food?” Barry asked.
“ Of course I do,” he replied with a heavy sigh. “It's a common ingredient in its different forms in many of the meals that I prepare.”
“ And were you informed of Sandy Holstead's allergy to peanuts?” he asked. From the next equally deep sigh that Henry produced, Vicky knew that he had already surrendered himself to the idea that it was his fault.
“ Yes, I was,” he replied reluctantly.
“ So, you're the one who prepares all the food?” Barry asked.
“ I am,” Henry replied morosely. “With some assistance from my sous chef.”
“ And where is he?” Barry pressed, his tone becoming more insistent.
“ I- I,” Henry stammered for a moment. “I honestly don't know,” he finally said. “But he wasn't involved in this. I was the one who made the food.”
Vicky winced as she knew that if Henry continued to give Barry evidence against him there was going to be a real problem clearing his name. She flicked the lighter three times in a row and finally got a flame. She touched the flame to the edge of the piece of paper and then held the paper up towards the sprinkler head. What she didn't expect was how fast the paper began to burn. She cringed as the heat quickly approached her fingertips. She swayed on the ladder as the top half of the paper became hot ash that fell against the skin on the back of her hand. Just when the flame was about to touch her fingertips the sprinkler finally came to life and began spraying the paper, and of course, Vicky. All of the sprinklers in the kitchen began spraying. The system was designed to work so that the sprinklers in the kitchen were the only ones to go off, but the fire alarm was triggered throughout the inn. As Vicky had hoped, Barry began to complain about his suit.
“ Ugh, what's this?” he demanded. “My suit. We have to get out of here!”
“ Don't worry, Barry, come this way,” Ida suggested and pulled him out through the back door of the kitchen. Henry took his opportunity to escape the questioning and went out through the interior entrance of the kitchen into the hallway. Vicky waited until she was sure that Barry, Ida, and Henry were out of the kitchen, then she made her way down the slippery rungs of the ladder. She nearly lost her footing on the last rung, but managed to keep her balance long enough to fall backwards on a large sack of flour. The sack was open and some of the white powder plumed upwards, coating Vicky's damp shirt and pants. She hurried out of the pantry and out into the hallway outside the kitchen. Henry was nowhere in sight, but Sarah was quickly approaching down the hallway.
“ Vicky, are you okay?” she asked quickly.
“ I am,” Vicky whispered back. “Just make sure that Barry talks to you before he talks to Henry again, okay?”
“ Okay,” Sarah nodded and hurried back to the front desk. Vicky wanted to find Henry and tell him to remain quiet, but first she needed to change out of her damp, flour-covered clothes. The only problem was in order to get to her apartment she had to walk through the lobby, or risk going outside and around the pool, where Barry might see her. She opted for the outside option so that she wouldn't track flour through the lobby. As soon as she stepped outside she regretted it. Ida and Barry were standing in the garden where there was plenty of afternoon sun to dry off his clothing.
Vi cky tried to duck back inside, but Barry was a keen observer and he heard the door open before she could close it again.
“ Vicky?” he called out as he saw her soaked clothing. “You weren't in the kitchen,” he pointed out suspiciously and began walking towards her. “Did you have something to do with all of this?”
“ What?” Vicky shot back with frustration. “Of course not. I went to the kitchen to check on the three of you, but you were already gone.”
“ What is this you're covered in?” Barry asked as he touched her shoulder and stared down at his fingertip
Learning to Kill: Stories