Much Ado About Muffin

by Victoria Hamilton

  Virgil whispered a request to come back later, and I nodded, smiling up at him. His expression was intense, something Hannah and Lizzie both caught as they waited together for Hannah’s parents to back up the van in the sparkling, chilly sunlight. Virgil drove away, and I turned back to find both girls staring at me.

  “You look so beautiful when you look at him,” Hannah said.

  I didn’t know how to respond.

  “That was intense,” Lizzie said, eyeing me with a frown. “Do you honestly like the big galoot? He’s such a dark, gloomy—”

  “He’s not gloomy, Lizzie!” Hannah protested. “He’s just . . . brooding. Kind of passionate. I think it’s romantic.”

  “Isn’t brooding another word for gloomy?” Lizzie said, trudging off to talk to her mother, who stood uncertainly watching her daughter with longing on her face.

  As Hannah’s parents backed into the drive and opened the back doors for the wheelchair lift, Zeke crouched down to talk to her. I once again noted his absorption with her, and the tenderness of his expression. Maybe I was just in the mood for love, but I had always suspected he had loving feelings for the young lady, and I was fairly certain I was right, based on how he treated her. I wished him well. But then he headed off to an impatiently waiting Binny. Emerald caught a lift with them, while Lizzie hitched a ride with Hannah’s parents in the van.

  I returned to the castle through the front door, after waving good-bye to everyone.

  Pish was talking to Roma, who had crept down the stairs and clung to the banister. They looked up from a whispered conference. “Roma has to be back to the city by October seventh to start rehearsal for a charity function her agent has booked her for. I’m going to drive her there and stay for a week to visit my mother and Auntie Lush. You’re welcome to join us.”

  I stood listening to his voice echo.

  “Or you could stay here alone. Maybe Virgil could keep you company,” he said with a sly smile.

  Heat suffused my cheeks, and I nodded.

  “Anyway, we’re going out with Dewayne and Patricia again tonight,” he said. “I understand Virgil is coming over to talk to you.”

  I nodded again.

  The rest of the day I tried to relax and take stock of my new life, now that I had made the decision to stay at my inherited castle and make a go of it. I had to find out if my plans, just a tiny seed right now, could sprout into something bigger. If it was even legal to do what I wanted, it would require some help from the new zoning commissioner, who was the former zoning commissioner, Elwood Fitzhugh. I had just had a bath and was sitting at my dressing table setting my hair in hot rollers when I heard a tap at my door. “Come in!” I called.

  Pish strolled in, natty in a dark suit jacket over a polo-necked pullover and casual slacks. That is his equivalent of jeans and a sweatshirt, as casual as he ever gets. He sat down on the end of my bed and I turned to face him.

  “We’re heading out in half an hour. What time is Virgil coming over?”

  “Eight. It’s his birthday tomorrow. I offered dinner, but he said no. I’ve got some Brie, though, and a fresh baguette that Binny brought for lunch, and some merlot.”

  “‘A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou,’” he quoted, with a smile.

  “I’m a little nervous. He seemed . . . oh, I don’t know. Mysterious. He still hasn’t told me what went down between him and his ex.”

  “He’s a very deliberate man, not hasty, not ill-judged.”

  “He’s so mature he makes me feel like a teenager sometimes.”

  “That’s good. You should feel like a teenager when you’re in love.” He hesitated, but then continued, “May I say something about Miguel?”

  I sighed. “I don’t know if I’m in the mood to talk about my late husband.”

  “Honey, it’s something good.” He looked down at his loafers and polished the toe of one against his pant leg. “You know how much I adored Miguel. But with you he was . . . a trifle controlling. He took care of you.”

  “I needed it. He made me feel secure.”

  “But in the normal course of life you would have grown up and become more mature, as you have, and more able and willing to make your own decisions. I’ve thought about this often, how, had he lived, you would have clashed, inevitably. Oh, I think you would have worked it out,” he said, his hand up, before I could interject. “But not without some fighting. Virgil, on the other hand, is so unlike that. He’s ready-made for you.”

  “Maybe you’re right. I’m not in a rush, though.” I paused, then said, “Do you remember, Pish, how when Miguel first died and I got the inheritance and life insurance, I thought I could handle it?”

  He sighed, with a rueful expression. “Still one of my biggest regrets that I didn’t make you listen to me, but I didn’t want to be as controlling with you as Miguel was.”

  “I don’t think you could have stopped me, my darling Pish. I was both asserting my new independence and throwing the money away. I think . . . I felt like I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t want a . . . a reward for Miguel’s death, as silly as that sounds.”

  “How very wise you have become, my darling,” he said, standing before me. He kissed my forehead. “I’ll say good night now.” He cradled my face in his graceful, long-fingered hands, tilting my chin up to him. “Be young. Be in love. Don’t worry about anything for tonight.”

  * * *

  The parlor was set up with the fire going—I have become quite good at starting a fire—and the wine, bread, and Brie in a warming dish. The door knocker echoed, and I scuttled to the door, my stomach fluttering. When I opened it, Virgil took me in his arms and gave me a long, passionate kiss that would have melted my socks, if I was wearing any. We walked together to the parlor, and settled on the floor in front of the fire. I had intended to wear something sexy, a cleavage-displaying dress, but had opted instead for something less distracting.

