Fiction: Deaths and Desserts

This October's Words for Wednesday prompts are provided by River at Drifting Through Life over here. This week's prompts are donkey, battleground, spatula, outside, bridge, stars, rescue, scorching and this image:

I had manged to use all the words although battleground might perhaps not quite fit here. Not sure why I wrote this story but I have been reading murder mysteries.

Fiction: Deaths and Desserts
Mrs. Avalon Bridge's dessert party was one of the neighborhood's favorites every year on Halloween but only a chosen few were invited. Pia Brown, who lived next door to Mrs. Bridge, was delighted to receive her invitation this year but she had to take along her elderly father-in-law, Bob. Most people hated Bob. He was a loud, obnoxious fellow with a bad temper and was always rising a fuss about some small thing. At 87, he was obese and had a rather unhealthy obsession with sweets. His doctors told him to stay away from desserts or else prepare for a heart attack but he refused to listen. He said he was too old to follow rules. There was a rumor that Pia's husband, Bob the second, had died to get away from his father. Pia, on the other hand, was not so lucky. Bob the second, rather stupidly or perhaps cunningly, placed in his will that Pia must take care of his father until his death or else she will not get the money he had left her.
    On the night of the party, a light rain was falling. Pia and Bob, carrying umbrellas, walked over to Mrs. Bridge's house. Pia politely smiled and gave a quiet greeting while Bob grunted a hello. Mrs. Bridge, dressed in a long black gown with kimono sleeves and her long, black hair divided in the middle, gave them a kind welcome. No one was certain of her age but she might be in her late thirties. She gathered their outerwears and umbrellas and threw them in the closet.
    Inside, the 15 guests were already seated at the large dinning table. Every space was decorated with orange, red and black decors shaped like skulls, witches and pumpkins along with a gray stuffed donkey as the center piece on the table. Pia thought that was strange but then again, Mrs. Bridge was strange. Some had speculated Mr. Bridge might had been murdered by Mrs. Bridge but Mrs. Bridge acted as if Mr. Bridge never existed. All the photographs in her house were of her and no one else.
    Mrs. Bridge stood at the head of the table. "Ladies and gentlemen, I am delighted you all came tonight. Dessert as you all know, came from the French word—"
    Bob interrupted, "Get on with it, lady. No one's here to hear you babble."
    Mrs. Bridge pursed her lips and then smiled. "Yes, of course, Mr. Brown. We might as well start right away. Slay, please serve the first dish."
    Slay, Mrs. Bridge's helper, was once a butler. He was an old man now but he was wearing a tuxedo and a placid face as he served the wasabi cream pies. The guests then got to enjoy deep-fried lime cupcakes followed by vanilla tiramisu cakes and then Mrs. Bridge brought out her triple spicy pumpkin champagne cake served with peppermint flavor candy corn toppings and succeeded by bite-size, alcoholic, spicy buttermilk pastries that had many guests giggling. While that was still being finished, Slay brought out the cheese chocolate caramel apple tarts along with strawberry shortcake puddings. Then came what Mrs. Bridge called the battleground round: the baked Alaska. It wasn't just any dessert. It was the dessert that make wishes come true or so said the rumors.
    Pia had been distractingly talking to the person at her left, Mrs. Fairhaven, about the proper use of a spatula when the baked Alaska was placed in front of her by Mrs. Bridge. Slay was filling the guests' wine glasses after Mrs. Bridge.
    Mrs. Bridge returned to the head of the table and said, "The secret to a perfect baked Alaska is the best rum one can find and of course, the scorching from the flames. Ladies and gentlemen, set your dessert ablaze and make a wish!" She poured all the rum from her glass over the dessert and lit it with a electric torch. There was a wicked grin on Mrs. Bridge's face that was quickly replaced by a calm smile.
    The guests picked up their glasses and torches and followed their host's example. There were oohs and aahs. Pia stared at the flame in front of her. For a moment, she remembered being on the roof of her parent's house and watching stars with her family through her father's telescope while drinking hot chocolate. She wished she could go back and enjoy the comforts of home. She blew out the flame just as thunder was heard and the lights went out. Every flame was out but one. Everyone, including Pia, turned in that direction. With the flame still going, all could see it was Bob's dessert. With his face in it.
    "It's alright, everyone, just stay where you are. Slay, go to the basement and fix the fuse. Take a flashlight with you," said Mrs. Bridge in a shaky voice. There was enough light to see her frown. Slay had been moving around quite unnoticed and only when he appeared by Mrs. Bridge did Pia remember him. He left the room and then footsteps were heard fading away.
    Silence filled the room though the calm piano music Mrs. Bridge had put on was quietly carrying on. The muffled sound of the howling of the wind from outside could be heard.
    Pia wasn't sure why she wasn't shocked or panicky or anything in the category of high emotions. Bob was possibly dead or perhaps dying at that very moment. But Bob was, after all, her departed husband's father. And he was probably beyond rescue and even if he was saved, would he still have a face? Pia was startled by her own horrifying thoughts.
    "Someone should... Put the flame out," said Mr. Foldman, a retired doctor who lived a few houses away from Pia's.
    "Good idea, Mr. Foldman," said Mrs. Bridge. She was three seats away from Bob. She picked up her water glass, walked over and poured it over the flame but instead of going out, the flame grew. "Oh, goodness, I forgot I was drinking white wine instead of water."
    Mr. Foldman took off his jacket and struck it against the fire. In a moment, the flames died down and the lights came on. Bob, or what was left of him, was a black lump. Mr. Foldman checked Bob's wrist for a pulse. "He's gone," he said. There were excited murmurs. Then someone said in a rather loud voice, "I wonder which one of us wished for Bob's demise." Pia turned to check who said that but everyone was silent again. Slay had returned from the basement. He had on the same placid face.
    A ding rang out. "My pumpkin blueberry crepes are ready!" exclaimed Mrs. Bridge with a half smile. "I'll take the crepes out of the oven and then call the police. No! I'll call the police and then take the crepes out of the oven. Everyone, stay calm and eat!" She raced off into the kitchen followed by Slay. Mrs. Bridge kept one phone in her house and it stayed in the kitchen no matter what.
    Pia should be sad or grieving for a life lost but Bob never gave a damm about her feelings and perhaps she had none for the man. His doctors did warn him to stay off the desserts. Pia kept her lips from smiling. She was free from every attachment to Bob, both Bobs. She sat down and started on her dessert and prepared to act as the dutiful daughter-in-law of the deceased.