Diva Wraps It Up, The (29 page)

Gingersnaps

¹
/
₄
cup shortening

¹
/
₂
cup white sugar

¹
/
₂
cup light brown sugar

2 teaspoons baking soda

¹
/
₂
teaspoon salt

1
⁄
3
cup molasses

1 egg

2
1
⁄
3
cups flour

1
¹
/
₄
teaspoon ginger

1 teaspoon cinnamon

¹
/
₂
teaspoon cloves

¹
/
₄
teaspoon freshly ground pepper

¹
/
₄
cup white sugar (optional)

1 teaspoon cinnamon (optional)

Preheat oven to 375. Grease cookie sheet.

Cream together shortening, sugars, baking soda, and salt. Add molasses and egg and mix well. In a separate bowl, mix flour, ginger, cinnamon, cloves, and pepper. Add to shortening mixture and mix well. Form into small balls.

If using optional
¹
/
₄
cup white sugar and extra cinnamon, mix them together and roll the balls in cinnamon-sugar mixture.

Place on greased cookie sheet. Bake for 9–11 minutes for crisp edges and a softer center, or 13 minutes for a crisp cookie.

Kitty Free

My best friend, who passed away several years ago, gave my family these cookies with the recipe. You can make them with M&M’s for holidays (red and pink for Valentine’s Day, green and red for Christmas, orange and brown for Halloween). We have even added food coloring for special occasions.

Forgotten Cookies

3 egg whites

³
/
₄
cup sugar

¹
/
₂
teaspoon cream of tartar

1
¹
/
₂
cups miniature chocolate chips

Foil

Place foil on a cookie sheet. Preheat oven to 375.

Whip egg whites until stiff. Add sugar (slowly) and cream of tartar. Beat until thick. Slowly fold in the chips. Place by large spoonful on the foiled cookie sheet. Turn off the oven and place cookie tray in the oven for 2
¹
/
₂
hours. Let them cool completely and peel them off the foil. Store in airtight container.

Cranberry Jingle

1 part vodka

2 parts peach schnapps

cranberry juice

Fill glass with ice, add vodka and peach schnapps, and fill with cranberry juice.

English Bishop
(modern version)

2 oranges

2 cups apple juice or apple cider

2 cups cranberry juice (if using Ocean Spray use original version)

1 cup rum

¹
/
₄
to
¹
/
₂
cup Grand Marnier

pinch of cloves (optional)

Preheat the oven to 350. Place the oranges in a pan and roast for 20–30 minutes. Combine all the other ingredients in a pot. Slice the roasted oranges and add them to the liquid. Heat but do not boil. Serve with a slice of orange in each cup or mug. (If making a larger quantity for a party, you may wish to float small clove-studded oranges in it.)

TURN THE PAGE FOR A PREVIEW
OF KRISTA DAVIS’S NEXT
PAWS & CLAWS MYSTERY . . .

The Ghost and Mrs. Mewer

COMING SOON FROM BERKLEY PRIME CRIME!

Dogs love their friends and bite their enemies, quite unlike people, who are incapable of pure love and always have to mix love and hate.

—SIGMUND FREUD

“There is no such thing as a ghost.” Eva Chevalier turned her pointy nose up in the air and chortled. “It’s preposterous. Nonsense, folderol, fiddle-faddle.”

No sooner had she spoken than the automatic sliding glass doors to the parking lot whooshed open. A gust of wind blew in, bringing dried leaves with it.

A grey Weimaraner with startling blue eyes stepped away from the doors and growled. Gingersnap, the Sugar Maple Inn’s canine ambassador, simply wagged her tail. In typical golden retriever fashion, she continued kissing the guests gathered in the reception area.

The doors closed again as if a person had passed through. I felt the chill of a late October wind pass by.

“I bet there’s a ghost in here now,” Casey Collins whispered, looking up at the ceiling and shoving his glasses to the bridge of his nose with his index finger. Casey worked at the inn as a desk clerk but seemed more like a little brother than an employee. At twenty, he still looked boyish and reminded me of the young Harry Potter, with similar glasses, a shock of dark hair that always fell into his forehead, and sweet innocent eyes.

Five guests who were part of the Apparition Apprehender ghost hunting team had just arrived and were waiting to check in. They had come to town to shoot a TV show about the ghosts at the creepy old Wagtail Springs Hotel. The guys dived into their luggage and pulled out assorted handheld machines. The chatter behind Eva stopped as they concentrated on their gizmos.

I raised my voice a little to get their attention. “Welcome to the Sugar Maple Inn. I’m Holly Miller. If you need anything during your stay, please let me know.” I smiled broadly but they were intent on their machines. Oh well.

Eva turned her eyes toward the ceiling and shook her head in amused disbelief. The doors were automatic, but I had to admit that opening on their own had been odd. Probably the result of that gust of wind.

