Ms America and the Whoopsie in Winona (31 page)

(Diana here): I have not yet made this fruitcake but I plan to this holiday season. In anticipation, I bought a new springform pan and have ordered candied fruit from
The Great American Spice Company
. I may not “steep” it to the extent Happy’s mother does, but I will use her approach, as described above. Merry Christmas!

Ingredients:

1 cup (227 grams) unsalted butter

1/2 cup (110 grams) light brown sugar

1/2 cup (110 grams) dark brown sugar

3 large eggs

3 tablespoons brandy, plus extra for brushing the cake

Juice and zest of one orange

Zest of one lemon

3/4 cup (65 grams) ground almonds

1 cup (100 grams) hazelnuts, walnuts, pecans, or almonds, chopped

1 1/2 pounds (680 grams) of an assortment of dried and candied fruits

3/4 pound (340 grams) of an assortment of raisins, sultana, dried cranberries and/or cherries

2 cups (260 grams) all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

1/4 teaspoon salt

Preparation:

1. Butter, or spray with nonstick vegetable spray, an 8-inch (20 cm) springform pan. Line the bottom of the pan with buttered parchment paper. Also, line the sides of the pan with a strip of buttered parchment paper that extends about 2 inches above the pan.

2. Preheat oven to 325° F (160° C).

3. In the bowl of your electric mixer, or with a hand mixer, beat the butter and sugars until light and fluffy. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each addition. Add the brandy, juice and zest of the orange, and zest of the lemon. Then fold in the ground almonds, chopped nuts, and all the dried and candied fruits.

4. In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour, salt, and baking powder. Fold this into the cake batter.

5. Scrape the batter into the prepared pan and, if desired, decorate the top of the cake with blanched almonds. Place the pan on a baking sheet. Bake for 1 hour. Reduce the temperature to 300° F (150° C) and continue to bake the cake for another 90 minutes or until a long skewer inserted into the center of the cake comes out with just a few moist crumbs. Remove the cake from the oven and place on a wire rack to cool completely.

6. Using a skewer, poke holes in the top of the cake and brush with a little brandy. Wrap the cake thoroughly in plastic wrap and aluminum foil and place in a cake tin or plastic bag. Brush the cake periodically (once or twice a week) with brandy until Christmas. The cake will keep several weeks or it can be frozen.

(Diana here): We can thank Dustin and Erin Beutin of Tustin, California, for this recipe, which won
Sunset
magazine’s Grand Prize for Holiday Cookies.

They are good! I recommend you take to heart the 1-tablespoon portion size when you spoon the meringue onto the cookie sheets. I made mine a little big but I can correct that mistake next time. And there will be a next time … ;-)

Note from
Sunset
: “Unlike traditional meringues, which are crisp all the way through, these are still chewy on the inside, like mini pavlovas—but with white chocolate chips and plenty of peppermint. For an elegant touch, dip the edges in melted dark chocolate.”

Ingredients:

2 egg whites, room temperature

1/8 teaspoon cream of tartar

1/2 teaspoon vanilla

1/8 teaspoon salt

3/4 cup sugar

1 cup white chocolate chips

1/3 cup + 1 1/2 tablespoon coarsely crushed peppermint candies

Preparation:

1. Preheat oven to 250°. Beat egg whites and cream of tartar in a deep bowl with a mixer, using whisk attachment if you have one, just until soft peaks form. Add vanilla and salt. With motor running and mixer on high speed, add 1 tablespoon sugar and beat 10 to 15 seconds, then repeat until all the sugar has been added. Scrape inside of bowl and beat another 15 seconds. At this point, meringue should form straight peaks when beaters are lifted. Fold in chocolate chips and 1/3 cup crushed peppermint with a flexible spatula.

2. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper, using meringue at corners as glue. Using a soup spoon, drop meringue in rounded 1 tablespoon portions slightly apart onto sheets, scraping off with another spoon. Sprinkle with remaining crushed peppermint.

3. Bake 30 to 35 minutes, until meringues feel dry and set, but are still pale. Reverse pan position at halfway point. When done, turn off oven, open door, and let cookies stand 10 minutes. Let cool on pans.

Yield: 32 cookies. Time: 1 ¼ hour. Can make 2 days ahead. Store airtight.

(Beauty Queen Mysteries No. 5)

Ms America Happy Pennington can’t sing a note, but that doesn’t keep her from landing a consulting gig on a Broadway musical. All would be A-OK on the Great White Way were it not for one hitch: a death on stage during a preview performance.

Might it be murder? Happy has to wonder …

For the deceased had oodles of enemies, including a big-time producer in search of another mega-hit; an A-list rival for a to-die-for Manhattan co-op; and a sultry stage photographer who just can’t stop filming Happy’s husband—especially when he’s got his clothes off.

Heartthrob show host Mario Suave puts in an appearance, too. Because even though he’s dating a sexy soap star, he just can’t stay away from everybody’s favorite beauty queen ...

CHAPTER ONE

I know a lot of superstitious beauty queens. I myself have never been one of them. But I have the funniest feeling that may change here in New York City.

Trixie Barnett—the reigning Ms. Congeniality and one of my best friends ever—unleashes a delighted giggle. “I still can’t believe we’re watching a Broadway show from the wings! I feel like such an insider.”

“An
Off
-Broadway show,” Shanelle corrects. Ms. Walker, otherwise known as Ms. Mississippi and as dear to my heart as Trixie, can be a stickler for details. “And since we’re consultants for this fiasco, we
are
insiders.”

Unfortunately, Shanelle’s deployment of the “f” word is only too apt.
Dream Angel: The Musical
is the most ramshackle piece of musical theater this beauty queen has ever laid eyes on. And that includes the grade-school productions my husband Jason and I sat through when our Rachel was a wee minx.

