by Fiona Grace
“You never know,” Ali said with a shrug.
She agreed with Seth, of course, but she didn’t really want to talk about it. Nate was obviously rebounding but that wasn’t the sort of conversation she wanted to have with Seth.
“Anyway,” she said, changing the subject. “Is there anything left in the van to bring in?”
“That’s the last of it,” Seth said. “Emilio’s just bringing in the last pallet of butter.”
Ali grimaced. The specified brand of butter specified on the Mad Frank’s recipe cards was one of her personal least favorites. Her old pastry-chef tutor Milo Baptiste had drummed it into her never to cook with anything less than organic, grass-fed butter. Using this brand was akin to committing the worst culinary sin imaginable.
Knowing gourmet-loving Seth was even more of a snob when it came to quality ingredients than she was, Ali pointed to the sack of pre-ground beef cubes on the counter. “The thought of cooking with that has got to be killing you,” she said.
“In more ways than one,” Seth replied with a chuckle. “Not only do I have to cook with inferior ingredients, but I also have to know the people eating them aren’t even going to taste them! And I’m not even getting paid. Honestly, Ali, you owe me big time!”
They both dissolved into laughter. Ali was glad to see Seth was far less stressed than he had been earlier. Even if he was a self-confessed hater of Mad Frank’s competition, it was better that he was here benefiting in some way rather than sitting alone in his empty hot dog restaurant cursing it. If you can’t beat them, join them!
Just then, the kitchen doors swung open and Emilio entered holding a pallet of butter. He was not alone, his face turned over his shoulder as he busily chatted away with a female person just out of eyeline. At first, Ali assumed it would be Maria, until she realized the conversation was being conducted in English. She frowned, then was surprised when Eunbi emerged into the kitchen behind him.
“What are you doing here?” Ali asked, surprised to see her. “Don’t you need to be asleep?”
Eunbi tucked her hair behind her ears shyly. “I never sleep before a contest. Gotta get all that adrenaline going.”
Ali recalled her earlier claims about using blood sugar crashes to stimulate hunger. This must be yet another body-hack the woman used to condition herself for competition.
“I figured I may as well come here and hang out with you, since you’re the only person I know in town, and I know you’re awake, too. Beats sitting around in a grimy hotel room watching reruns of Friends.”
Ali’s thoughts immediately went to Willow Bay’s only inn. She couldn’t argue with Eunbi there. The place was famously scuzzy.
“Sorry, what’s going on?” Seth asked. “Who are you?”
“Eunbi is one of the competitors in the hot dog contest tomorrow,” Ali explained. “Eunbi, this is Seth. He’s our local hot dog maker, and the other chef.”
The two shook hands.
“Is this allowed?” Seth asked. “Seems like if Mad Frank has rules about the exact brand of ingredients to use in the hot dogs then he’d have rules against competitors being on site during the cooking.” He held up the laminated recipe card to aid his point.
Ali looked over at Emilio as the one with the most expertise.
“I don’t think it’s a problem,” he said, simply.
“Or, in other words, what Mad Frank doesn’t know won’t hurt him!” Eunbi added.
Seth laughed. “Can’t argue with that.”
“Hey, I have an idea,” Eunbi added. “Why don’t I help with the cooking? Extra pair of hands? Get the work done quicker?”
“Yes!” Emilio cried, before Ali had a chance to even speak. “Now me and Seth can go next door and use my kitchen to make the hot dogs and you and Eunbi can use your kitchen to make the buns! We’ll get double the amount done in half the time.”
Seth shrugged, seemingly finding no problem in the plan.
But Ali was hesitant. She’d been looking forward to hanging out with him, and spending a bit more time with Emilio before his departure. Besides, she’d only just finished training Piper how to bake; the last thing she wanted to do was spend the whole evening training Eunbi to. Added to that was the fact she didn’t really know the woman. Yes, she seemed funny and had been pleasant enough earlier, but Ali always preferred the company of good friends over strangers.
“Ali?” Emilio prompted. “Good plan?”
