“Why do you call this contest ‘Chipped’?” Kenneth asked. He sat in the back row, his cup of green tea resting on the table in the corner booth of the Perky Bean Coffeehouse. Most days, he’d sit here teaching online classes in psychology. He’d returned this evening for the town’s annual cooking contest.
“Because a lot of the dishes we use are. . .chipped,” said Jenny, the coffeehouse owner who was acting as emcee. She had lobbied incessantly to host the contest in her coffeehouse, and she wanted it to go as perfectly as possible. Based on their daily conversations, she knew Kenneth would ask sarcastic questions, and her smile grew progressively more fake as she attempted to answer him.
“You’re not worried about being sued by the Food Network?” Kenneth leaned back against the exposed brick wall.
“I’m sure they’re not deeply concerned about cooking contests in Waterville, Nebraska. I doubt if they’ve even heard of us.” Jenny looked nervously at the crowd huddled around her five solid oak tables or sitting on the small stage reserved for weekend guitar acts. They were listening much too closely.
“Tom’s Husker Pizza was on Diners, Dives, and Drive-ins,” said Kenneth.
A couple sitting on stools next to the walnut-paneled wall opposite Kenneth whistled and cheered. “Guy Fieri rocks!”
“Tom was one of the Dives.”
“Anyhoo,” said Jenny, smile fading to its last slight curve, “We here at the Perky Bean are pleased, at long last, to host this year’s Chipped.”
The rules were simple. Three local cooks were given baskets of mystery ingredients and asked to make appetizers, entrees, and desserts. Unlike the TV show, no one was chopped; people in Waterville hated hurting each other’s feelings. Instead, points were awarded by the judge each round and tallied at the end. In the case of a tie, the contestants would have to come up with a new coffee drink. After the judging, the crowd would be allowed to sample what was left of the dishes and make their own critiques.
The Perky Bean didn’t have the sort of cooking equipment found in a restaurant, but using her connections with Rick’s Appliances (a wonderful weekend with Rick the previous November was used as leverage), Jenny was able to set up her counter with 3 hotplates, 3 electric griddles, 3 blenders, and a microwave and fry station in the back. Because the local food bank would get the proceeds, Jenny was able to get them to donate some staples to the contest pantry. The set-up was somewhat primitive, but it was all for charity.
Elmer Winstone, the judge, was sitting comfortably in a leather wing-back chair in front of a small round wooden table. He was dressed in a tuxedo, with everything appropriate for a formal dinner. He had a thick, well-trimmed beard and mustache, and professionally styled hair with a hint of dye. He had recently married his partner, Jeff, twenty years his junior, who sat behind him. They’d met when Jeff was landscaping Elmer’s yard. Elmer came out in his Turkish bathrobe with a pitcher of lemonade one hot afternoon when a shirtless Jeff was trimming Elmer’s ancient oak, and the rest was history.
Elmer was regaling his audience with anecdotes about his years in New York as a regular in the cooking scene. “Only a select few ever learn my secrets,” he said vaguely in the direction of the 3 contestants who were vying for Chipped Champion.
He started his story with the time he opened a chic new restaurant in downtown Manhattan. He then went on to his time running an elite cooking school in The Bronx. He ended up with his run as a renowned restaurant critic on Staten Island.
Only a careful listener would note the implied downward spiral: the restaurant was closed due to Health Department warnings; the school closed after former students bought page-length ads describing their harsh treatment. Elmer especially neglected that part of the story where his climb up the New York critic circuit was cut short by a fall from grace which sent him sliding back down like a gameboard chute to his hometown in Nebraska. Elmer never explained in detail what had happened, but a quick google search revealed that he once gave 5 stars to a restaurant which was shut down a week later after having infected over a hundred of their patrons with E. coli.
Like the great chef he was, Elmer turned lemons into lemonade and returned to Waterville in triumph. He brought the idea of great eating to the people in the tri-city region, and there were, in fact, many good restaurants in the area to help him build the region’s culinary tastes. In the several months since his return, his column, Palate on the Platte, ran in the local newspapers and lauded those chefs who brought Indian cuisine and tapas, and dismissed those who offered chicken fried steak and burgers. Those who wanted a sense of what people ate outside of flyover counter were grateful to Elmer for opening up their minds and taste buds.
Jenny introduced him to the crowd. “And, of course, Chipped would not be possible without the generous help of Elmer Winstone.”
He stood up and gave a slight bow.
Jenny walked over to the counter. “Now I want to introduce the three cooks who will be competing for the prize of a gift card to the Olive Garden. First, we have Cindy Lou Hugh.” Cindy stood proudly at her station in her Chipped apron. She was small, some might say mousy, but hawk-eyed and determined. “A Waterville native, Cindy began cooking seriously three years ago after seeing Chipped for the first time. Since then, she has been taking courses and reading books. She’s tried out before, but this is her first time in the Chipped kitchen.”
There was scattered applause for Cindy. Jenny moved down the counter to Jack Windstrom.
“Jack comes to us from the VFW Cafe, where his weekly Meatball-a-roni is a local legend. A proud native, he and his wife, Connie, are both retired, but that doesn’t stop them from running the Elder Angels Motorcycle Club.” Jack looked like an aging country music star with salt-and-pepper black hair, a goatee, and a plaid shirt covering a well-proportioned frame. “This is his second shot at the Chipped prize, losing last year due to an unexpected ice cream mishap.”
Connie waved and led the smattering of applause for her husband. Jenny moved to the last station.
