The Haunted Nutcracker - A Christmas River Scary Story

Dear Readers,

Happy Halloween! Yesterday, I participated in Kathi Daley's Halloween Spooktacular where I shared a short scary story featuring characters from The Christmas River Cozy Mystery Series. I wanted to be sure to post that story here also in case you missed the event! So here it is, just in time for Halloween weekend. Enjoy!

The Haunted Nutcracker

Kara Billings didn’t remember much about her grandfather except that the old man was ornery and hardly said much except to complain about his sore hip.
But there was one thing that Kara’s grandfather said that stuck with her years after he passed away.
“In life, there are some doors you have to kick your way through, girly,” he’d said to her once. “And then there are others that are closed for a reason. Leave those be.”
At the time, Kara didn’t understand what her grandpa meant.
But now as she stood in the corner of her ornament store on a dark and dreary night in November, taking in fearful breaths and trying not to scream, Kara began to understand.

Some doors were indeed better left closed.

***

It had all started a week earlier at the estate sale.
Old Hattie Blaylock, Christmas River’s resident witch, had died of natural causes at her home just after Halloween. The old woman was a recluse and though nobody knew for sure whether she really was a witch, some locals in the quaint mountain town breathed easier when they heard that she had passed on.
One morning shortly after Hattie’s death, Kara was driving to work and saw a cardboard sign.
“HUGE ESTATE SALE! GREAT DEALS!”
Kara, the owner of Christmas River’s most popular ornament store, was never one to pass up a sale. She hooked a fast left, following the cardboard signs all the way to Hattie’s old house, where she found a surprisingly vast array of antique furniture scattered across the dead lawn.

***

Kara had been studying the 3-foot-tall nutcracker standing on a sideboard when she heard a voice.
“Oh, I see you found him.”
Kara looked back to see a stylish woman standing there with a clipboard.
“Beautiful, isn’t he? A classic example of German craftsmanship. It’s an original Gaunerei doll, you know.”
“Oh, really?” Kara said, not knowing what that was, but pretending like she did.
“Yes, absolutely. Hattie’s older brother brought it back from Germany after World War II. It’s a true antique.”
With each passing moment, Kara felt herself more and more transfixed by the wooden sculpture.
The nutcracker was dressed as a soldier and was elaborately painted in rich shades of maroon and gold. Though the passing years had left a layer of dirt on him, his teeth were still white and prominent, and his eyes were--
Kara knew it sounded silly. But she could have sworn that she saw a sadness in the nutcracker’s eyes.
“How much for him?”
The woman consulted her clipboard.
“$345.”
Kara felt her eyes bulge.
“Normally, that is,” the woman said with a slick smile. “But since you’re the first one at the sale today, I can give you a deal. How about $100?”
The next thing Kara knew, she was writing a check and gently placing the nutcracker in the trunk of her car.

***

“Don’t you just love him?”
Kara had positioned the nutcracker to stand at the entrance of her ornament shop and greet the customers. Already, people had started commenting about how great he looked.
“I wish I had one just like him for my pie shop,” Cinnamon said, gazing at the doll. “He could sure help with all those hazelnuts I have to crack for my pies.”
“The sales lady let me have him for a steal,” Kara said, taking a sip of her Pumpkin Maple Latte. “I think it must have been on account of all that witchy business. But personally, I don’t really believe that Hattie was a witch. I mean, not really.”
“Me neither,” Cinnamon said. “Hattie was just an elderly woman who kept to herself. I don’t believe the stories that people told about her.”
Cinnamon glanced at the time.
She wished she could have stayed longer, but she needed to get back to her pie shop. Locals and tourists alike would be wanting pumpkin pecan, cranberry cinnamon, and chocolate hazelnut pies for their November tables.
“I better get going,” Cinnamon said. “See you later, Kara?”
Cinnamon noticed that her best friend was staring at the nutcracker with a faraway look in her eyes.
“Kara?”
“Oh, sorry,” she said, shaking her head. “Yeah, see ya, Cin.”
Kara suddenly felt a little strange.

