A Mobster's Recipe for Cupcakes: A Valentine's Day Story Read online

  A Mobster’s Recipe for Cupcakes:

  A Valentine’s Day Story

  By Beth Mathison

  Copyright 2011 by Beth Mathison

  Cover Copyright 2011 by Dara England and Untreed Reads Publishing

  The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold, reproduced or transmitted by any means in any form or given away to other people without specific permission from the author and/or publisher. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Also by Beth Mathison and Untreed Reads Publishing

  A Mobster's Guide to Cranberry Sauce

  http://www.untreedreads.com

  A Mobster’s Recipe for Cupcakes:

  A Valentine’s Day Story

  By Beth Mathison

  “You can never have enough frosting on a cupcake.”

  “Well, that’s not really true. You put too much icing on this thing and it will topple right over,” Carla said. She swirled a generous portion of cream frosting on a red velvet cupcake. The bakery’s kitchen was warm, with dozens of unfrosted cupcakes linking the marble countertop.

  “I’m speaking theoretically,” Jeremy answered. “In theory, you can never have enough frosting in life.”

  Carla paused, icing knife mid-swipe. “Ugh,” she replied. “I’m all for moderation.”

  “No kidding,” Jeremy said with a smile. He broke two eggs on the side of the bowl, fishing the shells out of the batter with a mixing spoon.

  “Don’t be sarcastic,” Carla remarked. It’s not a sin to have balance in your life. Really. You have too much frosting in life and you don’t appreciate the meat and potatoes.”

  “You sound like my mother.”

  “Your mother is a saint.”

  “My mother runs a numbers game for Vito Spumoni.”

  Carla held up the knife. “No talking about family business. You promised.”

  Jeremy nodded, adding flour to the bowl. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. It just slipped out.”

  “I love your family, you know that. It’s their business practices that are…questionable.”

  “You know my family ties are…tight.”

  “You mean binding?” Carla asked.

  “More like bungee cords.”

  There was a sharp tap-tap-tap on the back door off the kitchen, and Aunt Shirley stepped into the kitchen after stomping her boots on the landing to the alley.

  “You need a mat back here, dear,” she said, swinging a shopping bag onto the counter. She took off her plastic hair covering and shook it outside before closing the door. “People are going to track snow on your kitchen floor.”

  “Aunt Shirley,” Carla said. “It’s a pleasure.”

  “Carla,” Aunt Shirley said, unloading the grocery bag. “I see you’re keeping my godson out of trouble and in the kitchen.”

  “What’s all this?” Jeremy asked, peering at the cans on the counter. Aunt Shirley had lined up five industrial-sized cans of cranberries.

  “I thought that maybe for Valentine’s Day you could incorporate your love of cranberries into your cupcakes. Cranberries are red, after all. It’s the color of love.”

  Carla snorted with laughter, then cleared her throat to cover it up. “I think it’s a great idea. Cranberry cupcakes for Valentine’s Day.”

  Jeremy shot her a death glare and returned to the batter, carefully pouring it into a large cupcake pan. “Aunt Shirley, you know I’m done with cranberries. I’ve moved on to sweeter things.”

  “Well, I just wanted to help….”

  “Why are you really here?” Jeremy asked, sticking the tin into the oven.

  “What? I can’t come to visit and help you with your new business venture?” She removed her coat and hung it up on the peg next to the door.

  Jeremy leaned against the counter, a hand on his hip, staring at her.

  Aunt Shirley began to fidget, wiping at the counter with a dish rag. “You certainly keep the shop clean, don’t you? These countertops are very tidy.”

  “Spill it, Aunt Shirley…” Jeremy said.

  The back door swung open and Harry and Charlie stepped into the kitchen, their dress shoes tracking in clumps of snow.

  “Spill what?” Harry said, unbuttoning his coat. Charlie ran his hand through his hair, sending snow flying through the kitchen.

