Francine Paino a.k.a. F. Della Notte

I sat with my cup of café e latte and looked around. The paper with the picture on the kitchen table intrigued me. No, I thought. Gotta clean this place first. I chugged my cup of coffee, grabbed my cleaning supplies, and began. While I twisted and turned, scrubbing granite countertops to a gleam, something whizzed past my eye – a cup of espresso splashed its contents into the air, and then all of it dissolved into nothingness.

My heart sank. Persistence had arrived. No passive muse, this one. She was furious. She’d been prodding me for days to try my hand at baking a gluten-free King Cake. Lent was approaching, and with that came Fat Tuesday. One of the charming Southern traditions is the King Cake, but I’d completely blocked out Persistence. 

Again, I refused to budge. “I will finish cleaning this kitchen. I can’t work in a messy environment.” I set the King Cake recipe on the counter, hoping that would mollify her, and moved on to preparing the guest room for my grandson’s weekend stay. Then, I cleaned the bathrooms while Persistence harassed me. 

She followed me from room to room, perching on any surface that caught her fancy, reminding me how much she had held back during the trying times of dealing with my mother’s passing, arranging her burial in New York, and taking care of my husband during his major back surgery. But now, things were settling down, and she refused to be silent any longer.

Times up. Hubby is recovering, and you are disgraceful. Wretched imposter, how can you put the elimination of dust bunnies before writing?

“Oh, shut up!” I whispered, not wanting to wake my husband with my side of a conversation with . . . .?

Persistence wasn’t having any of it. Have some backbone. Stop whispering. If he wakes up, you can always say you were talking to Miss Millie.

I laughed despite my annoyance. “Touché,” I answered. After all, Miss Millie is the smartest feline creature we’d ever adopted. Sometimes, her expressions are so human-like that it’s uncanny. But I digress.

“Have another espresso, and chill out,” I grumbled. 

I’m tired of waiting; Persistence shot back. And so the conversation, or the argument, went on for another hour. In the lotus position, Persistence sat on the bathroom counter, sipped her coffee, stared at me through the mirror, and then pointed to something on the sink.

You missed that.

I looked down. Sure enough, I’d missed a spot. “I thought you wanted to stop cleaning and get into the kitchen to bake that cake,” I muttered.

The sooner you finish your obsession with domestic tasks, the sooner you can be creative. Now hurry up.

Jump ahead an hour. House chores done, I gathered all the ingredients for the King Cake. Following the directions carefully but substituting gluten-free flour for all-purpose wheat flour, I mixed, stirred, folded, and kneaded everything into a dough, covered it, and allowed it to rise – as best as gluten-free can. While I waited, I scribbled the first part of this essay, which made Persistence happy.

About time. I heard her snarky tone.  

An hour later, I rolled the dough into a 16 x 20 sheet. Trust me, if you haven’t done it, rolling gluten-free dough is a challenge. I then spread the cinnamon, sugar, almonds, and raisins over the surface and rolled it into a long loaf. (the recipe says to make it into a ring – gluten-free dough isn’t as malleable, so I didn’t try that). Into the oven, it went.

While it baked, I stuck out my tongue at Persistence and cleaned up my baking mess. “And don’t you dare throw another cup,” I warned while Miss Millie sat at my feet, staring up at me. If she could use words, I’m sure she’d have asked, Who are you talking to? 

Forty-five minutes later, I pulled my creation out of the oven. The top was a beautiful golden brown. Once it cooled, I sprinkled the Mardi Gras sugars colored gold (yellow), purple, and green over the top and cut a slice to taste. As my late mother-in-law used to say, “If the ingredients are good, it’s bound to taste good.” And it did, but the texture was too dense.

You see, said Persistence, sitting crossed leg on the countertop with another cup of espresso in her hand. Instead of cleaning, you should have spent more time assessing the necessary changes to accommodate gluten-free flour.

“Listen, Madame Know-it-all, some recipes do not adapt well to gluten-free flour. This is one of them. Eventually, I’ll try again, but this year, I’ll make Anginetti Cookies (Lemon Drops), sprinkle them with the colored sugars, and call them Francesca’s Mardi Gras cookies.”

Persistence smiled for the first time. Nice to see you using your right brain again. I’m sure they’ll be delicious. See ya soon, she said and disappeared.

“And next time, drink decaf espresso. You’re too high-strung for Caffeine.”  

The tinkle of her laughter echoed through the house, with her words,  Laissez les bon temps rouler.

***

Fat Tuesday and Ash Wednesday open book one in the Housekeeper Mystery Series, I’m Going to Kill that Cat. Lent arrives at St. Francis de Sales Church, and so does a new housekeeper and murder. Before we delve into the crime, we meet two people of deep faith who do not hide from the realities and the dark side of life.

Father Melvyn Kronkey is a devoted priest with a sharp intellect but a bit stuffy and standoffish. That changes with the arrival of Mrs. B., a widow of unwavering faith, a fiery temperament, and a talent for cooking, organization, and problem-solving. 

She is outgoing and cares about people to the point of being nosy. Her expansive personality even makes cats respond and trust her—a lesson that Father Melvyn learns in dramatic fashion. 

While these two opposites learn to work together, a missing cat drags them into an old feud, which unravels a potential scandal.  Can murder be far behind?