Cooking is Murder

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The next forty-five minutes covered cooking safety and cooking and culinary equipment vocabulary terms. Although Louvenia unquestionably knew her material, Myrtle decided that she was a quite garrulous teacher. She’d take ten words to say something that could be easily expressed in five. Myrtle was positive that when Myrtle had been teaching, she was always very succinct and to the point. The only times Myrtle waxed poetic was over poetry.

Finally, it was time to cook. Louvenia seemed determined to make the students mix and mingle. “I’m going to choose partners for today. We’re going to take time to switch out a couple of times, too. That way we’ll get to know each other better and will also experience different cooking styles and methods. After all, at our ages, we’re bringing a lot of life and cooking experience into the classroom!”

No one seemed thrilled about the idea of partners. Except, perhaps, for Miles. Myrtle narrowed her eyes to look at him. He acted as if he wanted to have the chance to partner with someone else.

Louvenia paired Myrtle with Chester, her former student wearing the suspenders. Miles was paired with Hattie, who gave him a tight smile that once again didn’t reach her eyes.

The long counter became a food preparation area. Miles cast a concerned eye at the section that he and Hattie shared. He cleared his throat. “Are there any wipes, by any chance?”

“Wipes?” asked Louvenia, as if this were a cooking tool that she was unfamiliar with.

“Yes. To sanitize the area a bit more,” said Miles.

Myrtle decided that Hattie had a real gift for eye-rolling.

Fortunately, there were antiseptic wipes under the kitchen sink and Miles quickly got the prep area closer to his rather exacting expectations. He mouthed at Myrtle: danger. Apparently, he thought germs and bacteria could possibly be the threats Wanda warned him about.

Chester laughed. “I reckon our area is clean enough, wouldn’t you say, Miz Clover?”

They listened to the instructions for a few minutes and then Myrtle and Chester started chopping vegetables.

Myrtle said, “I was teasing with Miles before coming here that we’d probably know everyone in the class since it’s such a small town. But actually, I only know a couple.”

Chester snorted. “You’re lucky then.” He expertly diced a carrot.

Myrtle frowned. Her tomatoes didn’t want to be chopped as well as Chester’s carrot did. “You mean that you know more people here?”

“I know everyone here,” said Chester lightly. And in the same light voice he said, “And I think a few of them might like to kill me. Heck, I even recognized the janitor on the way into the classroom.”

Myrtle made a face at the tomato, which was now bludgeoned beyond recognition. She had the feeling that Chester was putting her on a little. She resurrected a long-ago memory of Chester coming up with tall tales in school—the kinds of tales that made teenage boys want to be like him. Some things didn’t change.

Louvenia sang out, “How are we coming along?” She grimaced when she saw the obliterated tomato. “Would you like to try again with an onion, maybe, Myrtle?”

Myrtle did not want to try again with an onion. The only reason the tomato was in the shape it was in was because Chester had distracted her, which was most annoying. “How about if I simply get another tomato?” Myrtle made an attempt at a reassuring smile. “I’ll pay more attention this time.”

Louvenia’s brow crinkled doubtfully, but she did sacrifice another tomato. “We’re just a little low on tomatoes, that’s all.”

“I’ll treat it with care,” vowed Myrtle.

As soon as Louvenia wandered away, Myrtle started in on the tomato with a vengeance. She would not allow her cooking skills to be defined by a wayward tomato.

It stuck in her craw a bit that Chester was being such a braggart about being a tough guy. She decided to challenge him on it.

“Now Chester, what on earth makes you think that everyone here wants to kill you?” Myrtle heard the sour note in her voice and tried to make herself sound sweeter. “I mean, you certainly seem nice enough. And I don’t remember that you were a particularly polarizing figure back in high school. As I recall, you were a football player.”

Chester guffawed, making Miles turn to look curiously at them from several stations away. “Listen to you, Miz Clover! Once an English teacher, always an English teacher. I might just have to pull my pocket dictionary to look up polar ...well, whatever it was that you said.”

“Don’t be silly. You know it perfectly well in the context of the sentence,” said Myrtle with even more irritation. Apparently, spending time with Chester was transporting her back to her classroom. Or rather, her classroom on a bad day.

He stared at her between narrowed eyes and Myrtle returned the stare until he gave another gruff laugh. “Okay. Tell you what—you agree to stop pulverizing that tomato and I’ll tell you some of the lies the other students have concocted about me.” He stopped and looked pleased. “Well, I’ll be doggoned. Maybe being around you is a good influence, Miz Clover. I just used a couple of ten dollar words, myself!”

Myrtle looked down at her tomato. Sadly, it had been nearly converted to tomato paste again. Perhaps Chester had salvaged it, however. It simply didn’t do to get distracted in here.

Louvenia sailed over again briefly. “Chester, since you’re doing such a lovely job of chopping, I’m going to give you more vegetables to chop up for us for other recipes. Here are some baggies, too.” She gave him a pleased smile which was met by a grunt.

