But this time, I couldn’t appear with apologies as he expected.
After all, I was just a corpse now.
The forensics results came back quickly. The paper in my stomach was a registration form.
The killer had forced it down my throat with contempt: “Cooking classes for your husband? He’ll probably just eat Emma’s cooking anyway.”
“What is this place?” Mark frowned at the address.
The forensic expert checked his notes. “It’s a culinary school, specializing in therapeutic cooking and dietary health.”
When Mark and the other officers visited the school, the instructor was startled by their badges.
She examined the damaged form, checking the registration number against her records.
“A young woman registered a few days ago,” she explained. “Said her husband had chronic stomach problems. She wanted to learn to cook better for him, help him heal.”
“But she never showed up for class. Didn’t answer our confirmation calls either.”
The instructor pulled out a course syllabus. “She signed up for our ‘Healing Kitchen’ program. It focuses on digestive health and stomach care.”
Mark took the syllabus, a strange expression crossing his face. “Do you have security footage from that day?”
The instructor nodded. “Sweet girl. Spent ages asking questions about acid reflux and gastritis treatments. Made quite an impression.”
But when the footage played, everyone in the room fell silent.
Mark swallowed hard, staring at the screen. “That… that looks like Alice.”
The instructor brightened. “Yes, Alice! That was her name on the form.”