***

That night, Kara was carving a wooden dove ornament in the back room of her store when she thought she heard a strange noise coming from the front door.
At first, she thought it was just the wind. It had been awfully windy in Christmas River this November.
But then, she heard the strange noise again.
It sounded like a young boy crying.
Kara got up and walked into the display room. The lights from the many Christmas trees flickered, casting shadows on the walls.
She flipped on the lightswitch and scanned the room, looking for what could have made that strange sound.
Her eyes eventually fell on the nutcracker.
That was odd, she thought.
She could have sworn that she’d set the doll on the right side of the entryway. Not the left side. But there he was, standing where she hadn’t left him.
Kara shook her head.
She hadn’t had dinner yet and hunger was starting to make her see things.
She went over, moved the nutcracker to the right side of the door where he belonged, and then headed into the back room.
She reckoned it was time to go home and get some food and--
Kara stopped dead in her tracks as a loud wail echoed through the store.

Her blood turned to ice.

***

The same thing happened several nights in a row. And each time that Kara tried to find the source of the crying, the sound all but vanished. It left her feeling frightened and desperate.
She thought about getting rid of the nutcracker, but then remembered the money she’d forked over for it.
She couldn’t just throw an original Gaunerei nutcracker away like that.
By the third night, she’d had enough. She placed a few phone calls and the next day, a woman named Evelda Madison arrived at the ornament shop. Evelda was dressed in a long black lace gown and looked exactly how Kara imagined a real psychic would look.
When Evelda was done investigating the shop, the psychic told Kara of her findings.
“You are right about the nutcracker, Kara. It really is haunted.”
Kara felt a little nauseous as the psychic confirmed her worst fears.
“There’s a spirit of a young boy attached to the nutcracker,” Evelda continued. “The doll was his before it was taken away and sold during the war -- just like the estate saleswoman told you. The witch kept the boy’s spirit trapped in this doll, and that’s why he cries.”
Now Kara knew why the nutcracker’s eyes were so sad.
“How do we help him?” Kara asked.
The psychic handed her a small bottle of soil.
“Sprinkle this around him and say ‘you are free’ three times in a row tonight at midnight. This will allow the boy to cross over into the light.”
Kara took the soil, nodded thanks, and then handed the psychic a check for her hourly rate.

***

Kara waited that night in the shop, listening to the sound of the wind howl outside.
The rain had turned to ice and the trees had frozen right in place. Every time the wind blew, their branches groaned and creaked like a sinking ship.
When midnight rolled around, Kara went over to the nutcracker, sprinkled the soil around, and whispered “you are free” three times in a row.
When she finished, she felt the heavy energy of the shop lift.
She let out a sigh of relief, kneeling for a moment to look at the nutcracker. His mouth was hanging open, the way it always was, ready to crack a nut.
“You’re free now, little boy,” she said, putting a hand up to its cheek. “Go your way in peace--”
The nutcracker’s jaw sprang up suddenly without warning.
Then, the lights in the shop went out.
Kara screamed and ran out into the storm.

***

The Next Day…

Cinnamon placed the nutcracker in the display window of her shop. She stepped back to get a better look at him.
No. That wasn’t quite right either.
She’d been having trouble finding just the right place for the old nutcracker.
Maybe by the door, she thought.
She picked him up, and as she did, something floated down to the floor.
It was a golden, weathered sticker that said “Gaunerei, Made in Germany.”
She flipped the nutcracker upside down and was about to re-apply the sticker to its base when she noticed something else.
The sticker had been covering up another one.
The original sticker.
“Holiday Crafts Inc., Product of California, 2008.”
Cinnamon smiled sadly as she put two and two together.
Poor Kara had gotten swindled at the estate sale. Maybe that was why she’d given Cinnamon the nutcracker out of the blue that morning, saying she wanted nothing more to do with it. Kara probably didn’t want it after finding out it was a fake.
But it didn’t matter to Cinnamon whether the nutcracker was an original or not. He had character and spunk and would be a useful addition to her pie shop. She had noticed that his jaw was a little warped and could snap up without warning, but other than that, he did a good job cracking nuts.
Cinnamon set the nutcracker down by the front door and tossed the golden sticker in the trashcan. She backed away to get a good look at it.
Yes, she thought. Now that was the perfect place for him.
She dusted her hands off on her apron and headed back to the kitchen to finish making a batch of chocolate hazelnut pies.

Happy Halloween, Readers!! 

Autumn Apple Green Chile Pie

I bet I can guess what you're thinking right now -- Green chiles... in a pie? Did I read that right? Sounds weird.

But you'd be surprised at how delicious this pie actually is! 