Only the day before, I had moved to Wagtail Mountain to join my grandmother, Liesel Miller, as her partner at the Sugar Maple Inn. Halloween was nearly upon us and the first thing I had seen at the outskirts of town was a huge orange banner over the road that proclaimed
Welcome to Howloween in Wagtail, where spooky things are afoot!
A cat with an arched back adorned one side and a howling dog decorated the other.

The inn’s Halloween decorations added to the fun. Pumpkins clustered at the base of the doors on both sides. Spiderwebs clung to the walls with a parade of faux spiders marching along them. The sinister figure of a grinning vampire hanging upside down in a black cape was enough to give anyone a chill. Two skulls lay at rakish angles on top of the registration counter, and vultures peered at us from the large antler chandelier overhead.

My grandmother, whom I called Oma, German for
grandma
, had flitted off to a meeting of some sort, leaving me to keep an eye on the Apparition Apprehenders when they checked in.

Not that I minded. I welcomed any excuse to leave my apartment on the top floor. Boxes upon boxes cluttered my quarters. My entire life was still packed, except, of course, for my calico kitten, Twinkletoes, and my Jack Russell terrier, Trixie, who sniffed around the back of the reception desk in search of the treat jar.

Zelda, the desk clerk, had called me when the ghost hunting crew arrived. I hadn’t expected any major problems, but here I was, already thinking that I would have to have a little talk with Casey about arguing with guests. After all, Eva was paying to stay with us, and if she didn’t believe in ghosts, that was her business.

“That was
not
a ghost.” Eva took a deep breath and gazed at the antics of the guys behind her. She turned back to Zelda and me. “I am a university professor and have students like them. What frightens
me
is not ghosts, but the fact that my students and people like these ghost hunters believe ridiculous claims of spirits. If these gentlemen would think it through, they would understand the absurdity of believing in ghosts.”

Eva wore thick glasses in pink cat eye frames that accentuated the odd paleness of her skin. Clearly vintage, a boxy coat of drab green wool hung on her, at least two sizes too large. A wide pink hairband pulled her dark hair back, very 1960s. Thirtyish, like me, I guessed.

A Siamese cat on a leash jumped onto the registration counter, startling Trixie. She yipped at the cat and danced around to the lobby side. When she saw the open bags, she lost interest in the cat and buried her nose in a duffel bag.

I glanced at Eva’s reservation. She’d been booked as part of the Apparition Apprehenders group. Obviously, an error on our part. She should be in the cat wing. An easy fix.

“I’m sorry. It appears we have made a little mistake. I have you down as one of the ghost hunters. But no matter, we can—”

“Your confusion is understandable. My reservation was made by Mr. Luciano, who is in charge of the ghost hunting expedition. I am the ghost debunker whom he hired.”

Debunker? She definitely shouldn’t be staying near the ghost hunters. Her cat would be happier in the Cat’s Pajamas, our
cats only
wing, anyway. I made a quick assessment based on her apparent love of vintage clothing and addressed the desk clerk on duty. “Zelda, let’s put Ms. Chevalier in Pounce.” Unless I missed my guess, she would love the pink cabbage drapes and the old-fashioned feel of the room. “Ms. Chevalier, what is your cat’s name?”

“Mrs. Mewer.”

“Like
The Ghost and Mrs. Muir
? That’s cute.”

Eva smiled. “Thank you. It’s M–e–w–e–r, of course. I have a fondness for 1960s TV shows and puns. The name came from Mrs. Mewer’s tendency to talk.”

“Mrs. Mewer will enjoy Pounce, I’m sure.”

Zelda nudged me. “Where should I put Mr. Fischbein?”

“Move Mr. Fischbein to Jump.”

“What peculiar names for rooms. Do you have an aversion to numbers?” inquired Eva.

“Like the town of Wagtail, the Sugar Maple Inn is pet-friendly, so we’ve changed all the room names to reflect pet activities,” I explained.

A small man whom I’d barely noticed stepped closer, held up his forefinger, and murmured softly. “I . . . I’m Felix Fischbein. I . . . I brought my dog? I was told that was okay?”

Eva turned to him with a devilish expression. “Mr. Fischbein, we meet at last.”

Fischbein’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He stuck out a stiff hand to shake hers, his shoulders pulling tight as though he was cringing inside. He forced a smile, one corner of his mouth twitching with doubt. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” He shot a glance at one of his friends. A pudgy guy who glared at Eva. “Your reputation precedes you.”

The Weimaraner backed away from her.

Eva cast a critical eye at the pudgy guy. “I imagine it does.” Eva turned to us again. “I love it when ghost hunters quiver in my presence.”

Uh oh. Did I sense tension? “Jump is a terrific room, Mr. Fischbein, and we’re very happy that you brought your dog.” That worked out well. He must not have informed us that he was bringing a dog. No matter. Problem solved. Plus we had moved away from the argument about ghosts.