“Our final contestant is Mary McClary, a Waterville icon, owner of the Last Stop Restaurant, featuring the best in American cuisine. Wayne Hospital is known to have emergency teams ready on All-You-Can-Eat Chicken Fried Steak Night.” There were a few laughs. Mary stood, hands on hips, round and happy as a sugar bowl.
“The baskets of mystery ingredients were prepared by me and have been kept in my office all evening, guarded by my mother, Agnes.”
Jenny’s mother was sitting in a lounger which had been placed by the door. She looked up briefly from her crossword puzzle and waved.
“I’ve asked Jeff to bring out the baskets for the appetizer round.” Jeff was one of the few men in the room strong enough to carry the three baskets. He went into the office and returned with three baskets carefully balanced in his hands. Jeff distributed the baskets among the contestants and then retook his seat.
The three contestants opened their baskets and pulled out the mystery ingredients as Jenny announced them.
“For our appetizer round, we have bananas. . .”
Cindy pursed her lips as she pulled out her bunch.
“. . .dill Havarti. . .”
Jack’s nose crinkled as he sniffed the cheese.
“. . .sardines. . .”
Mary looked at her can questioningly as she set it on the counter.
“. . .and fresh rhubarb from Consuelo Ortiz’ garden.”
Consuelo shyly raised her hand. Her corner garden and summer-long vegetable stand were a Waterville landmark. More of her vegetables were available for use by the cooks on a table near the counter.
“Your time starts. . .now!” The cooks started running around, looking in the spice cabinet provided by Marv’s Grocery and the fully stocked refrigerator provided by Platte River Rentals. Jenny sat down in the back booth, next to Kenneth.
“You’re off to a good start,” said Kenneth. “And you have a nice-sized crowd this year.”
“I didn’t realize it would be this hard to put together,” said Jenny. “It’s surprising how hard it is to get a bunch of local businesses to cooperate all at once.”
“Well, remember it’s for charity.”
“I’ll be surprised if anyone in Nebraska recognizes some of these ingredients. We aren’t using any noodles and cabbage.”
“Actually, Central Nebraska is starting to gain a name for its food scene,” Kenneth said defensively. He’d grown up in Waterville, and except for college in Kearney, had spent most of his thirty-five years here. He believed he had the Good Life.
Jenny, who had spent four-fifths of her thirty-seven years in Portland, Oregon, rolled her eyes. “You don’t even have a Chik-fil-A. Waterville had to have a city council meeting to decide whether a Dunkin’ Donuts would add to the town’s ambience.”
The crowd murmured and chattered as they watched the cooks try to make the varied ingredients into a coherent dish. “Be careful with those rhubarb leaves!” said Elmer. “I hope you’re not trying to poison me!”
Mary stopped from putting the whole rhubarb into the blender and took a moment to cut off the greens. She was making some kind of smoothie. Jack was trying for a kind of ambrosia, while Cindy was making a cream cheese ball with crackers.
“She’s not using any of the basket ingredients,” one of the crowd whispered.
Cindy ignored the remark as she placed crackers on her serving plate.
Jenny carefully looked at her watch. “Two-minute warning,” she said as she went to the front. The cooks started to put the finishing touches on their dishes, and then Jenny looked at her watch again. “Time’s up! Step away from the counter!” The cooks raised their hands, and everyone looked at the appetizers they’d prepared.
The cooks moved to the front of the counter and stood in a row. Jenny took their dishes one-by-one to Elmer for evaluation.
Jenny placed Jack’s dish in front of Elmer. “This looks, uh, interesting,” said Elmer. He ate a bite, looked up, ate another bite, closed his eyes, and ate another bite. After some thought, he said. “I like the way the bite of the Havarti comes through the whipped cream. I would never have thought of an ambrosia using these ingredients, but the blanched rhubarb plays nicely off the bananas. However, look at this—“ Elmer pulled a bit of green from off a banana slice. “Rhubarb leaf—are you trying to murder me?” The crowd laughed. “You must be careful with dangerous ingredients.”
Jack apologized, promising to be more careful next time, and Jenny placed Mary’s dish in front of Elmer. He was initially confused by the straw and malt glass, but he shut his eyes and determinedly sucked up some of the ecru-colored liquid. He tried to swallow, but his gag reflex caused him to cough into his napkin.
After catching his breath, he said, “I like the idea of creating a health-conscious drink. I think you might have gone a bit heavy on the sardines. Or the bananas. I’m not sure the flavors blended well. You certainly get points on creativity, but think more about the flavor profile.”
Mary beamed as Jenny set Cindy’s plate in front of Elmer.
Elmer stared at it for a moment and said, “This is a cheese ball and crackers.”
“Yes,” said Cindy proudly. “It’s my go-to appetizer when unexpected company arrives.”
“You, uh, didn’t use any of the basket ingredients.”
“I didn’t think they fit with my cheese ball.”
“You know, the goal of this contest is to use the mystery ingredients in creative ways.”
“Oh, I know, but I thought I’d make the best appetizer I could make. I thought that made more sense than trying to put sardines and rhubarb together—I mean, ick, right?”
“Right,” said Elmer. He dutifully spread some cheese on a cracker and ate it. “It is very good, and maybe someday I’ll arrive at your house as an unexpected guest. But, next time, try to use what’s in the basket.”
The tasting portion done, the contestants were led from the room into the back while Elmer discussed his thought process with the audience. “Well, I didn’t die this round! I think Jack had the best idea with the ambrosia, but I’m not sure he combined the ingredients well. I never would have thought of a smoothie—and now I know why. I have no idea what to do with Cindy’s cheese ball.”
