“Sir how’s the sauce?”

“Excellent.” The head chef hissed before sighing in relief. Yet another murder the police wouldn’t be able to solve.

The poor girl, she had no idea what she signed up for when she applied for Fishy Dishes. Her hand looked so tasty and her heart beat so tenderly, even when he held it in his hand it felt alive.

Her hair would be burned of corse, no trace of DNA could be found. It was - as writers called it - the perfect murder.

No wonder there dishes were fishy, they weren’t made of fish.