Cherry Cheesecake Murder (6 page)

FRUIT POCKET FRENCH TOAST

½ cup butter (1 stick, ¼ pound)

1 cup brown sugar, firmly packed

½ cup maple syrup

1 cup chopped pecans (optional)

Loaf (at least 12 slices) of sliced bread (white, egg, raisin, whatever)

½ cup butter softened (1 stick, ¼ pound)

2 cups canned or fresh fruit (any kind except melon or grapes)

8 eggs, beaten

¾ cup white (granulated) sugar

2 teaspoons cinnamon

2 cups heavy cream (whipping cream)

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

½ cup butter (1 stick, ¼ pound) melted

Powdered (confectioner’s) sugar to sprinkle

Leave one stick of butter out on the counter to soften it, or unwrap it and nuke it for a few seconds in the microwave.

If you’re using canned fruit, open it and dump it in a strainer now.

Heat a second stick of butter, the brown sugar, and the maple syrup in a microwave-safe bowl on HIGH for 2½ minutes (I used a quart measuring cup) or in a pan on the stove, stirring constantly, until the butter is melted. Spray a 9-inch by 13-inch cake pan with Pam or other non-stick spray and pour the syrup mixture in the bottom. Sprinkle with the chopped pecans, if you decide to use them.

Lay out twelve slices of bread—you’re going to make fruit sandwiches.

Spread softened butter on one slice of bread. Top it with well-drained fruit cut in very thin slices (Berries or pineapple can be crushed.)

Spread butter on a second slice of bread and use it to cover the bread with the fruit. Cut this fruit sandwich in half and place it in the pan on top of the syrup mixture. Make 5 more sandwiches, cut them in half, and put them in the pan. You can crowd them a bit, but do not overlap the bread.

Press the sandwiches down with a flat metal spatula. Squish that bread!

Beat the eggs with the sugar and the cinnamon. Add the cream and the vanilla, mixing thoroughly. Pour this mixture over the bread in the pan.

Cover the pan with plastic wrap or foil and let it stand out on the counter for a minimum of twenty minutes. (If you’re having a fancy breakfast, you can also make this the night before and keep it in the refrigerator until it’s time to bake it.)

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the center position.

Take off the plastic wrap. Melt the third stick of butter. Drizzle it over the top of the sandwiches.

Bake the Fruit Pocket French Toast at 350 degrees F. uncovered, for approximately 45 minutes, or until the top has browned. Let the pan cool on a wire rack for at least five minutes.

To serve: Sprinkle the top of the pan with powdered sugar before you carry it to the table. This will make it much prettier. Dish out the Fruit Pocket French Toast with a metal spatula, and offer more syrup and butter for those who want it. A half sandwich is one serving.

Yield: 12 half-sandwich servings.

Hannah’s Note: If you want to make this and you’re really in a pickle because you don’t have any fruit, try spreading the bread with a layer of fruit jam or marmalade. I haven’t tried this, but I’ll bet you a batch of my best cookies that it’ll work!

Naturally, Hannah had been elected to serve the Fruit Pocket French Toast and she was glad she’d worn the pale lavender silk blouse Claire Rodgers had assured her would dress up any outfit, even a pair of black jeans and a black turtleneck sweater. The blouse had been expensive, but Claire had given Hannah her usual good-neighbor discount since Claire’s boutique, Beau Monde Fashions, was right next to Hannah’s shop.

“This is a wonderful brunch dish, Hannah,” Delores came up to compliment her. “Have you made it before? It reminds me of something, but I’m not quite sure what it is.”

“Grandma Ingrid’s Fruit Pocket French Toast, except she made it with apple slices.”

“Of course!” Delores reached out to pat Hannah’s shoulder with one perfectly manicured hand. “It was always my favorite, but so rich! And extremely fattening, with all those carbs.” Delores leaned a little closer. “Better watch it, dear. I think you’ve gained a little around the hips. That blouse hides it really well, but still…when a woman gets to be a certain age, she has to be more conscientious about her diet.”

Hannah managed to keep her polite smile in place, but she had the urge to upend the nearly empty pan with its residue of sticky caramel-maple syrup on top of her mother’s impeccably styled coiffeur.

“Well! Enough about that. You’ve heard it all before.”

Hannah looked up at her mother in surprise. Delores actually sounded a bit apologetic about her previous comment. But her next statement shattered that illusion.