I was lucky enough to live in New Mexico for two years, where warm fall days are filled with the magical smell of chiles roasting. When I lived in Oregon, I was oblivious to the cult of the green chilies and I didn't really like the peppers all that much. These days, I'm a convert and I can't get enough of them. Especially when autumn arrives and the days start turning chile. Haha. (Bad joke.) 

Anyway, I made this pie recently with chiles I picked up in Hatch (the chile capital of the world!) This was inspired by a recipe from the book The New Mexico Farm Table Cookbook. The chiles give the apples a tasty roasted flavor and just a hint of heat. If you can't find freshly-roasted chiles where you are, they are available at Trader Joe's in the frozen section or in cans at the grocery stores. Just be sure to taste the peppers beforehand to gauge their level of heat. Sometimes the labels (usually, mild, hot, and extra hot) are not accurate. 

This pie will also be featured in Meltdown in Christmas River (Book 10), which will finally be out this fall!

Apple Green Chili Pie

(makes one 12-inch pie)

For the Crust   

3 cups flour

9 tablespoons cold butter

6 tablespoons vegetable shortening

½ teaspoon of salt (or more, if you like your crust a little saltier)

½ cup of cold water

Mix flour and salt together. Cut butter and vegetable shortening into small pieces, then add to flour mixture. Cut butter and shortening into flour with a pastry cutter until mixture is pebbly. Add water a little at a time until it forms a dough. Split dough into two and roll into balls. Cover in plastic wrap and place in freezer for half an hour.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees and roll out one of the dough halves into a disc. Place and form into pie dish. Cut off excess edges and poke crust several times with a fork. Place back in freezer for 10 minutes, then place dish in heated oven for 10 minutes to pre-bake.

For the Filling

6 to 7 Granny Smith apples, peeled and sliced

4 tablespoons of mild roasted green chiles, chopped with most of seeds removed (adjust amount depending on heat of chiles.)
1/2 cup flour
1/2 cup sugar, plus more for sprinkling
1 1/2 tablespoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 cup lemon juice

1/4 cup of pecan pieces

2 tablespoons butter
1 large egg
Vanilla ice cream (for serving)

Pre-heat oven to 375. Add the sliced apples and chopped green chiles to a large saucepan (test the chiles beforehand to gauge heat level -- if too spicy, reduce amount to only 2 tablespoons.) Saute over medium heat for about 12 minutes, adding a little water to pan if necessary, until apples are slightly tender. Remove from heat and let cool a few minutes. Add flour, sugar, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, and lemon juice to the apples and chiles, and stir until well combined. Pour mixture into pre-baked pie crust. Roll out second ball of dough and make a lattice topping over the filling, weaving strips of dough over and under each other. Beat egg in a small bowl and brush egg wash over lattice topping. Sprinkle with sugar. Bake for 45 minutes to an hour. 

Meanwhile, melt 2 tablespoons of butter in a small saucepan over medium heat. When bubbling, add the pecans. Toast about 4 minutes, until fragrant. Remove from heat. 

When pie is ready to serve, sprinkle slices with toasted pecans and a scoop of vanilla ice-cream. Enjoy! 

Happy Fall!! 

5 Things to Know About Ginger of the West

I’m so excited to announce that my latest project, Ginger of the West: A Witches of Broomfield Bay Mystery, will be out this Thursday! This book, which I’ve co-written with Amazon best-selling author Jools Sinclair, is a lighthearted mystery brimming with cozy magic. Since this is a new book and a new series, I thought it would be helpful to do my usual “5 things to know…” post for those who want to know more!

1. What is Ginger of the West about?

Ginger of the West: A Witches of Broomfield Bay Mystery is about a cafe owner named Ginger Westbrook who lives in a small town on the Oregon coast. It has paranormal elements in it, but it also has plenty of cozy elements, too. Here’s the official description: 

A dead mayor.
A wacky aunt.
An uppity millionaire romance author.
And a small town full of explosive secrets…
It’s one headache after another for witch and café owner Ginger Westbrook.
When Mayor Penelope Ashby rolls her car off a driveway and into the ocean, everyone in the small, sleepy seaside town of Broomfield Bay, Oregon is shocked.
Everyone but Ginger’s Aunt Vivian, who “saw” the grisly death coming long before the unlikable mayor plunged into the Pacific.
But when it’s discovered that the death may not have been an accident, accusations start flying and Ginger and Vivian find themselves smack dab in the middle of a modern-day witch hunt.
Strange things are afoot in Broomfield Bay this summer, and it will take all of Ginger’s powers – supernatural and otherwise – to keep the small town’s pitchforks and torches at bay.
Amazon best-selling authors Jools Sinclair and Meg Muldoon join forces in this magical tale. Full of mystery, romance, humor, and chowder, the first book in the Witches of Broomfield Bay Mysteries is this summer’s perfect cozy mystery beach read.

