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“If you don’t mind,” the dean said. “We’d like to go back and congratulate the entire team.”
“Sure. I’m sure they’d be very happy to hear it.”
I led them to the kitchen.
“Where is everyone?” the dean said.
I looked around the vast kitchen. “Trenton,” I called out. “Come on, guys. Where are you?”
“Who are all those people out there in the parking lot?” Mrs. Tran said.
“Oh,” I said with a pleasant smile. “That must be the patisserie’s delivery truck. We had some very special pastries made in honor of our distinguished guests.”
Mr. Manning, his face red with anger, stormed out the door. “They shouldn’t leave the kitchen unattended,” he shouted.
I smiled sheepishly at Mrs. Tran and Mr. Preston. “They’re just there by the door,” I said, trying to justify the guys’ absence from the kitchen. “It’s not like someone could just come in here.”
“This certainly looks like a very busy kitchen,” Mrs. Tran said as she looked around.
“And very aromatic,” Mrs. Preston added.
“Did you kids cook all this?” Mrs. Tran said.
“We had a bit of help,” I said, deliberately being vague.
“That aroma,” Mr. Preston said as he walked around. “So enticing.” Clearly led by his nose, he looked into the pot of the sauce that’d been served with the bison. “Oh, my God!”
He stepped back from the pot, grabbing his chest in horror.
“What is it?” Mrs. Tran said as she rushed to look in the pot. “Ah!” she screamed.
The dean and Mr. Manning returned, alarmed by the screams.
“What’s going on in here?” the dean said.
The pledges followed close behind them, also alarmed.
“A rat!” Mr. Preston shouted. “There’s a dead rat in the sauce that was served to all the patrons.”
Stomping his way to the large pot, the dean glared at me then looked into the pot of sauce. Red-faced, he looked at the committee and chuckled dryly. “Kids,” he said as he directed them toward the ballroom. “Always joking. I’m sure that we were not served from that pot.”
“But,” Mr. Preston said. “I know that smell, that sauce. Itiswhat we were served.”
His jaw tight and his nostrils flaring, the dean ushered them out. Just as he headed out, he shot us a quick and murderous glance.
Chapter13
Bishop
“What is going on?” Trenton said as we all filed into the frat house.
I glared at him. “I don’t want to talk out here. We’ll get to the house.”
“This is really going to hurt the Saints,” Brook said.
“I’m sure there’s an explanation for all this,” I said, although I couldn’t for the life of me understand what had happened.
Once in the house, I led everyone to the living room. Deacon and Brook took their places as Senior Saints in front of the fireplace, and I joined them once everyone was seated.