“You really ought to change to shoes, Hannah. Those boots don’t go with your outfit at all. And a little lipstick and makeup wouldn’t hurt.”

“I don’t like to wear makeup.”

“I know you don’t, but men notice things like that. They want a wife who’s well groomed, someone they can be proud to be seen with.”

“You’re forgetting that two men proposed to me and I wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup at the time.”

“Oh.” Delores frowned slightly. “Well…there is that. I’m sorry, dear. Truce?”

“Truce,” Hannah agreed with a smile, squelching the nasty little voice in her head that whispered, I wouldn’t take your advice about men on a bet, Mother. Just look where it got you with Winthrop!

Hannah had just filled her own plate and slid into a chair directly across from Mike and Norman when Michelle came rushing up. She was followed by a thirty-something guy with dark hair, and Hannah assumed he was one of the movie crew. He wasn’t leading-man handsome, but he was certainly good-looking in an intriguing way. His eyes were a bit too close together, but they were a brilliant blue that more than made up for the former defect. And they were framed with long, dark lashes that most women could achieve only with long minutes in front of the mirror and the very best lash-lengthening mascara. His mouth was generous, wide enough to match his nose, and his clean-shaven chin was strong. Definitely an attractive man, Hannah decided. Not really conventionally handsome, but eye-catching all the same.

Michelle arrived at Hannah’s side and turned back to face the man who was following her. “This is my sister, Hannah. She owns the cookie shop that Mitch couldn’t stop talking about. And Hannah?” Michelle swiveled to give her oldest sister a smile. “This is Mr. Barton, the writer–producer of Crisis in Cherrywood.”

Hannah gasped as the man smiled. He looked very different from the last time she’d seen him almost four years ago, but there was no mistaking the distinctive dimple in his left cheek. “Ross Bartonovich?”

“It’s Barton, now. Makes it easier for me to spell.” He swept Hannah up in his arms and whirled her around in a circle. “You look even better than you did back then.”

“I don’t,” Hannah quickly denied it, but she started to laugh as Ross lifted her in a giant bear hug and her feet came up off the floor. And she laughed harder still as she saw the expression of total disbelief on her sister’s face.

“You…you two know each other?” Michelle asked.

“We’re a blast from the past. Twenty-two forty-seven Muskrat Lane, second floor in the rear. Right, Hannah?”

“Right. And we should have knocked a hole in the wall because we were always together. Is Linda here?”

“She’s here, but it’s not Linda anymore. Now it’s Lynne, Lynne Larchmont.”

“Larchmont? But I thought you two were getting marri…” Hannah stopped speaking and the color crept up her cheeks. She’d never been very good at small talk, and she was especially handicapped now with her foot stuck firmly in her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said at last. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“That’s okay. It just didn’t work out, that’s all. A lot of things changed when you left school and we weren’t the Three Muskrateers anymore.”

“So you went to college together?” Michelle asked, saving Hannah from replying.

Ross turned to her and nodded. “That’s right. I should have told you, but I wanted to surprise Hannah.”

“Well…you did!” Hannah managed.

“I interrupted your brunch,” Ross said, glancing at Hannah’s barely touched plate. “How about if I get another cup of coffee and join you while you eat? We can talk about old times.”

“I’ll get it, Mr. Barton,” Michelle offered quickly. “Just sit down and I’ll bring it right over.”

Ross held out Hannah’s chair and then he grabbed another from a nearby table and slid in next to her. Hannah glanced quickly at Mike and Norman. They’d been talking to each other, but now they were silent. Both of her suitors looked wary as they stared at Ross Barton, almost as if they’d been taking a leisurely stroll through the woods and were suddenly face-to-face with a bobcat.

Hannah tried to think of something to say, anything to get everyone talking. But Ross didn’t seem at all disconcerted by Norman’s and Mike’s wary gazes. He held out his hand in a gesture of goodwill to Mike.

“Ross Barton. I’m the writer–producer. And you’re…?”

Mike had no choice. He reached out to shake Ross’s hand. “Mike Kingston. Acting sheriff of Winnetka County.”

“Glad to meet you,” Ross stared hard at Mike, and Hannah knew he was sizing him up. “Ever done any acting?”

“Me?” Mike looked surprised. “Nope, never have.”

“I’ve got a walk-on part that would be perfect for you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“As a matter of fact, it’s right up your alley. We need to cast a small-town sheriff. He’s a professional, but he knows everyone in town and he’s got a heart. He comes in right after the suicide scene, and he’s got a few lines. Are you interested?”