“Do you know who won this round?” Jenny asked.
“I do.” Elmer put covers on the dishes with the amount of points awarded on cards in front. The contestants were called back. Jenny pulled off each cover. “Coming in third with one point—Cindy. Coming in second with two points—Mary. And the winner of this round with 3 points is—Jack!”
Jeff brought out three new baskets and set them in front of the contestants.
“In this round, you’ll be making an entrée using the following ingredients: cherries. . .”
Jack grabbed a bunch and, with a shrug, set them on the counter.
“. . .skirt steak. . .”
Mary smiled as she placed the paper-wrapped package next to the cherries.
“. . .cassava root. . .”
Cindy looked at the potato-like object quizzically.
“. . .and nutmeg.”
“Oh, my, you are trying to kill me,” Elmer said.
“Why do you say that?” said Jenny.
“Three of those ingredients can be deadly if not prepared properly.”
“I guess you’ll have to trust our experienced chefs.” But Jenny’s confidence wavered as she saw Jack running with meat scissors, Mary burning her finger on the hot plate, and Cindy turning on the blender without the lid.
After 30 minutes of barely controlled chaos, time was called, and the contestants stood behind their plates. Jenny took the first dish over to Elmer’s table.
“What is this?” he asked Jack.
“It’s a Fajita Sundae,” Jack said proudly. “I was able to use the cassava as a kind of ice cream, and I topped the steak with cherries and nutmeg.”
Elmer took a bite, considered, and took another. “Actually, it’s not as bad as it sounds. I like the way the nutmeg brings it all together.”
Jenny brought over the second dish. Elmer gave it a quick look. “Spaghetti?”
“With meatballs!” Cindy said.
“Uh. . .did you use any of the ingredients from the basket?”
“Of course not—they all would have tasted terrible with the spaghetti.”
Elmer closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again. He dutifully took a bite. “Yes, it’s good spaghetti, but I think you’re missing the point of the contest.”
Jenny brought over the last plate. “This looks. . .good,” Elmer said surprised. He took a few bites. “What do you call this?”
“Bourguigon With A Twist,” Mary said.
“What’s the twist?” Elmer asked, but before Mary could answer, Elmer started choking. He stood up abruptly and then fell over his table. Jenny was shocked into inaction, but fortunately, Kenneth came from the back and practiced the CPR he’d learned in a class at the Y. While he did that, Jeff called 911, and within a minute, the ambulance arrived. But it was too late.
“He’s dead,” Kenneth said.
“He was poisoned,” Officer Ray said. He, Jenny, and Kenneth were sitting in a booth at the coffeehouse the next morning. Ray and Kenneth were roommates, and they also shared a side of the booth. Jenny sat on the other side, nursing a double-shot espresso while Kenneth sipped on a white mocha and Ray had a cup of Husker Highlights (formerly Free Trade Costa Rica Dark). “Cyanide.”
“OMG,” said Jenny. “I bet it was the cassava root.”
“Probably.”
“I didn’t know it was that dangerous.”
“It could have been from the cherry seeds,” said Kenneth, helpfully.
“You have to grind them up to get to the poison,” Ray said.
“Well, they were going wild with the blender,” Kenneth said.
“Look,” said Officer Ray, “I don’t want to encourage your amateur sleuthing any more than I have to. . .”
“Hey, we solved The Case Of The Disappearing Danish Clogs,” said Jenny.
“You guessed that Magic Ron the Magician threw them in the Little Blue River because he wanted the Adams County Clogging Club’s time slot at the food fair,” said Ray.
“We had a lead and we followed it,” said Kenneth.
“You’d be surprised what a magician will say after you put a quadruple espresso in his macchiato,” said Jenny.
“Anyway,” said Ray, rolling his eyes, “I don’t want you to get involved in this case. It might be the cassava root, or it might be murder. We don’t know yet.” He picked up his hat and got up. “By the way, do you need me to pick up something from the store tonight for dinner?” he said to Kenneth.
“What goes good with cassava root?” Kenneth said. “I took the leftovers.”
Officer Ray sighed. “I told you. Don’t get involved.” He put on his hat and went out the door.
After Ray left, Kenneth said, “What we have here is a perfect crime.”
“Perfect in what way?”
“The contest is set up so that the judge has to sample each dish. If there is the same poison in each dish, then there’s no way to tell which chef put in the poison. That means that we are limited to 3 possibilities—Mary, Cindy Lou, and Jack.”
“Oh, and Jeff,” Jenny added. “He was in charge of setting up the baskets. He could have added some poison to each one.”
“That’s 4 then. What do we know about the suspects?”
“They’re all from Nebraska. That means they’re capable of anything. All this helpfulness is just a ruse. They’d murder someone and then help you bury the body.”
“I really don’t think of Nebraska that way,” Kenneth said, defensively.
“Trust a transplant. You’re all crazy.”
Jenny walked back to the counter, her lips pursed pensively as she thought about the psychotic side of each suspect. Kenneth opened his computer, his lips equally pensive, thinking about what could cause a basically good person to commit a crime. They both were distracted from their actual jobs by thoughts of the poisoning.
Jenny was wiping off the cappuccino sprayer for the fifth time when she heard the bell which told her she had a walk-up customer. When it was warm, she opened up her east window to street traffic. It looked out on the town square with diagonal sidewalks meeting in the middle at the old Courthouse. She smiled when she saw Evelyn Winslow out taking his cat for a walk. Looking down out the window, she saw Agatha, Evelyn’s cat, at the end of her leash in her blue, rhinestone-studded harness, already asleep in a small patch of sun on the sidewalk.
