Turkey Flambé Read online

  Praise for the delectable Culinary Mysteries by Nancy Fairbanks

  “A clever, fast-paced tale sure to satisfy the cravings of both gourmands and mystery buffs. Food columnist Carolyn Blue is a confident and witty detective with a taste for good food and an eye for murderous detail. A literate, deliciously well-written mystery.”

  —Earlene Fowler

  “Not your average who-done-it…Extremely funny…A rollicking good time.”

  —Romance Reviews Today

  “An entertaining amateur-sleuth tale…Fun.”

  —Painted Rock Reviews

  “Fairbanks has a real gift for creating characters based in reality but just the slightest bit wacky in a slyly humorous way…It will tickle your funny bone as well as stimulate your appetite for good food.”

  —El Paso Times

  “A fast and funny whodunit.”

  —The Best Reviews

  “Nancy Fairbanks scores again…A page-turner.”

  —Las Cruces (NM) Sun-News

  “Nancy Fairbanks writes a delicious…amusing amateur-sleuth story.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “Humor, entertaining characters, and a puzzling mystery round out the mix…A not-to-be-missed read.”

  —Roundtable Reviews

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Nancy Fairbanks

  CRIME BRÛLÉE

  TRUFFLED FEATHERS

  DEATH À L’ORANGE

  CHOCOLATE QUAKE

  THE PERILS OF PAELLA

  HOLY GUACAMOLE!

  MOZZARELLA MOST MURDEROUS

  BON BON VOYAGE

  FRENCH FRIED

  TURKEY FLAMBÉ

  Anthologies

  THREE-COURSE MURDER

  Turkey Flambé

  Nancy Fairbanks

  BERKLEY PRIME CRIME, NEW YORK

  THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) Inc. 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario M4P 2Y3, Canada (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

  Penguin Books Ltd., 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

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  Penguin Books (South Africa) (Pty.) Ltd., 24 Sturdee Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg 2196, South Africa

  Penguin Books Ltd., Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  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. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  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 in this book.

  TURKEY FLAMBÉ

  A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2007 by Nancy Herndon.

  Cover art by Lisa Desimini.

  Cover design by Elaine Groh.

  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. Purchase only authorized editions.

  For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 1-4295-8489-0

  BERKLEY® PRIME CRIME

  Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  The name BERKLEY PRIME CRIME and the BERKLEY PRIME CRIME design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  For the Bookies:

  Becky

  Nan

  Sue

  Sandra

  Gloria

  Carol

  Holli

  Linda

  So many wonderful books read,

  so many lively discussions.

  Thanks for inviting me to join.

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  1 Lighting a Culinary Fire

  2 Chaos in the Streets

  3 Pestered by Pettigrews

  4 The Embattled Author-Arsonist

  5 Reliving a Ghastly Evening

  6 The Morning After

  7 The Chinese Cell-Phone Lady

  8 A Subway Perv and a Chinese Grandfather

  9 Eating Kosher at the Cratchetts’

  10 Lunch with Jack Armstrong

  11 Being Tailed

  12 Flirting in Casa Guanajuato

  13 An Evening with Rigoletto

  14 The FBI Comes Calling

  15 Summoned by State

  16 Kosher-Indian Cuisine

  17 An Afternoon with Annoying Males

  18 The Deadbeat Gourmet

  19 Apology from a Feminist

  20 Interrogation Without a Lawyer

  21 In the Parlor of a Sicilian Abuela

  22 The Wrong Restaurant

  23 Book Signing of the Year

  24 Trolling through Temps

  25 Chasing Publicity Hounds

  26 Dinner in Magnificent Style

  27 A Difficult Guest

  28 The Return of the Chef

  29 Working the Case in Bensonhurst

  30 Tracking the Unknown Suspect

  31 Reunion at the Old School

  32 The Interrogation in the Basement

  33 Salvatore Chickens Out

  34 Arrival of the Distraught Mother

  35 Mrs. Calogero’s Heart Breaks

  36 Salvatore Continues

  37 The Rescue of Rosaria

  38 Annunziata’s Interrogation

  39 The Sins of the Grandmother

  40 “Crazy Soap-Opera Italians”

  41 A Message from Mr. Li

  42 A Serendipitous Cilantro Incident

  Recipe Index

  Author’s Note

  The seed idea for this book occurred to me when I read about people setting kitchen fires trying to deep-fry their Thanksgiving turkeys—how crazy and dangerous is that? The idea morphed into flambéed turkeys—another dangerous idea, as it turns out—when I realized that, one, the book would be published close to Thanksgiving and, two, Carolyn’s book, Eating Out in the Big Easy, had been in process so long that New Orleans, the setting, had virtually washed away in Hurricane Katrina. A truly heartbreaking event for one of America’s most delightful cities; for its citizens, many displaced and trying to get home; and for all of us who love New Orleans and want to keep visiting—and eating inordinate amounts of wonderful food there.

