by Diana Orgain
With thoughts of the grand opening quickly approaching, Mona rushed around the house, careful not to wrinkle the paper under her arm, it was a keepsake she wanted to frame one day. Nearly tripping over the stacks of boxes containing jars of jelly, she set the coffee cup on the counter and raced down the hall, hoping to get a quick shower before heading off to meet the contractor at Jammin’ Honey Buns.
Still damp from the shower, Mona dressed quickly in her uniform of choice, jeans, t-shirt and flip flops. A light coat of moisturizer and lip gloss were all the make-up she chose to wear as she surveyed her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her hair pulled back in a ponytail, she was pleased to see the bags under her eyes were fading; she was returning to her old carefree self.
Mona grabbed her purse and car keys and walked down the front steps to her car humming a song; her heart was lighter than it had been in a long time. As she turned the key in the ignition, she switched on the radio. Singing along with her favorite song, she was optimistic that the contractor would tell her good news as she drove toward town.
Once at the shop, Mona was surprised to see Vicki already there speaking with the contractor, Mark Harding.
Stephanie had recommended him. He was a handsome man, in his late thirties and unmarried. He had a great work ethic, good reviews and a warm personality.
Better yet, Vicki seemed to really like him, and Mona knew he was a lot better catch than Alexander Kaas could ever have been.
With a little luck and a lot of hard work, they’d be ready to reopen the shop, July 4th.
The little bell over the door chimed, and as it opened they all turned to see Leo walk into the shop.
Mona nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “Detective, have you stopped by to inspect the premises, making sure we don’t have another untimely fire?”
“I don’t want to see history repeat itself.”
“We’ll install an emergency sprinkler system,” Mark said.
Leo nodded at him. “That’s an excellent idea.”
As the men chatted, Vicki leaned over and whispered into Mona’s ear. “I like Mark, let’s hire him.”
Mona looked from her friend to the new contractor, then to Leo. She smiled, and said, “Jammin’ Honey Buns will be open soon, and I predict a very sweet beginning.
The End
Bonus Select Recipes – From A Gluten-Free Palate
I hope you enjoyed Jammin’ Honey. Below are a few recipes from my dear friend, Chrystal Carver’s gluten-free website. For more wonderful recipes you can visit her at A Gluten-Free Palate
GLUTEN-FREE SOUTHERN BISCUITS
INGREDIENTS:
1/3 cup gluten-free all purpose flour blend (see below)
1 cup cornstarch
2 teaspoons gluten-free baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
2 teaspoons granulated sugar
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon xanthan gum
5 tablespoons butter, cold**
3/4 cup buttermilk**
**Substitution Solution: Substitute the buttermilk with rice milk + 1 teaspoon white vinegar and the butter with a vegan butter and make these dairy free and vegan! Note: Substitutions may change the texture and flavors slightly.
Instructions:
Preheat oven to 375°F (190°C). Lightly grease a baking pan; set aside.
In a large mixing bowl sift together the first seven ingredients. Cut in butter with fork or pastry cutter until mixture resembles coarse crumbs.
Add buttermilk (or rice milk + vinegar) to the flour mixture, while stirring with a fork. Stir just until dough is moist and pulls away from the side of the bowl.
Sprinkle flour on a piece of wax paper, spoon the dough on top of the flour into one ball, and flour the top of the dough. Place a piece of wax paper on top of the dough and roll it out. It should be about 1 inch think. Cut dough with a floured biscuit or cookie cutter. Press together unused dough and repeat rolling and cutting procedure.
Place biscuits on the baking sheet and bake for 20-25 minutes or until golden brown. Makes 8 biscuits.
All-purpose gluten-free flour blend – Yields 4 cups
2 cups white rice flour
1 cup tapioca flour
1 cup potato starch
Directions: Mix all the ingredients in a large zipper storage bag or a bowl. Store flour blend in an airtight container. Shake the container before using in case any flours have settled.
Grain-Free Strawberry Thumbprint Cookies
Ingredients:
2 cups pecans
3 tablespoons pure maple syrup (or honey)
1/2 teaspoon gluten-free baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
no sugar added strawberry preserves
Instructions:
Preheat oven to 350°F (180°C). Line a baking sheet with parchment paper; set aside.
Place the pecans in a food processor and processes for 1-2 minutes or until the pecans start to turn to butter. You should see the pecans near the bottom of the processor turn to pecan “butter”. The pecans at the top of the processor should resemble pecan meal or pecan flour.
Add the maple syrup, baking powder, and salt. Process for an additional 20-30 seconds or until your dough forms a ball.
Using a cookie scoop (or a tablespoon), scoop out cookie dough balls approximately 1 inch thick.
Place them on your parchment lined cookie sheet 2 inches apart. Press the center with your thumb, or the back of a spoon, until you make a small crater.
Place 1/2 teaspoon of strawberry preserves in the center of each cookie crater.
Bake in the oven for 15 minutes.
Cool completely before removing from the cookie sheet.
Store in an airtight container at room temperature.
For more wonderful recipes, visit A Gluten-Free Palate
New Release Alert!