  We chatted for a moment about the afternoon’s revelations. I summoned my courage, finally, and spoke of my time in Spain with the Paradiso family. “I came away from it with a better understanding of the strengths and weaknesses of my marriage to Miguel. I took a long look at it. It wasn’t a perfect marriage, and there would have been some stormy seas ahead if he had lived.” I told him what Pish had said to me earlier. “I think I was afraid to let go of the idealized version of Miguel in my head. It felt like a betrayal.”

  He was silent, and there was more I wanted to say, so I continued. “Virgil, while I was there Tony proposed to me.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “I refused, of course,” I said, not adding that I even considered it. “I have never felt anything for him but friendship, and he doesn’t love me. But being there reminded me that my marriage, as good as it was, was not perfect. Miguel was not perfect. He liked that I was unsure of myself, I think, and he saw himself as my mentor as well as husband. I loved him, and the young girl I was will always love him. But I’m all grown up now.”

  He smirked. “You certainly are.”

  I laughed.

  He drank some of the wine, but I knew he really wanted a beer, so I got him one and he rested back against a pillow, examining me with serious eyes. “Talking to Kelly this weekend did much the same for me. Not that our marriage ever had a chance—it didn’t. But I think we understand it better. We went into marriage for all the wrong reasons. I was so worried about Mom that I wanted to show her I’d be okay, no matter what. And Kelly . . . She was trying to work out issues she couldn’t address with her father. She’s been in therapy the last two years. I think she’s getting herself together.”

  I watched him, feeling that there was more, even as he hesitated. He sat up and took my hand.

  “Merry, she told her father the truth, that I never hit her, that we broke up because we weren’t right for each other. And she told him why she’d lied to him, that she
was afraid he wouldn’t love her if she told him the truth, that he would blame her for the marriage breaking up. It didn’t go well, at least at first.”

  “I can imagine.” Sheriff Baxter was hard-nosed and found it easy to place blame . . . on anyone else.

  “But I think they have some basis to work things out now. Anyway, she went back to Ohio and Ben actually apologized to me and shook my hand.”

  I sighed. “That’s wonderful! I’m happy, Virgil. I know that dealing with him as sheriff of the next county has been a nightmare for you.”

  “Not a nightmare, but not a picnic, either.”

  “Has it changed anything?” I wondered if he might decide to stay sheriff instead of joining the FBI.

  “Not about being sheriff. I’ve already removed myself from the ballot, and Urquhart has added his name.”

  Urquhart? Oh, joy. Still, the name didn’t fill me with as much dismay as it would have before this investigation. “Isn’t it too late for that? Aren’t there filing deadlines?”

  “This is an exceptional circumstance, because I’ve eliminated myself and the county can’t go without a sheriff.”

  “Oh.”

  He pulled me close and we kissed. I sighed against his lips and curled against his body, feeling the warmth radiate from him. We kissed a little more, then I pulled away from him, intent on getting one last thing out. “Virgil, I just want to say, I’m here for good. I know you’ll be going to Quantico, and I know you may be stationed anywhere in the U.S., but I’ll always be here for you. We’ll work something out.” I paused, and was about to say I love you, when he put his finger against my lips. I searched his eyes, so dark, but warm.

  “Merry, I’ve made a decision,” he said, his voice husky. “The FBI was my dream when I was twenty-five, but going through the application . . . I realized it’s not me now. I’m not applying.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “I am.”

  “But if you’re not doing that, and you’re not the sheriff, what will you do?”

  He smiled. “I’ve already got a job. You’re looking at the newest detective for the Two Cops Detective Agency, owned and operated by Dewayne Lester and Virgil Grace.”

  “Detective? You mean . . .”

  “I’m a private dick now,” he said, with an unusually mischievous grin. “Dewayne has more work than he can handle, and I’ve got skill sets and connections he can use. Plus, we know, like, and trust each other, and he’s got his office in Buffalo. I can center mine wherever I want.”

  “In Autumn Vale?”

  “In Autumn Vale,” he said with a laugh, lying back and pulling me on top of him. He kissed me senseless, then rolled me onto my back, staring down into my eyes. “I know what I want from life, and it’s all here: my family, work I believe in and am excited about, and . . . you.” He kissed me. “Most of all, you.”

  He kissed me again, his mouth hungry and demanding, but then abruptly stopped and rolled off of me, much to my chagrin. He dug in his jeans pocket then knelt beside me as I awkwardly scrambled to sit. “Merry, I’ve never met anyone like you. I love how I feel when I’m with you, and I love your spirit, your heart.” He paused and stared at me intensely, his face taut with anxious desire. “I love you. Will you marry me?”

  Gasping, I stared at up him, the firelight flickering on his handsome face, his dark eyes shadowed by thick, dark brows, his perfect lips firmly together. It took me a moment to understand. I had gone from hoping he’d still want to be together, even when he was at Quantico, to knowing he was staying in Autumn Vale, to being asked to spend the rest of my life with him.