Louvenia glanced at Myrtle’s chopping board and sighed. “Oh dear.”

Myrtle straightened to her formidable full height of slightly below six feet. “The tomato will taste the same.”

“I suppose so,” conceded Louvenia. She sighed and hurried off again.

“Our teacher,” growled Chester. “She’s not what she appears. If I’d have known she was in charge of this class, I wouldn’t be here right now. Them college catalogs don’t show who the teacher is sometimes, just the class description.”

Myrtle flinched at the incorrect use of them. Clearly, Chester needed to have paid more attention in her class. “You’re saying that Louvenia is one of the people who would like to kill you? That seems farfetched. The woman just praised your chopping skills and gave you more to dice.” A fact which rankled her.

“She’s a nasty person, believe me. And be sure not to tell her anything. Even if you don’t tell her anything, she’ll probably still figure out your deepest, darkest secret.” He gave a dry laugh. “And them others—like I said—even the janitor cleaning up down the hall? I know ‘em all.”

Myrtle said briskly, “Well, as I was telling Miles when we came in, we should know everyone in the class. Bradley isn’t exactly a metropolis. You’re not even the only person I’ve taught in here.”

She had realized immediately that she’d taught Bonnie. And naturally she’d taught Felix, as well. Chester’s niece, Hattie, was far too young for her to have taught, however.

Chester snorted. “Well, I know you taught Bonnie Pendergrass, because she and I was in the same class.”

Myrtle resisted the urge to call Chester out on his outlandish use of was, deciding instead to focus on Bonnie. She did have some faint recollections of Bonnie and Chester involving after school detention. Although she had the feeling that it was Chester who was in ASD and not Bonnie.

They were interrupted by Louvenia’s high voice. “Class? Okay, now all our ingredients are chopped up and we’re ready to put them in our different dishes. Hattie has the pasta cooked and ready to go.”

Hattie’s disinterested gaze studied the inside of the pot. “I guess it’s al fresco.”

Myrtle rolled her eyes. But at least this was a misuse of Italian and not English. Miles mouthed al dente to himself as if he was barely refraining from making a comment.

But Louvenia was either in too much of a hurry or too distracted to notice and didn’t correct Hattie.

“Everyone ready?” she sang out. “Let’s cook!”

When cooking class wrapped up for the day, Myrtle and Miles carefully descended the steep stairs and left the building.

“Well, that was interesting,” said Myrtle.

“Not the word that I’d have used. I already knew how to chop vegetables. And I think Louvenia was being very persnickety about how she wanted the chopping done. I suppose the finished meal was attractive. I didn’t eat it, of course, since I’m in danger and everything.” Miles shivered.

“You were silly about refusing the food. It tasted fine. Besides, Wanda mentioned nothing about the entire class being wiped out by a vegetarian casserole. I do agree with you about the pickiness of our instructor. My tomatoes were perfectly fine. But I mean—that Chester was interesting.”

“Was he?” asked Miles doubtfully. “He seemed like he might be rather crass to me. And rather unkempt. I just didn’t get a very good feeling about him. He was ... shifty. I wouldn’t want to have him do any construction work for me.” He suddenly swung around fearfully as if Chester might be lurking in the shadows behind him, waiting to catch him making a derogatory statement.

“I don’t know about him being shifty, but I do think he might have a persecution complex of some kind. He seemed to think that everyone in that classroom was out to get him. Maybe it’s just that he had a big ego,” said Myrtle as they walked outside.

“Including you and me?” asked Miles in alarm.

“No. Just everyone else, the teacher included.”

Miles said glumly, “I suppose he and I will end up as partners sometime soon. Heaven forbid.” He stopped short and squinted ahead of them. “Is that Wanda over there? All these hours later?”

“It can’t be,” said Myrtle.

But it was. Her scrawny figure perched on a bench, foot swinging, patiently waiting for them to notice her.

“Class over?” she asked in her gruff voice.

“It is. But why are you still here, Wanda?” Myrtle sat down next to her on the bench.

“Car won’t start,” said Wanda with a heavy sigh.

“Little wonder,” muttered Miles. All of the cars in Wanda’s yard were either up on concrete blocks, were about to be up on concrete blocks, or should be up on concrete blocks. None of them were what an ordinary person would deem roadworthy.

“I’m sure Miles can take a look at it for you,” said Myrtle.

“Me?” Miles stared at her.

“You’re always so fond of telling me that you were an engineer,” said Myrtle. “So take a look and see what’s wrong with the thing.”

“I wasn’t an automotive engineer,” said Miles coldly.

“Whatever. You should have enough experience to look under a hood,” said Myrtle.

Miles sighed. “Where is your car, Wanda?”

Wanda stood up and pointed a long, thin arm to a location that was fairly far away. “Yonder.”

Wanda and Myrtle watched as Miles stalked away.

