Three Ingredients II – 10: Strawberries, Avocados, Lobster

buster n lucyThanks for coming back to another episode of our interactive culinary mystery serial.  The “ingredients” all of you send help make sure the story includes a multiplicity of ideas.  However, the cupboards are bare again.  Everyone is welcome to leave three food-related things in the comments. That’s what drives this pantser story — your varied ingredients.

Variety is something I’ve always enjoyed.  When I find a restaurant I like, I want to try something different from their menu each time I visit.  This week’s ingredients are from a woman who adds all sorts of variability to her life — Sally Georgina Cronin, at Smorgasbord – Variety is the Spice of Life.  Her books and her blog cover a remarkable and useful assortment of things. Here is just one of Sally’s many books.  I hope you’ll check out Sally’s fiction and nonfiction books, and her amazing blog too.

Forget-Viagra-Pass-Me-Carrot

Keep an eye out for some links for fun, information, and recipes throughout today’s story. Without further ado, here is the episode of Three Ingredients Cookbook-2 that Sally’s ingredients inspired.

Bon appétit!

10.  Strawberries, Avocados, Lobster

With Warning

1921 Dodge RaodsterThe tan spoke wheels of the black Dodge Roadster spun merrily when I saw their reflection in a shop window.  It was a sunny day and we put down the tan ragtop.  Andy and I drove around Savannah and the general area the whole morning.  We looked at every church we could find, hoping for one with a window that matched the glowing image Daisy the Dainty Dish caused to appear to us in the abandoned warehouse.

It was well past noon when we drove toward a roadside fruit stand.  “I’m starved.  Why don’t we stop and get something here.  Maybe something to make a cobbler for supper too,” I added as the inspiration struck.

Andy slowed the Dodge and we pulled off the road.  “Strawberries!” I exclaimed.  “They’re beautiful too,” I said as I opened the door without waiting for Andy to come around and open it for me.

He shot me a look for my impatience, and I suppose for my lack of ladylike behavior. But I was a flapper, after all.  I could throw convention to the winds.  Besides, Andy was my Strawberry girldear old friend, not my beau.  When he caught up with me I was still going on about how good the strawberries looked.  I asked if he didn’t agree.

“Oh Pip,” he began and gave me a lopsided grin. “They’ll be the berries!”

I rolled my eyes at Andy’s pun.  The aroma was heavenly and I inhaled deeply as I selected several small baskets of the luscious red berries.  Andy insisted on paying as he said he planned on eating the majority of the cobbler.

Our chatter about being hungry turned into a conversation with the stall keeper about what there was to eat nearby.  The man told us there was a pier about a mile up the road and recommended one of the vendors for a bite to eat.

While the guy talked, Andy picked up a black pebbly skinned pear-shaped thing and tossed it happily.  The stall keeper took on a professorial tone.  “Had them alligator pears brought up special from Florida,” he told Andy.

“We’re both from Florida,” Andy told the man.  “I remember my grandpa calling avocados alligator pears,” he said fondly.  Then he turned to me.  “At least that was one familiar thing in California.  This kind of avocado got real popular there fairly recently.”

“I see you know your onions — and your avocados,” the man said and chuckled at his own joke.

I wouldn’t have expected the guy to know his slang.  My expression must have said as much and he smiled.  The grin took ten years off his face.  Maybe he wasn’t such a codger after all.

We both picked out a few more things and then we were ready to settle up the bill.  The stall keeper looked at the strawberries and then looked at us carefully.  “You know,” he began but hesitated for a second before continuing.  “For special customers…  I could be talked out of a bottle of strawberry wine.  Don’t worry, everything’s jake,” he added upon seeing our surprise.Fruit Stand

Both of us grinned.  “I wasn’t expecting to run across any giggle water here,” Andy said and told the guy to add a bottle of the wine to our purchase.

“On one condition,” the man said.  “You gotta promise not to get spifflicated until you get where you’re going.”

The pier turned out to be a hotspot, just short of being a carnival.  I could tell it was a fun place before we got out of the roadster.  There were lots of bathers in colorful suits who came for the narrow strip of beach.  All manner of vendors were setup with their crafts and wares along the boardwalk and out onto the pier.

We walked past a stand where a man played a happy tune on a banjo.  Yet when I thought about it, any song sounded cheery when played on a banjo.  The stall boasted several beautiful handmade instruments the musician and his wife had for sale.  However, they Mouth Harpdid most of their business with the smaller less expensive things like harmonicas and mouth harps.