Ali glanced at Eunbi. She felt bad about the nice, polite woman sitting around all night in the shabby Willow Bay Inn alone. And the work would get done more quickly with the four of them, which meant she might actually manage to catch a couple hours of sleep tonight after all.
“All right,” she said, relenting. “Why not? The more the merrier, right?”
Emilio clapped. “Grab the beef, Seth. Let’s go!”
As he heaved up the sack of inferior quality beef cubes, Seth flashed Ali a look. “Good luck.”
“Oh, and in case we don’t catch you until the morning, here’s your lanyard pass,” Emilio said, dangling it at her. “It will get you backstage. The food needs to be dropped off in the caterer’s tent at eight thirty AM on the dot. Got it?”
Ali took the lanyard. “Got it.”
And with that, the two men headed out to cook a million hot dogs in the pizzeria next door.
Once the steel doors had swung back into place after them, Ali turned to Eunbi.
“How much do you know about baking?” she asked.
“Nothing…” Eunbi said, apologetically.
“No problem,” Ali said. “It’s easy. And this recipe is the most basic you can get. I’ll take you through it step by step.”
She picked up the laminated recipe card and was about to read through it when Eunbi covered it with her hand and grinned at her mischievously.
“How about we have a drink first? Just to relax and limber up?”
“A drink?” Ali replied.
She’d never drunk on the job. She was too professional for that. But this wasn’t technically a job. It was a favor for a friend in exchange for a logo on a banner. The competitors didn’t have to taste the food either, so the quality didn’t matter.
“Don’t look so horrified!” Eunbi said, laughing. “I’m not suggesting we get drunk. I need to start fasting in two hours anyway. And I can only have two shots maximum so my liver can process it before competition time. What do you say? A couple of gals drinking a couple of shots? Come on. It will be fun!”
Ali knew she was prone to be overly serious, and she decided this time to let her arm be twisted by the evidently fun-loving, free-spirited Eunbi. She grinned. “All right.”
She went into the pantry to fetch a bottle of rum. It was the only liquor she had on site, and she only ever used it to make the flavoring for her rum and raisin macarons. It felt very naughty to actually drink it for a change.
“I never knew there was so much science in competitive eating,” she said as she set it down on the counter.
“There has to be when I do it,” Eunbi replied with a laugh. “It’s the only way I can keep up with the guys and even the playing field.”
Ali poured them each a shot glass of rum and handed one to Eunbi.
“Well, here’s to tomorrow!” she said, holding hers out. “Cheers!”
Eunbi clinked it, and they both knocked back their shots.
Ali grinned. “Let the baking commence!”
*
“I have to ask,” Ali said as she slid a batch of hot dog buns into the oven several hours later. “How does a tiny little woman like you decide to become a competitive eater?”
Eunbi giggled. She had her hands in the batter, and continued kneading as she spoke. “Well, it started at Korean club, actually. I had to go for language studies because my mom never spoke it to me at home so I was really behind. Anyway, there was always kimchi at lunch and I loved it so much, I ate masses of the stuff. It’s actually very low in calories, so not a particularly imp
ressive feat on its own, but I got a bit of a reputation in the South Korean expat community for being a champion kimchi eater.” She giggled. “Then someone suggested I try one of those eating challenges as a joke, and it turned out I was just as good at that as I was at devouring kimchi. Now, ta-da, here I am!”
Ali found the whole story delightful, and utterly compelling.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Eunbi exclaimed with a hiccup. “My arms ache! I don’t know how you do this every single day.”
Ali pulled a muscle-man pose. “I’ve been conditioning myself for years.”
The two women dissolved into laughter.
It had been like this all evening. A couple shots of rum, a lot of baking, and a whole lot of laughter. Ali found Eunbi to be great company, and she was glad that the men had gone elsewhere after all. Who needed men when you could have sisterhood?
Over the last few hours they’d made five hundred buns, enough for a thousand of the so-called “double” dogs.
“How many competitors are there?” Ali asked.
“Five,” Eunbi told her.
