So he said, “You will never be the same.”
Sure I won’t.
Murder is something that changes you deep inside your soul and makes you think “I want more”.
Killing John had been a matter of taste. His absence from the cooking class would have improved our levels impressively. His sticky, sweet, corny stupid sauce put everywhere would have riuned a 3 Michelin Stars dish forever.
If we wanted to win the contest, that was the way: eliminate those tastless students, those who came with their grandmothers recipes, insisting on how tradition was to keep up with anything else.
It was just a little baby addiction to French fries, nothing to do with serious cooking, so Mary Jane gone as well.
I had to wait before kiling James, too many eyes on the contest, so many journalists, so much fake crying for our murdered cooking mates. I was lucky we still had gas ovens, so that was just an accident.
Three idiots less, one more to go and then the team would have been perfect.
Judges were insisting in adding someone to out team, believieng we needed help, we were lucky nobody wanted to join us, people are so supersticiuos, they thought they would have died. Well, they would have actually, but taking it for granted was disrespectful.
Four left, the fabulous four, the best of the best. We were to win, obviously.
On the fifth day before the end of the competition, our plans clear, our strategy set, our menu kept secret, the Police came to ask questions. Too late I guess. No way they would have stopped us.
On the 6th of March we were elected Best Cooking Team and received our Trophy, our names in golden letters forever.
Sad the two detectives could not take part to the ceremony. Sad. Asking too many questions can be dangerous. Silence is sometimes more effective than words. Hanging in a freezer is significative to show were curious cats end at the end of the day.