2. Why co-write a series?

Jools Sinclair is a fellow indie author and I'm a huge fan of her best-selling paranormal mysteries, 44. We’ve been talking about co-writing a series about witches for years now, so it’s so exciting to see this work published! This book is a real collaboration -- we’ve both brought our best storytelling talents to the table for this series. You'll see shades of Cinnamon Peters and Abby Craig throughout the book.


3. What makes Ginger of the West different from other witch cozy mysteries out there today?

There are tons of witch cozy mysteries out there these days, but Jools and I like to think of Ginger of the West as being special for several reasons. The book is a true mystery that will leave readers guessing right up until the end. Also, Ginger takes place on the Oregon Coast -- a place that both Jools and I know very well and love. We're both from Oregon, and have both spent lots of time on the coast. I think that comes through really clearly in the book, and makes it a fantastic summer read. The book is also very much a cozy, with lots and lots of mouthwatering food descriptions!!


4. Will there be more in the series?

Ginger Snaps, the second book in the Witches of Broomfield Bay Mystery series, is set to come out this fall. In total, we’re planning on writing 5 books in the series.

5. Are there recipes included in the book?

Yes! In true cozy fashion, we’re including five recipes in this book straight from Ginger’s cafe. These include marionberry scones, ginger lemon bars, and a delicious recipe for salmon chowder.

Ginger of the West will be available on Amazon this Thursday! Jools and I can't wait to share it with you guys!

Hope

Dear Readers,

Four years ago today, I hit the "publish" button on my first cozy mystery ever -- Murder in Christmas River: A Christmas Cozy Mystery.

At the time, I was a nervous ball of energy. Writing a book on its own is a big endeavor, but what you don't really realize until you send it out into the world is that your work has really only just begun. There's marketing, getting reviews, and more or less, building up a whole career from scratch. Then there's the thinking and praying involved which accounts for a whole other kind of work. You hope that the book will get noticed. Then if it does, you hope readers will like it and appreciate the heart you put into it. You hope that readers won't forget about you when books two and three and four come out. You hope that you never disappoint. You hope to always bring a little joy into readers' lives with each book you write.

Going into this business four years ago, I had a lot of hopes. In addition to the ones listed above, I hoped to be able to pay a bill or two in January with my earnings from Christmas River in 2012. Or at least, to buy a pizza one night. I hoped to supplement my meager pay at the newspaper I worked at with a few book sales here and there. And when I let myself truly, truly hope, I hoped that one day, I'd be able to write these books full-time and make a comfortable living where I had enough free-time to travel and enjoy life the way I wanted to enjoy it. It was a far-fetched dream that people loved to say was impossible. And even when they didn't say it, I knew they were thinking it. But I couldn't help wanting it anyway.

It was a rocky beginning. A few short days after hitting the publish button on December 9, 2012, I got my first review on Amazon. I was thrilled that somebody had read and decided to review Murder in Christmas River until... I saw what rating they gave it. It was a 1-star: My first real review ever was a 1-star from someone who didn't even get past the first chapter of the book because they hated the writing style. For a new writer, it was a devastating blow. I walked around for days feeling the sting of that review, wondering if I had a thick enough skin for this business.

But other reviews started coming in -- much better reviews -- and the book was moving. People were actually buying it. I wasn't anywhere near a bestseller, but to me, it was the most promising, exciting thing to ever happen career-wise. I sold about 340 copies that first month, and the feeling from knowing that your book is in the hands of 340 people is absolutely breathtaking when you're just starting out as a writer. There's nothing quite like knowing that all around the country, and sometimes the world, your words and characters are part of other peoples' lives. People you've never met, and most likely will never meet -- yet you're connected through words.

Four years later, and 13 books later, the thought of that still makes me giddy.

