Killer Cleavers & Cupcakes Read online

“Wait. So we’ll be working together?” Ruth asked.

  Janice cocked her head. “I’m sorry, but is there a problem here?”

  Ruth squared her shoulders, lifting her chin. “No, ma’am.”

  “Good. Because the Mermaid’s Room is my kitchen, and I won’t have any issues. I chose the two of you to be there as you are the most experienced pastry chefs we have on this ship. This is a job chefs aboard this ship would kill for, as we only serve evening dinner and dessert. So, if I were you two, I would be grateful. Don’t make me regret my decision. Now, I’m giving you both three minutes to hustle yourselves into the banquet hall kitchen and be ready for further instruction.”

  Chapter 4

  Without another word, Ruth and Loretta were out the door and running down I-95 to the elevators. When the elevator doors slid open on deck five, it wasn’t hard to find the Mermaid’s Dinner Room. They stepped out into the lobby area, immersed in classy gold and silver décor, with a crystal chandelier overhead. Whether the crystals were real or not, Ruth didn’t care—it was breathtaking. In front of them, a sign pointed down an equally opulent hallway to the Mermaid’s Room. As they rounded the corner, they saw another sign with an arrow pointing to the kitchen.

  They entered the kitchen, the first to arrive.

  Loretta’s sharp breath echoed in the empty space. “Well, so much for the Blue Dolphin, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Nah. Don’t be sorry. If what Janice said is true, that we’d only be focused on one meal a day, well, that means we’ll have more free time on the ship. I heard they have a casino.” She waggled her eyebrows and nudged Ruth with her elbow.

  “No, thank you. I don’t gamble.”

  Loretta sighed. “Don’t gamble? Do you know anything about fun?”

  “I know plenty about fun.”

  Loretta shook her head as she leaned up against one of the counters, tapping her fingernails on the surface.

  Within minutes, the room filled up with more white coats. Everyone was murmuring about what they expected their assignment would be for the day when the door swung open. A man with curly blond hair entered, hastiness to his step. With blue eyes like ice and a chiseled jaw, he came to a halt in front of the group, crossing his arms over his puffed-up chest.

  His voice boomed, cutting through any murmuring that remained. “I’m Chef Aaron Mills. Your boss.”

  Ruth’s forehead wrinkled. This man was even scarier than Janice Hassley. In fact, where was Janice? Wasn’t she the one assigned to supervise them?

  Jabbing his finger down toward the floor, Chef Mills continued, “This is my kitchen, and I’ll be running it.”

  “No, you’re not!” Janice stomped in. “This is my kitchen, Aaron.”

  Chef Mills chuckled. “Chef Janice Hassley. Nice of you to make an appearance, but a kitchen can only have one head chef; however, you’re more than welcome to join the others in line, if you wish.” He gestured toward the row of chefs and bakers standing before him.

  “You are the executive chef.” Janice strutted closer to him, now only several inches from his face. “Must I remind you of your duties? You’re supposed to be making up the schedules and testing dishes, not running any specific kitchen. And the Mermaid’s Dinner Room kitchen is supposed to be under my supervision.”

  Chef Mills snickered. “You didn’t really think I was going to sit in an office all day?”

  “First you take my position as executive chef, and now you’re trying to take my kitchen too? You can’t do this!”

  “I’m the executive chef; I can do whatever I want. All the kitchens on this ship are under my management.”

  Janice’s mouth dropped. “You are going to pay for this, Aaron.”

  “It’s Chef Mills.” He narrowed his eyes, then drew himself closer to her, lowering his voice. “And I’d watch yourself, Ms. Hassley, or you’ll find yourself working in the crew mess hall indefinitely.”

  “You are the slimiest person I’ve ever met,” Janice replied with a sneer before spinning on her heels and marching out the door.

  Chef Mills turned back to the crew. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes. As I was saying, I will be running this kitchen, which means you will follow my rules.”

