Crêpe Expectations

by Sarah Fox

  Sienna led the way across the parking lot, Mrs. Shaw hurrying after her.

  Looking concerned, Patricia had a word with Bruce Hannigan.

  The coach nodded and approached the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ll have a short delay here, but hopefully we’ll get the competition under way before long. Thank you for your patience.”

  Conversations sparked around us, and a few people got up to stretch their legs.

  “I hope Ellie’s okay,” I said.

  “Maybe it’s just nerves,” Lisa suggested.

  I was about to say I hoped that was the case when a woman sitting on the lowest level of the bleachers jumped up and ran for a large metal garbage can located several feet away. She made it just in time before vomiting. I recognized her as one of the finalists from the adult division of the competition. If I remembered right from the day she registered, her name was Cynthia. A man I assumed was her husband rushed to her side. She vomited again, and then he put an arm around her and hurried her away.

  “Another one?” Tommy said. “That must be some bug going around.”

  I spotted Mrs. Shaw walking as quickly as she could in her high heels, heading for Patricia. I climbed down from the bleachers, intending to ask how Ellie was doing, but Patricia beat me to it.

  “How is Ellie, Judith?”

  “She’s too sick to compete. I have to take her home.” Her words were clipped. “This is absolutely disgraceful, and I’ll have you know that I plan to take it up with the organizing committee.”

  “What’s disgraceful?” I asked.

  Anger practically sparked from the woman’s eyes. “That this was allowed to happen.” She swept her gaze over the tent and the bleachers before announcing to the world at large, “Someone is sabotaging this competition!”

  Chapter 22

  A murmur ran through the crowd of spectators. Patricia put an arm around Mrs. Shaw’s shoulders and guided her around the tent and out of sight.

  “It can’t be true,” Hope said as I returned to my seat. “Can it?”

  “Why would anybody sabotage an amateur cooking competition?” Tommy asked. “Isn’t it just for fun?”

  “There is a cash prize,” I said.

  “And some of the contestants are really competitive,” Hope added. “Although, I thought the most competitive person of all was Ellie’s mom, and she’s not even a contestant.”

  “Maybe her mom’s behind the sabotage,” Lisa suggested. “She could have been trying to improve her daughter’s chances of winning.”

  “But Ellie’s sick,” Hope pointed out.

  “Maybe Mrs. Shaw didn’t mean for that to happen.” Lisa nudged my arm. “What do you think, Marley?”

  I spotted Patricia returning to the tent without Mrs. Shaw. “I think I want to find out what’s going on.”

  Even though I’d just come back to my seat, I squeezed past Hope and jumped down from the bleachers. Patricia was in the midst of talking to the remaining three teen finalists, her clipboard in hand, but as soon as she turned away from them, I moved in to speak with her.

  “Do you think there’s any truth to what Mrs. Shaw said?” I asked.

  “I hope not, but…”

  “I knew there was something suspicious about how I got sick!” Quaid interrupted, looming behind my right shoulder. “The sheriff should be called in!”

  Patricia winced. “Don’t you think that would be an overreaction?”

  “How many more people have to get sick before you do something to stop it?” Quaid demanded. “If I get sick again, I’ll have to think about suing.”

  He stormed off, returning to the judges’ table.

  Patricia pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “What can I do to help?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. We’re already behind schedule. If I call the sheriff in, we might have to cancel the rest of the event.”

  I thought things over quickly. “Each time someone has fallen ill, it hasn’t been during the actual competition, but beforehand. So a problem with the cooking stations shouldn’t be the cause. Why don’t you go ahead and get things under way? I’ll call Ray Georgeson on his direct line and tell him what’s happened. He can decide whether it’s something he should be looking into.”

  Patricia’s features relaxed with relief. “Thank you, Marley. That sounds like a good plan.” She gave my arm a grateful squeeze and hurried over to talk with Bruce Hannigan.