“Five? So you eat one hundred each?”
“We try to,” Eunbi explained with a nod. “We have ten minutes to do it. The most I’ve ever eaten is sixty, though.”
Ali was about to ask more questions when a sudden noise from the alleyway behind the store startled her.
“What was that?” Eunbi asked, looking panicked.
“Don’t worry,” Ali said. “It’s probably Scruff, the local stray. Do you like dogs?”
“I love dogs!” Eunbi cried, the anxiety immediately melting from her face.
“Good,” Ali said. “His name is Scruff and he’s an absolute delight.”
She stood from the table and trotted over to the back door to let him in.
But when she unlocked the door and poked her head out into the dark alleyway, she couldn’t see Scruff. Usually, he’d either be waiting on the doorstep, or he’d come running the moment he heard the door lock click.
Ali looked left and right along the narrow path where the bins were stored but saw no sign of the scrappy little stray.
Immediately, a chill went up Ali’s spine and a feeling of disquiet came over her.
“Doggy!” called Eunbi from inside. She sounded slightly tipsy. “Doggy!”
Ali turned from the door and put a finger to her lips. Then she grabbed the rolling pin and crept out into the alleyway.
One step at a time, Ali crept along the alley.
A noise from behind her made her swirl. She raised the rolling pin over her head, ready to bring it down. Then she froze.
“Joe?” Ali exclaimed.
Her eyes roved all over the pimple-faced pizza-chef from Fat Tony’s pizzeria. He wasn’t dressed in his usual pizza store attire, but in a neatly pressed suit just like the rest of Fat Tony’s cronies. Ali knew Fat Tony often had someone assigned to the area, in order to keep an ear to the ground. Joe must’ve been “promoted” from the pizza-chef to the poor-schmuck on graveyard shift.
“Ali,” Joe said, with a nod of the head. “My apologies for startling you.”
“What are you doing here?” Ali asked, lowering the rolling pin. “You scared me half to death! I almost just bashed your brains out with a rolling pin.”
“Have you seen anyone suspicious hanging around?” Joe asked, completely ignoring her question in the same way his boss always did.
Ali shook her head. “Suspicious? What do you mean?”
“It’s nothing to worry about,” Joe added. “But if you see anyone lurking about, come see Fat Tony first before you do anything like get the cops involved.”
“Cops?” Ali exclaimed. This was getting worse by the second. “Why would I need cops?”
“You won’t,” Joe said with a crooked smile. “Fat Tony is all the protection you need. Remember that.”
Then he tipped his hat again and skulked off into the darkness.
Ali couldn’t tell whether his words were a reassurance or a threat, but the whole encounter left her feeling disconcerted. She ducked back into the bakery and shut the door, locking it firmly behind her.
CHAPTER NINE
Ali woke to the shrill sound of her alarm. She lifted her head from the pillow, discovering in the process that it felt as if it had been stuffed with wool. She peered blearily around her bedroom, feeling half dazed and more than a little groggy.
Her first coherent thought was that it was far too bright inside her room for five AM. Next came the awareness of people chatting outside her window. Though her bedroom was at the front of her apartment, with no real distance between the window and the sidewalk, it was still uncommon to hear passersby and tourists at this early an hour, and it flagged in Ali’s mind that something unusual was taking place.
Suddenly, Ali realized the shrill noise was not her alarm at all. It was her cell phone ringing. The brightness in her room was because the dim light of dawn was already well past. And the sound of people passing by her window were the day-tripper tourists arriving in Willow Bay, parking in the lots at the far east and west sides of the town and walking from there to the beach and boardwalk.
As these three pieces of information converged in Ali’s mind, she realized with a jolt of panic that it couldn’t possibly be five AM, and the only explanation was she had overslept!
She leapt out of bed and tore open the curtains for evidence. Bright, hot sunshine blasted her, and she shielded her eyes with her arm. There were indeed many people passing by her window en route to the boardwalk, but the sheer number of people perplexed Ali. And why were so many of them wearing novelty hats and carrying inflatable hot dogs?
