Death of a Suitor #18

Chapter Fifteen

Miles frowned. "Pudding. Isn't that complicated?"

"Pudding? Complicated? It's not brain surgery, Miles. It has only three or four ingredients."

"That sounds like the most dangerous type of recipe. The kind that appears simple but is actually very treacherous."

Myrtle ignored this. "I'll make it right now so I can be prepared at any time."

Miles shifted uncomfortably. "I thought we were going to continue your interviews. Isn't it time to speak with Nicole Jackson?"

"We'll speak to Nicole just as soon as I make this pudding."

Miles said slowly, "Do you even have all the ingredients?"

"Why are you being so contrary about my pudding? I'm certain that I have all of the ingredients." She hurried to the kitchen, cane stomping as she went. "As memory serves, I need cocoa, vanilla, and cornstarch. Or flour. Something."

Miles looked increasingly nervous. "Maybe it would be a good idea to locate the recipe. Do you remember what book it was in?"

"That might take the whole day," said Myrtle sternly. "Really, Miles. You have such a bee in your bonnet over this."

"I just think it would be much better to go off a recipe. Here, I'll look up pudding on the internet." Miles strode to Myrtle's small desk and started tapping at the keyboard. Myrtle sighed and peered over his shoulder.

"Here. This one looks easy." Miles's voice was relieved.

"They're all easy. That's the point of pudding."

Miles hit a button. "I'm printing this one out."

He carried the printout to the kitchen and pulled ingredients out of Myrtle's cabinets and fridge. "Sugar, salt, milk, butter, vanilla, cornstarch, cocoa." He frowned at the milk. "That's not enough milk, according to the recipe."

"Oh, it'll be fine," said Myrtle dismissively.

"It's not nearly four and a half cups."

"Then I'll simply add more butter," said Myrtle with a shrug.

"I don't think that's going to work."

Myrtle sighed. "You're getting all worked up over this. Why don't you go home for thirty minutes and then head back over? After that, I'll be completely ready to head over to see Nicole."

Miles looked as if he might have a lot more to say. But he clamped his lips together and quickly exited.

The problem, Myrtle decided at one point in the process of concocting the dessert, was that pudding had far too many dry ingredients. Everything seemed to explode everywhere when she took it from its container. At this point, she was going to have to have Puddin clean up the pudding. This amused her to think about and she laughed aloud, spilling a good deal more cornstarch in the process.

Once Tippy called her in the middle of the process to ask if she'd like to serve on a committee at church. Myrtle decidedly did not. After getting off the phone with Tippy, Myrtle reflected that it was certainly easier to say no to things when one was in one's eighties. After all, there were limited years left . . . definitely too few to spend time doing things you didn't care to do. When she returned to the pudding, she wasn't at all sure where she'd left off with the recipe. She picked up with the cornstarch.

The conversation with Tippy had somehow taken longer than it should have. Tippy could be chatty. Looking at the clock, Myrtle turned up the heat on the stove to make up for the lost time. Then she set about trying to find her whisk. There was one particular drawer where the whisk should reside. She turned the drawer upside down on her kitchen table and went through every instrument . . . no whisk. How did one lose a whisk?