So much has changed in my life these past four years. My impossible dream of writing full-time, living the life I always wanted to live, has been attained. Since going full-time with this two years ago, I've been able to travel so much more, live in new places, experience new things, and enjoy more time with my family. I know I'm one of the lucky ones. I try not to ever forget that.

And now, being on this side of it all, I can see that my whole business has been built on hope.

Hoping isn't something you ever stop doing, even when you reach your dreams. Today, I still hope. I hope readers will like my newest series and fall in love with the characters. I hope when my readers finish one of my books, they feel happy. I hope to get another BookBub ad. I hope to make the USA Today Bestsellers' list. I hope to see one of my books or series on the Hallmark Movie Channel one day.

I hope to always be the best writer I can be.

I put a lot of work into my business, but I'm really only one part of the equation. Hope is another part. And another very important part is my family -- who has helped me at nearly every point along the way. They've read all my books, waded through a ridiculous amount of run-on sentences and poor word choice, given me invaluable feedback, designed covers for me, and taught me how to self-publish in the first place. Not to mention the financial, emotional, and spiritual support they've given me over the years.

The final part of the equation has been you, dear reader. Many of you have been with me since Book 1 of The Christmas River Cozy Mysteries and have bought ever subsequent book the very day they came out. You've been patient with me when I push back deadlines. You've written reviews and shared your enthusiasm for my books with me and encouraged me to keep going. I can't even express to you in words how meaningful that's been. And even if you've just bought one or two of my books, or just recently discovered one of my series, your support has been just as appreciated.

Thank you so much for everything these past four years. It's been such a beautiful journey I've been on.

Writing is a very solitary business, but thanks to you guys, I've never felt alone in any of it.

MM

The Spirit of Christmas River: A Halloween Special Short Story

Dear Readers,

Halloween is upon us, and today, I have a very fun surprise for fans of The Christmas River series. This past Monday I participated in Kathi Daley's Halloween Spooktacular event, where I got to spend an hour sharing scary stories and hosting giveaways. For this event, I wrote a special short, scary story featuring Warren and Cinnamon of The Christmas River series. And I figured I'd post the story here for fans of The Christmas River series in case you couldn't make it to the Spooktacular event.

So without further ado, a little special Halloween gift from me to you:

"The Spirit of Christmas River"

There wasn’t much that scared Warren Peters.

In his eighth decade, the old timer was as tough as they came.

But the thing he’d heard in the brewhouse that night in late October had made him feel like he was no older than ten years old again.

And Warren Peters suddenly remembered what it was like to be afraid.

***

It had been a cold, frosty, blustery evening when Warren Peters first heard the ghostly sound.

The wind howled down from the Cascades, whispering of snow and ice, the way it did this time of year in Christmas River. Warren was asleep in bed in the apartment he shared with his wife, Aileen, above the brewpub when a noise coming from downstairs awakened him.

He’d sat up, listening hard.

He glanced over at Aileen, who was still in a deep sleep on the other side of the bed. He envied her ability to sleep through just about anything. There was a look of total peace on her face, and seeing her like that suddenly gave Warren a sense of peace, too. He couldn’t help but think, once again, how lucky he was that she’d wanted to spend the rest of her life with a chatty, foolish old man like himself. Since getting married last year, the two of them had been happier than two peas in a--

“Awwoooheeerrreeee…”

The hair on the back of Warren’s neck stood straight up on end when he heard the sound again.

It was coming from down below in the brewhouse.  

He slid his feet into a pair of slippers and crept out of bed. He quietly left the cozy apartment and went downstairs.

Warren stepped into the brewery room, the fresh hops-tinged air filling his lungs. With a trembling hand, he flipped on the light switch.

He stood still, staying close to the door.

“Is anybody… is anybody there?”

His old eyes scanned over the concrete-floored warehouse.

Nothing appeared to be out of order.

“Hello?”

Still nothing. But Warren couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was in there with him.

And that something was watching him.   

Eventually, he turned the lights off and went back upstairs to the apartment, feeling unsettled and out of sorts and very much unlike himself.

***

“Did you tell Aileen about what happened last night?” Cinnamon asked.

Warren stuffed another large bite of the Pumpkin Ale cupcake into his mouth. The gooey cream-cheese, pumpkin, caramel creation danced on his tastebuds and for a second, he’d completely forgotten why he’d come down here to Cinnamon’s pie shop in the first place.  