  As I wandered away in search of a quiet spot to make my phone call, I heard Coach Hannigan announce the start of the teen competition. Ray didn’t pick up, so I left a voice message, briefly outlining the problem and asking him to get in touch with me or Patricia.

  When I hung up I noticed Sienna crossing the parking lot. I waved to her, and she altered her path to meet up with me.

  “Did Ellie and her mom head home?” I asked.

  “Yes. Luckily Mrs. Shaw had her car here, and they only live a short drive away.” She frowned. “Poor Ellie. I feel terrible for her. She’s so sick, and she’s missing the competition. She might have won the whole thing.”

  “It’s too bad,” I agreed. “But hopefully she’ll recover quickly. Maybe she can enter the competition again next year.”

  “I’m sure her mom will want her to.” She scuffed the sole of one sneaker against the pavement. “Mrs. Shaw thinks someone made Ellie sick on purpose.”

  “I heard.”

  “Is it true?”

  “I don’t know, but the circumstances are suspicious. I left a message with the sheriff so he can decide if he needs to investigate.”

  “But it doesn’t really make sense,” Sienna said. “I heard that one of the adults is sick too. If one of the competitors wanted to increase their chances of winning, why would someone from the teen division and someone from the adult division get sick? I get making a judge sick. Quaid is a jerk, and Ellie said he was meaner to some than others. So with him out of the way last week, some contestants would have had a better chance of making the finals.”

  “That part does make sense,” I agreed. “Maybe this time the plan was to get rid of a competitor or two from one of the divisions. Ellie—or Cynthia, for that matter—could have been an unintended victim.”

  “So who was the target and what made them sick?”

  Behind us, I could hear the competition going on. Dishes clattered against countertops and cooking food sizzled while Bruce Hannigan provided some commentary. I tuned out all that noise and thought things over.

  “Quaid drank coffee before he got sick, so I think the most likely scenario is that the saboteur slipped something into the coffee or tea at the refreshments table. Except no one else got sick last week, so it must have been only Quaid’s drink that was tampered with.”

  “That makes sense.”

  “Was Ellie over there before she got sick?”

  “Yes. I was with her. She was nervous so I was trying to keep her distracted by talking about other things.”

  “And did she drink anything?”

  “She had some tea.” Sienna’s eyes widened. “But she only drank half of it because she didn’t like it.”

  “Did she say why she didn’t like it?” I asked.

  Sienna shrugged. “She just said it tasted weird.”

  I tucked that bit of information away in my mind. “Who else was nearby at the time?”

  “That blond lady who’s competing in the adult division. Is that Cynthia? The woman who got sick?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Anyone else?”

  “Ellie’s mom. And that other woman who’s competing, the one who always wears her hair in a bun.”

  “Dorothy.”

  “Yeah, her. And her husband. Oh, Coach Hannigan too. I think that’s all.”

  That made for more suspects than I would have liked, but maybe we cou
ld eliminate some of them.

  “Did Cynthia have anything to drink?”

  “I didn’t actually see her drinking, but she poured a drink. Two, actually.” Sienna thought for a second. “No, three.”

  “Who did she give them to?”

  “I know she gave one to Ellie. I think she kept one for herself, and the other one was for the man she’s competing against. I think his name is Mikey.”

  “Did anyone have an opportunity to slip something into the drinks?”

  “I don’t know. I was mostly only paying attention to Ellie.” Sienna’s gaze wandered over my shoulder toward the tent.

  I guessed what she was thinking. “Do you want to go and cheer on Logan?”

  “I do,” she said with a relieved smile. “You don’t mind?”

  “Of course not. But let me know if you think of someone who might have had a chance to tamper with the drinks.”

  “I will for sure.” The enthusiastic light in her eyes was one I’d seen before when she’d helped me out with an unofficial investigation. “See you in a bit.”