It struck Ali then what was going on. It was not a normal day like any other. It was the day of Mad Frank’s contest! She had not overslept at all, because she had put Piper in charge of the bakery today so she could attend the event. And she had set her alarm for later than usual this morning to help combat any hangover symptoms from the alcohol she’d consumed last night!
A wave of relief that she’d not overslept washed over her and was quickly replaced by a sudden surge of excitement for the day ahead.
She turned her attention to her cell phone, which was vibrating on her bedside table like an angry, insistent bee. She snatched it up. Emilio’s name flashed on the screen.
Ali thumbed the green button and pressed the phone to her ear, simultaneously peeping back through the gap in the curtain to watch the throng of Mad Frank fans passing by. They all seemed very excited, and their excitement was like kindling, lighting the fire in Ali’s belly.
“Good morning, Emilio,” she said into the phone. “What’s up?”
“I’m just wondering where you are,” Emilio’s voice said in her ear.
From the background noises of loud people and pounding dance music, Ali deduced he was already at the pier. She let go of the curtain so it fell back into place and headed out her bedroom.
“I’m still at home,” she explained as she padded across the open plan kitchen and living room to the bathroom. “I’m just going to grab a quick shower, then I’ll head to the bakery to collect the buns.” She turned the shower on so the water could heat up while she finished up her call. The white noise from the flowing water added to the white noise of merriment on the other end of the line.
“Listen, Ali,” Emilio said. “There’s something I need to tell you—” His voice started cutting in and out, making him sound like a robot. “The—banner—Sulli—”
“Sorry, Emilio, you’re breaking up,” Ali said, jamming a finger in her other ear in a desperate attempt to hear better. To no avail. “Look, I’ll be fifteen minutes, tops. Okay? See you soon.” She ended the call and leapt into the shower for a speed wash.
As soon as she was acceptably clean, she ran back to her bedroom. She briefly considered firing up the coffee machine for an espresso as she passed the open plan kitchen, but decided she didn’t have time. She dressed in light blue jeans and her bubble gum pink S
easide Sweets T-shirt, and as she rushed around her apartment searching for her sneakers, keys, and purse, she ran her fingers through her wet hair and tied it into her customary loose braid. Then she raced for the door and hauled it open.
She was half out when she remembered she needed her Mad Frank’s Staff Pass lanyard. Emilio had given it to her yesterday. She wouldn’t be able to make it backstage without it.
She grabbed it off the coffee table and slung it around her neck, then pushed her way onto the street that was thronging with people heading toward the pier.
It was surprising to see just how many people there were. Ali had guessed the event would be big just from the size of the stage, the sound system, and the big TV screens, but it still took her aback just how many people were actually in attendance. That advertising slot seemed even more appealing now. If she’d realized just how many people would get to know about her bakery off the back of this she might’ve been less reticent at the offset.
She weaved her way through the people and headed to the bakery, pleased to see Piper busy working inside. She waved brightly at Ali as she entered and beelined for the kitchen.
“How’d the bun baking go last night?” Piper asked while passing cups of coffee across the counter to the waiting customer.
“Great!” Ali beamed. “Five hundred buns. A couple of rums…”
Piper chuckled and Ali pushed open the kitchen door and disappeared inside.
The kitchen was a bit of a mess. Ali frowned as she tried to remember how the session had ended. Eunbi had gotten a call and left, and Ali had packed all the buns by herself. Then, evidently, she’d decided against cleaning up, and Piper had failed to.
She went over to the counter and picked up the big box filled with buns. She was about to leave when another memory came to her—the strange moment in the alleyway with Joe the mini-mobster. His warning about a stranger lurking around rang in her ears, and a tingle went up Ali’s spine.
She put the box of buns back down and unlocked the back door, peeking her head out and looking left then right along the alleyway. There was no sign of anyone suspicious, just a different one of Fat Tony’s suited men standing with his arms folded and leg crooked against the wall. He spotted Ali and gave her a nod, his pinstripe fedora bobbing down and up in a single, considered movement.