Just Desserts: a Dinner to Die for

Amidst the quiet scraping of many forks and knives on fine china, Terrence Wright glanced down the rim of his half-drained wine glass from his vantage at the head of the dinner table. The torrential rain lashing at the glass of the dining room windows was an unexpected feature to this experience, but his guests seemed contented nonetheless. He smiled as he watched his five dinner companions as they finished the penultimate course of an expertly curated five course meal, himself looking away only briefly to savor his own morsels. Terrence was a food critic of some renown and owner of this well-appointed country house. This was one of many private feasts he held for close friends and notable colleagues on special occasions. A sumptuously decorated chocolate and almond cake sat in the center within a glass cloche. Terrence thought that this might prove a tantalizing lead to the end of the experience he had worked so hard to create.

As the last of the silverware ceased their scratching, a team of maids and butlers silently removed the dinnerware and left the room. After giving his guests a few moments to breathe and chat among themselves, Terrence brought a spoon to his glass and tapped three times with a clear tone ringing forth. When his guests quieted, he spoke.

“Thank you all for coming despite the weather. This event has been a long time in the making, and I am glad I could entertain you all, my dear friends and colleagues. So, before our final course, I would like to offer a series of toasts. Most of you I have known for a long time, as you are among the most distinguished food critics I know. Two of you, however, have made quite a large splash in our circle with your recent blogs: you, Yasmin Mendez, with your insightful commentary and you, Roger Miller, with your penchant for witticism. To our new friends, cheers!”

“Cheers,” they repeated.

Terrence continued, “Moving on, here’s to our guest in the seat of honor across from me, Chivonn Reese. She is well known to us, but her recent book made the bestsellers list last month and provides a fresh look at our industry and serves as an inspiration to us all. To Chivonn, cheers!”

“Cheers!” they repeated.

Chivonn blushed and raised her glass.

“And last but certainly not least, our good friends Michael Porter and the illustrious Elijah Palmer. Two of my longest friends in this industry. Cheers!”

“Cheers!” They repeated.

“Here here,” Elijah said with feigned indifference, drinking in the attention.

They all clinked their glasses together and drank. Michael glanced down the rim of his glass at Elijah. Elijah replied with a sardonic smirk. A butler came and took away the cake.

“My chef will make the final preparations for dessert and there will be a digestif to follow. In the meantime, please avail yourself of my home.” Terrence said.

Michael took a careful look at everyone then left the table without saying a word, then so did Roger. Chivonn stood and excused herself right after the other two, leaving though the hallway. When they were gone, the other three remained alone. Yasmin, the younger of the three, attempted to make light conversation to pass the time.

“Well, Terrence, thank you for inviting us to your home. I am honored that celebrities such as yourselves have welcomed me so readily.” She said.

“Oh, enough with that, I am honored to have you! People like you and Roger are the future of this business, celebrities in the making, if I do say so myself.” Terrence said.

“Pah,” Elijah snorted.

“What, Elijah, do you disagree?” Terrence asked.

“Wholeheartedly!” He said nonchalantly sheathing his gaze in his wine glass, “Insightful commentary… witticism… nothing but new age drivel if you ask me.” He unsheathed his eyes and locked his gaze at Yasmin. “To be a food critic, you have to say the truth nobody notices, the little nasty imperfections that riddle the world. That’s what sells. Art and observation, that is my trade, my life. You, my dear girl, won’t last another year before you’re passed up for another firebrand… such as myself.” He took a sniff and a careful sip, “The bouquet on this wine is horrible, Terrence.” He took a longer sip.

Yasmin shot a bewildered glance at Terrence. Terrence returned a placid look, inferring a silent he does this all the time, ignore it. Yasmin shrugged and sipped the last of her own wine. She knew her own talents well and felt no threat from this elderly agitator. If it weren’t for her respect for Terrence, she might have said something, but she realized that now was neither the time nor place. Before Yasmin could attempt to renew a more social conversation, the other three guests returned. Chivonn was drenched.

“Woo! It’s all cats and dogs out there!” Chivonn said.

“Yes,” Elijah said, “it’s called rain.”

Everyone looked at Elijah in general annoyance. He chortled to himself. Roger looked up and without hesitation said, “Well, when it’s raining cats and dogs, be careful not to step in the poodles!”

Everyone groaned, but Roger’s light-heartedness proved a welcome distraction. Then, like clockwork, six maids came and took their place at the side of each dinner guest, each holding an elegant slice of chocolate cake covered in sliced almonds, powdered sugar, and a chocolate drizzle. Everyone except Elijah looked pleased at the display. The pieces of cake were set down before each person. Elijah turned his nose up at his.

