Murder with Fried Chicken and Waffles (Mahalia Watkins Soul Food Mystery) Read Free Page A

finale of our Sunday get-togethers.
    You’ll never see any nouveau confections at Sweet Tea. My customers don’t want some tiny little flourless chocolate disk-looking thing or a minuscule meringue shell with berries in it. If a dessert is going to a table at Sweet Tea, it had better have some butter in it, be big enough to share, and make customers go “Wow!” when you set it down in front of them.
    When I was working on my business plan to launch Sweet Tea, I considered all my options for desserts. I wanted to keep it in-house (even though there are some good restaurant dessert wholesalers in the area), and a professionally trained pastry chef would have been very expensive. So, although I had some hesitation, when Momma volunteered to take responsibility for the desserts at Sweet Tea, I decided to give it a shot. Of course, I love Momma, but I already live with her, and our personalities tend to mix more like oil and water rather than peaches and cream. I thought having her in the restaurant with me might be too much.
    Momma had recently retired when I opened Sweet Tea. She was a manager at Hecht’s, a local department store that was bought out by Macy’s shortly after Momma left. She worked at the big flagship store on G Street in D.C., so she was used to working hard and being on her feet all day, but she had never worked in a restaurant or baked on a large scale. Prior to opening, I tried to teach her the ins and outs of the restaurant business and the difference between baking one cake for family and baking a menu of desserts for a busy restaurant. She didn’t like taking direction from me and, as I mentioned, baking is not my forte anyway. Luckily, I had already hired Laura, my assistant manager, when Momma came onboard. Laura took on the role of helping Momma adjust her recipes and teaching her about the workings of a commercial kitchen.
    As luck would have it, there really isn’t room in the kitchen for the baking and dessert preparation while we also prepare the main menu dishes, so Momma and I worked out a deal. She’s an early riser and happily agreed to come in during the wee hours and prepare the cakes and pies for the day. She’s usually done with the day’s desserts and on her way out of the restaurant about the time I come in to start my day—a perfect arrangement. She doesn’t have me nosing around her desserts while she’s baking, and I don’t have to hear about how I’m a childless spinster who had better focus less on Sweet Tea and more on finding a husband before what little chance of ever finding one is gone for good.
    I have to admit, Momma has become a valuable asset to Sweet Tea. Eagar customers come in and ask what Celia has baked before they open their dinner menus. We don’t have a set dessert menu—it changes depending on Momma’s mood, so customers never know what to expect, other than that it will be delicious. One day Momma may make her sour cream coconut cake and banana cream pie. Other days she makes her famous red velvet cake and giant chocolate chunk cookies that we serve with ice cream and caramel sauce. And when fresh local berries are in season, people come in just for a slice of her strawberry pie.
    “I wouldn’t even want you taking up with him, Halia.”
    “What do you mean, Momma? Even me? ”
    “Even a woman of your years needs to be at least a little bit discerning.”
    “Don’t be hatin’ on Halia, Aunt Celia. She can get a man if she wanna.”
    “Thank you, Wavonne.”
    “There’re plenty of desperate brothas out there. She just needs to offer them some free meals or somethin’.”
    “I retract my thank-you,” I say to Wavonne with a laugh. “Glad to know you both think so highly of me.”
    “Of course we think highly of you, dear,” Momma says. “But this restaurant is not going to keep you warm at night or take care of you when you get old. And it’s certainly not going to give me any grandchildren.”
    “Grandchildren? Oh, Momma, that