by Morgana Best
“You ladies should buy quality shoes,” Vanessa said haughtily. “I don’t have that problem.”
I resisted the urge to strangle Vanessa, and turned my attention to Abby.
“We’re cutting corners tonight,” Abby said. “Obviously, we can’t carry on with the scheduled lessons. This evening, we’ll just make pizzas. We will start with the dough.”
I wondered if I should ask her if I could just add the toppings, and avoid making the base. It seemed like a good idea to me. By the time I had plucked up the courage to do so, it was already too late.
Abby said something about combining flour, sugar, and yeast in a bowl, but I was too tense to concentrate. Was Bazza the murderer? Was that him I had seen up the hill? Or was it someone else?
There was no way of knowing. The murderer could be someone in the room with me right now, and likely was. I was so deep in thought that it took me a moment or two to note that Abby was speaking to me. “No, you’re supposed to knead it lightly, Amelia, not try to kill it.” She gasped when she realized what she had said. “Did you remember to add the salt?”
“Yes,” I said. “I think so. I hope so.”
Abby narrowed her eyes and went onto the next person. “That’s an unusual kneading technique, Lisa. No, it’s fine.” She returned to the front of the room. “Now, as this is a beginners’ cooking lesson, I will show you a quick and easy pizza recipe. This is in case you have guests coming and don’t have time to let the dough rise for an hour and a half. I want you all to put your dough in the mixing bowl and cover it with cling wrap. Leave it over there in the warm spot for thirty minutes, and while we’re waiting for it to rise, we will prepare the toppings.”
We all placed our bowls in the place indicated by Abby, and then returned to the benches. “Everyone go to the pantry and collect cheese. There is a selection of cheese, so feel free to use whatever you want. Just be creative. There’s mozzarella, Parmesan, Gruyere, ricotta—in fact there’s a whole selection of cheeses. Please all go to the pantry now and select your toppings.”
Everyone raced to the pantry as if they were entrants on MasterChef. I selected some tomatoes, baby spinach, olives, and feta cheese. I thought it best to keep it simple. The others returned to the kitchen laden with spinach, pesto, onions, garlic, pineapples and mushrooms, jalapeños, and anchovies.
I cut up my tomatoes, and then stood around looking bored while the others diced all their ingredients.
After what seemed an age, Abby told us to fetch our pastry. She said to remove it from the bowl and knead it for a minute, roll it into a pizza base shape, and then we would be able to add our toppings. She walked along and inspected each person’s in turn. When she got to mine, she stopped and looked at it. She removed the cling wrap and tipped it onto the countertop. It splattered everywhere. Abby appeared lost for words. When she regained her composure, she tried to scoop it up. “I’m afraid it won’t do at all, Amelia. Not to worry, there are ready-made pizza bases in the refrigerator. Go and get one, and use that instead.”
I was somewhat embarrassed, but it could’ve been worse. I went to the refrigerator and found a wrapped pizza base. It was even labeled. I read the label five times just to make sure I had not mixed it up with something else, but it definitely said ‘pizza base.’ I went back to my workstation and added the toppings to it.
Abby instructed us to put our pizzas in the oven, so that is exactly what I did. Everyone else left their benches and chatted, but I kept my eyes on mine for the first few minutes. Nothing untoward happened, so I went to join the others.
The conversation was tense, but at least people weren’t accusing each other of murder. There had been no thunder for a while, but the rain was still furiously beating against the windows.
Michael was the first to notice the smell. “What’s burning?” he asked.
I immediately went to my oven, and turned it off before opening the door. The most awful smell emanated from it, reminiscent of old socks and dead flesh. Michael pulled me away from the oven. “Don’t breathe it in! The fumes would be toxic.” He turned on the fan above my oven, and then instructed everyone else to turn on theirs.
Abby turned on the overhead fans in the room. “It’s obviously not safe to open the windows,” she said, “so everyone, get your pizzas from your ovens as fast as you can and take them to the dining room.”
