8/8/14
Martha took a small taste of the dish she was preparing and held it in her mouth a moment. A little too tart and not enough sweet. She took the recipe card on the table and made several adjustments to the ingredient proportions. She returned the dish to the oven, then turning around she nearly jumped out of her skin and gasped.
“Hello,” said her neighbor Helen. “Busy with a new recipe, I see. Oh, I knocked but you must not have heard. The door was unlocked so I knew you wouldn’t mind.”
Martha smiled and greeted Helen, but thought to herself, I have to keep that door locked. She then grimaced as Helen began examining the things on the table.
“Is this the new Cooking Digest? Ooh, you have it open to a contest. $10,000 for first place? Wow! And you’re trying to win? Is this the recipe?”
Martha snatched the card from the table just before Helen’s hand reached it. “It’s not finished yet.” Seeing Helen’s hand withdraw and her attention turn to something else, Martha replaced the card on the table but then covered it with a bag of sugar. “If you’d like, you can sample what I have so far.” Getting a positive response she turned to the oven.
“I’ll be right back,” said Helen. “I need to visit the powder room.”
Martha brought the dish from the oven and set it on the table. She then got a small plate from the cupboard and served out a portion. Wanting to clear some space, she began putting the raw ingredients back in the pantry and the dirty mixing bowls into the sink. As she picked up the bag of sugar she saw the recipe card wasn’t there. She was searching under the table when Helen returned.
“Lose something?”
“I’ve misplaced my recipe card.”
Helen saw the saucer with the sample and picked it up. Then making a gesture with her hand near the table she asked, “Is this the card?”
Martha took it from Helen’s hand and looked at her with narrowed eyes but said nothing.
“Oh, this is delicious!” exclaimed Helen. “It should do well in that contest.”
“Thank you,” replied Martha coldly. “Well, if you don’t mind, I’m busy at the moment. Can we talk later?”
“Sure, no problem,” responded Helen. She set down the empty saucer and went out the way she had come in. “Good luck with your contest.”
Martha locked the door once her neighbor exited. She was sure something had just happened. But without seeing it she couldn’t make an accusation. She wasn’t going to get on bad terms with a neighbor unless she were positive of an offense.
Martha spent the rest of the day cooking several more copies of the new dish, starting from scratch each time. She wanted to be sure the instructions were clear enough for others to follow properly. Late in the evening she was at last satisfied. She cut the entry blank from the magazine, wrote out a clean copy of the recipe, sealed it in an envelope, then set it in the mailbox for collection the next day.
For the next three weeks Martha checked the mailbox several times a day. Also, whenever a FedEx truck passed by, she went to the window to see if it was for her. At last the mail brought an answer to her question — the latest issue of Cooking Digest.
She quickly opened to the index and scanned it until she found the page with the contest results. Turning to them she stared at the page and blinked repeatedly. What did this mean?
There was a photograph of the winning dish and it looked just like hers. And the recipe’s ingredient list and preparation techniques were identical to hers. But the winner’s name didn’t read “Martha”, it read “Helen.”
She flipped to the front cover, found a phone number on the inside flap, and dialed it. After explaining herself to several people she eventually reached an editor who understood her question. She then asked about the results of the contest.
“Yes,” the editor said. “We did receive two entries with virtually the same recipe. So once that dish was chosen to be the winner, we awarded the prize to the one with the earlier postmark. Hold on just a second. I see on the computer that both entries came from the same city; the same street, in fact. The winning entry was postmarked just one day before the second one.”
“But that was my recipe. My neighbor stole it and entered it as hers.”
“That’s a serious allegation. Can you prove it?”
“No. I don’t know. How should I do that?”
“We would need something conclusive before we could make any changes at this point.”
“But, but, that’s my recipe. I invented it.”
“I’m sorry. If you find something you can call me back. Otherwise we have to let the results stand.”
Martha stood at the telephone long after hanging up. At length a knock pulled her from her trance. Answering the door she saw Helen. Helen moved to come in but Martha stood in the way and held the door firmly against her side.
“You took my recipe!”
“What? What do you mean?” asked Helen with a faint blush.
“You took my recipe and entered it in that contest. That win should be mine. I want you to call them and tell them what you did.”
“No, no; you have it all wrong. That was my own recipe. I, uh, after seeing the contest in your magazine, I went home and found one of my mother’s, um, grandmother’s recipes and entered that. I didn’t take yours.”
“I don’t believe you. And I won’t talk to you anymore until you admit what you did.” With that Martha closed the door firmly and turned the lock briskly to make a loud click. She then waited until she heard Helen’s footsteps leaving.
What a liar! She stood there and told an outright lie! Grandmother’s recipe. Humph. Did she expect anyone to believe that? But now what can I do? I needed that confession to prove it’s mine.
Martha mulled over her predicament for days. During that time Helen didn’t come by and didn’t phone. Apparently she was sticking to her story.
At last Martha had an idea. A wicked, wonderful, marvelous idea! If she couldn’t get her deserved prize, she could at least get revenge. She’d think of a way to pay Helen back. Something which fit the crime. But it must be a way where she wouldn’t get herself in trouble.