  “Merry? Am I too . . . Is this too much? Too fast?” he asked, pushing the ring box toward me.

  I jumped up and knelt in front of him. “No! I mean, no, it’s not too much. Not too fast. But yes, yes, I’ll marry you!” I threw my arms around him and we kissed for several delirious minutes. Belatedly I looked at the ring. It was gorgeous, a deep blue stone rimmed in diamonds, with a filigree bridge and gallery, vines, and curls. “Oh, Virgil, it’s extraordinary!” I whispered.

  He took the ring out of the box, which he flung aside. He slipped it on my finger. It fit perfectly, and sent sparkles flashing in the firelight. “It’s the blue of your eyes. Extraordinary? Nothing is as extraordinary as you.”

  I met his gaze and held it; I thought I’d be first to say it, but realized he’d beaten me to it. Never too late, though. “Virgil Grace, you are an amazing man, and I love you.”

  “I am an amazing man,” he growled, pulling me to him and kissing me deeply. “Now, may I escort you to your boudoir, or shall I ravish you right here?”

  “Oh!” I exclaimed, as he kissed my neck, his breath warm, his lips moist. “Here. Right . . . here.”

  Recipes

  Apple Crisp Muffins

  Makes 10–12 muffins

  ¼ cup butter, softened to room temperature

  ¼ cup vegetable or canola oil

  ⅓ cup white sugar

  ⅓ cup brown sugar

  ¼ cup unsweetened applesauce

  1 egg

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  1-½ cups all-purpose flour

  ½ teaspoon cinnamon

  ½ teaspoon baking soda

  ½ teaspoon baking powder

  ¼ teaspoon salt

  1-½–2 cups finely chopped apple (I recommend Honeycrisp)

  Topping:

  ½ cup brown sugar

  ½ cup old-fashioned oats

  ¼ cup all-purpose flour

  ¼ cup butter, softened to room temperature

  ¼ teaspoon cinnamon

  Preheat oven to 350°F. Line a 12-unit muffin tin with paper liners and set aside.

  In a large bowl, mix together butter, oil, sugars, and applesauce until combined, about 1 minute (mixture will look curdled). Add egg and vanilla, then mix to combine.

  In a separate bowl, stir together flour, cinnamon, baking soda, baking powder, and salt. Remove two tablespoons of the flour mixture and toss with the chopped apples in a separate bowl to coat.

  Add remaining flour mixture to wet ingredients in two batches, mixing until just combined after the first before adding the next batch. Gently fold in the apples.

  Scoop batter into prepared muffin cups, filling them ¾ of the way full.

  Mix the topping ingredients together in a small bowl until well combined, then sprinkle a heaping tablespoon—or more—on top of each muffin.

  Bake for 23–28 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

  Let cool in muffin tins for 10 minutes then remove to a cooling rack to cool completely.

  These muffins are so good—all the flavor of an apple crisp, but in an individual delight. Great with coffee or tea as an afternoon treat!

  Double Chocolate Walnut Muffins

  Makes 12 muffins

  1 cup all-purpose flour

  ½ teaspoon baking soda

  ¼ teaspoon salt

  3–4 tablespoons cocoa powder (4 if you like it very dark chocolaty)

  1 cup chocolate chips (whatever kind you like best—I use milk chocolate)

  ½ cup chopped walnuts (more if you like it nutty!)

  1 large egg

  ½ cup Greek yogurt (I use plain, but vanilla would be okay.)

  ¼ cup canola oil

  ½ cup brown sugar, packed

  1 teaspoon vanilla extract

  1 cup overripe bananas (about 2 large)

  Preheat oven to 350°F.

  Spray muffin tin with spray oil, then dust with cocoa powder. Muffin liners are NOT recommended, as the muffins tend to stick to them.

  In a small bowl, mix the flour, baking soda, salt, cocoa powder, then toss in the chocolate chips and chopped nuts and stir.

  Mash the bananas well and measure.
Set aside.

  In a larger bowl, whisk together the egg and Greek yogurt first, then stir in the oil, brown sugar, vanilla extract, and mashed bananas, blending well.

  Add half the dry ingredients to the wet, stir well, then add the rest of the dry ingredients and stir until mixture is smooth, but don’t beat or overmix!

  Ladle the batter into the muffin cups.

  Bake for 18–23 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean.

  Allow to cool on a rack, then remove muffins; you may need to loosen them with a butter knife around the edges to help pull them out.

  Store in an airtight container, or freeze.

  These are great when you need a hit of chocolaty sweetness, but don’t want something too decadent!

  As Victoria Hamilton, Donna Lea Simpson is the national bestselling author of the Vintage Kitchen Mysteries, including No Mallets Intended and Freezer I’ll Shoot, as well as the Merry Muffin Mysteries, including Death of an English Muffin and Muffin but Murder. She is also a collector of vintage cookware and recipes. Visit her at victoriahamiltonmysteries.com and facebook.com/AuthorVictoriaHamilton.

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