The woman gave us a quick demonstration of the mouth harp.  It had a flexible metal “tongue” attached to an oval metal frame.   She put the tongue part inside her mouth and plucked with a finger to produce a note.  She offered to help Andy learn to play the odd little instrument, but he politely declined.

“I tried to play one of those jaw harps when I was a kid,” Andy commented derisively.  “All I did was pinch my mouth.  Bad.  I looked like I had cold sores worse than Maestro gets as supernatural punishment for leering at your grandmother.”

The scent of something delicious wafted to my noise.  The banjo music trailed behind us as we made for the food stalls.  To my surprise we got into line and the person in front of us was Hank Hertz, Savannah’s youngest police officer.  I invited him to join us, but Hank pointed out a booth the police department had set up.  Hank said he was “on duty,” and had to man the booth.

Soon Andy and I had paper baskets full of crispy fried chicken, golden-brown biscuits, coleslaw, and some German potato salad.  We sat down on a sun-warmed bench to eat.  It gave us a view of the brightly colored stall awnings to one side and of the little beach to the other.  It was fun to watch all the activity and different people.Lobster beach girls

Some of the bathers cavorting on the sand caught my attention.  A huge lobster had somehow caught hold of a flapper’s bathing suit and another girl tried to pull it free, resulting in a humorous tug of war.  It didn’t look like anyone was in any danger of being harmed.  Andy and I chuckled at their antics.

If I hadn’t known Andy so well, I would have thought he really had been about to starve.  There wasn’t a scrap of chicken left on those bones.  However, that was how Andy ate fried chicken.  He always said the very best part was right on the bones, and sometimes I wondered if he would munch into the very bones!  I had to admit it was delicious.  I licked my finger after the last bite of moist crispy deliciousness.

Crisco Fried Chicken

Click for recipe

We dodged a yellow jacket that buzzed around the big garbage can as we threw away our trash.  That was one angry looking bee!  I jumped backward away from the yellow jacket, just as I heard the bell of a ferry coming up to the pier.  I nearly stumbled into an artist’s easel and I apologized profusely.

Trying to make amends for nearly turning over her work, I started looking at her paintings.  The one I ran into was a truly lovely landscape with a building and flowers; daisies amid red roses.  I saw that she signed the painting Mattie Maddox.  However, I began to see a central theme to her work — stained glass windows.  I murmured something to Andy, but I couldn’t get his attention, he was so engrossed in the paintings.

Horse feathers Pip!” he finally looked up at me and whispered an exclamation.  “Look at this.  Most of them are stained glass windows!” he said and I tried not to roll my eyes since that’s why I had been trying to get his attention.

Mattie the artist was flattered by our interest in her work.  (That just didn’t have a ring to it, I thought.  Shouldn’t it be Annie the artist?  Or Abbie?)  I told her we were looking for a church with a particular stained glass window.  She showed us all of her church paintings, but none matched the image of the window Daisy the ghost woman showed us.

Mattie Maddox was a kind and charming woman, so it was pleasant to pass a few minutes talking to her about her paintings.  She was a little beyond middle years.  Her hair was heavily streaked with gray and pulled back into a tidy bun.  Mattie’s stall was the neatest one I had ever seen.  When I commented on it, she said that through most of her life she worked as a chamber maid and the neatness was a firmly ingrained habit.

“Mattie the Maid!” I exclaimed and then was horribly embarrassed, fearing I had been offensive.

I tried to explain my fondness for making names for people I liked, such as Mona the Movie Star, and of course Andy the Astronaute-man.  Mattie seemed to be a sweet soul and was not bothered by my silliness.  She tilted her head to one side as if a thought suddenly came to her.

Stained Glass 2“I wonder… It wasn’t the church, but the rectory has a lovely window with shapes and colors like you described,” she said as she moved toward a stack of unframed canvases in the corner of the little booth.  “I did so many different paintings of it.  I guess I was trying to work through some grief over a friend who died.”

Andy and I both murmured our condolences.  “Oh don’t you fret none,” Mattie said.  “That was so long ago.  Ah!  Here’s one,” the artist exclaimed as she pulled out a square canvas.

The piece was covered in bright hues of gold and aqua, and featured an arched stained glass window.  Roses and wild flowers mingled; a contrast of sophistication and the commonplace, to frame the window.  Mattie looked at it with a sad expression in her eyes.  “She was the one who was really the rose,” she whispered as if to herself.