And then Casey returned and had to go and say, “It was definitely a ghost.”

Zelda whispered, “Bet she doesn’t believe in psychics, either.”

Oh no. Not what we needed right now. Zelda fancied herself a pet psychic.

“There’s nothing wrong with my hearing,” Eva announced. “But you are quite right. Psychics prey on those who haven’t the intelligence to know better. They’re nothing more than modern-day snake oil salesmen.” Eva gathered her cat into her arms.

Zelda stiffened. “Mrs. Mewer wants you to know that she’s afraid of the vultures.”

Eva glared at Zelda. “Which way is my room, please?”

Mrs. Mewer hunched her back and dug her claws into Eva’s unfortunate wool coat. The cat ducked her head and twisted it so she could keep an eye on the vultures overhead.

I hoped Zelda and Casey wouldn’t high-five in front of Eva. I hurried to change the subject. “Would you like a GPS locating collar for Mrs. Mewer’s use during her stay?”

Eva pondered for a moment. “No. She’s very good at walking on a leash.”

I didn’t dare trust Zelda or Casey to show Eva to her room. They were bound to argue with her about ghosts and psychics.

“Would you keep an eye on Trixie?” I asked Zelda and Casey as I handed Eva her welcome packet.

“This way, please.” I picked up Eva’s bags and led her into the main part of the inn, past the large sitting room and the grand staircase. Someone had gone overboard with the decorations. A mummy stood guard on each side of the staircase. Candles flickered on assorted black iron stands and a trio of faux, oversized black cats hissed at us.

I pointed at the busy tables in the dining area. “We serve breakfast, lunch, and afternoon tea as well as light dishes by room service on request. There’s a menu in your room, and a cat menu for Mrs. Mewer. I believe Mr. Luciano has made special arrangements for most of your meals. Breakfast is here at the inn at your convenience, and there’s a welcome reception for you at five o’clock this afternoon in the sitting room.” We walked through the library and into the newly built cat wing.

I unlocked the door and switched on the overhead light, gesturing for Eva to enter. If she was distressed by the conversation regarding her disbeliefs, she showed no sign of it. I debated apologizing for the staff. I probably should.

She lowered Mrs. Mewer to the bed and turned around in the center of the spacious guest room, taking it in with a dreamy expression. “This is lovely. Thank you for changing my room. I have no idea what the other room looks like, of course, but it couldn’t be any more perfect than this.”

Pink and red cabbage roses on a soft blue background graced the drapes and down comforter duvet. The walls had been painted the palest blue and the wood floors had been whitewashed, a nice match with the white headboard, white tufted bench at the foot of the bed, and a cozy white armchair near the fireplace. Over top of the bed, in between paintings of cabbage roses, hung a framed saying in an artful gold script:
If man could be crossed with the cat it would improve the man, but it would deteriorate the cat. ~Mark Twain
.

An antique mahogany dressing table with a huge mirror and the delicate crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling offered additional feminine touches.

Mrs. Mewer wasted no time in leaping to the catwalk that ran along the walls near the ceiling. She viewed us from above with haughty pleasure.

I strode over to the sliding glass doors and demonstrated how to lock the cat door to the porch. When I opened it, Mrs. Mewer zoomed through, evoking a cry of distress from Eva.

“She’s fine.” I unlatched the sliding glass door and walked out to the porch with Eva on my heels.

“It’s securely enclosed with cat-proof screening.”

Mrs. Mewer had already climbed to the highest point of the tree that had been installed inside the porch just for feline guests. She rested on a branch like a panther, purring so loud that we couldn’t mistake her contentment. A gentle wind blew, no doubt carrying the scents of squirrels and other woodland creatures.

“This is amazing. Luciano told me that the Sugar Maple Inn offered special quarters for cats but I never imagined anything like this. Is there a litter box?”

“In the bathroom. And I must apologize for Casey and Zelda. I’m terribly sorry about their behavior.”

Eva shrugged. “I’m used to it. Three out of four Americans believe in ghosts or some sort of supernatural activity. To do otherwise would destroy their hope in an afterlife. It’s understandable that they wouldn’t want to give up that dream, hence the continuing search for evidence which does not exist.” She sighed. “I can’t complain. I’m augmenting my teaching income by proving it’s all nonsense. The believers keep me employed.”

“Thank you for being so understanding. Give me a call if there’s anything you need.” As I left the room, Eva was examining the contents of her gift basket. Mrs. Mewer would be thrilled with the locally made toys and treats, and after her less than welcome reception, Eva would probably enjoy the bottle of Fat Cat wine.

I rushed back to the registration desk. But I ran into the room and stopped short.

A perfectly round white circle traveled slowly across the wall.