Chapter Fourteen

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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."

Cooking is Murder,  A Myrtle Clover Mystery #11Where stories live. Discover now