisle when she heard voices coming from the baking aisle.
“Hello there! I haven’t seen you for ages! Of course I see Tricia at every rehearsal. She’s doing very well, Helen.”
Hannah recognized the high-pitched voice of Irma York. And since she’d mentioned Tricia, the other shopper must be Tricia’s mother, Helen Barthel.
Hannah went on full alert. This was a real stroke of luck! Tricia’s name had been in Tori’s appointment book and if she stayed quiet and listened to Irma and Helen’s conversation, perhaps she’d hear something that might help her investigation.
“I’m glad we ran into each other, Irma,” Helen said. “Do you know who might be taking over as the director of the Lake Eden Players? Tricia’s worried that the play might be canceled and it’s her first starring role.”
“I’m not sure, Helen. We’ve been talking about finding another director, but we haven’t come to a decision yet.”
“It’s a terrible shame. Tricia worked so hard at her acting lessons, not to mention learning all those lines.”
There was a moment of silence and then Irma spoke again. “I guess Tricia is very upset about Tori.”
“Of course she is. She was there earlier that night, you know.”
“I didn’t know! What did she say about Tori?”
“She wasn’t happy when she dropped by my place at six-thirty. Tori cut her lesson short because she got a phone call. And Tricia heard Tori tell the person to come
over.”
“Does she know who was on the phone?”
“No. She did overhear something else, though. She told me about it.”
Irma drew her breath in so sharply that Hannah could hear her gasp. “What was it?”
“She heard Tori’s part of the conversation. Tori took the call in her living room and she told Tricia to go straight to the studio and go over her lines. So Tricia did. But the door wasn’t closed all the way and she could hear what Tori was saying.”
“What did Tori say?”
“Tricia only caught a couple of phrases when Tori raised her voice and almost shouted at the person on the other end of the line. She knew that Tori was angry because Tori said that she wasn’t about to put up with it any longer. And then Tori slammed the phone down so hard it jangled.”
“What happened then?”
“Tori came into the studio and told Tricia that something had come up and she had to cut her lesson short, but she’d give her a longer lesson next week to make up for it.”
“And then?”
“And then Tricia left.”
“Thank goodness! What if . . .” Irma stopped speaking and gave another little gasp.
“What is it, Irma?”
“I was just thinking that if Tricia had stayed longer, she could have run straight into the killer!”
“I know, and I don’t want to think about that. It’s just too frightening!”
“It certainly is! Did Tricia see anyone on her way out of the building?”
“I asked her the very same thing! She said no, that she took the elevator down to the lobby and it was completely deserted. She went out to the parking garage, got into her car, and drove straight to my place.”
“So she didn’t see anyone lurking in the parking garage or anything like that?”
“No. She said there were lots of cars coming in because the Red Velvet Lounge was serving Reuben sandwiches that night and everybody in town loves those. But nothing she saw was unusual and she didn’t really pay any attention to the other cars. She was still mad at Tori for cutting her acting lesson short and she was in a hurry to drive to my place to tell me all about it.”
“Maybe it’s a good thing that Tori cut her acting lesson short.”
“It was a good thing, in hindsight.” Helen stopped speaking and gave a little sigh. “That’s all I know, Irma. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“Of course not! I never gossip. I know how to keep a confidence, especially when it’s this important.”
Hannah almost laughed out loud. She’d never heard anything so silly. Irma York was a charter member of the Lake Eden Gossip Hotline and Hannah had no doubt that Irma would be on the phone, telling her friends, the moment she got back home.
“Let’s talk about something more pleasant,” Helen suggested. “Which cake mix should I buy for Ned’s birthday? I’m having his favorite chili and garlic bread, and Tricia promised to make the three-bean salad he’s so crazy about. That’s why I bought all this jarred garlic and a whole bag of onions. Ned lost most of his sense of smell after that horse kicked him in the head and everything tastes bland to him unless we put in lots of spices. The doctor warned us that it could affect his taste buds, but I didn’t know it would last this long.”
“Ned got kicked six or seven years ago, didn’t he?”
“That’s right. He was trying to shoe Tricia’s horse himself and Sable didn’t cotton to it. That’s the last time he tried to be his own blacksmith! Now we call the blacksmith from Annandale to come out to the farm for things like that.”
“Did the doctor say when Ned’s sense of smell and taste would come back?”
“He said it could happen anytime, but I don’t hold out much hope for it. Now I’m resigned to buying all my spices in bulk because Ned can’t taste them unless they’re overpowering.”
“Oh, my!”
Hannah realized that Irma sounded more than a little shocked, and that was totally understandable. It would be a terrible thing to lose your sense of taste.
“If you use all those spices, doesn’t it ruin meals for the rest of the family?”
