Patrice Greenwood - Wisteria Tearoom 03 - An Aria of Omens (31 page)

3 room-temperature egg whites

½ c almond meal flour

½ c powdered sugar, sifted

3 large eggs

2 T flour

4 T butter

Preheat oven to 425° F. Melt butter in microwave; let stand while preparing the pan. Spray or grease the sides of a 10”x15” sheet pan (jelly roll pan), then line bottom with one sheet of parchment cut to fit. Skim the butter solids off the melted butter and onto the parchment, setting the rest of the butter aside. Brush butter solids over the whole parchment.

In medium bowl, beat the egg whites to stiff peaks. Set aside. In large bowl, beat almond flour, powdered sugar, and eggs on medium until light and fluffy, 3-4 minutes. Add the flour and blend on low speed until just incorporated. Gently fold in the egg whites by hand. When mostly combined, fold in the melted butter.

Pour batter into pan, spreading to edges. Bake 7-9 minutes until lightly browned. Remove and place on range top. Check edges; if they are sticking to the sides of the pan, gently loosen with a knife.

Lay second sheet of parchment over cake, then turn out onto clean counter. Gently remove the top parchment, turn it over, and lay it on top of the cake. Let stand until cool. (Can be refrigerated for one day or frozen for up to a month.)

Toasted Almonds

Spread ¼ c sliced almonds in cast-iron or other heavy frying pan. Toast over medium heat, stirring occasionally, for five minutes. Remove from heat and set aside to cool.

Almond Buttercream Icing

10 T unsalted butter, softened

1 ¼ c confectioners’ sugar, sifted

pinch or three of salt

½ t vanilla extract

1 t almond extract

1 T whipping cream

Beat butter until smooth, about 30 seconds. Add sugar and salt, beat on medium until blended. Scrape sides of bowl, add vanilla, almond, and cream, and beat at medium until blended, then beat on high until fluffy, about 4 minutes.

Assembling the Aria Cake

Remove covering parchment sheet from cake and fold it in half (roughly square). Lay onto one side of cake to measure, and cut cake in half along edge of folded parchment. Fold parchment in half again, cut each half of cake in half using parchment to measure. You now have four rectangles of cake.

Lay fresh parchment over a cutting board, cake board, or flat plate for cake assembly.  Using icing spatula or long knife, transfer one rectangle of cake onto the parchment, turning it over as you do so (the bottom is more absorbent than the top). Align as you wish on the parchment.

Brush cake generously with tea syrup. Allow to soak in for two minutes, then spread icing over cake, no more than 1/8 inch thick. Move another rectangle on top of the first, turning it over.  Brush with syrup and ice with buttercream as before. Repeat with third and fourth layer.

Trim edges of cake. (Keep the trimmings – they’re your reward!)

Refrigerate cake for 1 hour or more. Cut into eight pieces: long slices, triangles, or squares. Garnish each piece with toasted almonds and a candied violet. 

Copyright © 2014 by Patrice Greenwood. All rights reserved.

The flavor of this drink will vary depending on the liquors used, as well as whether the cranberry juice is sweetened. The salt, if used, tends to bring out the tequila.

Ingredients (for one large or two small cocktails):

turbinado sugar

table salt (optional)

2 limes

cranberry juice

tequila

vodka

orange liqueur

Squeeze both limes, saving husks. If desired, strain lime juice.

Place sugar on flat plate or in wide, shallow bowl. If desired, sprinkle a little table salt over it (don’t use margarita salt–too coarse). 
Use the pulp side of a husk to moisten the rim of a champagne glass or martini glass. Press into sugar to coat rim.

Put crushed ice in shaker, rinse with cold water to melt tiny chips. Strain water out, then pour in:

½ shot lime juice

½ shot tequila

1 shot cranberry juice

1 shot vodka

1 shot orange liqueur

Shake gently, then strain into sugared glass.

Copyright © 2014 by Patrice Greenwood. All rights reserved.

Thank you for reading 
An Aria of Omens!
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If you haven’t read the rest of the series, be sure to read the free sample of
A Fatal Twist of Lemon
, book 1 in the Wisteria Tearoom Mysteries. Just turn the page…

—Patrice Greenwood

1

T
he first day my tearoom opened was wonderful—mostly. Funny how life can go swimmingly one moment, and fall to pieces the next.