Cinnamon looked up from the Apple Whiskey pie she was making. Cinnamon loved her grandfather dearly. She didn’t like seeing him so distressed.

“No, I didn’t tell Aileen anything,” Warren said, finishing off the pumpkin cupcake -- it was already his third one since arriving at the shop. “I don’t want my new bride to think I’m going all soft and senile.”

Cinnamon smirked and shook her head silently at how old-fashioned her grandfather could be sometimes.

“Well, what do you think you actually heard last night?” Cinnamon asked.

Warren shrugged, the words stuck in his throat.

“C’mon,” she said. “You can tell me.”

He drew in a deep breath.

“Well, it wasn’t just the strange noise last night,” he said. “I’ve been getting this funny feeling lately.

Every time I’m in the brewhouse alone, I get this feeling that something’s watching me.”

He looked up into Cinnamon’s kind eyes.

“I think it’s Rip Lawrence, Cin,” he said. “I think he’s…”

He trailed off.

“I think he’s haunting me.”

Rip Lawrence had been a rival brewmaster in Christmas River, and a little over a year ago, had been found dead in the brewhouse during the pub’s grand-opening. Local police initially suspected Warren of the crime, but they later discovered that he’d been framed. The real murderer had been caught and brought to justice.

Warren had never gotten along with Rip. But despite this, the old man still felt bad about what happened to the young brewmaster. And lately, he’d begun to think that the strange things going on in the brewhouse were being caused by Rip’s troubled spirit.  

Cinnamon peered at her grandfather for a long moment.

“Look, Grandpa. There’s no such thing as ghosts, right?” she finally said.

“That’s what I always thought, Cinny Bee,” he said, using his nickname for her. “But now I’m beginning to have my doubts.”

“All right, here’s what we’re going to do,” she said. “Tonight, I’ll stay with you guys in your apartment. And if you hear that noise again, I’ll help you investigate it.”

Warren felt a sense of relief.

“You would do that, Cinny?”

“Of course, old man,” she said.

“And you won’t tell Aileen about any of this?” he said.

Cinnamon smiled.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she said, going back to her pie. “And besides, old man. There’s really no such thing as ghosts.”

***

Warren flipped on the light switch to the brewhouse and entered, his heart pounding hard in his chest.

His old eyes once again scanned the large room. It was past midnight. Outside, the wind was howling again and steady sheets of rain battered the old building.

“You heard that, didn’t you Cin?”

Cinnamon, who was at her grandfather’s elbow, nodded heartily.

A few minutes earlier, both of them had awakened to a haunting, odd sound emanating from the brewhouse. And though Cinnamon was a practical person, she couldn’t deny that the noise had sent chills down her spine.  

She started thinking about Rip Lawrence, and how if there really was such things as ghosts, then he would have made a good one. He hadn’t been a nice person in life, and if--

Awoooheeerreee…

Cinnamon’s blood turned to ice.

The hellish-sounding noise echoed throughout the warehouse. It had sounded like a man’s voice, but there had been something frighteningly inhuman about it too.

She reached for her grandfather’s arm.

“What was that?” she rasped.

He turned back, shaking his head, equally as scared.  

“I don’t know, Cinny. I don’t know what that--”

But Warren didn’t finish the sentence.

His words were drowned out as a giant clap of thunder ripped from the sky overhead.

A second later, the brewhouse lights went out, and there was nothing but darkness.

Warren and Cinnamon both screamed.

They ran out of the brewhouse as fast as they could, locking the door firmly behind them.

Maybe there really was such a thing as ghosts. But neither Cinnamon or Warren wanted to find that out on such a spooky, stormy night.

***

Aileen sat in the brewhouse the next morning with the small bowl resting on her lap.

Upstairs, she could hear the sound of Warren’s footsteps on the pine floor of their apartment as he made breakfast in the kitchen with his granddaughter. He’d been acting a little strange lately, and she wondered whether he’d discovered the bowls of cat food down here and found out the secret she’d been keeping from him.

Aileen knew that Warren had once had a bad experience with a mean cat when he was a kid, and that was why she’d kept the existence of Mr. Karloff to herself all this time.

She’d first seen Mr. Karloff -- a skinny, mangy-looking stray in the alley behind the brewpub -- a few weeks earlier. She’d named him Boris Karloff and had been leaving food for him. Sometimes, when bad weather was in the forecast, she’d lure the cat inside the brewhouse so he could spend the night in a safe, dry place.

