Home of the Braised

Praise for the
New York Times
Bestselling
White House Chef Mysteries

FONDUING FATHERS

“Hyzy, as always, fills this novel with a clever plot and fascinating behind-the-scenes glimpses of life in the White House. But it’s Ollie who carries the series, and never more so than in this moving page-turner.”

—
Richmond Times-Dispatch

“This time [Ollie’s] investigation is a personal one, as closely held family secrets are revealed. Scenes in the White House kitchen will appeal to foodies. A touch of romance rounds out this delectable offering.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“[A] mystery delight . . . This is a fantastic installment in the series . . . The White House staff is still quirky and interesting, and the recipes at the end range from really easy to needing to raise the spirit of Julia Child as a spirit guide . . . and yes, there is fondue.”

—
King’s River Life

AFFAIRS OF STEAK

“Hyzy shines in this volume.
Affairs of Steak
proves unequivocally that this series burns as bright as the sun during a sweltering D.C. summer.”

—
Seattle Post-Intelligencer

“These are wonderful books, enjoyable to read, hard to put down, and they make you really look forward to the next one in the series.”

—AnnArbor.com

“Fun and intriguing . . . I will keep my eye out for other books in the White House Chef Mystery series.”

—
Fresh Fiction

BUFFALO WEST WING

“Hyzy’s obvious research into protocol and procedures gives her story the realistic element that her readers have come to expect from this top-notch mystery writer. Adventure, intrigue, and a dash of romance combine for a delicious cozy that is a delight to read.”

—
Fresh Fiction

“A captivating story from the very first page until the end. The plot thickens like pea soup, and each character has a different spice to add to it. From the easy-to-re-create recipes in the back to its high-energy, ever-changing story line, this one is good enough to serve to the higher-ups. Ollie is definitely a character worth following. Great job, Julie Hyzy. Another all-around great read!”

—
The Romance Readers Connection

“Ollie Paras is at the top of her game in [
Buffalo West Wing
], as is Hyzy . . . Every White House Chef Mystery is cause for celebration. The daily schedule in the White House kitchen is trauma enough, but Hyzy always ratchets up the tension with plots and danger . . . Julie Hyzy’s star shines brighter than ever with
Buffalo West Wing
.”

—
Lesa’s Book Critiques

EGGSECUTIVE ORDERS

“The ever-burgeoning culinary mystery subgenre has a new chef-sleuth . . . The backstage look at the White House proves fascinating. Recipes are included for Eggcellent Eggs.”

—
Booklist

“A quickly paced plot with a headstrong heroine and some recipes featuring eggs all add up to a dependable mystery.”

—
The Mystery Reader

HAIL TO THE CHEF

“A gourmand’s delight . . . Julie Hyzy balances her meal ticket quite nicely between the glimpses at the working class inside the White House with an engaging chef’s cozy.”

—
Midwest Book Review

“The story is entertaining, the character is charming, the setting is interesting . . . Fun to read.”

—
Crime Fiction Dossier
(Book of the Week)

“[A] well-plotted mystery.”

—
The Mystery Reader

STATE OF THE ONION

“Pulse-pounding action, an appealing heroine, and the inner workings of the White House kitchen combine for a stellar adventure in Julie Hyzy’s delightful
State of the Onion
.”

—Carolyn Hart, national bestselling author of
Ghost Gone Wild

“Hyzy’s sure grasp of Washington geography offers firm footing for the plot.”

—
Booklist

“[A] unique setting, strong characters, sharp conflict, and snappy plotting . . . Hyzy’s research into the backstage kitchen secrets of the White House gives this series a special savor that will make you hungry for more.”

—Susan Wittig Albert, national bestselling author of
The Darling Dahlias and the Texas Star

“From terrorists to truffles, mystery writer Julie Hyzy concocts a sumptuous, breathtaking thriller.”

—Nancy Fairbanks, bestselling author of
Turkey Flambé

“A compulsively readable whodunit full of juicy behind-the-Oval-Office details, flavorful characters, and a satisfying side dish of red herrings—not to mention twenty pages of easy-to-cook recipes fit for the leader of the free world.”

