Culinary Artist

Staring at the blank canvas I heaved a sigh. My therapist had said this would be therapeutic. That this would help get the images that plagued my mind out and stored elsewhere. Lacing my fingers behind my head I closed my eyes, allowing those memories forward.

Currant red stains. Canary yellow caution tape. Flashing fluorescent cobalt and bone white lights. Sightless coffee brown eyes. A policeman’s hand reaching for my arm -

“Hello! Nancy? Helloooo!” The most annoying rhythm of a knock and the shrill questioning voice of my neighbor pulled me from the scene. Keeping my eyes closed I pulled and pushed two breaths through my nose and forced a smile. She was actually a very nice lady. Just…forceful and really wanted to help with what I had endured. However, the free lasagna wasn’t terrible. Actually, it was very, very good and one of her redeeming qualities.

“One moment, Claire!” Unlocking my fingers I placed them on the edges of the chair as I let the front legs fall back to the ground. Standing I grabbed my cardigan and wrapped it around my body, closing it by folding my arms across my chest. The walk from my den to the front door was sixty-five seconds, time was something that had become important to me.

Smiling at Claire as she waved through the sidelight, I unlocked the deadbolt and then the chain. “You are far too kind to me.” I genuinely believed my statement as she offered her Pyrex dish to me.

“Oh, please! I am happy to help you out. Besides, now that it's just me and Marbles I need something to do to keep these gears going.” The wind picked up and loosened her gray hair from its messy bun. Taking the masterpiece that was the lasagna she quickly said, “It’s a new recipe so, of course, I need your true feelings on it. The cookoff is only two days away!”

“I’m sure it’ll be great, Claire. You truly have a knack for cooking and I know you’ll get first place.” She continued to stare at me, eyes flicking behind my shoulder for just a moment. I stiffened. I hadn’t let anyone into my new home since the incident. Moving was part of my fresh start and I did not want this place tainted by someone I barely knew. “Thank you, Claire. Really. You have been quite the neighbor.”

“Of course, Nancy! I hope you’ve started painting again. You have the most beautiful plot in this community. I can’t believe you were able to get the parcels next to this place before building started.” All things she has been wanting to say but did not find appropriate until this point in time.

“Yes, well, this was the perfect place for me to lay low without people knowing my business." My smile became strained.

“I would never tell anyone who you really are. Promise. Just me and Marbles know and we just love your old art.” Giving me a nod, that I could only imagine as comradery to her, she sighed and continued. “You know, I think it would be great if you could come by tomorrow. I am hosting a potluck before the cookoff. I plan on tossing out an older lasagna recipe so people think they know what they’re getting and think I’m just an old, senile lady. Really get under Cassandra’s skin when I put in something completely different! Your notes have been helping.” Claire’ eyes were so bright. She was so hopeful and excited. I had been dodging any and all requests other than these meetings at the door.

“You know what, I’ll come.” I tightened my grip on the pyrex dish, digging it into my skin.

“Oh, honey, delightful! I think it’ll be good for you to meet some people in the community. See you tomorrow then! Five o-clock! Bye dear! Don’t forget those notes.” Turning she headed to her car and tossed a wave over her head. It would take her one minute and five seconds to get there from my porch.

Shutting the door and locking both locks, I moved on to the kitchen and placed the lasagna on the wooden island. From the left drawer I grabbed an olive colored notebook and a black pen. From the right drawer I picked out a fork. Removing the lid to the pyrex dish I stabbed into the soft noodles and put the bite in my mouth.

Savory. Buttery noodles. Notes of garlic, thyme, blended tomato and onion. Closing my eyes to the symphony of flavors, a small note of pesto hit my tongue.

Damn. This woman was a witch in the kitchen. A culinary artist.

Letting out a satisfied groan I flipped the notebook open to an empty page. I had every note I had given to Claire as I always copied them down for her on a separate paper. She really did take criticism well. In the three months that I had lived here she had made me eight lasagnas. This was almost the best.

Noodles - perfect consistency.

A touch too much onion. Take onion amount from Lasagna #6.

Pesto - excellent touch.

Add parsley amount from Lasagna #2.

Use cornstarch instead of egg for ricotta binding.

Nodding slowly I took one more bite. Discarding the fork in the sink, I threw the rest of the lasagna in the trash and placed the pyrex dish on top of the fork. Rubbing my arms I looked around the villa I had purchased six months ago and closed my eyes. The windows in the bay windowed living room were cracked allowing the crickets’ and frogs’ music into my home.

“Tomorrow should be fun.” Walking back to my den I shut the door and started to mix my paints.

✽✽✽

The smell of blood is rich and very thick. I don’t think anyone talks about how heavy it is. As I move through each room my movements are sluggish and as if I am slowed down while everything else moves at a normal pace. I see the man on the carpet, his head wet. I don’t know what to do.

