Pancakes & Pandemonium - Culinary Competition Mystery #6

Chapter 9

(Amy)

Amy leaned her head against the ice-cold side window of the Jeep as Alex steered the vehicle over the dark streets that were still littered with branches, strips of siding, and a few sections of roofing gutter. People were cleaning up, but there was way too much work to do in a single day. It would be quite a while before the town was back to looking and functioning normally.

Since there weren't any other vehicles on the road, Alex turned on the LED light bar fitted onto the hood, which he usually used to illuminate the path ahead when he was driving on forest trails in the dark. The swath of bright light shined on a large tree branch and a shutter on the pavement ahead. It was so strange to be using the Jeep's off-road capabilities to drive on the city streets leading to their home.

The chilled window glass felt wonderful on the side of her face. Despite being outside during snow flurries for most of the day, cooking with fire was a very warm activity. Amy had spent the afternoon going between stirring the soup pots on the propane burners and helping bake bread in the wood-fired oven. Cooking to feed people in their community was rewarding but also exhausting. She hoped her mother would be on good behavior when they got home because she and Alex just wanted to rest in front of the fireplace then go to bed early. Her husband was probably even more tired since he had spent the day helping clean up yards and patch houses for strangers in the residential neighborhood near Riverbend Café.

He pulled into the driveway and parked in front of the garage. When Alex opened the Jeep's door, the radio went silent. Immediately the Blake Shelton song was replaced by the hum of dozens of generators. Amy covered her ears with her hands and could almost imagine they were crickets. A giant swarm of insects was actually easier to think about facing than the destruction that had caused the army of generators to come alive. It seemed as though Kellerton had been swept up by the wind and deposited in an unpleasant alternate universe. Where was a wizard who could fix everything?

Since the sun had already set, the usually cheerful kitchen seemed more like a scary dungeon when Amy walked through the door, carrying Pogo. He had accompanied her to the café and happily napped through the day in the hallway near the hot, wood-fired oven. A beam of light bounced around her kitchen as she juggled a flashlight and the wiggling dog, who wanted to be let down. Somehow she managed to deposit Pogo onto the welcome mat and keep hold of the flashlight. The kitchen was far enough away from the fireplace that it was downright frigid. The temperature would help keep the refrigerator and chest freezer cooler as they took turns being run by the generator, but the atmosphere wasn't comfortable for humans or small dogs.

Pogo raced into the living room, barked once, and then bounded back into the kitchen. Amy swept her flashlight beam around the kitchen. The tarnished, metal handle of a pan was sticking over the edge of the sink. She stared at it. All of the pans she normally used had shiny stainless steel handles. Instead of heading to the comfortable couch, she veered toward the sink. Her flashlight shined on a copper pot. The outside was streaked with soot while the inside was coated with charred globs of...something. She whirled around. Her flashlight revealed that one pan was missing from the collection of copper pots that she had hung on the wall for decoration.

"Mom!"

"What?" came the combative reply yelled from somewhere in the house.

"Did you use one of my copper pots for something?"

"I was trying to make some lunch."

Amy jumped and spun around. As distant as her mother's first reply was, she hadn't expected her to speak a second time right behind her, especially since she hadn't heard footsteps or any other indicator of someone moving through the house. The pot destroyer stood in the doorway leading to the dining room. How did she get there so quietly and quickly?

"Why did you use that antique copper pot?" Amy pointed at the rack hanging over the kitchen island. "Instead of one of the ones that are meant to be used."

She shrugged. "How am I supposed to know what pans are meant to be used in your house?"

Amy inhaled slowly, held the breath for two seconds, and then let it out. "Okay. So what did you do to damage it so badly? What were you cooking?"

"I bummed a can of beef stew off one of your neighbors since you don't have any decent food that I can cook here. I put it on the grill to warm up, and I forgot about it for a while." She pointed at the sink with her thumb. "Didn't know that was going to happen."

"I'll see if I can get some canned soup for you tomorrow so that you can feed yourself more easily. I think some of the emergency relief organizations are handing out canned goods," Alex said as he walked back into the kitchen. He sat a battery-powered lantern on the counter beside the sink and wrapped his arms around Amy's waist. "The pots on the rack will stand up to the grill better than the old, copper ones on the wall."

"Actually, I have an idea that will make it so that you won't have to worry about cooking for yourself anymore during the power outage." Amy wriggled out of the embrace. "I talked with the owner of one of the local food trucks today. The café that I work at is making free soup for anybody who would like it, but not everybody can make it downtown. So the food truck is going to be driving around to different neighborhoods, serving free soup. You can help with the meals, instead of sitting in the house alone all day."

Her mother narrowed her eyes at her. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Because people are in need, and you have the ability to help. That's a great reason. I promise it'll make you feel wonderful seeing how grateful people will be for the hot meal."

"What is up with everybody in this town telling me what to do? First, the cop this afternoon—" She made air quotes with her fingers beside her head. "Informing me that I can't leave town. Now you're making me work for free. I hate this place. I knew I should never have come back to Michigan."

Amy turned on the faucet and watched the water run into the most likely ruined pot. She needed a few seconds to process what her mother had said. It was pretty typical for her to bury important information within a long rant. Easy to miss, if Amy didn't make a point to always listen carefully just in case there was something that she needed to know.

"For one thing, I'm not making you do anything. I'm suggesting a very good alternative to sitting around the house, getting bored. And did you just say a police officer was here?" she asked as the water flowed over the rim of the warped pan.

"Yeah. It was that cop you made me talk to at the craft show. He wanted me to tell him more about how I knew Catherine and what I said to her." She scratched the side of her head. Her talon-like, blood-red acrylic nails scritched against her scalp. "I told him pretty much the same thing I did in the parking lot. I never liked her back when we went to high school together or when I saw her parading around with her clipboard the other day like some highfalutin boss lady."

"You do realize that since the detective asked you to stay in town you're most likely the main suspect in her murder, don't you?" Amy asked.

"I didn't kill her!"

"Okay." Amy looked toward the ceiling and counted to five. "Do you have any idea who may have? Did you see her talking or arguing with anybody else, besides yourself?"

"Nope." She yawned. "I'm going to go take a nap."

Amy grabbed the empty soup can that was sitting on the island and walked a few steps to the big, silver trash can that was in plain sight, especially during the day. She stepped on the lever that opened the lid and froze when she caught a glimpse of the pile of glittering glass inside. She pulled a mini flashlight out of her pocket and shined it into the trash can. It was full of empty beer bottles. Draining some of those could've been what had distracted her mother while the copper pot burnt on the grill. Maybe she should insist that her mother help out at Riverbend before something more serious happened than charred soup.