Page 8 of Murder in the Lighthouse

She was about to grab a few other essentials like cereal and milk when she realized the recipe also called for lard. Unsure what that was, she searched online for a picture of the product and realized it was nothing more than shortening loaded with fat. After looking for almost half an hour, she couldn’t find a can of lard anywhere on the shelves and had to settle for Crisco as a substitute.

“This should be interesting,” she muttered as she headed for checkout, wondering if she could pull this off in the allottedtime. After unloading her groceries onto the conveyor belt, she tried figuring out how to work the corn husks. She glanced at the cashier, Debbie Bronski, a brunette in her late thirties with a large brood who knew something about cooking. “Have you ever made tamales from scratch?”

“Lord, no,” Debbie said. “I’m a dumplings person. I’ve made plenty of those in my time. My boys love them stuffed with meat, potatoes, and cheese, or maybe apples for dessert. Lots of people call them pierogies or empanadas, but I’m old-fashioned. To me, they’ll always be dumplings.”

Debbie slid Brogan’s grocery items through the scanner and noticed the tamale fixings. “You’re serious about making these, aren’t you?”

“I was, but I’m beginning to have second thoughts.”

“Look, I know just the person to ask. Carla Vargas. She has an entire catalog of Mexican recipes from her grandmother. She’ll answer any questions you have about tamales. Although don’t look at me to explain how those corn husks work.”

“According to the package directions, you soak them in hot water for thirty minutes to soften them, so they’ll handle better.”

“Good luck with that,” Debbie stated, bagging the rest of the items. “What about the masa?”

“Mix it with the chicken broth and lard—in this case, Crisco—and work it like dough.”

Debbie looked skeptical. “If you say so. Me? I’d stick to dumplings. They’re simpler. If you change your mind and need any pointers for dumplings, here’s my number. Let me see your phone.”

Brogan handed over her cell and watched as Debbie keyed in her contact information. “Thanks. Now all I need is Carla’s phone number. Where’s Murphy?”

Debbie waved the question away. “No need. I keep Carla on speed dial for other things,” she said, looking through hercontact list. She keyed in more digits. “There you go. Good luck with supper. I have a feeling you’ll need it.”

With that sentiment fresh in her brain, Brogan carried her groceries out the door to her car.

Through the bank of windows, Debbie watched Brogan get to her Range Rover. She looked over and spotted Murphy heading toward the checkout lanes. “Don’t be surprised if Carla gets an SOS call from Brogan this evening.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Brogan has decided to make tamales from scratch.”

“Oh. Wow. First-time tamale makers need all the encouragement they can get.”

“That’s an understatement,” Debbie bemoaned. “Remember when I tried making chili rellenos, stuffing those poblano peppers before my in-laws came into town? What an absolute nightmare that was. If it hadn’t been for Carla, we would’ve been eating mac and cheese casserole that night.”

“I remember the mole you tried to make.”

“Oh, lordy, don’t even go there. I tossed at least twenty-seven ingredients into a borrowed food processor, and it still turned into a disaster. Your girlfriend should know that not everyone can access a village to help with complicated recipes.”

Murphy took out his phone. “I better call Carla. She’ll need to know why Brogan’s number pops up on her screen.”

Outside in the parking lot, Brogan sat behind the wheel of her car. She reminded herself she wasn’t a bad cook. She had skills. Maeve Calico had taught her everything she knew about cooking from an early age. Although she’d never made tamales before, she was game to try. But she realized she might needguidance from an expert if she wanted to pull it off. That’s why she picked up her phone and dialed Carla’s number.

After exchanging hellos, Brogan began her pitch. “I’m told that you are the resident expert when it comes to making tamales from scratch.”

Carla giggled a throaty laugh. “Murphy said you’d be calling. Tamales are easy when you follow a few simple tips. I should know. Over the years, I’ve helped both grandmothers make enough tamales to feed Pancho Villa’s army.”

“I’m all ears,” Brogan admitted. “I need all the help I can get.”

“First, don’t be afraid to use enough lard.”

“I could only find Crisco.”

“That’ll work. Use it liberally and mix it with the chicken broth until it becomes fluffy, like frosting. Second, make the masa dough light and airy. You want the tamales to puff up while steaming. Third, soak those corn husks at least forty-five minutes longer than the recipe calls for. Do that first while you’re doing everything else. They need to become as pliable as possible, so they fold successfully. Fourth, don’t go light on the salt in the dough. That’s the key. And don’t spread the filling all the way to the edges, or you’ll have a mess on your hands. Pro tip: put a penny at the bottom of the steamer. If it stops rattling, you need more water. Finally, when they’re all done, let the tamales rest. Don’t serve them right away. If possible, put them in a warming oven and let them cure for a bit.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of steps to remember. What was I thinking?”

“You’ll do fine. Call me again if you have any questions. I’m free all evening.”

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