  “Heavens!” Aunt Shirley yelled. “You’re getting snow everywhere. Out!” She moved closer to Harry and Charlie, forcing them back out the door. Once outside, they stomped their shoes and shook their jackets. Looking back at Aunt Shirley, they waited for her nod of approval, and then came back inside. Both wore dark overcoats and bright red scarves with big pink hearts on them.

  Jeremy, Aunt Shirley, and Carla stared at them.

  “What?” Charlie asked.

  “That’s a bold fashion choice,” Carla finally said. “Choices.”

  “Thanks,” Charlie answered, smoothing his scarf. “They were gifts.”

  “From Cupid?” Jeremy asked, returning to his cupcakes.

  “No, from Connie Patchuchi,” Harry said. “She works in the deli at Alphonso’s.”

  Aunt Shirley continued to stare. “We all know who Connie Patchuchi is. She gave you each a scarf? Don’t you think that’s a little…odd?”

  “She’s very generous,” Charlie said.

  “And hot,” Harry added.

  Aunt Shirley rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Jeremy. “Now, about the cranberries.”

  “Wait!” Harry blurted out. “We have something to tell you!”

  “Does this have something to do with cranberries?” Aunt Shirley asked, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not going through a repeat of the Thanksgiving fiasco.” She blocked the line of cans with her body. “There is nothing wrong with these cranberries. They are just fine. No one’s trying to poison anyone, and anyway, apparently Jeremy’s moved on from the cranberry sauce business.” She turned to Carla and lowered her voice. “Harry and Charlie thought that Jeremy’s new cranberry sauces were an elaborate plot to poison them last Thanksgiving. Cranberry sauce is still a sensitive subject at my house.”

  Charlie hesitated. “Well, no,” he said. “We’re not here about the cranberries at all. Are we?” He turned to Harry.

  “No!” Harry said loudly, scaring himself with the sound of his voice. “No. We are not here regarding the cranberries. Or fruit of any kind.”

  “I really don’t have time for this,” Jeremy said, starting another batch of cupcake batter. “I have eight dozen cupcakes that are going to be picked up in three hours. I’m under the gun here.”

  “Under the gun, that’s funny,” Charlie said, head bobbing with laughter.

  Everyone stared at him, and he stopped.

  “Really,” Jeremy said. “I don’t have time for family business right now.”

  Aunt Shirley gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. Harry and Charlie took a step back, eyes on anything but Aunt Shirley.

  Carla bit her lip. “Um, maybe I can help you with those cupcakes, Jeremy.”

  “No,” Jeremy sa
id, his voice firm. “This is my business. It’s important to me. Besides, Carla, you’re the icer. It’s a critical part of the process.”

  Aunt Shirley took several deep breaths. “We know this is important to you, Jeremy. But family is family…”

  “If this has anything to do with that truckload of misplaced ‘specialty Chinese chopsticks,’ you can leave right now,” Jeremy said, emphasizing misplaced with air-parentheses.

  “My goodness, Jeremy,” Aunt Shirley said. “What’s gotten into you? You’re very antagonistic.”

  Jeremy’s shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to—”

  “Finches!” Charlie yelled. “It’s about finches!”

  “Oh, Lord, here we go,” Aunt Shirley said.

  “Finches?” Carla asked. “Like the little finches that people keep as pets?”

  “Good heavens, no,” Harry said. “I think they’d be dead by now, out in this kind of cold and snow. These are regular, outside kind of finches.”

  “Goldfinches, that’s they’re official name,” Charlie added, nodding.

  “What about these official goldfinches?” Jeremy asked.

  “Well, they kind of got lost,” Harry said.

  “How many finches are we talking about?” Jeremy asked, still working on the batter.

  “Well, that’s really hard to say. As many as would fit into a truck.”

  “A truck? Like a pickup truck?” Jeremy asked.

  “No, no. Like a semi truck. A big wheeler,” Charlie responded.

  “You were driving around town with a semi load full of goldfinches?” Aunt Shirley asked, her voice slow and even.