Evelyn was wearing his large panama hat and oversized pink sunglasses—“They’re the only ones that block the rays.” He had a blue-flowered shirt over khaki shorts and flip-flops with rhinestones matching Agatha’s harness.
“It’s hot, isn’t it?” he said. “Crazy hot. Like I remember from Houston, only not so humid.” He fanned himself with his free hand. “I simply must have one of your lemonades or I swear, I simply will not make it home. Agatha will have to drag me.”
“Sure,” said Jenny. “Your usual—large?”
“Yes—and with extra ice. It must have been exciting here the other night, what with the poisoning and all.” Slightly under his breath he said, “I wouldn’t have minded seeing that old dog writhing on the floor.”
As she went to her cooler and got out the pitcher of freshly squeezed lemonade, Jenny said, “We don’t know if he was poisoned. It might have been an accident.”
“Oh, he was murdered, all right,” said Evelyn. “He was an awful, awful man. If I knew that all you had to do was grind up a few cherry seeds, I would have done it myself.”
Jenny filled the large plastic cup and placed it on the windowsill. “You didn’t like him, I take it.”
“A few years back, a friend of mine worked at the restaurant Elmer had before he went to New York.”
“A friend?” said Jenny.
“Just one of those summer things that come along and pass the time in a marvelous way. Jon—his name was Jon, without the ‘h’, isn’t that just divine?–was just a little younger than me, and he was in that phase where he thought he could chase his dreams. He wanted to be a chef.”
“He had the right job.”
“No, it was not! Elmer was a tyrant! Jon would come home weeping, literally weeping, every night, and it was all I could do to hold him close and tell him things were going to be all right. Finally, one day, after his cream sauce curdled, Elmer ripped into him so hard, he had to spend a couple of days on the 7th floor of Wayne Hospital. It was all I could do to visit him every day and hold him in my arms until he stopped shaking.”
“You were just another Mother Teresa, I’m sure.”
“Jon ended up moving to Vancouver as a spot welder. And I never forgave Elmer. Anyway, thanks for the delicious lemonade,” he said, putting down three dollars, which included a small tip. “I better get Agatha back. She needs to rest.”
Agatha seemed to be resting well where she was, but she got up when she felt a small tug on her leash. She and Evelyn were soon walking across the public square in the shade of the cottonwoods on their way home.
The bell rang again. Kenneth looked up and saw an attractive female figure walk up to the counter. She was dressed in a loose blouse, pastel capris, and high-heeled sandals. Kenneth liked her pigtails and the way they pendulumed as she bounced along. He nodded appreciatively at the way she draped herself over the counter while she ordered a latte, her ankles crossed. He heard a slight giggle, and then she turned around.
OMG! It’s Cindy Lou Hugh!
Having craned his neck too far out, it was impossible for him to duck in time. She saw him and gave a slight wave.
“Hi!” she said, coming over to his table.
“Hi,” he said, weakly.
“Surprised to see you here,” she said, draping herself over the table inside the booth. “But this is kind of like your office, isn’t it?”
“Kind of.”
“You told me you worked on computer or something. I think that’s neat.” She sat down across from him.
“Did I say that?” What else did I say, he wondered. That night was kind of a blur. He’d found out that morning that his short article on the logic of cornfields was going to be published in Psychology Today, and he celebrated a bit too much at Murphy’s Tavern. Drinks were drunk, things were said, mistakes were made, and he woke up next to Cindy Lou the next morning.
She was cool about it. She dressed and left without asking for another date, but he knew he’d see her in public at some point.
“You say a lot of things. You’re funny,” she said, with a giggle which was becoming progressively more unattractive.
“I’m sorry the contest didn’t go your way.”
“I know, how about him dying and all that? It’s too bad, because I think I would have won with my next dish.”
“You didn’t use any of the ingredients.”
“Who eats that kind of stuff? For the final round, I was planning a pecan-raisin pie like the one we serve at Murphy’s. Everyone loves it.”
“What if there weren’t any pecans or raisins in the basket?”
“I brought my own, silly.” She sipped a latte through her candy-red lips, causing Kenneth mixed feelings. “Anyway, I did use the ingredients, one of them at least.”
“Which one?”
“The cherries.”
“I didn’t see any cherries in the dishes you served.”
“Not the fruit part. The seeds. I forgot parmesan cheese, so I ground up the cherry seeds in the food processor.”
“You ground up the cherry seeds,”
“Yes. I thought it was a great idea.”
“And you put them on top of the spaghetti.”
“Yes. I think I should have won.”
Kenneth thought about this information for a moment. “You know, I have a friend on the police force, Officer Ray. I think you might want to tell him about this.”
“Why?”
“He likes those trivial details. I think he’s at the station now. Why don’t you go over and talk to him?”
Cindy Lou gave it some thought. “I don’t see why not, I guess. I suppose he needs to know everything that happened. Maybe he can change my score or something.”
“I’m sure he can.”
Cindy Lou got up from the table. “We should get together again sometime.”
“Yes, we must,” said Kenneth. Cindy gave him a one-handed wave and walked out the door. I will never get drunk again, he thought.
Jenny looked over at him and smirked. She picked up a pot of coffee and made the rounds, stopping to linger at the table where the group of seniors she called the “Old Man Group” met every morning. Jack was an occasional member, so she poured the refills slowly and stood to the side so she could hear.
“You should’ve won,” said Tim, noted for wearing suspenders over a polo shirt, no doubt hoping one day his look would be the style.