How long ago those days seem now. And how uncomplicated. All I had to worry about back then was whether to put an apple or an orange in Rach’s lunch box along with her PB&J and cookie. Now my beautiful girl is four months from graduating high school and departing for foreign parts unknown; Jason is living five hundred miles from our Cleveland home working his dream job on a NASCAR pit crew; and yours truly Happy Pennington is trying to be a great Ms. America, a great full-time personal assistant, a great mom, a great wife, a great daughter, a great friend, and—every so often—a great solver of seemingly unsolvable murders.

Let’s hope there’s no need for
that
anytime soon. I’m frazzled enough. And that’s before we even get into the state of my bewildered heart …

My anxiety ratchets higher still when I hear the opening notes of the sixth song in the second act. I wouldn’t describe any of the songs in
Dream Angel
as good, but this one I find particularly painful.

Beside me, Shanelle winces. “Those lyrics are just plain wrong.”

“We gave Lisette so many ideas for how to rewrite them!” Trixie wails. “Why doesn’t she ever listen to us?”

Shanelle has a ready answer. “Because that woman always knows better than everybody else. Makes no never mind what the topic is.”

This topic, as it happens, is something Trixie, Shanelle and I know a thing or two about: beauty queens. The heroine in
Dream Angel
goes to hell and back—horrible parents, foster homes, even a stint in prison—but despite all that manages to achieve what she desires above all else: a tiara and a title.

“At least Lisette came up with a good story,” I murmur.

Shanelle rolls her brown eyes. “Too bad she has zero clue how to tell it.”

Now that this consulting gig has made me a Broadway aficionado, I know how to describe Lisette Longley’s role in this production. She’s the lyricist and the book writer all rolled into one, meaning she wrote the sung and the unsung words, as they say. A very nice man named Maximilian Pepper composed the music, no doubt cringing every time he heard Lisette’s lyrics. (Note to self: orange and porridge do not rhyme.)

Trixie leans in close, her chin-length copper-colored hair swinging. She’s wearing a fit-and-flare dress in a gray menswear-inspired plaid, perfect for January. Shanelle is adorable in a colorblock pencil skirt in black, red and pink, paired with a black top. Her straightened Afro is held off her face by a very on-trend silver beaded headband. And my brunette self is decked out in my favorite sheath dress, in cobalt blue, with black tights and—you’ll never guess—matching stilettos.

This is New York City, after all. We must be styling. Not that we three are the type ever to let our fashion standards slip.

“The show’s almost over,” Trixie murmurs. “Maybe Lisette really will stay away tonight.”

“Knock
me
over with a feather,” Shanelle says.

Me, too. Lisette keeps throwing such giant hissy fits, even in the middle of performances, that the director banned her from tonight’s preview. But as you no doubt already gather, dear reader, Lisette doesn’t take direction.

Oh, and just to keep you up on the lingo, the previews are the full performances, complete with costume, that precede opening night. They’re to help the cast and crew work out the last kinks, but based on how they go the director may make big changes, like if the audience doesn’t laugh when they’re supposed to, does laugh when they’re not, or at any point throws tomatoes at the performers.

Sadly,
Dream Angel
is in screaming need of big changes. But no way will Lisette allow
that
to happen.

It makes me wonder why Shanelle, Trixie and I were brought in. Why seek advice if you’re never going to take it? Then again, maybe Lisette was only pretending to be open to suggestions to get everybody off her back.

Another thing. You’ll never guess who recommended us as consultants for this production. Remember Kimberly? As in the photographer who did the shoots for Jason’s
Men of NASCAR Pit Crews
calendar, for which he landed on the cover? And which had to be reprinted over the holidays because it sold so many copies?

Well, it so happens Kimberly developed her love for photography because of her Uncle Jerry, who’s a big-time Broadway photographer. He often hires her to assist him, as he did here for
Dream Angel
. So at this very moment, Kimberly’s petite, perky, blond 25-year-old self is bopping around the theater somewhere, no doubt being extremely helpful.

Do I sound snarky? I don’t mean to. I am truly grateful to Kimberly for making it possible for my besties and me to spend a week in the Big Apple on the Ms. America dime. I just wish my husband’s new BFF didn’t look fresh off the cheerleading squad. It doesn’t help that when I hit my birthday in four days, she’ll be precisely
ten years
younger than me.

Ouch.

I’m distracted from these morbid musings by the tepid applause that greets the final note of the sad-sack song.

“At least nobody booed,” Trixie whispers.

Which people did during the previews on Tuesday and Wednesday nights.

I’m shifting my weight from one four-inch heel to the other when I freeze, disbelieving. I listen for a while then clutch Shanelle’s arm. “Am I dreaming or is this an entirely new scene?” For tonight’s preview, there’s been small rewriting throughout, but nothing on
this
massive a scale.

Shanelle looks as astonished as I feel. “Dang if
I’ve
ever heard this before.”

“We did hear those rumors that Oliver”—that’s the director—“was working up big changes on the sly.” While Lisette was home sick with food poisoning. “But when did they manage to rehearse this?”

“Maybe in the middle of the night,” Shanelle says. “That’s the only time we’re not here.”

“Whenever they did it”—Trixie giggles—“it’s funny!”

The audience thinks so, too. I hear chortling and even a guffaw. And given that
Dream Angel
is meant to be both heartwarming and funny—think
Wicked
—the actors must be thrilled finally to be getting a laugh or two.

But the theatrical glory proves fleeting.

“Stop everything!” somebody yells from the back of the theater. “Nobody say another word!”

It’s a female voice. Loud. Insistent. Pissed off.

As Trixie gasps and the actors stumble over their lines, Shanelle and I hustle forward to peek around the narrow stage drapes that hide the wings. People in the front rows are swiveling around to see what’s going on.