My excited gasp was echoed by Andy.  The artist chuckled at our enthusiasm.  Andy pulled out his wallet without even asking the price of the painting.  At first Mattie declined to take anything for it, apparently she thought we were newlyweds and she was charmed by our excitement.  Naturally Andy insisted on giving her a good price.

“Where is this place?” I asked eagerly.

“It’s the rectory, not the church,” she reminded me and I nodded.  “The one out on Tybee Island,” she said and then took a hurried look at a watch that was suspended from a chain around her neck.  “Oh my, would you look at the time!” she exclaimed.  “I have to hurry and put away my things so I can catch the ferry,” she said and then looked at our puzzled faces.  “I live on the island and this is the last ferry of the day.  It will be leaving in just a few minutes.”Savannah Beach postcard

Mattie went on to explain that Route 80, which connected the island via road with the mainland, was washed out.  “We’ve had so many storms this summer,” she said.  “So the ferry is the only means of getting there for now.”

“We’d very much like to see the place,” I said and then remembered Granny Fanny.  I doubted there was a telephone on the island.  Mattie said that was the last ferry of the day.  If we went, we’d be stuck overnight.  How would I let Granny know, so she wouldn’t worry?  It was a lot simpler when I lived on my own in the old office building where Andy and my other friends used to rent our apartment “offices.”  I didn’t have to worry about making anybody else worry.

“Pip!” Andy exclaimed.  “Mrs. Peabody would want us to have a chaperone.  And we can’t just go off to Tybee Island without letting her know,” he said and without being asked, went about helping Mattie lock up her paintings.1920s Friends at Beach

I had noticed that Andy called my grandmother Granny most of the time.  But when she turned into an authority figure in his mind, she suddenly became Mrs. Peabody.  Plus I was surprised at my old friend.  Who’d have thought he could be such a stick in the mud?  A chaperone?  I was a modern woman, a flapper.  I didn’t need a chaperone!

Andy’s insistence on propriety seemed to greatly impress Mattie Maddox.  She smiled and offered to have us stay the night with her.  “I have a little cottage on the church grounds.  There’s only one bed but you two are young — I have plenty of quilts and could make pallets on the floor for you,” she offered.

Of course I wouldn’t dream of putting her out that way.  Then she mentioned that the church operated a small hostel.  Mattie said she would be happy to introduce us to the chaplain.  I was already nodding eagerly when Andy again reminded me about my grandmother.

“But there’s no time!  I don’t even know where the closest telephone would be,” I complained and pointed at the ferry.

Tybee Island LighthouseThen an inspired thought came to me and I ran down the pier as fast as I could.  Three strides later, Andy caught my elbow and ran beside me.  He asked me in a very frustrated voice what I thought I was doing.

“Hank!” I exclaimed.

“Um nope, doll face, I’m Andy,” he quipped.

“No, silly.  Remember Hank Hertz?  I introduced you at the chicken stand?” I reminded Andy and he grunted something affirmative.  “Hank is a wizard with the radio.  He’ll get word to Granny Fanny.  Plus he knows about Daisy the Dainty Dish.  He’ll want to help.”

I asked Andy to go back and get us a place on the ferry, and not let it leave without me.  He said he’d bribe the captain if necessary.  As I reached the boardwalk, I looked down the pier and saw Andy carrying some packages for Mattie Maddox toward the ferry.  He was a good guy, I thought to myself.

Hank saw and understood my haste.  Having worked at the pier all summer he was familiar with the ferry schedule.  He said he wouldn’t need to worry about radioing an officer at the police station to call Granny Fanny.  Hank promised to stop by the cottage on his way home.  His shift was almost over.

He also let me know that there was a radio at the church’s rectory, just in case we needed1929 Radio News Sept to reach him.  Hank, radio wiz that he was, had his own radio, and even a mobile set up in his automobile.

In no time Andy and I were settled next to Mattie Maddox on the ferry to Tybee Island.  The Savannah River emptied into the Atlantic Ocean just north of the barrier island.

The ferry bobbed slowly on the stretch of ocean between the island and the small Atlantic coast of Georgia.  I closed my eyes against the glare of the evening sun on the water.  I might have dozed for a minute, but I noticed that I no longer felt the sunlight on my face.  Unexpected clouds overcast the lowering sun, creating a purple sunset.

