Créme Yvette: chapter 4 of a cozy mystery

We humbly dedicate this post to the memory of Robert J. Cooper, who helped to bring back Créme Yvette, as well as the ubiquitous elderflower liqueur St. Germain. He passed away at age 39 on Monday, April 25 from causes that weren't immediately known.

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Yvette Altelier was many things: hot-headed, incisive, bold - but she was not sycophantic.

So when Benedict E. Nelson strolled into her office on that balmy Tuesday morning, mewling about his client's stepmother and her vicious streak, she wasn't moved. Hell, she wasn't even interested. At all.

"I was wondering," Benedict said in that smooth, caressing voice of his, "if you'd agree to me submitting an injunction Ginny Alexander."

Yvette's eyes narrowed to slits ("Pure evil!" her ex-husband often exclaimed). "Against what?" she spat.

"Brandy's gone through enough in her short life. I'd like to warn Ginny against saying anything negative about Brandy's father... or Pernod, for that matter."

"Pair-no?" Yvette could hardly help herself from spitting out the word. It sounded like an idiotic term the nouveau riche would trot out to make them feel better about their status amongst the Old Money of Sweetberry Grove. Which, in the case of the Alexander family, was extremely likely. "What the hell is that?"

Benedict scoffed and rolled his eyes. As if he'd been in Sweetberry Grove long enough to know everything about everyone.

Yvette placed her hands on her hips.

"Pernod is... was... Brandy's childhood border collie."

Yvette shifted her weight, and picked at the cuticle of her left thumb - an action she subconsciously did whenever she was losing patience. If Benedict kept this up, she'd have a a raw scrap of meat instead of a nailbed.

"Perhaps I should explain," Benedict E. Nelson began.

Yvette arched her eyebrows as high as they could go.

"Well, you have probably figured out for yourself that Brandy and Ginny have a relationship that is...ahhh -- how should I say this? --"

"Yes, counselor. A difficult relationship. So what? I once pulled off my mother's wig at a debutante ball after she convinced my boyfriend, Sanders, that I wasn't a socially appropriate match for him. We all have our sob stories."

"Oh! Yvette, that sounds horrible. To think, your mother drove your beau off just because you were of better social standing!"

Yvette stared blankly at him and began tapping her long purplish-red fingernails on her desk with an air of impatience and aggravation. Benedict's stomach dropped, like those recurring dreams when you realize that you're completely naked in a public place.

"No, Benedict. She convinced him that I was too bossy and plain to be a good match for his family's station."

Benedict gulped and fidgeted with his collar.

"Anyway, sir, I know they have a tense relationship. What does that have to do with the damn dog?" Yvette kept drumming her fingernails on the desk, and Benedict couldn't help but watch them, almost entranced, to see when she'd rap them so hard against the dark oak desk that one would fly off and smack against a piece of her gilt-edged, monogrammed desk set.

"You see, Yvette, Pernod was...well...you might say she was Brandy's best friend growing up. Being from the wealthiest family in Sweetberry Grove and having a hard-nosed businessman like Gordon for a father, she didn't have much chance to get to know kids her own age. They were all either put off by her family's position, or had been on the wrong end of one of Gordon's business dealings."

Yvette's nails kept rapping the top of the desk. Lord, did they make Lee Press-Ons out of titanium these days? And how often did she have to get that gorgeous old antique desk sanded and refinished?

"W-w-well," said Benedict as he kept one eye on her nails, "the dog, Pernod, was a bit of a problem when Ginny came into the household. Brandy loved that old mutt, but Ginny - well - she was never terribly fond of animals to begin with. You wouldn't believe the pack of trouble that dog caused: screaming matches on the porch, surreptitious trips to the pound, late-night calls to animal control and to the police! The dog became like the child in a really bad divorce."

"And for this you've wasted 7 minutes and 24 seconds of my time, Mr. Nelson?" Yvette asked as her nails finally stopped digging into the desk and instead pointed menacingly at Benedict. As annoying as the constant tapping was, he did wish she'd kept doing it; this was menacing and downright scary. Whoever that Sanders fellow was, Benedict thought he'd dodged a bullet by avoiding a date with Yvette.