—
Publishers Weekly

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Julie Hyzy

White House Chef Mysteries

STATE OF THE ONION

HAIL TO THE CHEF

EGGSECUTIVE ORDERS

BUFFALO WEST WING

AFFAIRS OF STEAK

FONDUING FATHERS

HOME OF THE BRAISED

Manor House Mysteries

GRACE UNDER PRESSURE

GRACE INTERRUPTED

GRACE AMONG THIEVES

GRACE TAKES OFF

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

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penguin.com

A Penguin Random House Company

HOME OF THE BRAISED

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with Tekno Books LLC

Copyright © 2014 by Tekno Books LLC.

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

BERKLEY
®
PRIME CRIME and the PRIME CRIME logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) LLC.

For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) LLC,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-59267-0

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition/ January 2014

Cover illustration by Ben Perini.

Cover design by Annette Fiore DeFex.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE: The recipes contained in this book are to be followed exactly as written. The publisher is not responsible for your specific health or allergy needs that may require medical supervision. The publisher is not responsible for any adverse reactions to the recipes contained in this book.

For Patrick Smith, who I am very lucky to be able to call my friend

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

In
Fonduing Fathers
, Ollie spent a great deal of time outside the White House, following a cold trail that ultimately led to discovering the truth about her father’s murder. Here, in
Home of the Braised
(Thank you, Kathy K. Grow, for the title suggestion!), Ollie’s back in the kitchen most of the time, but hasn’t forgotten her promise to Gav. I hope that as you read this adventure, you remember that none of Ollie’s stories would be possible without help from some truly great people:

First, my awesome editor, Natalee Rosenstein. I’m extremely fortunate to be able to work with her, and her fabulous assistant, Robin Barletta, at Berkley Prime Crime. Thank you both for all your wonderful help and support. An unsung hero I’ve recently had the pleasure to meet is Stacy Edwards, the fabulous production editor who guides my manuscripts through the many steps required before publication. Thank you, Stacy! Thanks, too, to copyeditor Erica Horisk who catches inconsistencies, and offers spot-on suggestions. I’m also very happy to be working with Larry Segriff at Tekno Books LLC, who is simply one of the nicest people on the planet.

Thanks much to my enthusiastic agent, Paige Wheeler, and all the great folks at Folio. And to my friend Matthew Clemens, who “spitballed” an idea or two that made it into this story.

Big hugs to my blog sisters, the Cozy Chicks (cozychicksblog.com), and friends at CozyPromo, as well as to reader Sue Gilot who was kind enough to “introduce” me to the incomparable Grandma Mae some years ago. Grandma Mae, you will be missed.

To my friends and especially my family: Curt, Robyn, Sara, and Biz. Love you all. You guys are my rock—my life—and I cherish our times together above all else. A special thank-you to Curt, Sara, and Biz for pre-screening all my books, catching more than a few “Oops!” moments, as well as a few misplaced modifiers.

Thanks, too, to you, my wonderful readers, who keep asking when the next Ollie story or the next Grace adventure is due out. Your e-mails make me happier than you can ever know. I am a lucky, lucky woman indeed.

I’M OF THE BELIEF THAT THERE ARE PRECIOUS
few moments of absolute clarity in our lives and that, when we’re granted one of these deliciously pure bursts of comprehension, we’d best act on it. Quickly, decisively, boldly.

Special Agent in Charge Leonard Gavin—Gav—shared my attitude. We’d made the decision, we both knew it was right for us. There was no good reason to wait.

Unfortunately, however, bureaucracies don’t care a whit about the courage of one’s convictions.

“What do you mean, Ollie?” Cyan asked. “Yesterday you told us that you and Gav were getting married in three days. How can it be off now?”

Cyan, Bucky, and I were in the White House kitchen which, considering the number of hours I spend here in my role of executive chef, often feels more like home to me than my apartment does. Cyan had worn her emerald contact lenses today. I think of all her choices, this was my favorite. With her red hair and spunky attitude, the combination suited her. Now her bright-green eyes gleamed with worry.

“You seemed so sure,” she said. “What happened?”

My two assistants had come in to work about a half hour after I did, and had immediately picked up on my mood. It’s not that I was morose—it wasn’t my style to whine or feel sorry for myself—but I was considerably less upbeat than I had been the day before.

“You forget what life is like in the Washington, D.C. area,” I said, striving for levity. “The wheels of justice turn slowly. Except in this case, we’re dealing with the wheels of the justice of the peace. They’ve ground to a halt.”

Squinty-eyed, Bucky regarded me, his arms folded across his chest. Shaped a bit like a slim bowling pin, with freckles across his bald pate, he hadn’t been officially titled as such, but I considered him my next in command. An absolute genius with flavor combinations, he spoke his mind freely, and often. That character trait had been difficult to get used to at first, but I’d come to appreciate it. And him.