Everyone did as they were told, coughing and spluttering. I apologized at length.
“Don’t worry about it,” Owen said, glaring at me. “Listen everyone, we can’t go back into the teaching kitchen tonight. I’ll have to scrape the molten plastic from the bottom of the oven tomorrow.”
“Oh, is that what happened?” I asked him as we made our way from the kitchen.
“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “You didn’t remove the plastic base that was under the pizza before you put it in the oven.”
I slapped myself on the side of the head. “I didn’t even know it had one! No wonder it smelled so bad.”
No one spoke to me again until we were in the dining room. Everyone cut their pizzas into pieces and distributed them around the table, so at least I had plenty to eat. I did feel a little guilty about eating the pizzas that everyone else had made after nearly causing a large-scale environmental disaster, but they didn’t seem to mind sharing, so I wasn’t going to decline. They probably just wanted to make sure I didn’t go back into the kitchen in search of food.
I also felt a little bad about how good everyone else’s pizza tasted. They had all made them so easily and they turned out so well that I had to wonder if I was the only actual beginner here. I mean, I was arguably on a level lower than ‘beginner,’ but everybody else seemed so confident I couldn’t help but wonder why they’d bother coming to a cooking class at all. I was becoming more certain that this was all a front for a good time, as some liked to call it.
Everybody ate in silence, which did precious little to soothe my nerves and my embarrassment at yet another cooking failure. I thought that maybe I should be proud that I had managed to do as well as I did, since it was a vast improvement, but it still wasn’t exactly what I’d call a success.
After dinner, we continued to sit silently. Nobody moved or spoke for several minutes, which I assumed was because nobody wanted to go back to their room. I knew that I didn’t, at least. The thought of being alone was less than comforting, even if it was fairly secure.
Michael sighed loudly before speaking. “I suppose we should go to bed, then. Need to be up early for breakfast,” he said, managing a weak smile. Everybody murmured their agreement and stood up. I followed suit, not looking forward to another restless night.
Owen and Abby led me back to my room, waiting with me as I checked every nook and cranny for intruders. After a couple of minutes of searching, I turned back to the door. “Thanks for waiting,” I said.
“Oh, that’s fine,” Abby replied with a tight smile. “Can’t be too careful, I suppose. We’ll come and collect you early tomorrow. Don’t leave your room until you hear both of us at the door.”
I nodded. “Don’t worry, I definitely don’t plan to.” The idea of staying in my secure room was scary enough, so I absolutely had no intention of wandering around the halls at night.
Abby and Owen bid me goodnight and headed back to the dining room to escort the others. I locked the door behind them, checking three times to make sure it was secure. I glanced around the room to see if there was anything I had overlooked that could be used to secure the door, but came up empty again.
The door was thick and heavy, and the latch strong, so it was unlikely that anybody would be able to break through it. If anyone did manage to steal a set of keys, they wouldn’t be able to get in, due to the latch.
My heart jumped as I remembered that I hadn’t latched the sliding door. I ran over to it and sighed with relief to see it was still latched tightly from the previous night. That made sense, I thought, since I had no reason to unlatch it. It was not as sec
ure, because anyone skilled would be able to open it with a knife. I could only hope nobody would try.
The storm had subsided to some degree, but heavy wind and rain still pelted the island, and my window was all that stood between me and the wild elements of nature.
I peered out through the window and looked over the island. It would surely be beautiful in nicer weather and without a murderer on the loose, I thought, before I realized how obvious that was.
Just as I moved to turn away, I glimpsed something outside. I peered closer, my face all but pressed against the glass. In the distance, I saw something moving around in the storm. My first thought was that it was something that had blown loose in the wind, but after a few moments I noticed that it was moving quite distinctly. It was a person.
