Macarons (and murder)

Who doesn’t love a good whodunit?

I, for one, simply adore them. It’s my absolute favorite genre! I’m practically enamored with Hercule Poirot and Ms. Marple!

Of course, one never expects to actually live a whodunit.

They’re just for fun—cozy mysteries to curl up with at the end of the day! They’re not things that actually happen to you. But that very thing happened three years ago while I was visiting my dear friend Margaret at her family’s estate.

Margaret had invited a whole party for a fun ‘Friendsgiving’ weekend, and I was just ecstatic. It had been years since we’d all been together and I couldn’t wait to catch up. Everything was simply delightful. I got to ride out from the airport with my friends Kurt and Tatiana Wagner. They’re just the sweetest couple, and told me all about their wedding the year before.

When we arrived at Margaret’s estate, we were greeted at the door by Ernest Williams, may he rest in peace. He’s made quite the name for himself in the baking world since the last time we’d gotten together, and was working on a new cookbook with our friend Eloise, who is also an accomplished pastry chef!

Last to arrive was Gerald Fitzgerald. Late, as usual. Ernest was quick to ask him if he ever settled up his gambling debts. It did not help the mood of the party, best not to mention such things, honestly.

Anyway, Eloise taught me how to make macarons!

Macarons really are surprisingly complex. There are only a few ingredients and yet they are such a technical cookie. There’s a whole host of things that can go wrong!

We started by whipping up a meringue base with egg whites and fine sugar and beating them until soft peaks begin to form. Eloise explained that you want the meringue to keep its shape on the whisk, then you know it’s ready. This can take a while. I monitored the mixer while Eloise stepped out to answer a call, and while the meringue did stiffen, it was more like a whipped cream. Not as stiff as it should have been.

When Eloise returned, she insisted that it would be fine. Our cookies might turn out a bit hollow, but since I couldn’t tell her exactly how long the egg whites had been whipping, we decided not to risk over-beating them.

Gerald, swaggered into the kitchen while we were preparing the meringue, and seemed to feel that we wanted to hear his opinions on the topic. He insists that you’re supposed to leave the eggs out on the counter for a few days before you start the cookies—that it’s how the French do it. If we had left the eggs out first our meringue would have been prefect, he said.

He turned out to be less than trustworthy though, so take that with a grain of salt.

Once Gerald left us alone to go shooting with Tatiana, Eloise walked me through sifting the flour and powdered sugar. You want to sift them together at least twice to work out any lumps. Any clumps left in the flour could absolutely ruin the texture of your cookie.

Once everything is all sifted, you scrape the meringue into the dry ingredients, which I found counterintuitive since it’s supposed to be the other way around with cookies, isn’t it?

Eloise showed me how you fold the dry ingredients over the wet ingredients, turning the bowl as you do so. Apparently turning the bowl helps to make sure you get a good, even mix.

This part has to be very precise, as the dough needs to be a very specific level of moist and runny before you can pipe it onto the cookie sheet. It took a while, with all the folding and turning. Margaret stopped in to have a chat while we were working. She just couldn’t decide if we should order in for dinner or make do with what was in the fridge. Around the sixtieth or so turn (you’re supposed to count them), she decided to go ask Ernest if he thought he could whip something up.

When the cookie batter ran off the spatula in a thick ribbon, Eloise said it was time to pipe the cookies onto the baking sheets.

For this part, we poured all the cookie batter into a piping bag, and made circles of dough spaced apart on a silicon baking mat. Eloise insists that silpat is a godsend when making macarons. Apparently the little things stick like the devil.

Once the cookies are piped, we had to let them sit and dry for a while before we could put them into the oven. This is what gives the macarons their signature smooth tops and crinkled ‘feet’ apparently.

It was about that time that Margaret came screaming back into the kitchen—she had found Ernest, stabbed to death in his room. The poor girl was utterly distraught, and of course we phoned the police immediately. Since Margaret’s family is what you would call ‘high profile’ in the area, they sent a team over right away.

‘Right away’ can still take a while when you live as far from the city as Margaret does though. We had time to let the cookies dry and bake before the police arrived. They had just cooled off when the patrol cars rolled up outside, along with an ambulance.

Ernest’s body was wheeled out, and we were all instructed to stay on the property until we could be questioned. Margaret was questioned first, since she’s the one who found the body.

While we waited, Eloise and I decided to start filling the cookies, since there wasn’t much else to do and you could cut the tension in the air with a knife.

Is it too soon to use that phrase? Anyway, you know what I mean.

Before we could fill the cookies, we very carefully peeled them off the baking sheet. Even with silicon mats they stuck like the devil, and I broke quite a few of them coming off. Eloise had been right, they were quite hollow, but she still managed to free many of the cookies deftly.

Kurt wandered in while we were working and asked if he could help. It turned out he was much less interested in helping fill cookies, and far more interested in venting, though. He revealed that his beloved Tatiana had been cheating on him with Gerald. They hadn’t gone shooting at all that afternoon, and he’d caught the two of them in Gerald’s room. The poor man was simply devastated, and ate more cookies than he helped to finish.

I took a small plate of completed macarons to offer the detectives when it was my turn to be interrogated, but they declined. I supposed I shouldn’t have been surprised. A detective who accepts homemade baked goods during a murder investigation probably wouldn’t last long in the profession. So instead, I ate the entire plate to help settle my nerves during the questioning. They were lovely! So light and sweet. A perfect little treat.

After the questioning, we were all instructed to wait in the library, and as a group, we demolished what was left of the cookies while we shared our own ideas about what might have happened.

Of course, Kurt was quick to point a finger at Gerald, and I had to agree. He seemed to so very untrustworthy now that I knew what he had been up to with Tatiana, but Tatiana insisted they had been…together, at the time of the murder.

Margaret wasn’t accused outright, but of course there were a few pointed looks cast her way. Finding the body would make a person suspicious no matter what.

Gerald had the nerve to accuse me! I never would have believed it, even if I had accused him of the same murder not five minutes prior. Thankfully Eloise chimed in and told everyone that I couldn’t possibly have done it because I had been with her the whole time, making cookies.

In short order, the detectives came in and declared they knew who had done it. I hoped it would be Gerald, and was utterly flabbergasted when the detective pointed a finger at Eloise! And what’s worse—she lividly confessed to the whole thing! Turns out the call she had taken earlier was the cookbook publisher informing her that Ernest was cutting her out of the deal. She’d had just enough time to run down the hall and stab him to death in a rage.

We were all dumbstruck. To think that sweet, kindly Eloise was a murderer! She was led out in handcuffs, and the rest of us were left to a rather tense weekend.

The cookies really are lovely, though.