  Ruth groaned within. You have got to be kidding me. The man carried himself like a drill sergeant. Just when she thought Janice was bad…

  Chef Mills held up his index finger. “Number one: I’m the boss, and you take orders from me. What I say goes, not whatever creative nonsense that pops into your head at the moment. If I say the dish gets a teaspoon of salt, that’s what you do. If I say I want precisely three pieces of parsley on the plate, that’s what I better get. So, whatever inspiration you find watching ‘Barefoot Brenda’ or ‘Gardens of Love’ with ‘insert wacky host that the food channel decides to numb your brain with,’ ignore it. My kitchen. My recipes. My dishes. Got it?”

  Everyone responded affirmatively.

  “Good. Number two: remember and refer back to rule number one.” Chef Mills clasped his hands behind his back and began walking down the line of the chefs and bakers. “Now, you may be asking what makes me so confident. What gives me the right to be here, leading you sorry saps. Well, let me tell you. Because I earned it. I’ve worked with top chefs and spent my golden years as head chef of Monet’s in New York, a restaurant with three Michelin stars. Yes, I’ve worked in places and rubbed shoulders with people you could only dream of.”

  This guy was really boasting. Ruth wondered what Loretta thought of their new boss.

  “Now that we understand each other, let’s get to work. The kitchen has two stations. One for the cooking staff”—Mills pointed to the right, then to the left—“and a section for the bakers. I placed a recipe at each of your stations. One for each cook and baker. Every recipe is different. I want you to go to your station and pick your recipe and get started. You have exactly one hour to complete your dishes. And if you mess it up…” Chef Mills paused, eyeing everyone in the room. “You will find yourself working in the mess hall with the other half hacks that can’t handle the heat. Now, go!”

  Ruth and Loretta exchanged glances before rushing to their shared baking station. Two other bakers beat them to it and grabbed their recipes. Loretta picked up what remained and quickly made her decision, handing Ruth the final recipe.

  Ruth’s eyes went wide. “Baked Alaska! I can’t make this in an hour!” Depending on preparation, a Baked Alaska could take up to eleven hours to make. “What did you get?”

  Loretta grabbed a mixing bowl. “Chocolate soufflé.”

  “Really?” Ruth could whip up the perfect chocolate soufflé. It was all about the egg white consistency—you didn’t want to over whip it, as that would cause the cake to not rise. It was also about how you incorporated those perfectly whipped eggs into the chocolate mixture. Ruth wasn’t sure if Loretta knew this, but she sure seemed more confident with her recipe choice than Ruth. “I’ll trade you.” A long shot, but Ruth had to at least try.

  Loretta pulled open several drawers, looking for the right utensils. “No way!”

  Ruth sighed. Reading the instructions of her recipe, she rubbed her forehead. Unless Chef Mills already had ice cream molds ready, there was no way this could be done in an hour. She walked into the freezer, hoping to find a miracle, but she only found a huge vat of vanilla ice cream. Ruth ran back out to grab a ramekin and cling wrap. She lined the ramekin with the cling wrap as she rushed back into the freezer to scoop out the ice cream. Once filled, she made her way back out, looking for a smaller freezer to place it in so it could take form. It was the best idea she had, until she saw what would save her: a blast freezer tucked in the corner. Eureka! Now we’re talking. She ran to it, slipping the ramekin of vanilla ice cream inside so it would take form.

  Perfect! Now she could get started on the cake. She grabbed a mixing bowl, utensils, and several ingredients to get started, joining the other bakers at the large table.

  Loretta stoo
d dumbfounded, staring at her recipe. “Cayenne pepper? In a chocolate soufflé?” She picked up the sheet of paper to take a better look, as if it would change right before her eyes. “This can’t be right.”

  “It adds a little kick to the chocolate,” Ruth pointed out, glancing at her.

  Loretta scrunched up her face. “Some people may not like a little kick in their chocolate. I could understand coffee to enhance the flavor of the chocolate, but cayenne?”

  For the first time, Ruth agreed with Loretta. Though, coffee in a soufflé could ruin the consistency if it wasn’t done right. It was all based on chemistry. “I would stick to the recipe, Loretta. Chef Mills said—”

  “Yeah, I know what he said.” Loretta grabbed the cayenne pepper.

  Ruth stepped away to turn on the oven. As she preheated the oven, a metallic crash made her jump. She spun around to see a pot at one of the cooks’ feet in the other station. A yellow sauce had splattered across the floor. The cook froze a moment before he became animated again, quickly grabbing a towel.