“I don’t want mine,” he said, pushing the plate back, “the almonds smell bitter.”

Terrence shot him a sideways admonishing glance, giving a subtle nod to the plate.

“Fine.” Elijah replied, digging into his piece along with everyone else. “But if I don’t like it, you’ll hear about it in my next column.”

A chorus of sighs and eye rolls came.

However, as they ate even Elijah was pleased with the flavor and texture of the cake. The conversation among the critics abated as they focused simply on enjoying their scrumptious dessert. When they finished, the discussion resumed.

“Absolutely delicious, Terrence,” Yasmin said, “I love the subtle note of vanilla.”

“Absolutely killer!” Roger said, “You should put up your own restaurant and bakery, man!”

“Good thing I already own both,” Terrence said with a shy smirk.

“And there is something I’m having trouble placing…” Elijah said haltingly.

“Was it vanilla? I observe it right there on the middle of the tongue.” Yasmin offered with a hint of retaliatory snark.

Elijah shook his head, seemingly ignoring the remark.

“I’m getting a hint of espresso. Could it be that?” Roger proposed.

Elijah shook his head again; he grew quiet and put his hand to his throat.

“Is something wrong?” Michael asked.

Elijah opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words white foam frothed from his lips. In a moment of panic and confusion, he attempted to stand but soon fell near the wall. In mere moments, he went limp on the hardwood floor. Michael quickly jumped to check his pulse. Elijah was dead.

Everyone sat mouths agape. Roger, eyes locked on the ex-agitator, spoke astounded, “Wow, that cake is killer!”

Everyone looked at Roger in confounded amazement, but it did not last long before they again realized the sudden gravity of this unforeseen tragedy.

Terrence woke himself from his shock, grabbing a wall-mounted landline and dialing 911, “Hello? My friend has collapsed on the floor, could you… Yes, I can hold.”

Michael took his hand away from Elijah’s neck and slumped against a nearby china cabinet, aghast.

“Didn’t he complain that his cake smelled like bitter almonds?” Yasmin asked the crowd.

“Yes,” Chivonn replied, holding her hand to her chest in horror.

“He might have been… poisoned by someone… on purpose! Some concentrated forms of cyanide give off a strong bitter almond smell. It would have been masked perfectly by the almonds on the cake to all but the most discerning.” Yasmin proposed.

“What? How do you know that?” Terrence asked.

“Well, I did go to college,” she replied, “biology was a part of the curriculum; liberal arts and all that. They discussed ingested poisons once or twice.”

“Well, it seems like you know a lot more about this sort of thing! If it were poision, how do we know you didn’t do it?” Michael asked.

“What? Preposterous!” Terrence replied, “Both of us were here in each other’s sights. She couldn’t have touched the cake!”

“She could have touched it before!” Michael asserted.

All eyes turned to Yasmin; she returned a look of horror. The severity of the accusation welled in Yasmin’s throat as everyone’s eyes felt like daggers. Suddenly, Chivonn looked askew at a spot on the wall, caught in a supposition.

“Can’t be her,” Chivonn said, “the cake was whole then! If it was poisoned before, we would all be dead! That is unless she already knew which part of the cake was going to whom before it was even cut… which would be preposterous, right?”

They all nodded accepting the logic, but regardless Chivonn, Roger, and Michael looked to Terrence in silent expectation of his own defense. Terrence felt small as he knew this observation reintroduced him as a suspect.

“Whoever did it must have poisoned his piece after it was cut…I can’t see any other way it could have happened the way it did… and the man seemed as healthy as an ox… a rather misogynistic and elitist ox however he might have been…” Yasmin added, suffering the silent accusation of the crowd at that last comment, “…but who? It couldn’t be Terrence or me, we were here the whole time chatting. That leaves… Chivonn, Michael, and Roger. You all left while the cake was being cut.”

“Don’t look at me,” Chivonn said, “I went outside for a smoke, I came back wetter than a river!”

“I went to the toilet, I never went near the kitchen! Oh, an awesome job on the three-ply, Terrence, could I steal a couple rolls for my apartment?” Roger asked.

Terrence stood stunned by the request but managed to say, “Thanks… help yourself…”

Roger left the room with a grin.

Everyone looked at Michael. A sudden shock hit him, “What? You think it was me? Yes, I was in the kitchen, but so was a bunch of kitchen and service staff! I can’t help it if I wanted to chat with the chef about that wonderful meal. It’s what I do! They saw me there, and it could easily be one of them! I doubt any of them share any fondness for Elijah. He was my closest friend, I could never. We entered the biz together for heaven’s sake!”