“Yeah,” said Pete. He shifted his green John Deere hat a few degrees. “I tasted your smoothie afterwards. I thought it captured the delicate flavor of the sardines without overwhelming the bananas.”
“It tasted like poop,” said Tooter, whose nickname required no explanation for anyone unfortunate to be in his vicinity for more than fifteen minutes. “But you did use all the ingredients.”
Jenny couldn’t help but ask, “Weren’t you worried about it being poisoned?”
“It was free,” Tooter said. Jenny rolled her eyes.
“I probably should have used less cheese,” Jack mused. “but the whole thing was rigged, anyway. Elmer wasn’t going to let a guy like me win. You know, a regular guy.”
“You never liked Elmer,” Pete said.
“Let’s just say I wasn’t his type.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I don’t want Waterville turning into downtown New York!” Jack realized he was shouting and toned it down. “Those kinds of men can find somewhere else to live.”
Pete said, “Ah! Right!” and they all nodded.
“I can’t believe you people,” Jenny said as she walked back to the counter. She took a moment to fume. What the HELL was wrong with Waterville? She knew it could never be Portland–but surely, they have the Internet here, something which might get them up-to-date. She looked over at Kenneth, who had lived here all his life. How could he be happy? How could he constantly defend these people and their narrow-mindedness? And yet, here he was, typing away on his laptop, blissfully unaware of the negative vibes surrounding him.
The swinging door which led to the kitchen opened behind Jenny. She turned around to see Jeff wearing a not-quite-mourning tank-top, cut-offs, and flip-flops. She noticed Jeff didn’t appear too upset about his husband’s death. He said, “Could someone hold the back door open for me? Rick asked me to pick up the equipment he lent you.”
Jenny looked over at Kenneth. “Would you mind helping Jeff?” she called from across the room.
Kenneth dutifully shut his lap-top and followed Jeff into the kitchen. Jeff had already stacked the microwaves which Elmer had loaned from his appliance store on to a dolly. He rolled them to the back door, which Jeff held open. After pushing them up the board onto his truck, he came back in for another load.
As Jeff loaded the rest of his stuff, Kenneth looked around for a blender to put on top of the stack. He asked Jeff, “So, what was it like—living with Elmer?”
Jeff stopped for a moment and thought. “Undemanding.”
“Interesting answer,” said Kenneth.
“I know what it looked like from the outside, but it was nothing like that. Nothing physical was going on. I think he just wanted to have someone around. I think he felt some sort of attraction, but I don’t think he was interested in sex—at all, with anyone.”
“So, why did you get married?”
“For him, I think it had to do with medical reasons. He was getting older, and he wanted to make sure someone he trusted would have power of attorney and that sort of thing. And he might have liked the idea of shocking people a little bit.”
“What was it for you?”
Jeff finished his stack with a hot plate. Jeff put his blender on top like a cherry. “The man had money,” Jeff said, “and someone was going to get it someday.”
Jeff started rolling the dolly toward the door. Kenneth said, “This may be personal, but I can’t help but ask. You’re clearly young and healthy. How did you. . .uh. . .er. . .”
“Elmer didn’t care at all about who I slept with. For a married guy, I got around. I think we might have slept in the same bed a time or two,” he said winking.
Kenneth let the realization dawn on him. A shiver went up and down his spine. “Cindy L-l-lou?” he said, stammering.
“Don’t worry. She gave you good reviews,” Jeff said, as the door closed behind him.
Kenneth didn’t know which he hated worse—that someone knew he’d slept with Cindy Lou, or that she had cheated on him. Well, not cheated, exactly, since there wasn’t a relationship, but Kenneth felt that even in these circumstances, there should be some level of faithfulness.
He went back into the coffeehouse and glumly walked back over to the booth with his laptop. Jenny stood at the counter, vigorously wiping the milk spout of the cappuccino machine, causing Kenneth to look away, embarrassed.
Mary entered briskly through the front door wearing her Merry Meals hat and carry a brown bag. She walked past Jenny to the stairs leading to the second floor apartment.
“Your mother at home?” Mary said, cheerily, not waiting for an answer. Jenny noticed Mary’s bright red “Nebraska Nice” t-shirt. Mary walked upstairs to take lunch to Agnes.
“Nebraska Passive-Aggressive is more like it,” Jenny said glumly, under her breath. She began to think of alternate mottos for Nebraska. Instead of “The Good Life,” she came up with, “The Same Life as Everybody Else—Or Else!”
Her thoughts were interrupted by Mary, coming down the stairs. “She’s fine today,” she said.
“Yes, they gave her some more of those pills she likes. God bless Obamacare.” Jenny couldn’t help trying to annoy Mary.
“It’s good that you take care of her. Daughters should do that.”
Jenny wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m sure your daughter will, too, someday, I mean, when you need it. . .” Her voice trailed off.
“She’s dead,” Mary said, matter-of-factly.
“I’m sorry,” Jenny said.
“Yes, well, there’s nothing to do about it now.”
Trying to change the subject, Jenny said, “Um. . .you did well at the Chipped contest.”
“I wasn’t sure if I added too much tarragon. I guess we’ll never know. Talk to you later!” Mary exited as briskly as she entered.
That was odd, Jenny thought. She went over to Kenneth and refilled his coffee. “I want you to look something up. See what you can find about Mary’s daughter.”
“OK,” said Kenneth. He googled several keywords and after a few minute’s research, he called Jenny over. She sat down on the other side of the booth from him.
“What did you find?” she asked.
“She died in a fire. The Applebee’s in York where she was working had a grease fire and she got trapped.”