I remembered the sailor’s old saw, Red sky at night, sailor’s delight.  Well, purple was not red, I thought, but determined not to be apprehensive just because I was on a small craft, out on the open ocean.  What flapper would let a little thing like that bother her?

Black clouds rolled in, abruptly turning the evening to night.  I felt my hair stand on end.  It didn’t feel like an ordinary storm.  The ferryman shouted some kind of warning to all the passengers.  However, I didn’t hear what he said because I was focused on the wind’s mournful call.  Mournful and familiar.

Thunder rolled and to me it sounded like pounding hooves.  A brilliant red bolt of lightning shot a horizontal path across the sky, like an arrow pointing toward the island.  When I looked at the black clouds I saw the Devil’s Herd ploughing up the sky and pursued by the ghost-riders.  One cowboy strayed from the rest and took off his Stetson hat with a seated bow toward me.  His horse snorted fire and reared up, screaming a challenge to the black-horned cattle.Glowing-Longhorns copy

With a strong feeling of satisfaction I noted that the ghost-rider was not Caleb Colman.  Maestro Martino’s sacrifice had not been in vain.  Caleb the ghost-rider had gotten his chance to redeem himself, though I had no idea what it was.

I looked around me in wide-eyed amazement, but no one else had seen the ghostly display.  Rain began to pour.  Then in the darkness the ferry hit a giant wave.  The boat went up into the air.  I felt my posterior leave my seat and I hung on for dear life as the ferry crashed back down against the stormy water.

Saltwater and rain drenched everyone.  Passengers screamed.  The captain shouted for calm.  Huge waves poured into the small craft.  Thunder roared.  Lightning blasted the darkness, eerily illuminating the terrified faces around me.Lightning

A double pronged bolt of lightning fractured the sky right above us.  The boat launched into the air again.  That time I lost my grip.  I felt myself lifted off my seat and into the air.

***

Recipe:  Strawberry Cobbler

Strawberry Cobbler

Recipe credit:  Flimish Minx on Food.com.  Photo credit: Chia

Strawberry Cobbler

Total Time:  1 hour

Prep Time:  10 minutes

Cook Time:  50 minutes

 

Ingredients

4 cups strawberries, cleaned and sliced

1 cup all-purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1 cup sugar

1 egg, beaten

1/4 cup butter, in cubes

 

Directions

Pre-heat oven to 375°F.

Spread the sliced strawberries evenly in an 8 or 9 inch square baking dish.

In a medium sized bowl, mix together the flour, baking powder and sugar.

Add the egg, and mix (a fork works best) till crumbly and the dry ingredients are completely incorporated.

Spread this over the berries.

Dot with the butter cubes.

Bake for 45-50 minutes, until the top is golden and the berries are bubbling.

Cool slightly before serving.

 

Copyright © 2014 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

All images are either the property of the author or from Pinterest unless stated otherwise.

 

.

Three Ingredients – 19: Sugar, Salt, Strawberries

Thanks for coming back everyone! I’m sorry I couldn’t provide an episode last weekend.  So before I introduce the new episode, here’s a little treat to get you back into a 1920’s mood.

caseys gunslinger coverThe ingredients for today’s episode are from Catherine Wolffe, a writer who (like me) enjoys experimenting with the various genresBut whatever the style of story, Catherine’s characters follow their dreams.

Thank you Catherine, for today’s ingredients.  Remember everyone, you can do catch-up reading on any of the episodes at the serial’s homepage. Just click the button at the top of the page.  Now for Episode-19.

Bon appétit!

19. Sugar, Salt, StrawberriesEpisode19_Shopping-list

“Here darling, have a soda cracker,” Veronica Vale insisted as she handed me a saucer of crisp crackers. Despite being born in a southern state, her voice held a continental tone from many years studying and working abroad. “They have lovely sea salt on the tops. They’ll help calm your stomach,” she said encouragingly.

It was such an odd feeling. I can barely describe how I felt. It hadn’t been long since I woke up with a headache, an upset stomach, a foggy brain, and giant holes in my memory. For several hours I encountered people and had to stop and think about who they were, though they clearly expected me to know them… most people anyway.

1929 Radio News SeptI recognized Granny Fanny right away, despite the unexpected circumstance of watching her get off the back of Vincent Vale’s motorcycle. When Alastair Wong found me I heard his voice before I saw him. I had to first place the voice, so it didn’t seem like it took as long for me to remember who he was when I saw him. Hank Hertz was mostly a question mark in my mind. I had a vague memory of him and radio equipment. I knew he was Savannah’s youngest police officer, but that was about all.