Coming Soon:
Maternal Instincts Mystery Series Book 6:
Killer Cravings
While staking out a cheating husband, Kate can't help but to indulge the cravings from her newest pregnancy. Little does she know the owner of the bakery has her eyes on Jim, Kate's beloved husband. Things turn deadly as Kate's cravings take over. It's up to Kate to keep her Family Life on track while solving another deadly whodunit!
Get Killer Cravings Now
Bonus Preview – Bundle of Trouble
Please enjoy the following excerpt from Bundle of Trouble: Book One in the Maternal Instincts Mystery Series.
BUNDLE OF TROUBLE
A Maternal Instincts Mystery
by
Diana Orgain
Copyright © 2018 by Diana Orgain
•CHAPTER ONE•
Labor
The phone rang, interrupting the last seconds of the 49ers game.
“Damn,” Jim said. “Final play. Who’d be calling now?”
“Don’t know,” I said from my propped position on the couch.
I was on doctor’s orders for bed rest. My pregnancy had progressed with practically no hang-ups, except for the carpal tunnel and swollen feet, until one week before my due date when my blood pressure skyrocketed. Now, I was only allowed to be upright for a few minutes every couple of hours to accommodate the unavoidable mad dash to the bathroom.
“Everyone I know is watching the game. It’s gotta be for you,” Jim said, stretching his long legs onto the ottoman.
I struggled to lean forward and grab the cordless phone.
“Probably your mom,” he continued.
I nodded. Mom was checking in quite often now that the baby was two days overdue. An entire five minutes had passed since our last conversation.
“Hello?”
A husky male voice said, “This is Nick Dowling . . .”
Ugh, a telemarketer.
“. . . from the San Francisco medical examiner’s office.”
I sat to attention. Jim glanced at me, frowning. He mouthed, “Who is it?” from across the room.
>
“Is this the Connolly residence?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Are you a relative of George Connolly?”
“He’s my brother-in-law.”
“Can you tell me the last time you saw him?”
My breath caught. “The last time we saw George?”
Jim stood at the mention of his brother’s name.
“Is he a transient, ma’am?” Dowling asked.
I felt the baby kick.
“Hold on a sec.” I held out the phone to Jim. “It’s the San Francisco medical examiner. He’s asking about George.”
Jim froze, let out a slight groan, then crossed to me and took the phone. “This is Jim Connolly.”
The baby kicked again. I switched positions. Standing at this point in the pregnancy was uncomfortable, but so was sitting or lying down for that matter. I got up and hobbled over to Jim, put my hands on his back and leaned in as close as my belly would allow, trying to overhear.
Why was the medical examiner calling about George?
“I don’t know where George is. I haven’t seen him for a few months.” Jim listened in silence. After a moment he said, “What was your name again? Uh-huh . . . What number are you at?” He scratched something on a scrap of paper then said, “I’ll have to get back to you.” He hung up and shoved the paper into his pocket.
“What did he say?” I asked.
Jim hugged me, his six-foot-two frame making me feel momentarily safe. “Nothing, honey.”
“What do you mean, nothing?”
“Don’t worry about it,” he whispered into my hair.
I pulled away from Jim’s embrace and looked into his face. “What’s going on with George?”
Jim shrugged his shoulders, and then turned to stare blankly at the TV. “We lost the game.”
“Jim, tell me what the medical examiner said.”
He grimaced, pinching the bridge of his nose. “A body was found in the bay. It’s badly decomposed and unidentifiable.”
Panic rose in my chest. “What does that have to do with George?”
“They found his bags on the pier near where the body was recovered. They went through his stuff and got our number off an old cell phone bill. They want to know if George has any scars or anything on his body so they can . . .” His shoulders slumped. He shook his head and covered his face with his hands.
I waited for him to continue, the gravity of the situation sinking in. I felt a strong tightening in my abdomen. A Braxton Hicks?
Instead of speaking, Jim stood there, staring at our blank living room wall, which I’d been meaning to decorate since we’d moved in three years ago. He clenched his left hand, an expression somewhere between anger and astonishment on his face. He turned and made his way to the kitchen.
I followed. “Does he?”
Jim opened the refrigerator door and fished out a can of beer from the bottom shelf. “Does he what?” He tapped the side of the can, a gesture I had come to recognize as an itch to open it.
“Have any scars or . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence. A strange sensation struck me, as though the baby had flip-flopped. “Uh, Jim, I’m not sure about this, but I may have just had a contraction. A real one.”
I cupped my hands around the bottom of my belly. We both stared at it, expecting it to tell us something. Suddenly I felt a little pop from inside. Liquid trickled down my leg.
“I think my water just broke.”
<><><>
Jim expertly navigated the San Francisco streets as we made our way to California Pacific Hospital. Even as the contractions grew stronger, I couldn’t stop thinking about George.
Jim’s parents had died when he was starting college. George, his only brother, had merely been fourteen, still in high school. Their Uncle Roger had taken George in. George had lived rent-free for many years, too many years, never caring to get a job or make a living.