  Then I made a trip to New York City to celebrate a new contract with my longtime agent and friend, Richard Curtis, and my kind-hearted, market-savvy editor, Cindy Hwang, who, when I returned from Italy with nasty cases of bronchitis and identity theft, said, “Don’t worry about the deadline.” Of course, I did a
nd was determined to get this book in on time.

  Richard, Cindy, my husband, and I had a great lunch together at Balthazar, to which Bill and I arrived half frozen (desert dwellers that we are) and late, having lost ourselves on the subways and streets of Manhattan. The trip also included a superb performance at the Metropolitan Opera and trips to places I’d never visited, such as Brooklyn and Queens, to sample ethnic foods in ethnic neighborhoods, an experience I highly recommend. All that was research for this book, plus some interesting things my husband found in a book I gave him for Christmas, about immigration from Sicily to New York City, and frequent visits on my part to the Internet.

  My thanks to reader Freda Branch of Michigan, who wrote to tell me about the cilantro allergy, to which she is subject, and the delightful website ihatecilantro.com; I’ve included the site in the book. Check it out. Mrs. Terri Christopher in the book is named in memory of Lillian Susan Terriah Christopher, called “Terri” in college, at the request of her daughter Alexis. Alexis was the successful bidder at the 2006 Malice Domestic live auction, the prize being to name a character in my next book. Alexis, I hope you enjoy Mrs. Christopher. As always, thanks to my readers, who buy and read the books and email me. I’ve made wonderful long-distance friends through my website, such as Barbara Gausman of Liverpool, New York, with whom I correspond regularly.

  This year I joined the Cozy Armchair Group on the Internet, a collection of cozy mystery writers and readers. We discuss one cozy mystery a month and all sorts of other things, not to mention getting seriously silly on occasion. The site is run by Pamela James and moderated by Terri Parsons and Glenda Stice. If you love cozies and haven’t yet joined, give it a try. It’s a hoot.

  Last, I’d like to thank my friends Mary Sarber, retired librarian and book reviewer, and Betty Parker, antiquarian bookseller in Albuquerque, New Mexico. We went to Left Coast Crime in Bristol, England, then traipsed around rural England in March 2006 and had a wonderful time, even if it was cold and windy. They’re wonderful friends and travel companions, and my next book will be set in England and dedicated to them.

  Happy reading,

  NFH

  1

  Lighting a Culinary Fire

  Carolyn

  W ell, this is it, I thought as I picked up the silver pitcher with its slender spout and flammable cognac contents. I glanced around the large penthouse room that housed my publisher’s facility for dining and receptions, a lovely room with white half-circle columns against the walls; ornate white woodwork surrounding light-green, moiré silk–covered walls; and French doors, which led to a two-sided balcony overlooking the streets of Lower Manhattan.

  The crowd was starting to quiet down for the big event—all the cookbook authors, culinary writers for newspapers and gourmet magazines, food critics, reporters, photographers, Pettigrew and Sons, Inc., editors and authors (Allison Peabody, Janet Fong, and Annunziata Randatto, to name a few), and representatives from book wholesalers and sellers, all of whom had passed through the receiving line and been introduced to me by Gaius Petronius (Petey) Haverford, managing editor and nephew of the publisher—what a name for a flirtatious young man with spiky yellow hair!

  My editor, Roland DuPlessis, fatter than ever and decked out in an evening jacket with green velvet lapels and matching jeweled waistcoat, was beaming at me and letting the moment lengthen to increase the suspense. Flambéing my popular turkey recipe had been his foolish idea. Paul Fallon, the vice president of the newspaper syndicate that published my columns, was in attendance with his live-in lover, Francis Striff, an industrial chemist and colleague of my husband, Jason. My agent, Loretta Blum, face surrounded by a big corona of frizzy black hair, squat figure bedecked in a flashy and probably expensive gown, had stood beside me in the receiving line, loudly whispering information about everyone who was about to shake my hand, while scarfing down canapés and champagne and trying to steal some of the Pettigrew authors away from their own agents. Even my friend Luz Vallejo, a retired vice lieutenant, who had helped me solve the murder of the musical director of Opera at the Pass, and later accompanied me on a memorable/disastrous cruise, was in attendance. However, she was deep in conversation with Roberto Santibanez, a handsome Mexican from Guana-juarto who owned restaurants and specialty food shops in the United States and wrote Mexican cookbooks for Pettigrew.

