At cooking class on Monday morning, Louvenia covered a very fancy couple of entrees. Miles said under his breath, “These meals are probably the bulk of the tuition. I’d rather know how to make a better omelet.”
“Shh. We can’t serve omelets at dinner parties,” said Myrtle.
“I’m not sure I’d want to serve this at a dinner party,” said Miles. “The sauce is a really odd, muddy color.”
Myrtle frowned at it. “I’m sure I followed the directions exactly. It just looks like gravy to me.”
“That’s exactly the problem. It’s not supposed to look like gravy. It’s supposed to be a clear sauce,” said Miles. “It’s not very appetizing looking. Let’s not put it on the meat.”
“But then the meat won’t be tender. The recipe said to put the sauce on the chicken, Miles.”
“Only if the sauce looks like the sauce in the book,” said Miles stubbornly.
In the end, Myrtle put the sauce on the chicken. And, whatever the sauce was, it made the chicken inedible in the end.
When it had come out of the oven and he’d plated it, Miles said sadly, “And we can’t even enjoy the fruits of our labors now.”
“Sure we can! Just scrape it off, Miles. It’s fine,” said Myrtle.
“All right everyone,” sang out Louvenia. “It’s time for our break. Let’s put any uneaten food into the refrigerator.”
“Saved by the bell,” said Miles. He hastily wrapped up the chicken and vegetables and put them out of sight in the fridge.
Bonnie hurried out of the class.
“I think she’s avoiding us,” said Miles.
“Of course not. We’re perfectly pleasant and fun to be with. She’s probably got an important phone call to make. Like Felix.” Myrtle nodded at Felix as he gave them his toothiest smile and punched in some numbers on his cell phone. Hattie, back at the class, gave them a tight smile and headed outdoors.
Amos, the custodian, was carrying a broom and walked up to them. “How are things going?” he asked. “No more trouble in the class?”
“No more like the trouble we were having,” said Myrtle.
Amos said, “Did y’all go to the funeral Friday?” His face couldn’t hide his curiosity.
“We did,” said Myrtle nodding.
Amos said, “Yeah, I was working. Although I wouldn’t have wanted to go anyway, you know. How did it go?”
Miles said, “It was very interesting.”
Myrtle rolled her eyes. “Hattie made the arrangements—the young woman in our cooking class who’s Chester’s niece. She’s very artistic and the service was, too. It was well-attended.”
“That’s good.” Amos shuffled his feet a little. “How is your class going?” he asked. “I love food and cooking. Wish I could do more of it.”
Miles said dryly, “Cooking isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Myrtle gave him a look. “It’s fun. And we’ve learned a lot. I’m even hosting a dinner party and coffee tonight for members of the class to demonstrate what I’ve learned.”
“The class is coming?” asked Amos, looking suddenly interested.
“Well, they’re invited. No one has turned me down.”
“It sounds really nice,” said Amos a bit wistfully. “I’d love to see what you’ve learned so far.”
“Really? Well, if you give me your email address, I’ll send you an invitation. We’ll have coffee beforehand and then dinner.”
Amos grinned at her. “I’d love that, thanks. I don’t have anything else going on.”
Miles put a hand to his forehead and gently rubbed.
After class ended, Miles was still dwelling on Myrtle’s party. “This is starting to sound like a big crowd of people, Myrtle.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. I’ve really only invited the people in our cooking class.”
“That’s not really true. Maybe those are the people who stand out to you the most because you wanted to make sure all the suspects were invited. But you also casually mentioned it in conversation at the book club.”
Myrtle frowned. “Probably no one was listening.”
“I think you’ve casually invited quite a few people in passing. And I heard you mention it a couple of times when you got phone calls.”
Myrtle said irritably, “All right, all right. Maybe I’ve extended more invitations than I realized. I’m sure not all of them are coming. Even if they were all coming, I’m sure that I could handle it. I’ve hosted large gatherings before. Bonkers, for one.”
“Bunco. And you didn’t have to serve a full meal,” said Miles.
Myrtle thought this over for a minute. “Maybe I do need some kitchen help for the night. A sous-chef. Or even a scullery maid.” She studied Miles.
“Oh no. No. I don’t want any connection with this meal,” said Miles, raising his hands in protest. “Nothing that can be traced back to me.”
“For heaven’s sake, Miles! You act as though you’re trying not to leave evidence at a crime scene.”
Miles gave her a wary look.