  “Kelvin!” Chef Mills strode over, his eyes narrowing at the disaster on the floor. “What is going on?”

  Kelvin was already crouched over the spill. “I was removing the beurre blanc sauce from the stove, and it got away from me.”

  “The pot ‘got away from you’?”

  “Yes, sir.” Kelvin’s tone was now challenging.

  “So, the pot grew limbs and leaped in some suicidal attempt?”

  “Uh, no.” Kelvin furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

  “Sounds like you dropped it.”

  “Yeah.”

  “For crying out loud!” Chef Mills yelled. “So, you have butterfingers? Is that it? Clean it up!”

  Loretta whispered to Ruth, “This guy is like Jordan Rimsley.” A chef and TV personality, Jordan Rimsley had made a career of berating other cooks for entertainment.

  Ruth whispered back, “I think he’d make Jordan Rimsley cry.”

  Loretta let out a chuckle before Chef Mills turned his attention to the bakers. “What are you all doing?” Both Ruth and Loretta jumped simultaneously. “You have forty-five minutes to get your dishes done and presented in front of me. Get back to work!”

  Ruth and Loretta broke off in opposite directions.

  Clock ticking, Ruth began to feel like she was on Jordan Rimsley’s show. The contestants on the show were always expected to create insanely difficult-to-make cuisines under the pressure of a ticking clock. Watching them run around the kitchen like chickens with their heads cut off, she used to think there was no wonder why there’d been mishaps in every episode. It made for good television, but Ruth couldn’t help but feel bad for them even though they chose to be there, sabotaging each other to get their hands on the grand prize, whether that be a cash prize or their own five-star restaurant.

  Ruth pulled the cake out of the oven and placed it on a rack to cool. The recipe called for an Italian meringue. This, Ruth was an expert at, and the recipe Chef Mills had was almost exactly how she made it. She had already started cooking the sugar on the stove and was now hurrying back with several eggs from the fridge. Quickly, she cracked each one on the side of the mixing bowl, dumping the yolk back and forth between each half of the shell to enable the white of the eggs to drip into the bowl. Within seconds, she’d begun whipping up the meringue while adding fresh lemon juice. The sugary liquid still bubbled on the burner.

  Grasping the handle of the pot with a tea towel, she drizzled a tiny bit of the sweet syrup in, then waited a few seconds before adding more. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Loretta checking her chocolate soufflés.

  “They aren’t going to puff up if you stare at them,” Ruth called to her.

  “Mind your business,” Loretta shot back.

  “No, seriously,” Ruth said, still in mid-pour. “Leave the light off. Trust the process.”

  “Trust the process? I need to know if they are coming out like they should.”

  “Did you follow the recipe?”

  “To a T.”

  Ruth dumped the last bit of the contents into the mixer and marched over to Loretta. She switched off the oven light. “Then they’ll be fine, though I wouldn’t take them out too early. Otherwise, they’ll deflate by the time Chef Mills sees them.” She trotted back over to her meringue, and Loretta followed, taking a peek inside the bowl.

  Loretta admired the poofy white mounds. “Wow, that looks perfect.”

  Ruth wore a gentle smile. “Thank you.”

  Chef Mills’s voice boomed. “Five minutes left, and you better impress me.”

  “Oh, no! I still have to assemble everything. I hope my ice cream is set.” Ruth scampered off to the blast freezer.

  “Just trust the process,” Loretta yelled after her.

  In seconds, Ruth had already cut the cakes with a round cookie cutter. She picked up the ramekin that still held the ice cream. Unwrapping the cling wrap, she let out a sigh of relief. The ice cream looked perfect! She used her hands to warm the sides before pulling it out in one perfect mold. After her creation had been assembled, she added the meringue, swirling it with a fork for texture. That’s when it dawned on her. Where did they keep the blow torch?

  “One minute!” Chef Mills’s voice could be heard over the din of the kitchen.

  Ruth scanned the room frantically. “Anyone seen a blow torch?” she asked anyone who would listen. But it was useless. Just like her, everyone bustled about with their final preparations.