“What are you telling us?” Bucky asked. “That your plans are delayed? By how long?”

I pulled in a deep breath and let it out again. Bucky and Cyan were not only coworkers, they were my good friends. There was no point in hiding my disappointment from them. “It looks as though—”

“Good morning,” Virgil said as he blew into the kitchen. With one of his fat cookbook binders tucked under an arm, he precariously balanced used bowls and utensils on a stainless steel tray. “What is this? A kitchen conference? And I wasn’t invited?” He rolled his eyes as he dropped his load onto the countertop. One of the bowls teetered and toppled onto its side, sending a whisk somersaulting into the air. As the batter-laden utensil spun, it shot pale firework patterns onto everything in its path before splatter-crashing onto the floor.

“Good morning, Virgil.” I chose to ignore his jab about gathering without him, but I didn’t care to continue my tale of wedding woes with him in the room. Experience made me reluctant to share personal information with the newest member of my White House kitchen team. He’d been a thorn in all of our sides since he’d started working here. The First Family had shocked us all by bringing a personal chef into the White House to cook their daily meals, a task that, until then, had always belonged to the executive chef—me.

When Virgil had first started, he’d mistakenly believed he was hired to take over the executive chef position. He’d been sorely disappointed to discover that wasn’t the case. To be honest, I’d been fearful for my job the first few weeks he’d been here, too. I’d been under the misguided notion that he was cherished and valued by the president and his family.

As we’d gotten to know the Hyden family better, and as we’d gotten to know Virgil better, we’d begun to realize that he was not nearly as beloved as we’d first believed. He’d made more than one misstep, and several big ones. Despite his many blunders, however, Virgil remained on staff. On
my
staff. That meant he remained my headache.

I tried mightily to maintain a cordial working relationship, although I couldn’t help but believe that the effort was one-sided. “No conference here, Virgil,” I said. “Bucky, Cyan, and I are catching up on plans for the Durasi dinner next week.”

I decided to change the subject. If there was one thing guaranteed to engage Virgil’s attention, it was talking about himself. “How was breakfast upstairs?” I asked.

“Wonderful, as always.”

Up to this point he hadn’t made any effort to clean up the mess he’d made. In fact, he looked like he planned to ignore it.

I pointed. “You’re not going to leave that, are you?”

He turned to me with an impatient stare. While he might be considered good-looking by some, I didn’t see it. It’s a well-known phenomenon that the more you like a person, the more attractive he or she becomes. I’d come to the conclusion that the reverse was true as well. At this point I knew Virgil too well to see him as anything more than a glowering diva in my otherwise marvelous kitchen.

“Let the cleanup staff take care of it,” he said as though we hadn’t had this conversation a hundred times before.

“Their job isn’t to follow you around with a mop,” I said. “We clean up after ourselves here. As much as we can.”

Again the baleful glare. With a dramatic sigh worthy of Norma Desmond, he started picking things up. One by one he hurled the spatula, the bowl, the whisk, and the rest of his gear into the sink, each piece clattering louder than the one before. When I pointed again, he even wiped down the side of the cabinet and the floor where the whisk splatter had hit.

“We really should let the cleaning people tend to this kind of thing. It’s job security for them,” he said. “Don’t you understand that?”

“What
you
need to understand is that this kitchen will be run the way I want it run.” I folded my hands in front of my waist. “How many times do we need to go over this?”

This time he didn’t answer. Thank goodness.

Bucky, Cyan, and I shifted subjects, this time returning to the earlier discussion about the Durasi state dinner. We’d gotten word first thing this morning that the Durasi president had agreed to peace talks with President Hyden and that they would be held here. Not only that, but to signal the beginning of negotiations, there would be a state dinner held in the Durasi president’s honor to welcome him and his advisers next week.

State dinners, with their myriad updates, extensive guest lists, and exhaustive details, were usually months in the making. This time we had mere days to get everything together.

If it all went well, however, the extra effort to scramble would be worth it. As far back as I could remember, relations between the United States and the Durasi had been strained, and that was putting it mildly. We’d maintained troops there for years under a long-standing arrangement approved by the United Nations. There had always been unrest in Durasi, and the prior administration’s resentment of the United States was well known.

