Chapter 20
B ack in the driver’s seat, Maureen thought with a burst of confidence. She could handle anything that came her way, even if she did lose her job. So what? She was still the Marvelous Maureen Cook.
“Show me what’s in the refrigerator.” She put out a hand to steady herself. Hard to believe they functioned in such a small space with such outdated equipment, but Maureen would keep her thoughts to herself. “Are any of the cooks still here?”
Mrs. Ross handed her a flashlight with a stronger beam. “No, our evening cook’s shift just ended. She asked if she could go home when the snow started, and I said yes, so she left.”
“No matter,” Maureen said. “I can handle everything with Lydia’s help.” Maureen opened the mammoth refrigerator door. She canvassed the contents and was glad to see all that she’d need. Without electricity, cold ingredients would need to be used in the morning anyway. She gathered up cream, milk, and eggs. Then she shut the door quickly using her hip.
Denny meandered into the kitchen and watched her.
Maureen was grateful for the flashlight but it flickered. She was afraid the battery was on its last leg. “Denny, get over here.” The flashlight’s beam illuminated the knobs on the front of the stove. “I need your help.”
“Me? You know I’m a lost cause in the kitchen.”
Maureen’s heart beat faster. At home on her TV show, she always had an assistant setting out all the ingredients ahead of time. She had never felt under pressure like this. She tried to calm her racing mind without success. In spite of the chilly air, she felt dampness gathering under her armpits. Then she smelled smoke.
“What’s happening? My cookies aren’t even in the oven yet.”
She cracked the oven door, and a billow of heat and smoke belched out. Someone had left food from dinner in the oven—what appeared to be a pie. She coughed. Her eyes burned. The smoke detector began to screech.
“What’s happening?” Mrs. Ross dashed into the room.
Maureen was glad to see no flames. She assured herself the whole kitchen wasn’t on fire. But how could she turn off the smoke detector?
“What’s happening?” Mrs. Ross asked again over the blaring noise.
Maureen yelled to be heard over the smoke detector. “I guess I turned the oven on too high, and there was something in it already. A cook left what appears to be a pie in the oven.”
“She probably meant to keep it warm in case anyone wanted more dessert.” Mrs. Ross’s words were barely audible.
Denny dashed into the kitchen with Alec and Molly. “Everything okay, Sis?” Denny asked.
“Are you kidding?” Maureen marveled at the stupid question, because obviously everything was not all right.
“What on earth is the problem?” Denny shouted.
“Would someone please turn off that incessant smoke detector?” Maureen felt a meltdown approaching. She’d always kept her cool when on live TV. Except that last show.
Mrs. Ross pointed up to the ceiling. “It’s too high for me. Someone will have to fetch a ladder.”
“Tell me where it is, and I’ll get it,” Alec said.
Mrs. Ross spoke into Alec’s ear. He stepped out of the kitchen and came back a moment later carrying a ladder. He pulled it open and climbed to the top, then extracted the battery from the smoke detector. The silence was a balm to Maureen’s ears, but smoke filled the air. Several more smoke detectors blared out their warnings, and hotel guests scrambled down the staircase to see if they needed to evacuate the building.
“No,” Alec told them. “Just smoke from the kitchen setting off the alarms.”
“Sorry for the inconvenience,” Molly said to a woman clad in her bathrobe.
“At least our sprinkler system didn’t go off.” Mrs. Ross opened the back door. “We would have had to close the whole hotel. Nothing to be done about the smoke without a fan running, except open the door and windows to let fresh air in.” Mrs. Ross opened a window above the sink.
“I am so sorry.” Maureen coughed. “Are you keeping an eye on the hot chocolate?” she asked Lydia.
“Yah, you can count on me.” Lydia continued to stir the chocolaty concoction.
Mrs. Ross switched off the stove and then patted Lydia’s shoulder. “You’re an angel.” Mrs. Ross brought out ceramic mugs. “We have tins of shortbread to serve with it.” She turned to Maureen and said, “Please, no more cooking.”
“Okay.” Maureen was baffled that she hadn’t thought to turn off the oven. What was wrong with her? She felt deflated, like a balloon losing its air. She could barely breathe with all the smoke. At least no one at home could see her debacle. She was beyond belief humiliated.
“Don’t just stand there, Sis.” Denny stuffed her hands into hot mitts, lifted the smoking pie out of the oven, and dumped it in the sink, then she turned on the water taps and flushed water over it, producing a cloud of sizzling smoky steam.
Why hadn’t Maureen thought to do that? She was used to being in command. On top of the world. The Marvelous Mrs. Cook.
Smoke detectors blared throughout the hotel as a sooty cloud floated into the dining room and triggered the whole system. An older couple dressed in bathrobes trotted downstairs. Mrs. Ross assured them that everything was alright. She apologized profusely when in fact Maureen was the source of the problem. Well, not the electrical outage. How on earth would they make it through the night?
Several people said they were checking out and moving to another hotel before the snow got much deeper. Not that Maureen blamed them. She considered doing the same thing but figured it was impossible.
Fatigue encompassed her. She longed to crawl into bed and snuggle under the covers and read. She’d brought a book but was too tired to even change into her pajamas. And how would she see the words on the pages?