Somebody, for whatever reason, was walking around outside in the storm. Could it have been Bazza? I shuddered at the thought of a killer silently moving around without a care for the storm, waiting for their moment. The glare from the light in my room was making it harder to see exactly who was out there, and I quickly figured out that it made me very easy to see in turn.
I hurried back to turn off the light, and then raced back to the window. Whoever had been outside was gone, any trace that they had been there, gone with them. I stood alone in the dark and shivered, hugging myself tightly.
Logically, I knew I was safe in the room. There was no way anybody could get through my door short of a battering ram, but the thought of a killer stalking around in the rain was more than I could handle. I huddled up tightly under my blanket and tried to fall asleep.
I closed my eyes tightly and tried to concentrate on the sound of the rain hitting the window. It had always relaxed me before, but the storm was still severe enough that the sound put me on edge. I thought of Ruprecht, Camino, Thyme, and Mint, and wondered what they were all doing at that moment. Of course, I also thought of Alder, and my last thoughts before I fell asleep were of him.
Chapter 14
I awoke to the familiar sound of rain driving angrily against the window. I was relieved that I hadn’t been murdered in my sleep, of course, but was still embarrassed about burning the pizza base in the kitchen last night. Then again, that was probably the least embarrassing cooking incident I’d ever had, so maybe it was a sign that I was improving.
I stretched and yawned, wincing in pain as the blisters on my feet stung. They had improved considerably overnight, but weren’t exactly healed. I just hoped we wouldn’t have to climb the hill again. It wasn’t just the pain, but the thought of traveling through those tunnels gave me chills. Every time we had, we’d returned to something awful.
The latest was that Bazza, the mysterious pool boy, had escaped his captivity. Apparently with help, no less. It seemed unlikely that anybody would have freed him unless they were partners in crime, since if he’d just been left in his cell, then the police could have sorted it out with him. Similarly, it was hard to believe he would want to be out of a secure room with a murderer on the loose.
I gingerly stepped out of bed and shuffled over to the window, placing my hand against the cool glass. The storm was unrelenting. The palm trees were bent over nearly halfway and the waves were enormous. The rain had not let up in the least. There was no way the police could traverse this to reach us any time soon.
Before I could step away from the window, something darted past my peripheral vision. It was too fast to tell for certain, but it seemed as if somebody was again outside in the storm. Could Owen have been out doing something to the generator? Would Bazza have risked it in daylight? Was there someone on the island we didn’t even know about? Or had I just imagined it? I certainly hadn’t imagined it the previous night.
My temples throbbed. This was way too much for me to handle. I had been stressed that this was a cooking resort, but in hindsight I’d have preferred to burn a meal every day rather than have to put up with the knowledge that a murderer was on the loose. Then again, this way I got to worry about a murderer and burn a meal every day.
A knock sounded on the door, causing me to jump. “Amelia, are you awake?” a familiar voice asked. It was Abby.
“I’m here as well,” Owen’s voice added, so I knew it was safe to open the door. As I walked toward the door, I briefly considered that maybe they were in on it together, but it seemed unlikely, especially after what I had seen between Abby and Michael.
The door opened and, to my relief, Abby and Owen were standing calmly and patiently.
“Sorry,” I said halfheartedly. “Slow start this morning.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Abby said. “I can understand not being especially enthused about starting the day.”
“For what it’s worth, the storm seems to be dying down,” Owen said, though it was hard to believe after what I had just seen out the window. I remembered seeing a figure outside and noticed that Owen was bone dry. Whoever was out there, it hadn’t been him, unless he had quickly changed and toweled off. But, no, that would be impossible. He had knocked only moments after I had seen the figure.
“I think I saw somebody out there just now,” I said, gesturing to the window.
“What? In the storm?” Owen asked with a raised eyebrow. When I nodded in response, he hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Are you positive? It’s dying down, but it could still easily blow somebody over. At any rate, the others have already gathered in the dining room.”