“All right. I guess I could call Puddin up. Although she was just at my house, which means she won’t want to come,” said Myrtle.
“Maybe you could tempt her by telling her you bought new household cleaners. That always seems to pique her interest,” said Miles.
“That’s true. Although usually I don’t have a hard time getting her to come over if I tell her it’s a party. Even though it means she spends a lot of surreptitious time at the drinks table,” said Myrtle.
“Is Puddin helpful in the kitchen, though?” asked Miles doubtfully.
“Well, the words helpful and Puddin are rarely mentioned in the same breath. I suppose she’d do all right as a dishwasher or pot-stirrer,” said Myrtle. She paused. “How much food do you think I need?”
Miles thought this through. “I guess it would be much worse to have too little food than to have too much food.”
“I could always freeze the leftovers. Or send them home with guests. All right. Could you take me to the store? I feel as though I should really stock up, just in case,” said Myrtle.
“Are you sure you can afford it? That meal we cooked today was very expensive,” said Miles.
“I don’t think I’m doing the one from today. The sauce was definitely odd. No, I think I’ll do the one we cooked on the second or third day of class. That was prettier and the ingredients weren’t quite as exotic. Can we go now?” asked Myrtle.
“Now? But you don’t have your shopping list, do you?”
Myrtle pulled the folded-up recipe out of her pocketbook. “We’ll just go off the recipe. And I’ve got the recipes for the sides and dessert, too. Oh, and the hors d’oeuvres, as well.” She continued pulling folded up sheets out of the purse.
“Sounds like you have it covered then. Except for the drinks, of course,” said Miles.
Myrtle said, “I don’t fancy having drunken murder suspects at my house. I’ll serve iced tea and just offer everyone one glass of wine for dinner. That should work.”
Miles looked gloomy. “No alcohol? But alcohol makes the meal more palatable.”
Myrtle squinted suspiciously at him. “Are you implying that my meal won’t be palatable without copious alcohol?”
“No, no. I’m just saying that it makes every meal better,” said Miles in a rush. “Besides, it will help me keep my mind off the fact that I’m in danger.”
“You should stop brooding over that. I’ve been in danger for ages and I’m still around to tell the tale,” said Myrtle. “To the store!”
The trip to the store was something of an adventure.
Myrtle said, “What on earth are chia seeds? I don’t remember those being part of the recipes.”
Miles sighed. “You probably didn’t include them.”
“Well, everything that I made tasted fine. I’m going to skip them. And ... quinoa? Really? Did we use quinoa in our class?”
“I did,” said Miles tersely. “What you might or might not have done is anyone’s guess.”
Myrtle said, “Why don’t I see it here with the rice? It’s a rice-type thing.”
“Because we’re in a small grocery store in a remote area of North Carolina,” said Miles.
Myrtle started walking toward customer service. “Maybe they keep it in a strange place here. They should have it. It’s mainstream now. You keep working through those recipes.”
Miles sighed and peered at one of the recipes.
A few minutes later, Myrtle returned, looking irritated. “They’d never even heard of quinoa in customer service. They acted as though I’d made it up to make them look bad. Are you making headway with the ingredients?”
Miles grunted. “The print is really small on these.”
“I think she was trying to save money on ink or something.” Myrtle’s pocketbook started making a ringing sound. “Who on earth is this?” She fished it out and shooed Miles on to keep shopping. “Dusty? You’re calling me? Are pigs flying?”
Dusty sounded grouchy. “Miz Myrtle, yer yard looks awful.”
“Well, it does and it doesn’t. If you’re looking at it strictly from a horticultural or landscaping sense, yes. But if you’re observing it through an artistic lens, then that’s something else.”
Dusty was quiet for a minute, as if trying to digest Myrtle’s last statement. Then he said, “Don’t know what yer talkin’ about, but yer yard is bad. Real bad. An’ people know I cut it.”
“Ah. You’re looking at it purely as poor advertising that could be detrimental to your business. I see. Pity you don’t look at it that way on a weekly basis,” said Myrtle tartly.
“It don’t never look this bad. You asked Red ‘bout that mower?” asked Dusty.
“I have inquired at length about it, yes. Red informs me that he wants a particular type of mower that’s well-reviewed and supposed to be reliable and relatively affordable. Unfortunately, those mowers were out of stock at the shop, so they’re on order. He promises it will be in soon. What are you doing in the meantime? How are you able to still work?” Myrtle had a jolt of anxiety. What if Dusty went bankrupt in the interim and had to take another job? She couldn’t afford any of the other yardmen in town.
