Excerpt: Murder in Marzipan

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The host continued his running commentary - “Only a few minutes into the entree round; already we see pots boiling in every kitchen...” Brynn hardly listened, focusing instead on the other two contestants. Surely they were no threat to Malcolm. One looked so nervous, she could almost see him twitching from here. He raggedly chopped some bacon - Brynn was surprised he didn't lose a finger - and dumped the pieces in a pan with a whole stick of butter. Then he ran to the pantry area, returned with broccoli, then suddenly ran back and exchanged it for cauliflower - which he then dropped on the floor. Brynn did not laugh. She noticed that Isadora did, a harsh sound that became a cough.

Malcolm moved smoothly in his kitchen area. His knives slid through chunks of meat, his spoons portioned out spices without hesitation. Brynn had no idea what he was cooking. But whatever it was, he looked wonderful cooking it.

Isadora coughed again. It was higher this time, almost gasping. Brynn glanced over and saw the judge leaning forward in her chair, trying to catch her breath. Another judge leaned over to her; she waved him away and said something to a stagehand. The stagehand hurried away behind a side wall and returned with a purse. Brynn watched Isadora dig out a pill bottle.

“Ah yes, choosing a winner can be a real headache,” quipped the host. A few random audience members laughed politely. Isadora just gave him a look of disgust as she swallowed two capsules.

Malcolm was stirring something now, some sort of sauce? or maybe thick soup? Brynn inhaled deeply again, trying to smell it, but all the good food smells mingled together in the air, and she couldn’t tell which were from Malcolm’s kitchen. The thick smell of bacon sautéing in butter, though - that was clearly from Nervous Cook’s kitchen. She could see him poking into his pan with a fork.

“We’re about halfway through this round,” said the host. “And it looks like our contestants are--” He froze, staring toward the judges.

At first Brynn thought Isadora was just shaking, but then the judge’s arm jerked across the table, knocking her glass of water to the floor. The screen showed her clearly: eyes rolling, mouth agape, limbs flailing in spasms.

People jumped to their feet. Stagehands ran calling for the medic. One of the other judges tried to hold Isadora still; they both fell onto the floor. Judges, stagehands, dishwashers, random crew members - a curtain of people surrounded the fallen judge, and Brynn could no longer see her.

The medic arrived and plunged into the mass. Security quickly started pushing people back. Brynn caught glimpses, but not enough to know what was happening. She looked toward the kitchens.

All cooking activity had stopped. Malcolm stood over the sink where he’d been draining pasta, the colander still in his hand.

Sirens cried outside, and paramedics loaded Isadora onto a gurney. She was quiet now, and still. No tremble, no twitch, no breath.

Brynn hadn’t realized she was holding her own breath until smoke stung her eyes and she gasped. Nervous Cook’s bacon was burning.