“How was the class?” asked Wanda, face wrinkled in concern.

“Oh, it was okay. The teacher was a little annoying and our classmates weren’t really what I expected. And I don’t think I learned anything today that I can use for my dinner party,” said Myrtle.

Wanda intoned, “A crust eaten in peace is better than a banquet partaken in anxiety.”

“Yes, yes, I know all about that. You were talking about it earlier, remember? I don’t know why everyone is so against my having a dinner party.” Myrtle paused and tilted her head slightly. “What on earth is Miles doing? He’s already walking back. Did he even put the hood up?”

Wanda shifted on the bench. “Sure could use a smoke,” she said.

“No, you couldn’t. You know how horrible smoking is for you—and I’m very proud of you for quitting. Here, have some water instead.” Myrtle whipped out a small water bottle from her voluminous purse.

Wanda gave her a wry look. “Ain’t quite the same.”

“It certainly isn’t. Which is exactly the point.” Myrtle thrust the bottle at her and then stood up. “Miles! I meant for you to look under the hood of the car. How else could you diagnose its problem?”

Miles said, “Very simply. The car is out of gas.”

Wanda reddened a bit. “Hmm.”

Miles gave her a sharp look.

“Well, we’ll simply have to drive home, get a gas can, fill it up, and then give Wanda’s car enough to get her back home,” said Myrtle.

“I don’t have a gas can at home. That is, I do, but it’s gas mixed with oil to power the weed trimmer. And I’m assuming that you don’t have a gas can since you: A. Don’t have a car, and B. Have a yardman who brings his own equipment.” Miles was already fishing in his pants for his cell phone. He pulled it out and stared dully at it. “We should call Red and see if he can help us, but my phone battery is dead. Can you call?”

Myrtle clucked and dove into her purse again for her own phone. “For heaven’s sake. I left my phone at home.”

They looked at Wanda, who had a very basic phone for her horoscope-writing work at the newspaper. She shook her head. “Don’t carry it around with me.”

“Let’s head back into the school and use their phone to call Red,” said Miles, already starting to trudge in that direction.

Myrtle said, “We have a dead car and a dead phone!”

Wanda said laconically, “That ain’t all that’s dead.”

Miles and Myrtle stared dumbly at Wanda.

“Are you suggesting that there is a corpse in the cooking class?” asked Myrtle, studying Wanda between narrowed eyes.

“I’m saying that you may as well go ahead and get Red heading in this direction,” said Wanda calmly.

Miles now looked even less enthused than he did before about helping out with the growing list of problems. “Why don’t you come in with us, Wanda?”

Wanda shook her head. “Don’t like the dead. They sometimes speak to me.”

Myrtle said impatiently, “Maybe we want to hear what they have to say sometimes! Who is it?”

But even as she asked the question, she felt she must know the answer. It had to be Chester, of course. Who else? He was the one who thought everyone was out to get him. She’d thought he had an incredible ego, but what if he was right?

“Let’s go,” said Miles with a sigh. Every step he took toward the building was leaden with reluctant resolve.

Wanda sat on her bench, blinking impassively, watching them as they walked away.

“When I retired,” said Miles, now slightly out of breath on the stairs, “I envisioned this quiet, peaceful life in the pastoral setting of Bradley. I’d read books; I’d spend time gazing at the lake.”

“Which you do,” said Myrtle, using her cane to help move her up the steep stairs like a mountain climber. “You read books all the time. You even belong to a book club.” Here she couldn’t help but snicker a bit. The book club selections were hardly literary, no matter how hard Myrtle and Miles tried to influence the other members.

Miles gave her a cold look at the snicker. “Perhaps I read, but I don’t think I’ve got the entire package I was picturing. Instead, I seem to be spending a good deal of time hanging out with someone who consistently discovers dead bodies.”

“You act as though that’s a personal failing. I’m actually helping to promote the cause of justice. We’re noble, you and I.”

Miles grumbled the rest of the way up the stairs.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Miles stopped short. “It certainly is quiet up here. I don’t think anyone else is still here. In fact, I’m not remembering a telephone in the classroom at all. Perhaps we should try to find an administrative office, instead.”

“I think every classroom has a landline somewhere. Besides, Wanda told us that something is wrong here. It’s our civic duty to check it out.” Myrtle pushed ahead, cane clacking on the old tile floor.

Miles followed reluctantly behind.

They heard a piercing scream, which made Myrtle walk even faster ahead. “That sounded like Louvenia!”

“How could you tell?” gasped Miles. “From a scream?”

But it was indeed Louvenia. She started as they approached her and then her shoulders sank in relief when she saw who it was. She pointed wordlessly into the classroom, clutching Miles for protection.

“Shall I call the police?” asked Miles, looking longingly toward the staircase.

Myrtle was already moving into the classroom. She paused when she saw the large body of Chester on the floor, a digital meat thermometer extending from the side of his neck, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

“He’s finished,” she said grimly.