Read Online Antiques Fruitcake by Barbara Allan - Free Book Online

told her about how I had, on a fairly recent visit, formed a jailhouse repertory company with the other female inmates, and that we put on plays—first for ourselves, then the male inmates, and finally, the general public.
    (I left out the part about two of the girls doing a runner on an off-campus performance, which put an end to our theater group. Also, I felt it best not to mention that the play they skipped out during was Arsenic and Old Lace. )
    â€œDear,” I said, bringing enthusiasm to my voice, “just think of it! You could be the lead actress in the new jailhouse theater group.”
    â€œI . . . I could?”
    â€œBut of course! You were marvelous as the cook. Completely believable. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if, after you pay your debt to society, you might make a name for yourself on the Great White Way.”
    This was horse hockey right out of my production of My Fair Lady, but the girl did need encouragement.
    Her eyes were shining like new pennies, Lincoln side out. “You really think so?”
    â€œWhy, after the experience you’ll get with the new theater group . . . certainly! Silver lining.”
    The sullen Patty said, “Time.”
    Standing, Clara asked, “You’ll come to the trial?”
    I beamed at her. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll be testifying, you know.”
    â€œAnd I know you’ll be just wonderful,” the girl said, smiling back. “Thank you, Mrs. Borne, for caring about me. My folks are pretty mad at me right now. You know something?”
    â€œDear?”
    â€œThat wasn’t the fruitcake that saved Christmas at all. Anyway, it sure ruined mine.”
    And Patty escorted her out.
    Now, dear reader, before you put me up alongside Mother Teresa, I should reveal that behind my interest in Clara was my own ulterior motive. I had a drawerful of plays I’d written that the board hadn’t deemed good enough for the Playhouse, but that might well see the light of day inside the county jail. Silver lining indeed—pure tinsel.
    Look out, Samuel French!
    A block from the facility, I caught the gas-powered trolley. At home, where I was greeted by the aroma of a freshly baked fruitcake. Of course, the truth is I generally don’t like fruitcake—but that antique recipe of Hattie’s is really not too shabby!
    As I entered our retro 1950s red-and-white kitchen, Brandy was removing a piping-hot example from the oven, with Sushi dancing in anticipation nearby.
    â€œHow’d it go with Clara?” she asked.
    â€œI’ll tell you all about it over a slice of fruitcake and some hot tea.”
    Soon we were seated at the antique Duncan Phyfe dining-room table, where I filled Brandy in.
    Brandy, on her second piece (a new convert to fruitcake, at least the Hattie variety) said, “Did Clara tell you why she killed Madeline?”
    â€œWe spoke of it,” I said, sneaking Sushi a bite under the table. “But in no great detail.”
    Because I hadn’t needed to.
    Brandy said, “Pretty obvious Clara had idolized Madeline. Maybe the girl even had a crush on her.”
    â€œPossibly,” I said. “But when the object of her affection became the purveyor of her affliction, an unmedicated Clara took her revenge.”
    Brandy nodded, took another bite.
    I helped myself to another slice. A little matter like murder was not about to put me off this delectable Christmas treat.
    And now you, dear reader, can enjoy it, too.
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    The Serenity Factory Fruitcake
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    3 cups pecans, coarsely chopped
1 lb. pitted dates, coarsely chopped
1 cup halved maraschino cherries
¾ cup flour
¾ cup sugar
½ tsp. baking powder
½ tsp. salt
3 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla extract
(rat poison optional)
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    In a large bowl combine nuts, dates, and cherries; add in flour, sugar, baking powder and salt, and mix well. In a small bowl, beat eggs until foamy, stir in vanilla, then fold into