“Aw, I’m borrowin’ a mower from Tiny. He collects ‘em.”
Tiny was an ineptly-nicknamed 300-pound yardman who stood at 6’7”.
“It figures that Tiny would have odd hobbies like collecting yard equipment. But it’s nice for him to lend one out to you,” said Myrtle. She slowly followed Miles as he walked to another aisle of the store.
“Oh, he ain’t really lending it. I’m renting it,” said Dusty sourly. “Anyhow, I’ve got one. Want me to come mow?”
“Not right now, no. You wouldn’t be able to do it around the gnome art out there. Besides, if we cleaned up the yard, the art wouldn’t make sense anymore,” said Myrtle.
Dusty snorted as if the art didn’t make sense now.
“Plus the fact that it acts as a reminder to Red to keep checking on the mower and to pick it up as soon as it comes into the store,” said Myrtle. “But I’m glad you called me. I wanted to ask Puddin something.”
“Her was just there at yer house,” said Dusty. “An’ she says them exercises you give her made her neck have a crick.”
“I doubt she’s even tried them. Anyway, I know she was just here, but I need her again. It’s for a party I’m having tonight. She’s pretty good in the kitchen, isn’t she?”
Dusty grunted as if he didn’t want to comment on Puddin’s abilities one way or the other.
“Anyway, can you put her on?” asked Myrtle impatiently.
“I done cleaned,” said Puddin plaintively when she picked up.
“Well, I suppose you did your best. It’s fairly clean, I’ll agree. But that’s not why I need you. I’m having a dinner party tonight and I could use your help. You’ve helped me in the past when I’ve entertained,” said Myrtle.
Miles was staring at a wall of spices with a very confused expression on his face.
Puddin said, sounding a bit more interested, “What, like freshening up drinks and whatnot?”
“Well, I was thinking more of giving me a hand in the kitchen,” said Myrtle.
“What? With them dishes?” Puddin sounded horrified.
“It’s not like you’re scrubbing them by hand, you know. I’ve got a dishwasher. Besides, you can also help me with stirring, taking things out of the oven, chopping vegetables, that kind of thing. I just need an extra set of hands, that’s all,” said Myrtle. She rolled her eyes at Miles and he smiled. Getting Puddin to do anything was exhausting for the one trying to get it done.
“On a Monday night, hm. Well, that’s when Dusty and me goes out,” said Puddin, sounding sly.
Myrtle sighed. This is where the extortion came in. She was sure that probably the last time Dusty had taken Puddin out, there had been golden arches and hamburgers involved instead of something special.
“The dinner party is already taking a toll on my wallet,” said Myrtle, grimacing at the grocery cart as Miles threw in a few more bottles of spices.
Puddin simply waited, holding her tongue on the other end of the line.
“I suppose I could spare an extra fifteen dollars onto your usual hourly fee,” said Myrtle grudgingly. She followed Miles to another aisle of the store.
“What time should I be there?” asked Puddin.
“Let’s say five o’clock. No, make it four thirty. And wear something nice, please, especially since you might help me serve the guests.”
“Something nice?” asked Puddin.
“Maybe a black tee shirt and black pants? Just don’t try to stand out,” said Myrtle.
She rang off and said, “Are you sure I need all those spices? Spices are exorbitant. I do have garlic and onion powder, you know.”
Miles said, “I’m sure you do. But do you have caraway seeds? Or Marjoram?”
“What on earth are those? Are you sure we cooked with those spices in class?” demanded Myrtle.
“I think the ingredients didn’t make much of an impression on you because you simply had to reach across, check the label, and use one of the class’s communal spice bottles. I promise you that these ingredients were in there,” said Miles.
“Well, pooh. I guess I’ll have to get them then. Are we almost done here?”
“I think we’re only three-fourths of the way done,” said Miles.
Myrtle groaned.
It was good that Miles was there to give her a hand. Even between the two of them, it took forever to unload the groceries.
Miles seemed eager to get out of there.
“Make sure you’re here early tonight,” said Myrtle as he started hurrying toward her front door. “Maybe you can give me a hand, too.”
“Myrtle, I don’t think I can make it early. But I’ll be here as soon as I can. After all, I’m not giving the dinner. I’m just attending,” said Miles, leaving before Myrtle could dispute the point.