Fudge Brownies & Murder - Culinary Competition Mystery #4

Chapter 1

(Amy)

Amy used a fork to retrieve some of the farro from the pot of boiling water. The grains bobbing among the bubbles were mesmerizing. It was sort of like watching a fish tank, but she didn't have time to get into a Zen zone. She was in the middle of a competition.

"Ten minutes left, ladies," someone in the crowd announced. Amy glanced at the electronic countdown clock hanging on the conference room's wall. It was crunch time. Custom-designed artwork for her blog was at stake.

The farro was tender, so it needed to be drained. Since the informal Fast Food Feud competition was being held in a conference room, there was only one sink for all five cooks to share. At least they all had their own prep tables outfitted with an electric hot plate. Nobody else seemed to need the sink at the moment, so Amy grabbed a colander from the stash of supplies every station had been outfitted with. After the cooked wheat kernels were drained, all she needed to do was combine them with the vegetables and dressing. Her quick dinner would be complete. She pulled on oven mitts and grabbed the pot topped with the overturned strainer.

"Excuse me. Coming through. Hot pan," she called as she passed behind Esther Mae Bates, whose table was right in front of the sink. Amy was trying to concentrate on keeping the pan full of hot water as stable as possible, but out of the corner of her eye, she couldn't help but notice Esther Mae's red face. She emptied the pot's contents into the colander set in the sink. As Amy waited for the farro to drain completely, she turned to look more closely at the older woman. "Are you okay, Esther Mae?"

"It's hotter than Savannah in August in here," Esther Mae answered in a Southern drawl. She pushed a stray strand of licorice-black hair off of her cheek with the back of her hand. "But I'll be fine. I am certainly not a wilting daisy. I could dance at the gates of hell for a measly ten minutes."

It was slightly warm in the room, but Esther Mae seemed to be faring worse than anybody else whether it was from heat or stress. Amy really questioned the older woman's ability to make it to the end of the friendly competition. She was pretty sure Esther Mae was in her sixties even though her hair didn't have a single strand of gray, most likely thanks to regular visits to a salon instead of good hair genes. Esther Mae had a propensity for wearing colorful makeup that seemed rather clownish whenever Amy spotted the Southern cooking entrepreneur working behind the counter at her mini restaurant in Clement Street Market. Now the mint-green eye shadow and signature tangerine lipstick clashed with her lobster-like skin tone. The apples of her cheeks, where she had applied blush, were as dark red as a real Macintosh.

"Maybe some cold water will help make that dance a little easier." Amy plucked a bottle of water from the kitchenette's mini fridge and set it on the corner of Esther Mae's worktable. Then she returned to her cooking tasks. She grabbed the colander by the handles and gave it a shake. Excess water splattered onto the sides of the stainless steel sink. She settled the strainer on top of the pot and turned to go back to her table. As she passed behind the overheated woman, Amy pleaded, "Please just have a seat and cool down if you start to feel bad. You don't want to be sick for the big party."

"Thank you, darling, but I'm tougher than an overcooked pork chop. No need to worry."

Amy grinned at the foodie simile. "Okay then. Good luck!"

Back at her table, Amy gave the colander one last shake over the empty pot before tipping the chewy farro into a mustard-yellow ceramic bowl. There wasn't much space on her table, so the bowl was doing double duty. After she was done combining the grains, vegetables, and dressing, she would clean up the edge and use it to also serve the vegetarian main dish salad.