  She hurried off toward the tent and was soon clapping and cheering for Logan. I found my way back to my seat and settled in to watch the rest of the competition. Hope had left the bleachers while I was gone, but Lisa and Tommy filled me in on what I’d missed.

  The teen finalists had been given three surprise, mandatory foods—cauliflower, mango, and pistachios—to use in their dishes, plus access to an array of other ingredients. They had thirty minutes to whip up a main dish and a dessert that would—hopefully—wow the judges. I watched, impressed, as the teens chopped, whisked, and cooked at lightning speed. All three of them appeared stressed, but not to the point of panicking.

  Soon the clock ran down, and Coach Hannigan blew his whistle. It was time for the teens to face the judges. As with the previous rounds, the judges kept their comments to themselves while they sampled the dishes, making notes on their clipboards after each taste. Once the three competitors had returned to their cooking stations, the judges handed their score sheets over to Patricia. She checked over the results, jotted something down on her clipboard, and handed a slip of paper to Bruce Hannigan.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Coach Hannigan said into the microphone. “I’m pleased to announce the winner of our teen division and the recipient of the five-thousand-dollar prize.” He glanced down at the paper Patricia had given him. “And the winner is…Logan Teeves!”

  A roar of cheers and applause rose up from the crowd of spectators. As I clapped along with everyone else, I noticed that Logan seemed a bit stunned. He had a dazed look on his face as he came forward to shake Bruce’s hand and receive his check. Seconds later he was surrounded by family and friends. His dad clapped him on the back, and Sienna gave him a hug. Some of the shock must have worn off by then, because he was finally smiling.

  As soon as the celebration wore down, the adult competition got under way. Cynthia had withdrawn after falling ill, leaving only Hope, Dorothy, and Mikey to compete for the top prize. The format for the adult division was the same as for the teen division, but the surprise ingredients were different. This time the contestants were given collard greens, walnuts, and white chocolate to work with.

  The whistle sounded, and the amateur chefs got busy.

  “I’m rooting for Hope,” Tommy said, his eyes on what was going on in the tent.

  “Me too,” I agreed.

  I spotted Lonny slipping into a free seat on the bleachers. I was glad he’d made it in time to watch his wife compete—and that he was still a free man.

  Dorothy Kerwin’s husband wasn’t sitting down to watch, I noticed. He was pacing off to the side of the bleachers, looking far more nervous than his wife. After a few minutes, Coach Hannigan approached him and clapped a hand to his back. The coach spoke to him, and I got the sense they knew each other well. Eventually, Willard nodded before taking a seat to watch the rest of the competition.

  The time seemed to fly by, and soon Hope, Dorothy, and Mikey were lined up in front of the table. Again, the judges gave away no clue as to which dishes they preferred. When Coach Hannigan approached the microphone to announce the winner, I crossed my fingers, wanting him to say Hope’s name.

  “Before I announce the winner of our adult division,” Bruce said into the microphone, “I’d first like to thank the organizing committee, the competition’s sponsors, the volunteers, and the town of Wildwood Cove for graciously hosting this event.”

  The audience applauded, but the clapping died out quickly. Everyone was eager to hear what he would say next.

  “And now, without further ado, the winner of the adult division is…Mikey Soldado!”

  Grinning from ear to ear, Mikey shook Bruce’s hand and accepted his prize with obvious excitement. I wondered if Hope was disappointed, but I soon saw that wasn’t the case. She had all her attention focused on Lonny. With her apron still on, she ran out from the tent to meet him at the base of the bleachers. She threw her arms around him, and he held her close, the two of them apparently oblivious to the people around them celebrating Mikey’s victory.

  Now that the competition was over, the crowd slowly dispersed, the bleachers emptying. I tried to spot Sienna in the crowd but couldn’t see her anywhere. I figured there was a good chance she’d gone off to celebrate with Logan. I was planning to head home and was about to say goodbye to Tommy and Lisa when I caught sight of a familiar face near the tent.

  Chrissy Mazurek was chatting with Mikey Soldado.