  The only people who weren’t here were Jason, who had had a terrible chemistry emergency back home—Luz had been surprisingly nice about taking his place at the last moment—and the publisher and owner of Pettigrew and Sons, Inc., Claudius Pettigrew. He was expected to attend, but he had yet to arrive. Petey had assured me that his uncle had probably forgotten because he was likely reading some wonderful book he’d already read several thousand times. It was just one of those things that happened.

  I, however, thought that Mr. Pettigrew, whom I had yet to meet, didn’t like my book, or believed it was going to be a failure because Roland had nitpicked so long over the recipes that Eating Out in the Big Easy was now about a city that had been all but destroyed by a hurricane. That likelihood was certainly making me nervous, that and having to flambé my lovely, golden turkeys, three of which were gleaming sumptuously on china platters along the buffet table. Roland nodded pompously, as if he were the queen at some steeplechase in which one of her horses was running. At the signal, the tinkling of a handheld silver bell (Who did he think I was? The maid?) my fingers tightened on the handle of the pitcher as I stepped closer to the largest turkey.

  It had a wide, shallow cup stuck into the top on a long spike that probably reached all the way into the dressing, that delicious mixture of spices, herbs, fruit, ground meat, and bread crumbs that was as tasty, in its own way, as any dessert. After filling the cup to the brim with cognac, I flipped a small lever, which opened little holes, lit the cognac with the fancy lighter Roland had provided, and stepped back. I have to admit that I had produced a lovely sight. The cognac flamed, rivulets of fire ran down the sides of my turkey, and the crowd let out an admiring “Ahhhh!” I had created a turkey volcano. Applause broke out, cameras flashed, and I bowed—as Roland had instructed me to, after he won yet another argument.

  Then I stepped to the smaller turkey on the left, taking the lighter with me and picking up a pitcher that held a thickened cognac, which would cling to the turkey skin rather than drip. I was to make criss-cross patterns on this one and then set them aflame on top, a much harder task. I painstakingly drizzled the first line from the left center, over the top and onto the right center, unhappy because the liquid didn’t seem to be sticky enough. Before I began the first crosshatch from right to left, there was a whooshing sound, and someone in the crowd said, “Look at that!” Cameras flashed. I glanced to the side to find that the center turkey was flaming a bit higher than it should and little fires were alight where the cognac had dripped into the wide platter.

  Frowning, I did the crosshatch and started left to right two inches from the first line. Pop! Whoosh! My hand shook, and my third line wavered a bit. How embarrassing! I finished and swiveled my eyes. Turkey number one was burning halfway to the ceiling. I know that happens sometimes, because of too high an alcohol content in the brandy, but it shouldn’t be happening now: I’d tested this bottle. As I started line number four with a firm grip on the pitcher, I could hear whispering, then a little shriek coming from behind me.

  “Spectacular, isn’t it?” said Roland.

  Then, “Looks to me like someone needs to get a fire extinguisher.” That was Luz, and everyone heard her. I could tell because her comment set off an argument while cameras flashed and Roland bellowed, “Nonsense. This is high cuisine at its most memorable.”

  “Right.” My friend agreed. “It’s almost as high as the ceiling. Carolyn, you better back away!”

  I had managed to finish two more lines by not looking to my right. Someone grabbed my drizzling arm as a little fireball flew sideways and landed on my second turkey, which, of course, went up in crisscrossing
lines of flame. I was so close to the new conflagration and so frightened that I dropped the pitcher and allowed myself to be dragged to safety while ladies screamed, reporters scribbled, and the tablecloth caught fire. Roland attempted, unsuccessfully, to put out various parts of the fire with a candlesnuffer, and finally Petey Haverford raced forward waving a long pronged fork, which he plunged into the side of the middle turkey. He then held it aloft like a rotund torch. “Someone get a fire extinguisher,” he shouted, and headed for the French doors.