“Not really. I just take out a double portion for Ned and spice it up for him. The pies are the hardest part. You can’t spice up just one piece of a pie. I bought some of those little disposable pans for things like chicken pot pies. Florence carries them for me. Then I make Ned’s pies separately.”
“But that’s a lot of extra work for you.”
“Not really. I always make too much pie filling anyway, and I just mix up a little extra crust. I bake a separate pumpkin pie for Ned every Thanksgiving that’s loaded with cinnamon and cloves. That first year, I tried to put the extra spices in just one place and poor Tricia got the wrong piece.”
“What happened?”
“She started to choke and she had to drink lots of water to wash it down. I tell you, Irma, there are times when it’s a three-ring circus around my house.”
Irma laughed. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you make a spice cake for Ned? You could divide it up into cupcakes and add more spice to his batter. And you could stick a couple of toothpicks into his cupcakes before you bake them.”
“That’s a wonderful idea!” Helen sounded pleased. “I could even put some of those little birthday candles on his so we could tell them apart after I frost them.”
Hannah felt someone tap her shoulder and she whirled around to see Florence standing there.
“Do you need some help, Hannah?”
“Uh . . . yes, Florence. Yes I do.” Hannah recovered quickly. “I’m serving Chicken Stroganoff tonight and I need to choose a wine that’ll go well with it.”
“I’d suggest beer, but I see you already have six mix and match bottles.” Florence examined the beer in Hannah’s holder. “Good choices, Hannah.”
Hannah began to smile. “I don’t know much about beer. Are any of mine pale lagers?”
“Why yes, the Corona is. And . . . Let me see.”
“That’s okay, Florence. All I need is one. It’s for a recipe.”
Florence looked interested. “What kind of recipe uses a pale lager?”
“A recipe for beer muffins that Norman gave me.”
“Interesting! If they turn out to be good, will you give me the recipe?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks, Hannah. Now, for the wine, I’d suggest a dry white with a hint of a fruit finish.”
Hannah half-listened as Florence described the characteristics of various wines. She already had a jug of white wine from CostMart in her refrigerator, the kind she called Chateau Screwtop, but she’d buy a bottle from Florence, just to be nice.
As Florence continued to extoll the virtues of the wines she carried, Hannah realized that she’d learned a lot by simply coming to the Red Owl grocery today. If you weren’t in a hurry, and you stood in an aisle long enough and listened to the conversations that were all around you, you might overhear an important clue. She would call this phenomenon the “unseen shopper trick.” It was almost as good as the invisible waitress trick, when Hannah and Lisa walked around The Cookie Jar, refilling coffee cups, and their customers didn’t seem to notice that they were there and went right on talking about private matters.
If only Michelle were here! Hannah thought as she accepted the wine that Florence had chosen for her and stood in the checkout line. Tricia and Michelle had stayed in touch, and Hannah’s youngest sister would be the perfect person to elicit information from Tricia about exactly what she’d seen and heard in Tori’s condo on the night of the murder. But Michelle was back at Macalester College and she wouldn’t be back in Lake Eden until Thanksgiving vacation.
* * *
As Hannah climbed up the outside staircase to her second-floor condo, she noticed that the living room window was open slightly. That was odd. She was almost certain she’d closed it this morning when she’d left for work, and Ross had left even earlier than she had.
Had someone broken i
nto her condo? Should she call Mike or Bill? Hannah considered it for a moment and then shrugged off the idea. If someone had broken into her condo through the window, the window would be broken, or it would, at least, have been opened wide enough to admit a human body. A burglar certainly wouldn’t have taken the time to replace the screen, and since Moishe didn’t have opposable thumbs and couldn’t open the window, either Ross had come home in the middle of the day and opened it, or she had left it open this morning.
As she approached the vicinity of the open window, a delicious aroma floated out to greet her. Chocolate. It just had to be melted chocolate. She was sure of it. And under the heady chocolate aroma was a hint of chicken and onions from the Chicken Stroganoff she’d started in the crockpot this morning. How very strange! It was almost as if someone was inside her condo, working in her kitchen, making something for dessert!
“Rrrowww!”
Hannah started to smile as she heard Moishe yowl inside the condo. He must have spotted her coming up the stairs. It didn’t sound like a frightened or anxious yowl, so she stopped worrying about intruders or break-ins.
When she reached the landing, she pulled out her keys and was just moving forward to unlock the door when it opened and Moishe jumped out, nearly knocking her over.
“Sorry!” a familiar voice said. “I should have warned you that I was going to open the door. I hope you don’t mind, but I used the key you gave me and came right in.”
It was Michelle and Hannah began to smile. “Of course I don’t mind. That’s why I gave you the key in the first place. When did you get here?”