Glares of suspicion were shared among everyone.

Suddenly, Terrence spoke into the phone, “Hello officer! Yes, there’s been a poisoning. Someone did it on purpose, yes. No, we don’t know. 40 minutes? Ok, the door is already unlocked.”

Terrence hung up the phone. He looked at his guests nervously and said, “Wait, where’s Roger?”

As if on cue, Roger stumbled in carrying seven rolls of toilet paper in his arm. He stood frozen at attention as everyone grimaced.

“What?” Roger asked innocently.

“Nothing,” Michael said exhaustedly, “we were just discussing who the killer might be.”

Roger dropped the rolls of toilet paper in excitement and smiled as he had an idea, “Say, this is like one of those cop shows! We can totally solve this ourselves! It’s just a matter of how. Oh! That’s what we need to do: establish a motive! Who here hated Mr. Palmer?”

Everyone around the table exchanged awkward guilty glances.

“Ok, that doesn’t narrow it down at all, it seems. Strange, that always works in the shows…” Roger said.

“Well,” Terrence said, “If there’s no discernable motive, who can we trust to look for clues? Only Yasmin and I are clear, and one of us needs to keep an eye on the rest.”

“Hey, I’m trustworthy, too! I have experience.” Roger asserted.

“…From cop shows?” Chivonn asked.

“May-be,” said Roger with his eyes suddenly finding interest in the wallpaper.

“I’ll do it. At least I have an idea what to look for.” Yasmin said.

“You always were the most insightful… go ahead.” Terrence agreed.

As she left, Michael turned to Terrence, “Well, you certainly delivered on your promise, my friend. This was quite an experience; I just never thought it would end in murder mystery theater!”

Terrence did not respond; he could only look at his shoes as Michael sat down in his chair.

Yasmin rounded the hall and entered the kitchen. The room looked like a professional commercial kitchen. A group of chefs were about to clean the preparation area before she stopped them.

“Stop! What are you doing?” Yasmin yelled.

Confused, the head chef replied while he was mid-scrape on a pan, “Cleaning up. How was the cake, Miss Mendez?”

Yasmin paused with bated breath, then said, “Well, about that. You see, there was a murder…”

The chef stopped in his tracks while his staff continued to clean. He responded quickly and apologetically, “What! It can’t have been that bad, was it? That Elijah Palmer came in here this afternoon saying the same thing about the hors d’oeuvres. I was so relieved when Mr. Porter came in later and…”

“Wait, you said Mr. Palmer was in here… erm… I don’t know how to say this, but he’s the one laying dead on the floor… it was poison… cyanide on the cake, we think.” Yasmin said soberly.

“You’re joking?” said the chef, disbelief on his face.

“I wish I were. The police are on their way and everyone out there is accusing everyone else. Mr. Wright sent me in here to find any clues.”

The color fled from the chef’s face. He turned to his staff and said authoritatively, “Everyone! Stop what you’re doing! Sponges down and step away!”

They all followed the order.

The chef turned to Yasmin, completely hysteric, “You know, I was up since five in the morning making that cake. I frosted it myself, put those almonds on in a precise floral pattern, I even cut it myself and made sure every plate was perfect. And what does someone do? Go and make it poison!”

“Wait, so you’re the one who cut the cake?” Yasmin said with a not-so-subtle interrogation.

“What? You think I would poison my own food? For a celebrity critic? Are you mad? My career would be ruined! I would sooner chop of my arm than try to kill a guest! You know how many dill-holes I’ve had to deal with on a daily basis? I’m not going to bite my own nose off to kill one misanthropic cesspool of a man who’s never cooked a good shrimp skewer in his life! The man can’t even cook, he just complains about everything… complained… He was just on TV, too, oh God, this is it! A second death has been had tonight, and her name is my career!” He raved.

“Don’t worry, I believe you. I thought as much, but I needed to exhaust all the options.” Yasmin reassured.

“Please, check our kitchen! None of us here had nothing to do with it.” He said.

Yasmin said, “You know, if it is any consolation, that cake was to die for.”

The chef looked at her in confusion as she realized what she did.

“Pardon the pun, Roger is rubbing off on me, it seems.” She said.

Yasmin checked everywhere she could see. She checked all the counters and appliances. She scoured the fridge. She found nothing unusual. Suddenly, Yasmin had an idea: the poisoner would want to dispose of the evidence. Moreover, if the killer was not clever enough, they might have done it near the food preparation area where the cake had been. Luckily, the kitchen staff had yet to empty the trash. She checked the kitchen waste bin.

“You wouldn’t mind if I helped myself to a pair of gloves?” She asked the chef.