“New York? Didn’t I hear she was a chef there?”
“No, York, Nebraska.” Kenneth went on. “Here’s something else I found. Jack was not always the nice guy he puts on. He was once in jail for assault.”
“What happened?”
“When he was in college in Chadron, his roommate apparently got drunk and put the moves on him. Jack beat him to a pulp.”
“Wow—and his roommate was—let me guess—“
“None other than Elmer Winstone.”
“Which explains why he might not like Elmer moving back to town,” Jenny said. “Do you suppose Elmer recognized him?”
“Probably—but what could he do?” Kenneth said. He paused before his next sentence. “I found out something else, in today’s edition of What’s Up, Waterville. You’re not going to like it.”
“What could they say I wouldn’t like?” Jenny said. “Kettle corn prices are going up?”
“I’m debating whether or not to tell you, but it might be important.”
“Just tell me.”
“I know how much you like cats. I like cats too.”
Jenny’s eyes turned to cold, narrow slits. “What about cats?”
“It seems that some feral cats were found dead outside an abandoned house. Someone left out some poisoned food.”
Jenny’s words were slow and deliberate. “Someone was checking to see if the poison worked.”
“Could be. We don’t know.”
“We have to catch this monster. For the cats.” Jenny always had food out behind the coffeehouse for stray cats. It took a certain kind of cruelty to hurt them.
“Here’s a bit of gossip which might cheer you up.” Kenneth leaned over and whispered, “Jeff was sleeping with Cindy Lou.”
In a voice everyone could hear, Jenny said, “So were you.”
Kenneth leaned back, his cheeks red. “We were not. There was no sleeping involved. And it was only once. I mean, never. Except for once.”
“Maybe Jeff and Cindy Lou were plotting together so they could share the money.”
“Cindy Lou is not the plotting type.”
“True.”
“So, they all have motive and opportunity. But how could they have pulled it off? How could they have known that there were going to be potentially poisonous ingredients in the baskets?” Jenny said.
“You said you put together the baskets. How did you decide what to put in them?”
“I just went to the grocery store and looked around for odd ingredients. And I asked some people for suggestions.”
“Who suggested the cassava? That was the most dangerous.”
“I don’t remember. I do remember that I had to put them on special order, so they couldn’t have just been lying around in the produce section.” She thought for a minute. “Where did I get that idea?”
“I think someone suggested cassava to you knowing you’d like the idea, and that person is the murderer.”
“I think you could be right,” Jenny said. “I’ll try and remember.”
She went back to the counter and started getting ready for the 5 PM change of shifts when Henrietta, a local college student, would take over for the rest of the evening. Her mother would be napping by the time Jenny went upstairs, so Jenny could relax and binge on the new season of Catastrophe. Kenneth shut down his laptop and headed home as well. He’d been trying to remember something he’d heard Elmer say the night of the contest. It seemed important now, but the thought stayed on the edge of his mind, refusing to enter. He’d try to remember as he sat at home watching Husker Pre-Game, Husker Live, and Husker Post-Game.
Several hours later, after her binge, a hot bath, and some quick spaghetti, Jenny came back downstairs to make sure Henrietta had closed everything correctly. She went into the back to make sure that everything from the contest had been cleared away.
Jeff had taken away the equipment, but the food bank hadn’t picked up the food they’d brought for the pantry. She glanced at the boxes of spices and jars of oil and saw a small brown bottle: Almond Extract.
She didn’t remember them bringing this. She picked it up and opened it. Wow, almonds are bitter, she thought, until she remembered all the Agatha Christie she read about what cyanide smelled like. Jenny realized that the cassava root was only a cover—the person had brought some extra poison to make sure the plan worked. After the second round, the killer put the bottle on the shelf, knowing it would be hauled away the next day.
Jenny was glad she found the bottle before someone at the Food Bank needed some almond extract to make wedding cookies. She put it in her pocket and planned to give it to Officer Ray the next time she saw him.
She heard a clunk in the front of the store. Had someone opened the door? Did someone come back for the almond extract? There was a sinister whirr. Were the cats seeking revenge?
She tried to peek through the swinging door, but all she could see in the dark were streetlights and headlights shining through the window. She heard footsteps behind the counter and other soft clinks indicating someone was looking for something.
Instinctively, she grabbed the broom by the door and held it the way she’d seen Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings. She hoped to startle the robber long enough to get to the phone.
She opened the door, turned on the lights, and shouted, “You shall not pass!”
“Aaaah!” said her mother, Agnes, turning around. “You could have scared me to death. What are you doing up?”
Jenny said, “I could ask the same of you. What are you doing downstairs?” She leaned the broom up against the counter.
Agnes pulled her robe tighter around her. Her footsteps were muffled by her furry slippers. “I just wanted some coffee.”
“It’s too late for coffee. You won’t sleep.”
“I won’t sleep anyway. But I’ll make decaf.” Agnes was familiar with the equipment she started a single cup of Night Breeze Light Roast.
“Make two,” said Jenny. She went behind the counter where Agnes poured the coffee into ceramic mugs. “I’ve been meaning to ask. You sat by the kitchen door during the contest. Did you see anything strange?”
Agnes sipped on her coffee and thought for a second. “No, not really. I sat where you told me the whole time. The only person who went in or out of the kitchen was Jeff.”
“No one else?”
“No, and I would have seen. It’s strange, isn’t it? I always kind of liked Elmer. He added a little flair to the place.”
“I don’t think people around here like that kind of flair.”
“You’re too used to Portland. But this place grows on you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“I’m off to bed,” said Agnes. “I want to binge Grace and Frankie. Do you mind if I use the Netflix?”
