Cooking is Murder, A Myrtle Clover Mystery #11

Chapter Fourteen

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."