  “Yes,” Harry said.

  “Why on earth did you have a truckload of finches?” Jeremy asked.

  “It’s a secret,” Charlie said. Harry nodded.

  “Were these legal goldfinches?” Carla asked.

  Jeremy winced at the word “legal.”

  Harry patted Carla on the shoulder. “I know you’re not part of the family yet, only Jeremy’s girlfriend—”

  “Icer,” Carla interrupted.

  “You’re his icer?”

  “Yes. I’m not really his girlfriend. I ice his cupcakes for him.”

  Harry’s brow furrowed. “Is this something new that the young people do nowadays? Um…what?”

  Carla sighed, holding up a cupcake. “Really. I’m the icer. I frost the cupcakes before we give them to the customer. See? Here’s a nice red velvet with cream cheese frosting. “

  Harry nodded. “That is a beauty. OK, so you’re the icer, not the girlfriend. Wait—Jeremy, I thought you liked her.”

  “Oh. My. God.” Jeremy leaned over, placing his forehead on the counter.

  “You like me?” Carla asked, a small smile playing on her face. She returned to her icing. “You like me.”

  “Anyway, as I was saying,” Harry continued. “You’re not part of the family…yet. But there’s all kinds of legal. There’s hard-and-fast legal, which means it’s a pretty hard rap to fight. There’s legal dealing with certain law enforcement officials. The legality with the finches was kind of negotiable.”

  “Well, I think there’s only one kind of legal,” Carla said, still looking at Jeremy and smiling.

  “Of course you do, dear,” Aunt Shirley said. “You’d understand if you were part of the family. In any event, let’s not quibble about the legality of a shipment of finches.” She turned her attention to Charlie and Harry. “What seems to be the problem with these finches?”

  Charlie grimaced. “They kind of flew away.”

  Jeremy raised his head. “The entire truckload of finches flew away?”

  “Yes. Every last one of them.”

  “Why are you here?” Jeremy asked. “Do you think I have some insight into your secret finch problem? I mean, that the secret finches have somehow escaped?”

  “Actually, we’re here to talk to Carla,” Harry said. “We were hoping she could help us.”

  Carla looked visibly shocked.

  “Me?” Carla asked. “Why would you come to me?”

  Charlie and Harry fidgeted again, looking down at their shoes. Finally, Harry looked at her.

  “It’s because of your Uncle Manny.”

  Carla paled. “But my Uncle Manny is in pris—” She stopped short.

  Aunt Shirley leaned in close. “I’m sorry, dear. I missed that. Your Uncle Manny is what?”

  Carla closed her eyes for a moment. Then she looked at Jeremy. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”

  “Her Uncle Manny’s a bird runner from Miami. He specializes in small native birds. Finches, wrens, birds like that.”

  Jeremy’s mouth hung open in surprise, batter dripping from the mixing spoon onto the counter.

  Carla turned to Charlie and Harry, tears in her eyes. “And you two,” she yelled. “How on earth did you know about my Uncle Manny?”

  “Bird running is a small business,” Harry said. “There’s really not that many people out there who can do the job.”

  “Well, my Uncle Manny can’t do the job either, since he’s in prison.”

  “Wait a minute,” Jeremy piped in. “You lied to me?”

  “No, I didn’t really lie about my family. I just…left certain things out.”

  “Technically, I think that’s a sin of omission,” Charlie said.

  “We’re not talking about sin,” Aunt Shirley said. “We’re talking about family.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Carla said, dropping her icing knife. “I was just kind of embarrassed about some of my family members.”

  Aunt Shirley’s hand went to her mouth again, and she let out a little gasp.

  “Carla, dear,” she said, putting an arm around the younger woman’s shoulder. “I know we’ve had our differences in the past. I know that you’ve been kind of lost after your dad passed away. And after that nasty business with the ducks—”

  “You know about Carla’s family?” Jeremy asked, eyes wide. “How do you know so much about Carla?” His eyes grew wider and he gasped sharply. “You didn’t,” he said to Aunt Shirley. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

  Aunt Shirley moved to the countertop and began wiping up the drips that had flown from Jeremy’s spoon.