This is what it would be like to live a silent movie, I thought. Talkies had not been around terribly long. Binghamton’s Bijou theatre in Savannah still showed more silent films than talkies. My hearing was fine, but the fogginess of my memory made me feel like I was in an old silent movie without a narrator or even intertitles. Walking a ledge with uncertain footing, not sure who might pull me to safety or who might push me over the edge, I met everyone I was supposed to already know with caution and distrust.

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920) used stylised intertitles.

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920) used stylised intertitles.

Then there were the ones I couldn’t remember at all… The scowling police detective, Dabney Daniels — I still had no memory of him period. Neither could I remember the man in the makeshift hospital room, a Federal marshal, Moses Myrick. I remembered being worried about him, but I couldn’t remember him.

Hank walked out of that room and looked at me with a relieved expression on his face. He hurried Hank Hertz or Hugo Johnstone-Burtacross the long room, but stopped short of hugging me when he saw the blank look on my face.

“Pip… are you okay? You don’t look so good,” he said awkwardly.

I was saved from the need to make polite conversation by a commotion from the marshal’s room. “Badbird, badbird!” Cracker the parrot squawked, clearly agitated.

Veronica ran to the little room with Hank right on her heels, apologizing for leaving the patient unattended. “He’s a grown man and should know better,” the surgeon muttered.

From where I stood I could see the two of them catch an older man just before he fell to the floor. However, I couldn’t hear what they said to one another above the cacophonous ranting from Cracker.

the-chinese-parrot adBadbird, badbird!” the parrot chided the marshal.

“Stubborn old man…” Granny muttered from behind me.

I turned to look at my grandmother. She hadn’t had much to say, but she watched me like a hawk. It made me feel like she was waiting to see if I was going to sprout a tail or grow an extra nose. After an intent look she nodded, as if confirming something to herself.

“Feeling a little better now, Sweet-pea?” she asked and I nodded silently. “I’m sure your memory will come back. Are you certain there’s nothing else wrong? Not keeping anything from us are you?”

“No, Granny,” I said reassuringly. “My head still hurts, and I’m a little queasy. It seems like things are beginning to come to me quicker now. Most things anyway. I don’t remember anything about the marshal in there, except being afraid he might die,” I said waiving toward the little recovery room. “And I don’t remember anything at all about that sourpuss detective. And the younger one, Hank… I sort of remember him, but I feel like I’ve forgotten most of the things about him.”

Granny patted my hand and then gave it a little squeeze. “Don’t fret, Sweet-pea. You haven’t known Hank Hertz very long and the place where you met him was pretty traumatizing. Come to think of it, you might connect a lot of what you know of Dabney and Moses to things that are Strawberry girlupsetting or frightening — or both. Maybe that’s why you don’t remember them. I’ll discuss it with Veronica and see what she has to say.”

I nodded again and watched as Granny rinsed a bowl of rich red strawberries and dusted them with powdered sugar. She put them on a tray and headed toward the recovery room, motioning for me to go with her.

“We’d best let that stubborn old man see for himself that you’re unharmed. Else he’ll break his fool neck trying to get out of bed,” she told me with a small smile.

***

The red sunset gave way to a clear night. The moon was bright as we rolled Marshal Moses Myrick in a wheelchair from the laboratory/animal hospital building to the main house. The Vales would have several overnight guests, as both doctors insisted we all stay until morning. They wanted all their patients under one roof.Vales House

They still wanted to keep an eye on Hank, and he certainly wasn’t trusted to drive alone with his recent head wound. Veronica made him use the radio to let his parents know he was okay but would be staying there for the night. The marshal wouldn’t be up and about for quite some time to come. And everybody kept looking at me. It was getting annoying. “I’m fine,” I said repeatedly, but the evaluative looks continued.

Granny said that she left enough food for Cinnamon Bun, the Flemish Giant rabbit. So she Beatrix Potter-1accepted the invitation to stay. It had been a long and disturbing day, and no one wanted her to drive so late at night. Me? I didn’t seem to have any choice in the matter. I sat down with a cup of chicken broth and soon felt up to eating a little something. I succumbed to the temptation of the luscious strawberries.

When I heard an automobile outside I jumped half out of my skin. I supposed I was pretty upset by the whole ordeal. Vincent was almost at the door before the two sharp taps of the doorknocker banged against my still aching head. It was that detective. He carried a large parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. He placed it on a table.