Jim and I often wondered if so much coddling had incapacitated George to the point that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stand on his own two feet. He was thirty-three now and always had an excuse for not holding a job. Apparently, everyone was out to get him, take advantage of him, “screw” him somehow. At least that’s the story we’d heard countless times.
The only thing George had going for him was his incredible charm. Although he was a total loser, you’d never know it to talk to him. He could converse with the best of them, disarming everyone with his piercing green eyes.
Uncle Roger had finally evicted George six months ago. There had been an unpleasant incident. Roger had been vague about it, only telling us that the sheriff had to physically remove George from his house. As far as we knew, George had been staying with friends since then.
I glanced at Jim. His face was unreadable, the excitement of the pending birth diluted by the phone call we had received.
I touched Jim’s leg. “Just because his bags were found at the pier doesn’t mean it’s him.”
Jim nodded.
“I mean, what did the guy say? The body was badly decomposed, right? How long would bags sit on a pier in San Francisco? Overnight?”
“Hard to say,” he muttered.
I rubbed his leg trying to reassure him. “I can’t believe any bag would last more than a couple days, max, before a transient, a kid, or someone else would swipe it.”
Jim shrugged and looked grim.
A transient? Why had the medical examiner asked that? George had always lived on the fringe, but homeless?
Please God, don’t let the baby be born on the same day we get bad news about George.
Bad news—what an understatement. How could this happen? I closed my eyes and said a quick prayer for George, Jim, and our baby.
I dug my to-do list out from the bottom of the hospital bag.
To Do (When Labor Starts):
1. Call Mom.
2. Remember to breathe.
3. Practice yoga.
4. Time contractions.
5. Think happy thoughts.
6. Relax.
7. Call Mom.
Oh, shoot! I’d forgotten to call Mom. I found my cell phone and pressed speed dial. No answer.
Hmmm? Nine P.M., where could she be?
I left a message on her machine and hung up.
I looked over the rest of the list and snorted. What kind of idealist had written this? Think happy thoughts? Remember to breathe?
I took a deep breath. My abdomen tightened, as though a vise were squeezing my belly. Was this only the beginning of labor? My jaw clenched as I doubled over. Jim glanced sideways at me.
He reached out for my hand. “Hang in there, honey, we’re almost at the hospital.”
The vise loosened and I felt almost normal for a moment.
I squeezed Jim’s hand. My husband, my best friend, and my rock. I had visualized this moment in my mind over and over. No matter what variation I gave it in my head, never in a million years could I have imagined the medical examiner calling us right before my going into labor and telling us what? That George was dead?
Before I could process the thought, another contraction overtook me, an undulating and rolling tightening, causing me to grip both my belly and Jim’s hand.
When my best friend, Paula, had given birth, she was surrounded mostly by women. Me, her mother, her sister, and of course, her husband, David. All the women were supportive and whispered words of encouragement while David huddled in the corner of the room, watching TV. When Paula told him she needed him, he’d put the TV on mute.
When I’d recounted the story for Jim, he’d laughed and said, “Oh, honey, David can be kind of a dunce. He doesn’t know what to do.”
Another vise grip brought me back to the present. Could I do this without drugs? I held my breath. Urgh! Remember to breathe.
I crumpled the to-do list in my hand.
Bring on the drugs.
•CHAPTER TWO•
Delivery
After checking into the hospital and spending
several hours in “observation,” we were finally moved to our own labor and delivery room.
“When can I get the epidural?” I asked the nurse escorting us.
“I’ll call the anesthesiologist now,” she said, leaving the room.
Jim plopped himself onto the recliner in the corner and picked up the remote control.
“Hey, I’m having contractions here . . . they’re starting to get strong. Aren’t you supposed to be breathing with me?”
“Right,” he nodded, flipping through the channels. “He he he, ha ha ha,” he said in an unconvincing rendition of Lamaze breathing.
“Jim!”
“Hmmm?”
“I need your help now.”
His eyebrows furrowed. “No TV?”
“Get me the epi . . . oooh.”
He pressed the mute button. I sighed and gave in to the contractions.
<><><>
Another hour passed before the anesthesiologist walked in. I was horrified to see that he looked all of about seventeen.
“Sorry to make you wait,” he said. “There was an emergency C-section.”
“I’m just glad you’re here now,” Jim said.
The anesthesiologist laughed. “How are we doing?”
“She’s doing great, really great,” Jim said.
I would have told him to shut up, but that would have taken more energy than I had. Was this teeny bopper qualified to put a fifteen-inch needle in my spine? What exactly could go wrong with the epidural? I was about to chicken out when the nurse rushed in.
“Oh, here you are,” she said to the anesthesiologist. “Let’s go, before she’s too far along.”
Before I could back out, my torso and legs were blissfully numb.
The nurse placed a metal contraption, resembling a suction cup, on my belly and studied a monitor. “Do you feel anything?”
“Nope.”
“Good, because that was a big contraction.”
I smiled. “I didn’t feel a thing.”
The anesthesiologist nodded as he left the room. The nurse advised us to get some rest. Jim returned to the recliner and put the volume back up on the TV. I glanced at the clock: 3 A.M. already. Where was my mother?