  She batted her eyelashes and put a hand to Mikey’s arm as she laughed at something he said. I figured she wouldn’t appreciate it if I interrupted her flirting, but luckily for me three young men swooped in to congratulate Mikey, and Chrissy was unintentionally ousted from the small but excited crowd.

  I made my move before she had a chance to leave.

  “Chrissy!” I called out.

  She spun around, and when she saw me the curiosity on her face quickly morphed into resignation. No doubt she had me pegged as a busybody after all the questions I’d asked at her store, but I didn’t let that deter me.

  “Do you know where I can find Tyrone Phillips?” I asked.

  Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why are you looking for Tyrone?”

  “I need to ask him a question about…a mutual acquaintance.” That was pretty much the truth.

  She regarded me in silence for a couple of seconds before impatience replaced her suspicion. “He’s staying with his mother.” She hiked her purse strap up on her shoulder and took two steps away from me. “Mrs. Phillips lives on Saratoga Street. A white house with a purple door.”

  I thanked her, but she’d already turned away and didn’t look back. We certainly weren’t going to be friends anytime soon. At least I had the information I needed.

  I was eager to get on my way to Saratoga Street. I knew which house Chrissy was talking about. It was only a block away from the house Brett owned on the corner of Saratoga Street and Sea Breeze Drive, where Chloe lived. But as much as I wanted to get over there right away, I remembered my promise to Brett.

  Most of the spectators and competitors had left the parking lot. That made it easy to spot Ivan and Lisa chatting with Marielle near the tent. At least, Lisa and Marielle were chatting. Ivan simply stood there, holding Lisa’s hand. I recalled that Lisa was hoping to have dinner with Ivan, so I didn’t want to pull him away from her to act as my bodyguard. Fortunately, I spotted Tommy across the parking lot. He was on his skateboard, starting to coast away.

  I broke into a run and chased after him. “Tommy!”

  He glanced over his shoulder, and when he saw me he hopped off his skateboard and flipped it up so he could grab it with one hand.

  “Do you have a few minutes?” I asked when I caught up to him.

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I want to try
talking to Tyrone Phillips, to see if I can get some information out of him, but I don’t want to approach him alone.”

  “Tyrone, as in the ex-jock with a temper?”

  “That’s him.”

  “Then not going alone is a good idea. Where to?”

  I told him our destination, and we set off along the sidewalk. It only took five minutes to reach the white house with the front door painted in what I though was a pretty shade of light purple. It was a cute house—small, but well cared for. The flower beds on either side of the front steps were practically bursting with color from the blooming plants.

  When I knocked on the front door, I listened carefully for approaching footsteps, wondering if it would be Tyrone or his mother who would answer the door. I heard a couple of heavy footfalls, and then the door jerked open. Tyrone stood there, filling the doorway with his tall frame, his hair messy and his clothes rumpled, as if he’d been sleeping in them.

  “Yeah?” he said without any warmth.

  His attitude and his reputation had me intimidated, but I tried not to let it show.

  “Hi, Tyrone. Chloe Collins introduced us the other day.”

  “If you’re selling something, I don’t want any,” Tyrone cut in before I could say anything more.

  “We’re not selling anything,” I rushed to assure him. “I’m trying to find someone, and I was hoping you could help. Last night you were talking to a man on the corner of Main Street and Wildwood Road. He’s maybe in his late fifties, with brown hair going a bit gray.”

  Tyrone scratched his head, messing up his hair even more. He scrunched his forehead, as if listening to me was taking great effort. When he dropped his hand from his hair, he nodded.

  “You mean the PI?”

  Chapter 23

  “PI?” I echoed. “As in private investigator?”

  The look Tyrone shot me said “duh” loud and clear. “What else?”

  “What’s he doing in Wildwood Cove?” I asked.

  “Demetra’s mom hired him.” Tyrone squinted at me. “If you don’t know that, why are you looking for him?”