Cooking is Murder, A Myrtle Clover Mystery #11

Chapter Fifteen

That afternoon was hectic. Myrtle sent a follow-up reminder to everyone she wanted  to attend and skipped the ones that she hoped had forgotten her informal invitation. She pulled out more chairs and borrowed card tables and tablecloths from various friends to have enough table space. Then she set up a modest bar in one corner with her sherry glasses, which were tiny. With any luck, everyone would have just one very small drink.

Myrtle then studied the recipes. She figured she could make some of the dishes in advance instead of trying to tackle them all at once and under pressure. Pasha, swishing her tail, watched from a window sill as Myrtle chopped potatoes and rinsed green beans.

The doorbell rang at five o'clock and she opened it to see Puddin there.

"Good," said Myrtle. "I've got some things for you to do."

Puddin raised a hand. "Since you was fussin' at me about the cleaners, I done brought one of mine. You'll love the way it smells."

"I'm sure I will, Puddin, but we don't have time for that now. There's lots to do."

Puddin raised her chin. "But I want to show you. It'll just take a second. Smells good."

"Not now! I need you to focus on other things," said Myrtle.

She led Puddin into the kitchen, pointing at a pot that needed stirring. Puddin, however, seemed to be moving at a turtle's pace. "Look, we need to hurry. People will probably be arriving in an hour."

Puddin frowned at Myrtle. "Then they'll drink. That's what they do."

"Not here they won't. After spending so much on the meal, I didn't want to buy a bunch of alcohol," said Myrtle briskly. "They'll have coffee when they arrive and then water and one glass of wine with dinner."

"Why don't you just tell them to BYOB?" Puddin started resentfully stirring a bubbling sauce on Myrtle's stove.

"I don't think that would be good hostess behavior," said Myrtle. She glanced over at the pot. "Why is stirring that sauce so laborious? You act as if you're barely able to move the spoon."

"That's because I'm barely able to move the spoon," answered Puddin tartly.

Myrtle frowned before shrugging. "Oh well. I guess it's the type of thing that just thickens as you stir it. Now let's see. I need to get a batch of vegetables cooked. Where's my cutting board?"

Puddin wrenched the spoon around another rotation, panting a bit as she did.

"Takes a while to boil the water, if yer boilin' veggies," said Puddin. "Want me to get that started?"

Clearly Puddin was trying to get out of stirring duty. "No, no. I'll turn on the boiler and put a pot of water on," said Myrtle. She did, and then put her hands on her hips. "Where is that cutting board?"

"Is it that scrap over there?" asked Puddin, nodding at a plastic rectangle partially covered by grocery bags.

"Oh yes. That's right." Myrtle set up the cutting board on the stove so that she could cut vegetables and toss them right into the pot of water. "This is called 'kitchen efficiency,' Puddin. Louvenia taught us all sorts of helpful tips for speeding up the cooking process. I have a central area to throw away trash, too. It makes so much sense."

Puddin grunted. "Miz Myrtle? Ain't this sauce done yet? I don't think it can be stirred no more."

"I suppose so. It's pretty thick." Myrtle chopped up some potatoes with a bit of difficulty.

"What's the sauce for?" asked Puddin.

"It's supposed to go on the chicken."

Puddin looked doubtfully in the pot. "Don't look like a sauce."