Jenny immediately regretted choosing the one-screen option, but it was all she could afford. “You’ll be asleep in 5 minutes.”
“Then be sure to turn off my iPad.” As Agnes got in her lift chair, she said, “I probably shouldn’t have suggested the cassava.”
“What?” Jenny said.
“It seemed exotic, just right for the contest. I didn’t know it was that poisonous. I probably shouldn’t have suggested it.” The chair whirred and lifted Agnes into the dark at the top of the stairs where it stopped with a clunk.
Now Jenny remembered that her mother made the suggestion when they were talking about the contest, just one of those things Agnes said that Jenny half-heard. Jenny assumed the suggestion must have come from the murderer. Could her mother. . .? No, it couldn’t be. Jenny shook off this frightening thought and went back upstairs.
The next morning, Officer Ray came in for coffee during his break. Kenneth shut his laptop and joined Ray at the counter. Jenny poured him a cup as Ray said, “I hope this won’t end like The Case of the Feral Fish.”
“No, there won’t be any explosions,” Kenneth said. “Probably. And we did catch the guy who was stealing tuna fish from the Merry Mart.”
“He only stole damaged cans, and he was feeding a possum who lived under the bridge,” said Ray. “Not exactly a career criminal.”
“He sure was surprised when the can exploded,” Jenny said.
“As were we all when he started a grease fire when he threw the can into a cooking oil display,” said Ray.
“The remodeled Merry Mart looks great, though. Very modern—just like a Whole Foods,” said Kenneth.
“In any case,” said Ray, “I hope you have something substantial.”
“It’s a perfect crime,” said Jenny. “Since they all used the same ingredients, the same poison was in each of the 3 dishes. It’s impossible to trace back the source of the poison.”
“Except we know that it was likely the cassava,” said Kenneth.
“Or they might have added cyanide to each dish, knowing that everyone would think it was cassava,” said Jenny. “Cyanide is easy to process from any number of plants. The murderer probably made some at home and then put it in each of the dishes when no one was looking. No one would be the wiser. And they left a bottle of the poison.” She pulled the almond extract out of her apron pocket and put it on the table. “It was tested on cats.”
Ray opened it and gave it a sniff. “Yep, this is cyanide, all right. Where did you get this?”
“The killer put it in with the pantry items after pouring some into the entrees,” Jenny said.
“That leaves out Jeff, since the poison was added while they were cooking,” Kenneth said.
“We now know where the poison came from. But there’s still no way to know which of the three contestants added the poison,” Ray said. “How do we figure out the murderer?”
“I think it has to be the person who suggested the cassava root,” said Kenneth. “Clearly, someone talked to Jenny before the contest and subtly planted the idea in her head.”
Jenny bit her lip. “You know, I don’t think so.”
“That can be the only explanation.”
“There’s probably another one.”
Ray said, “Come on, who suggested the cassava?”
Jenny paused, took a breath, and said, “My mother.”
Ray rolled his eyes. “You think your mother is the murderer?”
“I like your Mom,” said Kenneth. “But she has seen every episode of NCIS. Maybe she’s been looking for ideas for her next crime.”
“Any other ideas?” Ray said. “I need to get back to patrol pretty quick.”
Kenneth said, “I remembered something I overheard at the contest, and it gave me an idea of how we might catch the killer.”
He explained his plan. Both Ray and Jenny nodded their heads.
“What you’re asking for is sort of a flash-mob pot-luck,” Jenny said.
“Yes. I’m assuming that the killer will want to win the contest even if it’s just an informal competition. And I’m sure Jeff would be happy to be the judge.”
Ray thought. “It’s not a bad idea, and it doesn’t sound like anything can explode. Let’s give it a try—it can’t hurt.”
“I’ll send out a text that there will be a replay pot-luck tonight,” said Jenny.
“I’ll post it on Facebook,” Kenneth said.
“Sounds good,” said Ray, finishing his coffee. “I’ll be back tonight.” Kenneth walked him to the door, and then opened his computer to his Facebook page. Jenny stood at the counter, texting with her cellphone.
A surprising amount of people showed up for the impromptu contest that evening. Mary’s crock-pot, Jack’s electric skillet, and Cindy Lou’s fondue sat on the counter waiting for Jeff to taste them. There was also a table of appetizers, including Cindy Lou’s cheese ball, Mary’s elderberry tarts, and Jack’s stuffed shrimp.
Jeff was mingling with the audience like a celebrity, the husband of a murder victim.
Jeff went over to Evelyn, sitting in a wingback chair next to the electric fireplace. “Where’s Agatha this evening?”
“I got her a catnip-filled mustard packet and she was simply too exhausted for a party. But I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Jeff smiled and continued mingling.
Jenny and Kenneth sat in Kenneth’s usual booth. “I hope this turns out to be a good idea.”
“I’ve been doing some research, and I think I know who will win.”
“You think you know who did it?”
“I’m pretty sure. We’ll see after the judging.”
Jeff finally sat down at the table. “Thanks to our contestants for coming to this rematch. The results aren’t official, but at least we’ll get a sense of who might have won. We have no poisonous ingredients this time, so I might survive.” The crowd laughed. “Waiter, bring me the first course.”
Jenny walked over to the counter and brought Mary’s main dish over to Jeff.
Jeff took a few bites and said, “This is a lovely Colbert sauce—do I detect a hint of cinnamon?”
Jack’s dish was brought out. “I love the presentation,” Jeff said. “The arugula makes a great base.”