  “I think we should just move on to Harry and Charlie’s finch problem,” she said.

  “You ran a background check on Carla?” Jeremy asked. “You were spying on my icer?”

  “Finches…” Aunt Shirley said in a sing-song voice, still wiping the counter. “Have to deal with the finches.”

  “What?” Carla asked. “You know about my family? But I grew up half a country away.”

  Charlie snorted with laughter. “Distance doesn’t mean much when it comes to family,” he said.

  “I’m sorry!” Aunt Shirley said to Jeremy. “I knew you liked this girl and I couldn’t bear to have my godson’s heart ripped to pieces by some fly-by-night icer.” She glanced at Carla. “Not that you are, dear. I just hired Billy the Snoop to do a little checking for me.”

  “Oh, I love that Billy the Snoop,” Harry said. “He’s a hoot. He can balance an olive on the tip of his forehead for twelve seconds. It’s a fact. I saw him do it. It was at Alfonso’s in the deli section.”

  Jeremy took Carla’s arm to turn her towards him. “Is this true? Is your family really like mine? As crazy as mine?”

  Aunt Shirley cleared her throat at the word crazy, but held her tongue.

  Carla’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m sorry, Jeremy. I just wanted a clean break, to follow my dream of working in a bakery. I love my family, I really do. But they never supported me leaving the family business. I only wanted to follow my own path for awhile. I thought that moving across country would distance me from their influence.”

  Jeremy looked at her for a long while, batter from the mixing spoon dripping down his hand onto Carla’s arm. Gently, he leaned down and kissed her, one hand reaching around to her waist to pull her close.

  Aft
er a few long moments, Aunt Shirley cleared her throat again, and Jeremy and Carla broke their embrace.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” Jeremy said, looking into Carla’s eyes.

  “You’re not mad?” Carla asked.

  “A little mad, at the secrets part. Not at all about the family part.” He bent down to kiss her again, when the back door opened, bringing in a cold blast of air.

  Uncle Tommy’s frame filled the doorway, his huge bulk filling the entrance. He glanced quickly and effortlessly around the room, assessing the situation.

  “Hello, then,” he said after stomping his boots and brushing the snow from his jacket. His suit was spotless, his hair perfectly styled.

  “Now, see,” Aunt Shirley said with a warm smile. “Here’s a man who knows his manners. No tracking snow into the kitchen on his watch.” She shot a disapproving glance at Harry and Charlie, who were still dripping melting snow on to the floor.

  “Oh, my,” Carla said, openly staring at Uncle Tommy. He towered over everyone in the room, his muscles apparent even under the suit and jacket.

  “Carla, Uncle Tommy. Uncle Tommy, Carla,” Jeremy said.

  Uncle Tommy stepped forward, offering his hand to Carla. She unwrapped herself from Jeremy’s embrace and shook Uncle Tommy’s hand.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Uncle Tommy said.

  “Likewise,” Carla said. “Have we met?”

  “Not on this side of heaven,” Uncle Tommy replied.

  “Tommy’s got a memory like an elephant’s,” Charlie said. “He looks like he could snap you like a twig, but he’s smart as a pip. Well, he could still snap you like a twig, but he’d be real smart about it.”

  The timer for the oven dinged, and Jeremy pulled out one cupcake pan and put in an unbaked tray filled with white batter.

  “What can I do for you Tommy?” Jeremy asked, wiping his hands on his apron. “Don’t see you in the shop very often.”

  “I’m here on business,” Uncle Tommy said, turning to Charlie and Harry. “Of the avian variety.”

  “We didn’t have anything to do with that plane, it was already broken,” Charlie said, shaking his head in denial. “I swear on my sweet mother’s grave.”

  “He means bird, not plane,” Harry said. “And stop swearing on your mother’s grave. It’s bad luck.”