"Counselor, please leave my office and don't darken my door unless you have something that's infused with at least a hint of common sense or legal precedent. Either would be a delightful change of pace. Now, good day. My assistant, Trixie Belvedere, will show you out."

"Trixie!" Yvette called loudly into the next room, "I believe Mr Arnold will agree that our meeting is finished."

Benedict nearly sprinted for the door.

What did you put in that brandy, Joe?

Dearest Joe,

As you know, I watch way too much of a show called Deadly Women on the Investigation Discovery channel via Netflix. I made you watch an episode under duress once. You'll remember Candice DeLong, the FBI profiler who hosts the show, who has a deadpan one-liner for every situation.

Like Anise Starr, our cozy mystery heroine, I was a teeny tiny bit nervous about drinking your brandy. I could picture, just for a second, you being featured on an episode of Deadly Women. I would, of course, be played by a handsomely aging Mark Paul Gosselaar. Since, in this scenario, you are the would-be killer, you'd almost certainly be played by someone less attractive, unless they decided this was one of those situations where a handsome older man wooed a young innocent damsel, only to bump her off later. 

No, dear. I don't think you're trying to kill me. 

But your first brandy, while it had a really gorgeous dark caramel color, with hints of red and orange, tasted funny. It smelled like almonds and cherries and the strong cherry aftertaste was nice. But the immediate taste on my tongue was rather...medicinal. Medicinal, almonds...it really does sound like what cyanide is supposed to taste like. That's not to say it was entirely unpleasant, and who would give me cyanide-laced brandy in such an adorable jar? 

Yeah, I'm pretty lucky.

For a brandy that had such earthy flavors - cherry and almond (my guesses were right!) - it was surprisingly thin-tasting. The cherries and almonds were present, but it wasn't rich or viscous like my brandies were - I suspected it was because you'd used almond extract. I, too, thought about infusing with nuts but it looked way too complicated. I'm really impressed you persevered. I also wonder if the cherry flavor was light because you used Morello cherries, which were already preserved and didn't have a lot of flavors to bring to the brandy party. 

Brandy #2 on top, Brandy #1 on bottom.

Your second brandy, though, was pretty awesome. It was a really gorgeous amber color - both of your brandies came out a lot prettier than mine. 

Look how pretty brandy #2 was!

This smelled so much like vanilla - it was a really lovely sweet, deep smell to round off some of the brandy's natural bite. Here are my notes from the initial tasting, typed here for legibility's sake:

Joe forgot himself and gave me a hint, but it is no use. All I get is brandy and vanilla. Supposedly there is a fruit here. It's not citrus or berry. Good God, I hope it's not something like honeydew. Are kumquats a fruit? What do they taste like? How do I spell them?  

What IS this? 

I also guessed you'd put in allspice or nutmeg. Alas, I was wrong: you had made a pear-flavored brandy, too! The pear in both of our brandies was not very pronounced which, in hindsight, makes sense - pear is a bit of a weak flavor when compared to brandy. The flavor of your brandy though, is very subtle and delicious. I could see us with snifters of this curled up by the fire some weekend when we get snowed in, with our cats, Ouiser and Dr. Bombay, curled up in our laps. 

You'll look deep into my eyes and I'll wink at you, pour more brandy in your glass and say "Darling, be sure to drink up now! We don't want any of your delicious brandy to go to waste." And I'll smile, maybe laugh a little bit and set my glass down on the hearth. And you'll look at your glass, look at me not drinking mine, and remember this post and those episodes of Deadly Women. And maybe you'll wonder, for a split second, what I've infused into our latest round of brandies. And I'll look at you lovingly...

...and ask: "What's wrong, Joe dear? I used your very own recipe..."*

We ended up with some lovely brandies this time, cyanide or no, and I can't wait to do this again with you. I'm already excited about our theme next month, and about making some of these infused liquors again next fall. 

Maybe we can watch an episode of Deadly Women while we taste? 

Yours,

Dave

*Okay, just in case anyone's concerned: I'm kidding. I certainly wouldn't blog about my mariticidal plans before I carried them out.