by Eric Beetner
“They have a whole team.” My Interruption had followed me down and was making herself useful by clearing the hot zone. “You only see one person in front of the camera, but three or four or more people actually figured out the recipe, doing all the practice runs without the film running.”
“Is that how everything stays so clean? That’s cheating. I’m MaryAnn McNamara.”
“Hanna Lang,” the woman formerly known as My Interruption said. “They use all kinds of tricks to make cooking look easy and appealing. It’s their business.”
MaryAnn pouted as she considered. “The lyin’ dogs. Did any of my chicken survive?”
“Maybe this—”
I shook my head emphatically, clearing my throat to get Hanna’s attention.
“—I’m sorry, no.” Hanna got points for catching on. “It’s a complete loss.”
“Do you have any of the chef packaged meals?” I asked. “You like those, and no open fire is required.”
“Yes, I guess I could have one of those for dinner. It will give me time to make this recipe I found for dessert. Bananas Foster.”
“No!” If I shouted, it wasn’t unwarranted.
“Let’s make dinner together,” Hanna said, soothing MaryAnn. “It will be fun.”
I scowled, my plans for a quick exit going up in smoke. I couldn’t drag Hanna Lang out of the apartment without being subject to the McNamara Inquisition for the next week—wait. I didn’t have a next week. “We were in the middle of a conversation. Hanna, the clock is still ticking.”
“Of course. It was nice—” Hanna took a step to exit but was thwarted by a hand on her arm.
“You girls these days,” MaryAnn said, pulling Hanna to the refrigerator. “Always in a hurry. No time for the niceties in life. When my Angus was with me…” MaryAnn talked about her dearly departed as she handed Hanna a packaged meal in a cute little bag. Next, MaryAnn went to the sink. I got a sponge, soap, and a bucket.
Hanna looked between me—the woman she was trying to hire—and an old woman with a proclivity for open flames.
Guess who lost.
Click here to learn more about Suicide Squeeze by TG Wolff.
Back to TOC
