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Lorraine went up to the microphone. The crowd had grown even larger as word spread that someone had died. Never mind that Victor was in the men's restroom, somehow folks got the idea the ballroom was where it was all going down. Stan and Fred had isolated us contestants and told us not to go anywhere. Henrietta had tried to keep the public out, but her weak protests were easily overcome by her conflicting training that the customer was always right.
The microphone squealed with feedback. "Ladies and gentlemen, in light of recent events, we're going to adjourn for the day to allow the police to continue their investigation. I need every member of the public to please leave. Contestants, the police will be taking your name and information in case they need to reach you for a statement. If everyone would vacate the premises." She looked over at Nate and Madison for what to do.
Madison cheerfully chirped. "A round of drinks on the house at Trevor's Saloon!"
The morbid turn the day had taken caused her pronouncement to fall flat. Well, except for Johnny, who pumped his fist into the air like he had just gotten a free burrito at the taco shack. People grumbled as they slowly shuffled out of the room, suspicion and worry hanging like a heavy cloud over all our heads.
"You're going to bankrupt my bar—" Trevor hissed.
"You told me yesterday how big a markup you are charging on those watered down drinks," Madison retorted under her breath.
Trevor looked to see if anyone had been listening. He met my eyes and glanced down guiltily. In light of what happened, skimming your customers seemed the least offensive sin of the day.
Suddenly Tim came in, accompanied by Stan and Fred. Tim was the owner of the bait shop in town and sort of the guy you always wanted around when something serious happened. He worked as a volunteer EMT and had helped me out more times than I could count, despite me accidentally accusing him of murdering Nate's uncle when I first arrived.
He walked over to our clump to update us on what was going on.
"Cyanide," pronounced Tim.
Meanwhile, Stan and Fred stormed Kylie's station. Stan pulled out his yellow police line tape and Fred began shouting to everyone in the ballroom. "We have a situation here! I need everyone to stand back! A murderer baked in this station! We need everyone to stand back before she kills again!"
"I beg your pardon!" Kylie exclaimed, her flat-ironed ponytail swinging dangerously behind her as she tried to storm over.
Timgently placed his hand on her shoulders to stop her as Stan began bagging all of her ingredients in a hazmat bag.
"Cyanine smells of almonds," explained Timapologetically. "It easily could have been slipped into your almond extract or marzipan." He gave her arm a comforting squeeze. "You're fortunate you didn't taste anything as you were cooking. You would have ended up like Victor."
"I don't go sticking my germy fingers into my bakes," she replied, horrified.
"Sure... sure you don't taste what you're baking..." said Stan. He began swinging her rolling pin like a Keystone cop. "You just sit around in the kitchen all day, looking at all these delicious ingredients, able to resist the siren's call of their tasty goodness."
"Excuse me? I hold the responsibilities of my food safety handling certification at the highest level," she informed him.
"Sure you do."
"Obviously, I do. Otherwise, I'd be dead."
"You're right," Fred said, spinning around to point his finger at her. "You knew not to eat it because you KNEW IT WAS POISONED!"
"I didn't eat it because that's gross. It's gross to eat something you're going to serve to the public."
"Kylie..." Stan began and then stopped. He leaned forward. "What's your last name?"
"Kylie Green."
"Kylie Green." He paused for dramatic effect to make sure everyone was watching him and could hear him. "I DON'T BELIEVE YOU. I'm placing you under arrest for the murder of Victor... whatever his name is."
"Featherstone," said Lorraine, horrified, tears brimming beneath her long, false eyelashes. "His name was Victor Featherstone."
"Right. I'll just get that filled out on the paperwork when we get back to the station," said Fred, writing it down on the palm of his hand so he wouldn't forget.
"I didn't kill anyone!" Kylie protested, the panic rising in her voice. "This was an act of sabotage! I've been framed! I knew someone was out to get me, but I didn't think they would stoop so low as to murder!" She glared at me. "Did you do this to win first place? Did you take out all the competition?"
My sympathy for her waned as she tried to throw me under the bus. Stan and Fred turned to look at me inquiringly.
"NO!" I replied, horrified they would even think for a minute winning some stupid competition was worth killing someone over.
"Alright, Kylie," pronounced Stan. "Since no other suspect has stepped forward to take responsibility, I'm afraid I have to arrest you for the murder of Victor..." Stan looked at Fred's hand and read. "...Featherstone. Don't attempt to resist arrest. It will only go bad for you."
We all watched as Kylie was led out of the ballroom.
"DUDE!" Johnny exclaimed.
"Totally, dude," I replied back.