Murder Has a Sweet Tooth - By Miranda Bliss Page 0,33
was where I met Jim, and got my first introduction to murder and to being a detective.
Even that wasn’t enough to lift my spirits.
I thought of the stove that had once exploded right in my face at Très Bonne Cuisine. “What if they ask me to bake bread?”
“It takes hours to make bread. There’s no time for that at a wine tasting.”
I remembered all the foods I’d taken to new heights of crispness. “Then what if they want me to cook the main course or something? What if it’s a rack of lamb? Or fondue? Oh, my gosh, do you remember right after we first started dating and you came over for dinner and I was trying to impress you so I made dessert fondue?”
No doubt Jim did. But then, it’s hard to forget an evening where we spent hours getting the chocolate splatters off the countertops, the cupboards, and the kitchen floor. Even that, though, wasn’t enough to deter him. “A wine tasting means cheese and nibblers. Nothing more. And you know a thing or two about cheese, don’t you?”
“I know that when I don’t burn it, Velveeta melts well.”
Jim rolled his eyes. “You dinna learn that from me, that’s sure enough. Concentrate, Annie, and think of all you’ve picked up here at Bellywasher’s. Try again. Tell me what you know about Asiago.”
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. “Fresh Asiago is smooth,” I said. “Aged is crumbly. You sprinkle it on salads and soups and pasta.”
When I opened my eyes again, Jim was smiling. But he wasn’t done with me yet. “Neufchâtel,” he said.
I concentrated. Food was something I liked, even if I wasn’t very good at preparing it. If I thought of Neufchâtel simply as something to eat, rather than as an ingredient . . .
“Soft and slightly crumbly,” I said, and when Jim’s eyes lit, I was inordinately proud of myself. “I know the rind is edible, and that some people say the cheese tastes like mushrooms. Sometimes it’s called farmers’ cheese.”
“One more.” He narrowed his eyes, and I knew he was going to try to stump me. “Mizithra.”
That nearly did me in. But hey, I might not be much of a cook, but that doesn’t mean I give up easily. For some reason, his mention of the Greek cheese made me think of the mountain of invoices currently on the desk in my office. A lightbulb went off and I beamed at Jim. “You just ordered some,” I said. “A lot, in fact. Mizithra is made from sheep or goat milk. You can serve it as an appetizer with olives or tomatoes, or as a dessert with honey. Or you can serve it with pasta. With the amount you ordered, I’m thinking that you’re adding it to the menu.”
“In pasta and as a dessert.” He made me a showy bow. “You know far more about food than you give yourself credit for. And as a reward for answering all my questions right, I’ll prepare some of each cheese for you to take to the wine tasting with you.” He moved toward the big industrial refrigerator that took up most of one wall of the kitchen. “A nice platter of Asiago and Neufchâtel with fresh fruit and some crusty bread. How does that sound? And I’ve been looking for an excuse to make some mizithropita. Mizithra with butter and honey, baked in phyllo. Sound good?”
He knew anything made with honey and phyllo was right up my alley. I knew that we were done talking about food when Jim’s expression grew serious.
“I’ve talked to Alex’s attorney,” he said. “A trial date’s been set.”
Talk of a trial made what Alex was going through all too real. I felt guilty for worrying about my cooking skills (or lack of them) when we had something so much more serious to think about. I wrapped my arms around myself. “And bail?”
Jim’s mouth pulled into a frown. “No luck. But the attorney—Melanie—she says she’s going to keep trying. If Alex surrenders his passport and I vouch for him, she says there’s a chance he’ll be able to make the wedding.”
“But that’s not good enough, is it?” There was a high stool nearby and, suddenly feeling drained, I leaned back against it. “I want to have Alex here for the wedding, of course, but—”
“Did somebody say the magic word?” I swear, Eve has radar when it comes to talking about weddings. She burst into the kitchen looking like a ray of