  “Okay, okay.” Ruth rummaged around drawers and shelves. “Where do they keep this thing?” Heart racing, she flew around several corners, weaving around the others as she searched both stations and every crevice. But it was no use.

  “Oh, this can’t be happening!” Ruth said to herself. She knew she would never get away with not toasting the meringue.

  “Thirty seconds!”

  By now, even if she found the blow torch, she wasn’t sure if she’d have enough time to finish.

  Ruth eyed the clock, watching helplessly as the seconds passed.

  Her dreams were slipping away with every tick.

  Chapter 5

  Ruth buried her face in her hands. This was it. She would be spending all of her time in the lowest level of the ship for who knew how long, heating up pre-made rolls for the crew and working long hours with no time to see any of the islands. This was not how she’d imagined this job. Maybe she’d be able to fight it. She’d been hired to be a pastry chef, after all. Then she remembered the power Chef Mills had over the assistant executive chef, Janice Hassley. She hadn’t even done anything, and she was kicked out of her own kitchen.

  Tears begged to be released behind Ruth’s eyes, but they were interrupted by a tap on her shoulder.

  “Ruth,” came a voice from behind her.

  Ruth turned around to see her new cabinmate holding up the holy grail. Immediately, her spirits rose with newfound hope. She grasped the torch in awe. “Loretta! Where did you—”

  Loretta gave her a quick shove toward the miniature meringue tower that rested on her table, still raw. “Just go!”

  Ruth took off with the torch and ignited it. Her hands trembled with relief as the blue flame sparked to life, emitting a hollow breath over the meringue. Almost instantly, the Italian whip turned a golden brown as she rotated the dessert.

  “Time is up!”

  Ruth shut off the torch and set it down. She wiped the beads of sweat that had formed on her brow and finally exhaled the breath she’d been holding for way too long.

  She did it. Created a Baked Alaska to perfection in only an hour. She glanced at Loretta next to her. Her soufflé was puffy and had a fluffy, sponge-like texture that was flawless. She had even sprinkled some powdered sugar over the top.

  Ruth held her gaze on Loretta, who didn’t connect back. Instead, she watched Chef Mills over Ruth’s head as if Ruth didn’t even exist. So, why had she helped her? Loretta could have left her there, bait for Shark Mills to devo
ur in one bite. But she didn’t.

  Chef Mills scanned the dishes before him. “Presentation leaves something to be desired.” He walked up to Kelvin, who’d had a clumsy moment earlier in the hour. Chef Mills scoped the dish in front of him. “Kelvin.”

  Kelvin lifted his chin to meet Chef Mills’s steely gaze.

  “You had the Norwegian salmon that was to be blackened to perfection with a beurre blanc sauce and a side of grilled asparagus and lemon.”

  Kelvin remained stoic. “Yes, sir.”

  Chef Mills grabbed a fork and took a bite. He sighed in disappointment. After swallowing, he asked, “You call this your best? What is wrong with the beurre blanc? Did you taste it?”

  “Yes,” Kelvin said.

  “Try it.” Chef Mills held a spoon out to him.

  As Kelvin grabbed the spoon and took a bite, Chef Mills asked him, “Well? What’s missing?”

  Kelvin scratched his head, thinking.

  Chef Mills huffed with impatience. “I don’t taste the lemon, Kelvin.” He pushed the plate away from him. “It’s not in here. The lemon is one of the most important ingredients to tie this dish together. These passengers paid through the nose for a five-star experience, and I don’t have time to babysit. Get it together, Kelvin.”

  Chef Mills moved down the line, critiquing each dish. Though he wasn’t one hundred percent satisfied with anyone’s plate, no one received the same harsh critique as Kelvin.

  Then Chef Mills was standing in front of Loretta. He nodded in approval, then picked up the soufflé. “Nicely done.” He took his spoon to it and took a bite. Almost immediately, his face turned slightly red, and he began to cough. “Loretta, how much cayenne did you put in this?”

  “What the recipe called for.”

  “I don’t think so. Taste this.”

  Loretta took a bite. The soufflé definitely didn’t seem to have the same effect on her. She even let out a slight moan of pleasure. “Sir, I have to say, I was skeptical of the cayenne pepper, but you’re right—your recipe produced the best chocolate soufflé I’ve ever had.”