I sighed and rubbed my head. “No, I guess I’m not positive. I’m fairly sure I did.” My voice trailed off away. “I’m sure I did see someone out there last night.”
“Well, let’s get some breakfast. If somebody was out there today, they’ll be soaking wet, so they’ll be easy to spot. It’s more likely the stress is just getting to you,” Abby suggested. The thought wasn’t exactly encouraging. Still, I supposed it was better than a mysterious stranger running about.
The three of us walked wordlessly to the dining room together. I glanced around the room, doing a quick head count. It seemed we were short one person, Michael. Before I could ask where he was, Lisa spoke up.
“Good morning, Amelia. Michael’s just gone to check on the cool room. When he gets back, we’re going to make omelets,” she said with a forced smile.
I felt my stomach twist into a knot. I could barely believe they were still letting me cook. Every other time had been an unmitigated disaster. My best hope was that I’d manage to cause so much damage to the kitchen that we wouldn’t be able to use it again. I sighed, wishing there was some kind of super pizza delivery service that could reach us through the storm.
“How was everybody’s night?” Owen asked, as he took a seat and looked around the table. Lisa shrugged silently, and nobody else so much as reacted.
“Fine, I guess,” I said, just to break the silence. “I did see someone outside last night, but I couldn’t make out who it was.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” Owen said, interrupting me. “Has anybody been outside today?”
“Out in the storm?” Vanessa said in an insufferably smug tone. “Of course not. What reason would we have? Do you think somebody’s going to try to swim back to shore?” she asked sarcastically. I couldn’t help but wish she would try.
“Just wondering,” Owen said, leaning back in his chair and sighing.
A few more minutes passed without anybody uttering a single word. The wind was still howling outside as the rain beat against the windows, threatening to burst inside. I knew the windows were latched, but it was still hard to believe they were sufficiently sturdy to withstand the viciousness of the storm. I was about to comment on it just to start a conversation, when Michael burst into the room.
“Bad news,” he said simply, causing my heart to sink. I couldn’t imagine what news could be considered ‘bad’ given our recent circumstances, but I assumed it wasn’t that the mini bar wasn’t going to be restocked. “I’ve just been to the cool room, and the murder weapons are missing.”
The room collectively gas
ped. My heart and mind raced. Who could have done it? Michael could have, certainly. It was also his idea to put them there in the first place, which he could have suggested just so he would be able to collect them later. But then, why announce it to us all? That didn’t add up. Who else could have taken them?
“That’s not all,” Michael continued. “The bag with Vanessa’s shirt has been taken, too.”
The entire room turned to look at Vanessa, who had gone pale. “Well, it obviously wasn’t me!” she yelled. “Why would I give it to you willingly and then steal it back? It so obviously points to me.”
Owen nodded. “That makes sense,” he said with a sigh, obviously overlooking the fact that Vanessa had been far from willing to surrender her shirt. “It would be stupid to steal evidence that pointed toward you. All that does is create even more suspicion.”
Michael cleared his throat. “I’m not done yet,” he announced, to which the room collectively groaned. How could this get any worse?
“I found wrench marks on the cool room door. That was how the door was opened. It must have been Bazza, as we already know he has a wrench. We won’t be able to use it as a secure room any more,” Michael explained with a pained look.
“Mind if I have a look?” Owen stood up as he asked Michael. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but none of us can be sure unless two people have seen it. Take me to it and we’ll be back in no time.” Michael nodded and the two walked off toward the cool room.
“It’s obvious you did it,” Lisa snarled at Vanessa. “None of us are falling for it.”
“Back off!” Vanessa said viciously. “Why would I steal my own shirt back? That would just make me more suspicious. I bet you did it just to frame me.”
“Oh, as if!” Lisa stood up suddenly, knocking her chair aside. “You have the knives, too, I bet. Well, I’m not going anywhere alone with you.”
“Calm down, you two,” Abby said with a sigh. “Michael and Owen won’t be gone long. Let’s start breakfast.”