By all accounts this chance for future peace negotiations, starting with this welcoming dinner, could be the defining moment in President Hyden’s career. Stakes were high, and tensions were even higher.

My staff and I were determined to serve a spectacular meal in this sparkling venue, knowing that world leaders were always in better spirits when they were comfortable and well-fed.

“As far as we know, there are no cultural dietary issues, is that right?” Bucky asked.

“That’s correct,” I said. “We’re waiting on a final word from Sargeant, though.”

“How is he going to balance his new position as chief usher with his sensitivity director responsibilities?” Cyan asked. “They haven’t hired his replacement yet and both are big jobs. Especially the chief usher position.”

“You know Sargeant,” I said. “He’ll get it done.”

Bucky looked like he was about to say something disparaging about our newly appointed chief usher, but I interrupted him. Peter Everett Sargeant, III, and I had experienced problems working together in the past, but this new reporting structure gave us an opportunity to start fresh. Plus, he and I had recently forged a tenuous truce. I wasn’t yet at the stage where I’d want to hang out with the man during my off hours, but I appreciated the newfound respect he’d shown for me. The least I could do was return the favor.

“He’s going to need all the support we can give him,” I said.

“Ollie, you are too forgiving,” Bucky said. “Think about all the aggravation Sargeant’s caused you over the years.”

I hadn’t forgotten. But people change, often when you least expect them to. Sargeant and I had faced death together, and since that frightening day, he’d been kinder to me. Not by a lot, but enough to notice. He was definitely more approachable. “He’s the chief usher now,” I reminded Bucky. “Which makes him our boss.”

Virgil rolled his eyes at that. “I still can’t believe they selected Sargeant for that position. What were they thinking?” I was about to chastise him for questioning the president and First Lady’s decision, but he waved a hand as though he couldn’t be bothered to care. “Does anyone know if the chocolate shop staff is in today?”

“I saw one of them earlier,” Bucky said. “They’re busy coming up with ideas for the Durasi dinner, too. Why?”

“I have an amazing chocolate dessert planned for the family tonight. I want to make sure they haven’t forgotten.” Virgil headed for the door, speaking without bothering to face us. “If anyone needs me, that’s where I’ll be.”

The moment he was gone, Cyan nudged me. “Okay, back to the wedding. What happened?”

I told them about how, after Gav had proposed the day before, we’d gone directly to the Moultrie Courthouse to fill out a marriage application. According to the courthouse website, our license would be ready in three business days.

“Except now,” I concluded, “even though the license will be ready, it looks like there aren’t any openings for weddings for eight weeks.”

“Oh, that’s not so bad.” Cyan clasped her hands to her chest and let out a romantic sigh. “What’s eight weeks when you’re in love?”

Bucky held up both hands. “What’s the problem?” he asked. “In this day and age, you should be able to find a willing officiant on the Internet . . . like that.” He snapped his fingers. “I can’t believe you didn’t think of that yourself.”

“We did, actually,” I said. “In fact, we searched out a few last night.”

“And?”

How to explain? Even though Gav and I weren’t the most traditionally romantic people in the world, we’d both had the same reaction to the “Wedding Officiant” ads we’d encountered online. One after another, we’d rejected them (those who weren’t already booked solid for the next three months, that is) for coming across too eager or too flashy. Although I knew that legally, standing before a judge wasn’t any different than standing before one of the “Get married today!” agents, it sure seemed as though it would
feel
different.

“Choosing an officiant from an online ad didn’t sit well with us,” I said. Uncomfortable explaining myself beyond that, I shrugged. “Plus, most of them have waiting lists, too.”

Bucky and Cyan didn’t know why Gav and I intended to keep our engagement as short as possible. They didn’t know that Gav had suffered heartbreaking loss in the past. He’d been engaged twice before, both women dying tragically before they could be wed. Despite the fact that he wasn’t superstitious by nature, Gav believed he’d been cursed by some implacable wedding fates.

The man constantly worried for my safety. As a Secret Service agent, it was his nature to see danger lurking around every corner. Now that we’d made the decision to get married, his panic would skyrocket.

The fact that I’d developed a habit of getting into trouble while working at the White House made the waiting all the worse.

“I know,” I said, putting on a cheerful face. “Even though eight weeks feels like forever right now, I’m sure someday we’ll look back and this will be nothing but a minor blip.” I thought about how tough this time would be for Gav. For both of us. “All I can tell you is that the sooner we say our vows, the happier I’ll be.”