Let’s see. Helen likes stealing recipes, so how about giving her a special recipe to steal? One that’s really gross. No; she’d notice if a recipe called for dog poop, or something like that. How about one that will make her sick? Yeah, that’s it. Include an ingredient that will make her throw up. Now what can make people sick and yet not be obvious that you’ve done it on purpose?
Martha didn’t get any specific ideas right away but felt much better just for having conceived a plan. A week later she heard a news item which sparked an answer to her question.
A new cook at a small cafe had made several customers sick by mishandling potatoes after washing them. Like many people, he didn’t know exposing potatoes to sunlight while they’re wet causes a toxic chemical to form in the skin. That chemical gives the potato’s skin a slightly greenish tinge.
This was just the thing Martha needed. Afterwards she could claim ignorance. She wasn’t really ignorant, of course. She knew the toxin was solanine and was used by the plant to fend off insects. In small doses it wasn’t too harmful to humans. But someone eating enough of it would get headaches, nausea, and diarrhea. Perfect!
The first step would be to make a recipe which used lots of green potato skins. Then she’d need a way to get Helen to eat it. She could figure out the second part later. But for now she already had an idea to get started — potato skin soup. It wasn’t unheard of, but it wasn’t too common either. Just right to present as a new experiment.
Martha wrote out the preparation instructions on a blank card. Being an experienced cook, she was able to create a recipe based on what she knew would go well together, without needing to use trial and error. She’d leave the actual cooking to Helen.
First, start with Russet potatoes. Their thick skin will make a hearty soup. Wash them thoroughly. Then set them in direct sunlight to dry for at least an hour; the longer the better. Peel the potatoes with a paring knife, not a peeler. You want to keep quite a bit of potato on the skins. (Save the peeled potatoes for some other dish.) You will need the peelings from at least twenty potatoes.
Next, put the peelings in a large saucepan and add one cup of water. Steam until the skins soften and reduce to a pulp. Stir in one chopped onion, one-quarter cup of olive oil, two tablespoons of flour, one tablespoon of salt, and one teaspoon of black pepper. Add a pint of sour cream, a stick of butter, a cup of milk, and just enough chicken broth to cover. Simmer and stir until it reaches a thick, chowder consistency. Optional ingredient: one cup of grated cheddar cheese.
Good, Martha thought to herself. This would make a very delicious soup, if not for the surprise inside. She could also ensure that Helen consumed enough toxin by getting her to eat two bowls with the ruse of the optional cheese. Ho, ho. The first step of the plan was complete. Now for the second step. How could she contact her enemy and give her a new recipe to try without arousing suspicion? This would take some thought.
The next morning the doorbell rang. Looking out the window she saw Helen at the front door with a bouquet of flowers. Well, well; it seemed luck was helping with the plan. Martha opened the door with a big smile.
“Oh, Martha,” said Helen. “I’m so sorry. I can’t stand for you to be mad at me.”
Martha interrupted her. “Helen, I’m sorry too. I’m so glad you came. I shouldn’t have accused you. I’m sure you never did what I said.”
“Well, actually, I …” started Helen.
“And to show there are no hard feelings, I want to ask your advice on a new recipe I’m creating for another contest.”
“Another contest? With a large prize?” Helen asked eagerly.
“Yes.”
“The same magazine?”
“No, a different one. But I’ll tell you about that later. Come in, I’ll show you what I have so far.”
A short time later Martha couldn’t help smiling as she looked out the window and watched Helen rush home with the recipe card and instructions to try it both with and without cheese. She stood at the window several minutes imagining the events that would soon unfold. So she was still there to see Helen’s garage door open and her car rush down the street in the direction of the grocery store.
It would take some time to shop for the ingredients, and the preparation would take a couple of hours. Then after eating, it could take anywhere from half an hour to as much as 12 hours before there might be effects. Even at that, there wouldn’t be any signs visible outside the home. So Martha left the window and went back to her kitchen.
In the mid-afternoon Martha’s attention was drawn by the sound of a siren approaching. She went to the window and saw an ambulance stopped in front of Helen’s house. She went out and joined the crowd that was forming on the sidewalk. Soon the paramedics exited the house wheeling a gurney with Helen strapped to it groaning in agony. This was better than she’d hoped. Martha suppressed the grin trying to pop out and hurried home so as not to be seen smiling.
A few hours later while watching the evening news Martha was surprised by a news report that a local woman had suffered a severe food allergy and was in a coma in critical condition. The doctor being interviewed stated that an allergic reaction this extreme was rare, but some people were especially sensitive to certain food items. Uh, oh. She hadn’t meant for it to go this far. But surely the doctors could bring her around.
The next morning while Martha was out checking the mail she saw Helen’s husband coming out of the house. She wanted an update on Helen’s condition so she went over and asked him. Unfortunately it wasn’t good news. He told her that during the night she had succumbed to cardiac arrest and doctors had been unable to revive her.
Martha turned pale. She muttered, “I’m so sorry”. Then she rushed back home. She slammed and locked the door, then slumping back against it she slid down to the floor. She buried her face in her hands and shook her head back and forth in a gesture of “no.”
A startling thought crossed Martha’s mind just before she fainted from shock. “I’ve killed her!”
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