“Miss Fanny, I stopped by your house after I finished working, just to make sure you and Pip were okay. When nobody was home, I figured you ladies decided to spend the night here. Then I saw this package on your front porch. I had to check on the marshal and Hank anyway — for my report,” he said casually, but I got the impression he was hedging something, and I saw Veronica smirk. “So I decided to bring the package with me,” he explained.

Granny smiled and assured the detective that all the patients were on the mend. I saw Veronica 1920s Arrow couplesmirk again. I wondered what that was about, but I didn’t ask.

“Don’t worry Dabney,” Granny Fanny told the detective with a pat on his arm. “Veronica says Paisley’s memory will come back. But between the bump on the head, whatever she was drugged with, and all the recent frightful events, it might take some time. Pip will surely remember you before long,” she added and raised her eyebrows in an encouraging expression.

“What? You don’t know me, Pip?” the detective turned to me and said in an astonished tone. “I knew you were acting odd, but I thought that was just from… from what had happened. You really don’t remember me?”

I reflexively drew back from his intensity. I swallowed hard. My eyes widened as I tried to think of what to say. Veronica tilted her head and pursed her lips as if she wasn’t sure what to make of the detective’s reaction. Vincent and Hank both seemed mildly puzzled, but Hank also looked a little hopeful for some strange reason.

“You knew me though, didn’t you Pip?” Hank asked standing straighter.

“Well… sort of,” I said. He seemed to deflate a little, so I hastened to add, “I remember you being a wiz with the radio.”

1920s trioWhen I said that he put his shoulders back. His eyebrows went up for a second when he looked at the detective. Once again, I wondered about expressions and body language of the people around me. Hank’s reaction seemed almost competitive, and I couldn’t imagine why.

Granny leaned over the large brown package. “Oh, it’s from Eunice’s Uniforms!” she exclaimed. “This should be the outfits Moses told me to get to cater that fancy reception,” she paused and saw that everyone was looking at her. “You know, the one where he was going to have the st…” she paused and looked sheepishly at Daniels. “It is okay to mention that in front of the Vales, isn’t it? And after being on the scene of the ambush, Hank should probably know too.”

The detective sighed. “Miss Fanny…,” he began. Daniels shook his head and looked at his highly polished Florsheim shoes, but then he spread his hands as if admitting defeat. “It’s of no consequence now. With the marshal out of commission, we’ll be calling it off,” he said.

Then he gave a brief if vague explanation of the planned sting operation. He didn’t name names or places, but he said it was meant to catch a bootlegger kingpin. 1920s Style Book

As he spoke I remembered standing outside the parlor in Granny’s cottage, with Cinnamon Bun beside me, as I listened to a conversation between my grandmother and an unseen man. I remembered feeling surprised and somewhat distrustful to realize that man apparently had known Granny for a long time, but I had heard nothing of him. Although I couldn’t put a face to the memory, I was sure that man was Moses Myrick.

Meanwhile, Granny unwrapped the package. She removed two 1920s womens pant suitwaiter’s uniforms. They were fancy all right, black pants with a black satin stripe down the sides, and white tuxedo jackets. Then she grinned like a ‘possum when she saw the next two uniforms. Each had a white tuxedo jacket, but they were longer and cut for a woman. The jackets were paired with very avant-garde black wide-legged cuffed trousers with a satin stripe, similar to stripe on the men’s pants.

I always thought there might be a bit of a flapper in Granny’s heart. I couldn’t stop grinning. Veronica, the very definition of a modern woman, clapped her hands in childlike delight when she saw the women’s uniforms. The men just looked confused.

“If I’m going to cater a shindig like that one, then Granny’s Goodies is going to have a distinctive and modern look,” she said with an emphatic nod of her head. She picked up the second woman’s uniform. “Come over here Pip and try this tuxedo jacket on for size,” she told me.

Joan Crawford Queen of ClubsAs Granny held out the white coat something fluttered to the floor. I stooped to pick it up but my hand froze before I even touched it. A jolt went up my arm when I looked at the rectangle of paper. Another playing card. It landed face down. One word was written across the back of the card. Beware!

The detective took out his handkerchief and carefully picked up the card. He held it up for everyone to see. It was the queen of clubs.

***

How It’s Made – Saltine Cracker

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BR7Lv7sXk4o

 

 

 

Copyright © 2014 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.