He was a strange cat who seemed to have damaged his vocal chords at some point. He made all sorts of wild, unsettling noises that to Aileen, sometimes made him sound like a restless spirit. But he had kind eyes, and was a gentle soul who looked desperately in need of some loving care.

Her only hesitation about adopting the cat had been what Warren would think about it.

But Warren was the kindest, sweetest man she’d ever known. And even if he didn’t like cats, she knew that he’d agree to keeping the feline if it made his wife happy.

Aileen watched as the cat stalked across the brewhouse floor toward her. She picked Mr. Karloff up, then began heading upstairs to the apartment.

It was time that Warren get over his dislike of cats and finally meet Mr. Karloff.

The past, after all, was just that -- the past.

The End

Happy Halloween, Readers!!!

Sour Cream Apple Whiskey Pie

Much like Cinnamon Peters from The Christmas River series, I love just about every flavor and variety of pie under the sun. But if I had to choose just one flavor as my favorite, then I'd have to say there's nothing more magical than a slice of homemade, buttery-crusted, creamy apple pie in the fall.  

My love for apple pie can be traced back to childhood. I don't remember my mom baking that many pies growing up (she baked plenty of other delicious things for us, but pie wasn't usually on the menu), so it was always such a special treat when she'd make her Sour Cream Apple Pie. She made it most years in either September or October, and I think that it was the start to my obsession with the dessert. To this day, I think this is my very favorite pie ever because of the fond memories I have of it. My mom still bakes this in the fall, and it's still always such a treat when she does! 

The other day, I felt inspired and decided to use her recipe, which is based on a very excellent one in The Silver Palate Cookbook. I tweaked it a little here and there (whiskey was not in the original recipe!), and I think it turned out pretty tasty. Not as good as my mom's, but still pretty darn good! 

Here's the recipe:   

Sour Cream Apple Whiskey Pie

(makes 1 lattice pie)

Crust

2 1/2 cups flour

5 tbsp sugar

3/4 tsp salt

1 tsp cinnamon

6 tbsp unsalted butter

6 tbsp shortening

6 tbsp apple cider

Combine flour, sugar, salt, and cinnamon in a large bowl. Cut in butter and shortening with a pastry cutter until the mixture becomes pebbly. Add apple cider to the mixture until the dough begins to stick together. Add more cider if necessary. Gather up into a ball, and wrap in plastic wrap. Let it chill in the fridge for at least two hours. 

Bring the dough out from the fridge, and divide in half. Roll out one half of dough, and fit it into a pie dish. With a fork, place some breathing holes in the crust, then place the pie tin in the freezer for half an hour (freezing it before baking helps ensure that the crust will keep its shape!) Meanwhile, pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees. After half an hour, remove the pie dish from the freezer and bake for ten minutes. Remove from oven, then let cool. 

Filling 

7 Granny Smith apples

3 tbsp butter

2/3 cup sour cream

1/3 cup sugar

1/4 tsp salt

2 tsp whiskey

3 tbsp flour

Peel and cut apples into eighths. Meanwhile, in a large sauce pan, melt the butter over medium heat. When the butter is melted and starts bubbling, add the apple slices. Saute for about 10 to 15 minutes over medium heat, making sure not to burn the apples. When ready, the apples should be a nice golden shade and should be slightly tender. Remove from heat, and let cool. 

Meanwhile, in a bowl, combine sour cream, sugar, salt, whiskey, and flour. Pour mixture over cooled apples, and toss until well-covered. Spoon filling into pre-baked pie crust. 

Topping

3 tbsp brown sugar

3 tbsp sugar

1 tsp cinnamon

1 cup walnuts, chopped (optional)

In a small bowl, combine all ingredients. Dust mixture evening over the apple filling before baking. 

Roll out remaining half of crust dough, and cut even lattice strips from it. Weave them atop the pie filling. Bake the pie at 400 degrees for 10 minutes, then lower temperature to 350 degrees and bake for another 40 minutes or so. If the crust starts browning too much, cover with aluminum foil. 

Let cool, then enjoy a slice with whipped cream, ice cream, or even a hunk of good-quality cheddar cheese. Sit back, and enjoy watching the leaves fall!  

 

I hope you enjoy this tasty recipe. Wishing you a very happy October!

MM