Moving to the bathroom room I look for something to help. Nothing. What can help this mess?

Sirens. Sirens and flashing lights. The police. The police.

An alarm. This sounded too real. Jolting awake I wiped drool from my cheek and looked at my watch. It was 10am. That was far too late. I had seven hours to get everything done and be presentable. Therapy. Wash the pyrex dish. Shower. Change. Tidy my paints. Pushing my hair from my face I pushed back from my desk and grabbed the glass containers that held my colors. I preferred mixing my own. Corking them and snagging my brushes the glass jars went to their shelf and the brushes into the farm sink I had installed in the room.

Before leaving the room I looked at the painting I had started, coffee colored eyes staring back at me. I dared to stare them down as I shut the door. Maybe this could be the start of a new gallery. I knew Maurice in New York would jump at the opportunity. Or, Daphne in San Francisco. Heading upstairs I took the forty-three seconds it would take to my room and got ready for the day.

✽✽✽

“Nancy! You made it.” Claire’s large, pine green door swung open. Her nerves danced as she reached for a hug. I indulged as much as I hated the contact. She needed this and I could manage it.

“Of course, Claire. I owe you.” Releasing the one arm I used I offered her the cleaned pyrex dish and a small smile. “I also have your note, but I need to copy it down.” Therapy had run long and I took too long in the shower. Sloppy.

“Don’t worry dear. Come in! You can just tear the page out.”

Upon entering the crowd was already there. I had been late by being on time. Claire guided me in as eyes turned upon me. “Hi everyone, this is Nancy. The one that bought the villa!” Murmurs and nodding ensued.

A tall woman with long, amber hair and perfectly manicured blush pink nails thrust her hand at me. “Cassandra.” Storm gray eyes were hard as I cupped her hand with my own.

“Ah, yes, Cassandra. Hello.” Her plastered smile faltered. “Anyway, Claire, show me this lasagna you made? Pleasure, Cassandra.” Dropping her hand I followed Claire into her kitchen.

“Oh, you just tickle me Nancy!” Giggling, she showed me the spread. The lasagna she made was Lasagna Number Three. Good, but not her best. Middle of the road. Reaching into my coat pocket I grabbed the notebook and flipped to the right page, tearing it out. Claire took it happily. “Thank you! Great notes, fantastic.” I nodded at her as my neck hairs sprang up. Turning over my left shoulder, Cassandra sneered from the foyer and watched my notebook go back into my coat pocket.

✽✽✽

It was cookoff day and Claire had picked me up. Something I could not refuse. The old lady was winning me over. She chatted away about everyone that had entered the contest. Martha had never been married. Coral was married three times. Madison had four children by three men. Cassandra was determined and cold, but nice, single. Hilary was disillusioned with men online loving her. I nodded along and smiled pretending these things mattered. It was hard to readjust.

As we reached the local park, at the center of the community, a banner proudly announced the 5th Annual Lasagna Cook Off. As we exited the car Claire squealed and gave me a broad smile before retrieving her lasagna from the back seat. She wouldn’t let me eat this one. Wanted me to be surprised. I gave her my best thumbs up and ambled off to mingle. It would be two hours and thirteen minutes until the cookoff started. Whispers had already started that Cassandra hadn’t shown.

✽✽✽

“Hello, everyone! Hello there. Thank you for coming, to the 5th Annual, Lasagna Cook Off!” A very breathy woman by the name of Bridgit spoke into the microphone. “As always, the judges will line up, grab their forks and take one bite,” she held up her finger for emphasis, “and move down to the note boxes. There you will write, the winner!” A giggle and breathy laugh.

The judges moved forward as I gave Claire an encouraging smile. As they moved down the line I scanned the crowd again. People gossiped and huddled, nodding in mock knowledge as Cassandra’s name bounced around again. She still had not shown. Claire and I shrugged to each other.

Twenty four minutes and two seconds had passed until the winner was announced. Claire got first place with a plaque on a trophy and a lasagna patterned apron. She was very proud and well, so was I.

“Oh, Nancy dear!” I got a huge hug. “You’ll have to give me notes every year!”

✽✽✽

Shedding my coat at the door and locking everything into place, I made the sixty-five second walk to the den. Opening the door I leaned against the door frame and looked at the canvas that was placed next to the first with coffee brown eyes. The amber sheen wasn’t….quite right. Sighing I made my way to my chair and grabbed my glass container that held the red. Dipping my brush into the puddle on the floor I added it into the amber on the canvas.

Five seconds for her drink to be spiked.

Sixteen minutes for Cassandra to slump against her steering wheel.

Three minutes for her car to glide into a tree.

Five minutes to get her out of her car and into mine.

Seven minutes to get her into my house.

I pulled the olive notebook from her fingers. No one stole from me.

Forty-eight hours to frame someone and dispose of it all.