In Death 17 - Imitation in Death

potatoes, some vegetables we'll put on these skewers."
     
     
"We will?"
     
     
"It's just a matter of shoving them on." He assumed. "And a bottle of champagne, to christen it. Though I thought we'd drink it rather than whack the unit with the bottle."
     
     
"I can get behind that part. Have you ever cooked a steak?"
     
     
He sent her a mild look as he opened the champagne. "I read the tutorial and I-watched how it was done at the Miras. It's hardly rocket science, Eve. Meat, heat."
     
     
"Okay." She took the glass he'd poured for her. "What happens first?"
     
     
"I turn it on, then according to the timetable in the tutorial, the potatoes would go first. They take the longest. While they're cooking, we'll sit in the shade."
     
     
The idea of him turning on the monster unit had her taking a cautious step back. "Yeah, well, I'll just get started on the sitting in the shade part." Several buffering feet away.
     
     
Still, she loved him, so she prepared to leap to his defense if the machine got testy. She watched Roarke arrange two potatoes on some of the smaller sections of grill, fiddle with controls.
     
     
Whatever he did had a red light, like a single, unfriendly eye, beam on. Apparently this pleased him, as he closed the lid, patted it, then pulled a little tray of crackers and cheese out of the lower compartment:
     
     
He looked pretty cute, she had to admit, carrying the tray, crossing the sunny patio in his bare feet, with his hair tied back as he often did for serious work.
     
     
She grinned at him, popped a cube of cheese in her mouth. "You put all this together.".
     
     
"I did. Very gratifying, too." He stretched out his legs, sipped champagne. "I don't know why I haven't fiddled about in the kitchen before this."
     
     
The umbrella over the table broke the blast of the sun, and the champagne was ice cold. Not, she decided, such a bad deal after a long day. "So, how do you know when the potatoes are done?"
     
     
"There's a timer. It also suggested we might want to jab them with a fork."
     
     
"Why ?"
     
     
"Something to do with doneness. I assume it'll be selfevident. What did you do to your knee?"
     
     
Never missed a trick, she thought. "Some jerk in uniform let an asshole get away from him. I used my knee to discourage-said asshole from ramming me down the glide. Now he's crying because his jaw was dislocated, and he has a mild concussion."
     
     
"Knee to jaw. Sensible. How'd he get the concussion?"
     
     
"He says it was from the tube of Pepsi I pitched at him, but that's bogus. I figure he got it when a bunch of cops landed on him."
     
     
"You threw your Pepsi at him."
     
     
"It was handy."
     
     
"Darling Eve." He picked up her free hand, kissed it. "Ever resourceful."
     
     
" That, may be, but I had to waste time on more paperwork. Officer Cullen is going to rue this day." -
     
     
"No doubt."
     
     
He poured. more champagne, and they drank it in the shade. When she heard the distant rumble of thunder, she lifted her eyebrows, glanced toward the grill. "You may be rained+ out."
     
     
"There's time yet. I'll just turn it up a bit, and put on the steaks."
     
     
Fifteen minutes later, Eve sipped champagne and watched a little burst of flame erupt from one end of the grill. Since it wasn't the first, she was no longer alarmed by it.
     
     
Instead, she watched Roarke fight his new toy, curse it in two languages, and eye it with frustration.
     
     
When jabbed, the potatoes proved to be hard as stone inside their blackened skin. The skewered vegetables were burned to a crisp,- and had been on fire twice. The steaks were a sickly gray on one side, and black' on the other.
     
     
"This isn't right," he muttered. "It must be defective."
     
     
He stabbed one of the steaks, lifting it off the grill to scowl at it. "This doesn't appear to be medium rare."
     
     
When the juice dripping from it sparked another pocket of flame, he tossed it back on the bars.
     
     
More fire spurted, and the machine, as it had a number of times before, issued a dour warning:
     
     
ACTIVE FIRE IS NEITHER ADVISABLE NOR RECOMMENDED. PLEASE REPROGRAM WITHIN THIRTY SECONDS, OR THIS UNIT WILL GO INTO SAFETY MODE AS EXPLAINED IN THE TUTORIAL, AND SHUT DOWN.
     
     
"Bugger it, you bloody bitch,, how many times do' you need to be reprogrammed? '
     
     
Eve took another hit of champagne,_ and decided not to point out that bitch was inappropriate 'as the unit's voice mode was