Miranda Bliss - Cooking Up Murder

“Can’t.” I shrugged and set down my bag. “Eve and John have already started to work over there.”

“We will tell them to move.”

Why is it that beautiful women think they own the world?

I bit my tongue and got out the pan we’d be using to boil water and cook the collards. There was a small sink between each of the two-stove stations, and I filled the pan with water and set it on the stove.

“Let’s just get to work,” I suggested.

Beyla took another step back. She ran her tongue over her lips. “We will find another place.”

“There is no other place. In case you haven’t noticed, all the other places are taken.”

“Then we will say we cannot-”

I wasn’t listening. I didn’t blame Beyla for not wanting to cook with me, but we didn’t have any choice. Better to get this over with than to stand here and argue.

I turned my back on her, vaguely aware that when I reached to turn on the stove, she moved away.

I flicked on the burner.

And the stove blew up in my face.

WHEN I CAME TO MY SENSES, I WAS ON MY BUTTwith my back against the wall. I had a vague recollection of a noise that sounded like the base line of a Metallica song, and of a wall of fire bursting out of the stove. Fortunately, it came at me with enough force to knock me off my feet. I was stunned but not burned.

My ears were blocked, though, and my head pounded. I think the funny aroma that tickled my nose had something to do with my singed eyebrows. It all must have happened pretty fast, because for a nanosecond, I was alone, and everything around me was perfectly quiet.

Then all hell broke lose.

My fellow students ran to surround me, their words a jumble of noises I couldn’t decipher. I saw Eve fight her way through the crowd. She knelt at my side.

“Annie? Are you OK?”

At least that’s what I thought she said. It was hard to tell, considering that her words sounded like they came from underneath a thick feather pillow.

I shook my head, hoping to clear it. All the motion did was make it pound harder.

“Annie?” This time it wasn’t Eve’s voice-it was lower and richer. I turned to find Jim kneeling on my other side. “What the hell-” He glanced up toward the stove, where Beyla was standing just outside the ring of soot around the cooking station where I was supposed to be working. She shrugged, and the simple gesture made it clear that she had no idea what had happened or what I’d done to cause the conflagration.

“I turned on the stove.” OK, so that much was obvious. I wasn’t exactly thinking straight. My voice sounded like it came from far, far away, and I spoke a little louder. “All I did was turn on the stove.”

“I know. I saw it.” Jim offered me a hand and helped me to my feet. The room wobbled a little, and I guess I did, too. He put an arm around my shoulders.

“I swear,” he grumbled, the burr in his voice more pronounced than ever, “if that no good son of a bitch Lavoie isn’t taking care of the equipment the way he should be-” He remembered where he was and swallowed the rest of his words. “Are you all right?”

I was when he was holding me like this.

“I’m fine,” I told him and reminded myself not to get carried away. “My ears are just a little…” I shook my head again and the rushing noise inside them settled down a bit. “The stove…” I looked that way and cringed at the mess. “I blew it up.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Jim was being kind. He patted my shoulder. “I don’t want you to get discouraged.”

Now he was being delusional.

“I almost destroyed the entire school.”

“There’s no real damage.” He shooed everyone back to their places. When I tried to take a couple steps, he stood at my side just to be sure I made it. “As long as you’re all right…”

“I am.” I tried another couple steps. “Nothing broken,” I assured him. “Nothing burned. Nothing-” I glanced down at my capris, which were covered with black soot. “Almost nothing ruined.”

“Don’t you worry about that. What’s important is that you’re not hurt. All right,” he raised his voice so he could be heard above the hubbub. “Annie’s fine, and we’ll get the stove fixed. She and Beyla can work up front here with me tonight. Before any of the rest of you get started, I’m going to come around from station to station and test the stoves to make sure we don’t have any more surprises.”

I smiled at Eve to assure her that I was all right. Knees still shaking, I headed to the front of the room. It wasn’t until the last second that I realized I’d left my ingredients back at Beyla’s stove.

My grocery bag was crisp around the edges, but nothing inside sustained any damage. Rather than leave a trail of ash, I took out the ingredients one by one and piled them in my arms. I was all set to return to the front of the room when I dropped my collards. I stooped to retrieve the bundle of greens, and stopped cold.

There was a fragment of a piece of paper on the floor just in front of the stove. It was partially burned, which told me that it had been somewhere in the vicinity of the stove when it blew. The top line had gone up in flames but I could read the block letters of the second line well enough. And what I read didn’t exacly make me feel warm and fuzzy.

“You are next.”

WAS THE NOTE MEANT FOR ME? DID IT REFER TODrago’s death?

And if so, was it a warning?

It was the next night, but questions still swirled around my brain.

Fortunately, between that and the headache that felt like it was going to rip apart my skull, I didn’t have a chance to think about how the rest of the class had progressed after the explosion.

Perhaps I should say regressed.

My goat cheese bundles turned out soggy. My skewered veggies were limp. And the bacon pinwheels? Well, let’s just say they gave the term crispy a whole new meaning.

Which I suppose in the great scheme of things was better than how crispy I would have been if the explosion hadn’t thrown me back and out of the blast range.

Just thinking about it all brought me back around to the note.

And that made my head hurt all over again.

I massaged my temples with the tips of my fingers while I listened to Jim get us started on night number three: Superb Salads and Dazzling Dressings.

“Freshness, that’s the key.” Jim stood at the front of the room, a bunch of romaine in one hand and an expression on his face that was almost transcendent. This guy loved to cook. I mean, he really loved it. Go figure.

“You always want your vegetables to be as fresh as possible,” Jim said. He rolled the r in fresh , and the sound tickled its way up my spine. “They need to be nice and crispy.”

There was that word again.

I groaned.

“Are you all right?” At least Eve remembered to keep her voice down. Neither of us wanted to be caught talking in class again. “You look worried.”

“I’m fine,” I whispered back.

Eve didn’t look convinced. She shot a look across the room toward the stove where I’d nearly been fried the night before. It had been fixed, Jim assured us, and it was as clean as a whistle. Still, Beyla had refused to work there again, and I for one couldn’t blame her. The Incredible Hulk had taken her place, and Beyla and her cooking partner, John, were working one station closer to us. I made sure I kept my voice down so she couldn’t hear me.

“I’m just thinking,” I told Eve. “That’s all.”