Cindy Lou’s dish was next. “I think your lasagna is a hit,” said Jeff.
There was a moment of scattered applause while people waited for the announcement of the winner and the beginning of a free meal.
“I’ve had a chance to taste everyone’s dish,” said Jeff, “And I think I can say who won.”
Kenneth got up and went over to the counter. “Except there isn’t a winner. This was a trap—a trap set for a killer. One of these 3 chefs poisoned Elmer, and now I know which one.” He nodded to Ray, who stood in back, waiting for the announcement.
Kenneth continued. “Just before the last contest, I overheard Elmer say to one of the contestants, ‘Only a select few learn my secrets.’ I realized he was talking to someone who knew about his New York classes.”
“I was never in New York,” said Cindy Lou.
“And I never took a class from him,” said Jack.
“I’ve spent my whole life in Waterville,” said Mary.
“And yet one of you knew one his secret tricks which he only shared with his students,” Kenneth said. “Adding cinnamon to the Colbert sauce!” This didn’t have quite the dramatic impact Kenneth was hoping for, eliciting quizzical looks and soft giggles instead of the horrified gasps he expected. “Mary’s daughter was Elmer’s student in New York. Mary’s the only one who could have learned Elmer’s secrets.”
“You’re saying that I’m a killer because I add cinnamon to a sauce?” Mary said. “This is crazy.”
Jenny rushed to the counter to back Kenneth up. “Your daughter started a restaurant which was a huge success. Then, one day, the teacher came to review the prize student—and he gave her a bad review! He complained about the service, the ambience, the presentation, and mostly the sauce. I read the review online. Your daughter’s restaurant closed and she had to move back home and take a job working for an Applebee’s, where she died in a fire. You never stopped blaming Elmer. That’s why you entered this contest.”
“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard,” said Mary, but by this time the crowd was listening to Jenny with rapt attention.
“You knew your plan would only work if you could get a poisonous ingredient into the basket. You couldn’t suggest this to me directly, so you suggested it to my mother.”
“That’s right,” Agnes said from her chair by the kitchen door. “I remember how Mary explained to me what cassava was. You even showed me a picture.”
“So, I made a suggestion,” said Mary. “Cassava is fine if it’s cooked properly.”
Kenneth said, “You brought your own cyanide which you made from cherry pits. You tested it on some cats.”
“She’s a monster!” the crowd murmured.
Kenneth continued. “You put it in a bottle marked ‘Almond Extract.’ When you were done dropping a bit into each dish, you put the bottle on the shelf in the pantry.”
“I was wearing gloves. We all were. We had to be sanitary.”
“I noticed that when you cook, you sweat. Some of that sweat dripped onto the bottle. They’re checking it now for DNA. Right, Officer Ray?”
Ray said, “Right.”
Mary grabbed a knife from the counter and swung it out in front of herself for protection. “Yes, you’re right, I did it. I killed Elmer because he killed my daughter with his review. But none of you will be able to do anything about it—because I’ve poisoned you all. Did you think I didn’t know this was a trap? That’s why I made deadly elderberry tarts! Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!” She laughed maniacally and threw her head back.
Several people who were chewing stopped chewing. Several people who were about to pop the tarts into their mouths stopped in mid-pop.
“Bwa-ha-ha. . .” Mary continued.
Evelyn gently interrupted her from his chair in the back. “Elderberries aren’t poisonous once they’re cooked,” he said.
“They aren’t?” said Mary.
“Nope. My grandmother used to make the best elderberry tarts, and she lived into her 90s.”
“Crap,” said Mary.
The people who were chewing swallowed. The people who were about to pop shrugged their shoulders and went ahead and popped the tarts into their mouths.
Jenny yelled, “What is wrong with you people?”
“They’re free,” several people said.
Officer Ray came up, put her in handcuffs, and started leading her out. “That’s what I get for looking up poisons on Wikipedia,” said Mary.
“Good work,” he said to Kenneth. “But there was no sweat on that bottle.”
“Mary didn’t know that,” Kenneth said.
Jenny walked over to Mary and slapped her as hard as she could. “For the cats!” she yelled.
Mary just groaned and allowed herself to be led through the door into the police car waiting outside.
Jeff said, “You never let me say who won the contest.”
The crowd started murmuring and nodding. Jeff asked, “Well, who was the winner?”
“Honestly, it was Mary. That little bit of cinnamon did the trick!”
Now that the contest was over, people went up to the counter to serve themselves from the pot-luck.
“It takes more than the fear of poison to keep Nebraskans from a free meal,” said Jenny. She turned and realized Kenneth was no longer standing next to her but was spooning some of what was in the crockpot onto a Styrofoam plate. Jenny went over to him and said, “Seriously?”
“What?” Kenneth said. “It’s really good. That dash of cinnamon is what makes it.”
“This whole thing just shows what I’ve been trying to tell you. People from Nebraska are crazy and homicidal underneath that mask of kindness and helpfulness. You’re all like Mary.”
Kenneth stooped and picked up a plastic spoon which had been dropped by the elderly woman next to him. She smiled and thanked him as he handed it to her. “What did you say?” he said to Jenny.
“You’re all like Mary!”
“Taste the cheese ball.” Kenneth delicately placed a spoon on Jenny’s lips which she equally delicately licked off. For a second, their eyes met.
“Oh,” said Jenny, “That is heaven.”
“I know. Right?”
Jenny looked at the dishes in front of her on the counter. Oh, well, she thought to herself, it is free, after all. She grabbed a Styrofoam plate and plastic spoon and stood in line with Kenneth.