“Knock yourself out,” he said.

The look on her face was one of disgust as she put on the glove and rummaged through scraps of aluminum foil, parchment paper, and food refuse. After a good few minutes of digging, her fingers found something unusual. Sure enough, there was a plastic vial with a blue cap. White powder clung to its insides. Yasmin reached pulled it from the bin, much to the dismay of the kitchen staff. She wiped it on her blouse and uncapped the vial; it smelled like bitter almonds. She recapped it before she breathed it in accidentally.

Suddenly, she also remembered something about one of the other critics. She kissed the chef on the cheek in unbridled elation while he recoiled from the kitchen waste clinging to her arm and glove. She kept her revelation to herself as she shoved the vial into a pocket in her pants and mouthed a quick word of thanks to the kitchen staff and ran back into the hall. She returned to the others, excited to tell them about her theory. Yasmin ran back out into the dining room.

She stopped in front of the table, holding the vial aloft. She exclaimed, “I know who it is!”

With a crack of thunder, the lights in the house abruptly went dark, bathing everything in pitch black. For an entire second, nothing except the rain was heard. Suddenly, there was a flash and a bang inside the room. A small scuffle and male grunting were heard. The lights returned. Terrence was holding a smoking Deringer while Yasmin was on the ground bleeding.

“Yasmin!” Roger yelled, dropping to the ground. He took a thick cloth napkin and pressed it against the gun wound just below her rib cage.

“TV… interview… rive… riveh… ask him about… it was…” She said, struggling to remain conscious.

“It’s ok, Yasmin, everything will be fine.” Roger said looking into her eyes.

“Terrence! How could you?” Michael yelled.

Terrence stood in shock at his hand, “I didn’t! I swear!”

Chivonn’s eyes widened, looking at Terrence in horror with tears in her eyes, saying, “Did you set this whole thing up to kill Elijah, Terrence? Tell me!”

Terrence was out of breath, trying to explain when words failed him. He stared in horror at the pistol he held.

“Terrence,” Michael said, “How could you? Why? He was your friend. He trusted you!”

Then, in a moment of dread realization, Chivonn squinted and looked at Michael.

“Interview… Michael, wasn’t your interview with Channel 9 rescheduled to next month so they could talk to Elijah instead?”

“What? I mean yes… but…” he said.

“Terrence hates guns; I’ve known him far too long.” Chivonn added.

Terrance held the gun like it had the plague, unsure of what to do.

Roger stared at Michael, whose face grew pale. In desperation, Roger kept the napkin pressed against Yasmin’s wound. Suddenly, Michael pounced forward and punched Terrence in the nose and took the pistol, expertly holding the gun forward. He waved the gun alternatively at Terrence, Roger, and Chivonn. All except Roger held their hands high.

“Fine,” Michael said, “I did it! That fiend had it coming! For the last two decades, he’s been stealing everything from me: gigs, magazine contracts, my slot on the Culinary Network, my wife! Now this interview… it had to be done! You all know how he is! I mean, honestly, can you blame me? That smug little face of his will haunt me no longer! I am finally free of him!”

Terrence stood on the verge of tears at this betrayal, as both Michael and Elijah he had known for years. Chivonn stepped forward pleadingly, “Michael, put down the gun! This isn’t you!”

Michael pointed the gun directly at her, a furious insanity gathering in his eyes. “You know, I don’t think I will, Chivonn. You see, I am changed, and that cretin had it coming! I know how much Roger likes his cop shows and I’ve seen a fair number of them myself. Especially with Elijah’s doing, I’ve had plenty of time to watch them. I know what happens next, and I’m not going to let it! You are all my hostages now.” Michael turned to Roger, “And you, wise guy, hands where I can see them!”

Roger looked plaintively into Michael’s eyes as he held Yasmin’s wound firmly closed, unwilling to take his hands away.

“I won’t say it again, lover boy.”

Even with the rain, one could hear a pin drop. Roger didn’t know what to do. He accepted his fate.

In that tense moment, a loud bang was heard as the front door slammed open against the wall. Michael looked over his shoulder to see a very surprised cop pointing a taser at his chest.

“Sir, put the gun down and raise your hands!” the cop said.

Michael instinctively turned and pointed the gun at the officer. The cop immediately fired the taser at Michael, electricity crackling along its long wires. Before anyone could react, Michael hit the floor stunned. Paramedics rushed in past the cop and took Yasmin away.

“Dispatch, suspect in custody.” The cop said.

Roger looked at the now incapacitated Michael, then said, “Wow, I can’t believe it! What a shocking revelation!”

Everyone groaned.