The killer stood in front of the stove, humming a lullaby. His shoulders were relaxed, his heart lifted. He didn’t even mind the leather bit in his mouth, the muzzle that remained fastened at the back of his head. He was happy to have such a beautiful kitchen to work in, such elegant plates and cooking utensils at hand.
The oven dinged at the same time, and he bent to remove the roast. He checked it with his knife. The flesh split easily and the aroma was heavenly. He’d cooked it just right. He was drooling around the leather straps.
Satisfied with how the meal was coming together, he admired his work. The platter was arranged beautifully, artfully, in the pattern of a rose at the center to match the floral design tracing the edge of the china.
He was still humming when he carried the p