The sun was starting to dip toward the west, filtered by the wisteria vines on the front porch, as
I bade my guests farewell
. My thank-you tea party had been a success, and the butterflies in my stomach had mostly settled down. After months of hard work, the Wisteria Tearoom was ready for its official grand opening celebration in two days.

“The tea was marvelous, Ellen! Come for dinner tomorrow,” said my aunt Nat, giving me a big hug.

“Oh … I’ve got so much to do—”

“And you won’t get it done if you don’t take a rest now and then. Say ‘Yes, thank you,’ like a good girl.”

“Yes, thank you,” I said meekly.

Nat smiled. “Six o’clock.”

I waved farewell to her and her perennial beau Manny Salazar, whose produce business was one of my suppliers. With a grateful sigh, I went inside and started toward the kitchen.

Claudia Pearson—a tall, older woman with snowy hair drawn into a tight bun and an aristocratic Roman nose, who always reminded me of Georgia O’Keeffe—stood in the hall putting on her gloves. She and Sylvia Carruthers, both from the Santa Fe Preservation Trust, were my most important guests at the thank-you tea. In fact, I’d come up with the party as a way of acknowledging them. Without their help, I wouldn’t have been able to open the tearoom.

“Did Mrs. Carruthers go already?” I asked Claudia, who seemed in no hurry to leave.

“No, she hasn’t come out.”

We both looked toward the private dining parlor at the back of the tearoom, which doubled as a conference room and was where the tea had taken place. Vi, one of my servers, a stunning Juno of a girl with a tumble of flaming curls barely confined by a lavender ribbon, stepped out of the pantry across the hall, carrying an empty tray.

“Maybe she forgot something,” I said to Claudia. “I’ll go and see.”

I went to the dining parlor door with Vi close on my heels. Dusk gathered at the windows and French doors, pushed back by the golden pool of light from the chandelier. I stopped short just inside the doorway.

Sylvia Carruthers lay sprawled on the floor beside the table, her huge heishi necklace tight around her throat, eyes bulging and her face a livid purple.

My heart gave a terrified thump.

“Vi, call an ambulance! Hurry!”

Vi made a small, startled sound, then disappeared. I rushed to Sylvia, dropping to my knees.

I lifted her by the shoulders and pulled her necklace loose. It wasn’t easy—the heishi was practically embedded in her neck. As I tugged at it, some of the strands broke, sending tiny yellow beads dancing across the wood floor, a delicate waterfall of sound.

Sylvia didn’t breathe. She didn’t move. I tried to find a pulse, but there was none.

“Oh, no,” I whispered.

Things seemed to happen in flashes after that. I remember Claudia Pearson standing over me, saying something wry, then taking out her cell phone.

I did what I could to revive Sylvia, but I knew in my heart it was hopeless. Paramedics arrived in mere moments and confirmed that Sylvia was beyond help. I felt guilty and appalled and terribly, terribly sad. I also felt apprehensive, especially when the police began to invade.

Thank you for a wonderful afternoon.

Sylvia’s last words to me echoed in my mind. I’d intended to honor her with this celebration. Instead…

The police wanted to talk to everyone. Vi and the other two servers, my chef Julio, and dishwasher Mick gathered in the kitchen where I asked them to wait. All young—college age—and looking rather shocked. I was not their peer, but I felt more divided from them than ever now as they clustered together, talking in low voices. I wished I could think of something to say to reassure them, but I was feeling none too assured myself.

Claudia remained, having called to cancel the meeting she and Sylvia had been headed for. I took her to wait in the Iris alcove in the tearoom’s main parlor. With a resigned expression, she made herself comfortable in a blue velvet wing chair by the embers of the fire.

“Would you like tea, or have you had your fill?” I asked her.

“A pot of tea would be welcome, since I’m likely to be here a while.”

“I’ll get it.  Oh—should I call Donna?” I said, remembering Sylvia’s daughter, who had also been at the party. The thought of calling her dismayed me, but it could be considered my duty as hostess.

“I’ve already done so,” Claudia said.

I breathed relief. “Thank you. I’m afraid I’m a bit distracted.”

She raised an elegant eyebrow. “You’ve had a shock. Why don’t you sit down?”

“I will, as soon as I…”

I stepped out into the hall and nearly collided with a police officer. She shot me an irritated glance, then headed toward the dining parlor with heavy, clumping steps.

Flashes of red and blue light spun down the hallway, reflecting on the polished oak floor. I felt a wave of dread for what this might do to my business.