“Maybe.” Mike was noncommittal, but Hannah knew him well enough to see that he was intrigued.

“You could do some security work for us, too. After hours, of course, so it wouldn’t interfere with your regular duties. We’re a small company and the pay’s not all that great, but you’d get screen credit.”

“Well…I guess I could give it a whirl.”

Hannah glanced over at Norman and thought she detected a bit of envy in his demeanor. Was everyone in town with the exception of Winnie Henderson and yours truly being seduced by the bright klieg lights of movie fame? she wondered.

“I’d like you on the crew, too.” Ross held out his hand to Norman.

“Me?” Norman gulped slightly. “But I’m not in law enforcement.”

“I know that. Michelle told me that you’re the town dentist and we need you to be on call. You never know when somebody’s going to break a cap and need a quick fix to go on with a scene. It would mean a screen credit for you, too.”

“Count me in,” Norman said, shaking Ross’s hand and looking pleased.

Hannah looked at Ross with new respect. He’d effectively diffused a tense situation and suddenly he was Norman’s and Mike’s new best friend. But was he really? Hannah gave a little shiver as Ross’s arm brushed hers. Had their chairs been this close together when they’d sat down? Or had Ross inched over so that he could be closer to her?

Michelle came up carrying a cup of coffee. “Here you go, Mr. Barton. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Not right…yes, there is.” Ross obviously changed his mind in midsentence. “I’ve just cast Mike here as the Sheriff of Cherrywood and Norman’s going to be our crew dentist. Why don’t you introduce them to the rest of the cast and crew? That’ll save time later, at the auditions.”

It was no sooner mentioned than it was accomplished. Mike and Norman stood up and Michelle led them away to do the introductions. The moment they had left, Ross turned to Hannah. “So? What do you think of the new assertive me?”

“It’s a big change,” Hannah said honestly. The Ross she’d known at school had been content to sit back and wait for someone else’s suggestions. This older, more mature Ross had morphed into someone who led, not followed.

“Do you like me the way I am now? Or was it better the way I was back then?”

“What a question!” Hannah said with a laugh. “I liked the old you just fine. But I don’t know the new you well enough to say.”

“Well…we’ll have to remedy that,” Ross said, slipping his arm around Hannah’s shoulder and giving her a squeeze. “It’s wonderful to see you again, Hannah. I never said anything, but did you know I had a terrible crush on you in college?”

Hannah, who’d just taken a bite of scrambled eggs, swallowed with difficulty. She would have died rather than admit it, but Ross’s crush on her had been reciprocated in spades! “I…but…” Hannah stopped and regrouped. “You were living with Linda!”

“I know, but a guy can dream. I always thought we were better suited. She never laughed at my jokes or picked up on my drama quotes.”

“Come on, Ross. That’s not really fair. I had to know my plays. I was taking a seminar on American Theater. Linda majored in art history.”

“But she had a minor in drama. And you’ve got to admit that my quotes weren’t obscure. Pop, I’m a dime a dozen and so are you.”

“Biff in Death of a Salesman by Arthur Miller,” Hannah answered, and then she drew a deep breath. Ross was right, the lines he’d quoted had been so well known that any drama student should have recognized them. But there was no way she’d say anything negative about Linda, especially since she wasn’t here to defend herself. Hannah looked around for the old friend in question, but she didn’t spot her. “You said Lind…” Hannah stopped to correct herself. “You said Lynne was here, but I don’t see her. Where is she?”

“She’s sitting right over there with Burke Anson. You recognize him from those Surf ’n Turf commercials, don’t you?”

Hannah nodded. According to the financial column in the Lake Eden Journal, Surf ’n Turf, the national chain of steak and seafood restaurants, had tripled their business after hiring Burke as their spokesman. “But…Lynne is the blonde?”

“Right. You probably don’t recognize her, because she had some work done.”

“Work? Like in plastic surgery?”

“That’s right. A new nose, some nips and tucks, a couple of enhancements, liposuction, cosmetic dentistry, a good hair stylist, and the best personal trainer in L.A.”

Hannah didn’t say anything. She couldn’t. She was too surprised. Lynne didn’t look at all like the slightly plump, brown-haired girl with the gap between her front teeth. Now, she was thin and glamorous, with a nose that looked much straighter and teeth that were white and even.