“They sure are,” Sam said, adding, “I appreciate you lettin’ me sample them last night.”
“Well, you are a reliable judge of cookies, I suppose,” Carolyn said. “You’ve done pretty good about predicting the outcome of contests in the past.” She smiled. “Of course, that’s probably because you always tell Phyllis and me that we’re going to win, even when we’re competing against each other.”
Phyllis said, “You didn’t know that we knew that, did you?”
Sam chuckled. “If I said one of you was gonna lose, you might not let me sample the entry next time. Anyway, you’re both always in the top two or three, so I just hedge my bets. If Eve entered the contests, I’d have a trifecta to put my money on.”
“Don’t hold your breath waiting for that to happen,” Eve said. “You don’t really bet money on cooking contests, do you, Sam?”
Sam just smiled.
“Good grief,” Carolyn said. “Where would you even find a bookie to take a bet on something like that?”
“There are fellas who’ll bet on just about anything,” Sam told her. “Of course, they’re sick in the head. They’re gambling addicts. I’m not like that, mind you, although I do like a good wager now and then.”
“Well, I hope you haven’t lost too much money betting on us,” Phyllis said.
“Oh, I’m ahead of the game. You can count on that.”
They had reached their destination, and Phyllis was grateful to Sam for helping to take Carolyn’s mind off the upcoming contest for a few minutes. She was convinced that was what he’d been doing. She didn’t think he had actually bet on any of their contests . . . although she couldn’t rule it out entirely.
The main hall of the big building was filled with dozens of tables where the judging for the various contests would be held. Phyllis and her friends looked around until they found the spot where the entrants in the cookie contest were checking in. A lot of women and more than a few men had lined up to turn their samples over for judging, which would take place between ten and eleven o’clock, with the ribbons awarded after that.
“Wonder how a fella would go about gettin’ to be a judge in these contests,” Sam mused.
“I have no idea,” Phyllis told him. “I’m sure you could find out if you really wanted to, though.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Nah. I’d hate to have to come to Dallas every year. Besides, if I had to pick somebody’s pie or cake or cookies as the best, that means I’d be disappointin’ all the other people in the contest, and if there’s one thing I hate, it’s disappointin’ lovely ladies such as yourselves.”
“Hmph,” Carolyn said. “I’ve never been disappointed by a man. In order to be disappointed, you have to expect something in the first place.”
Peggy laughed and said, “That’s telling him, honey.”
Phyllis enjoyed listening to their banter, but at the same time, her eyes were roaming over the inside of the hall, not looking for anything in particular, just checking out all the people and seeing what was going on.
That was how she came to spot a familiar figure acting rather furtively. Hank, the big cameraman, was moving through the crowd with his shoulders slumped and his head bent forward as if he were trying to make himself less noticeable, something that was going to be difficult for a man of his size. He was nowhere near the part of the building where the kitchen set for the TV show was located.
Whatever Hank was doing, it was none of her business, Phyllis told herself. But she watched him anyway, until he disappeared into what looked like some sort of service corridor. Phyllis was about to turn her attention back to her friends when something else caught her eye.
Another person she recognized ducked into that same corridor, acting almost as suspicious as Hank had, and Phyllis had to ask herself a question.
Was Bailey Broderick following the cameraman . . . or having a rendezvous with him?
Chapter 7
It was none of her business, of course. Phyllis knew that in the past she had been accused of being a nosy old busybody, poking into affairs that weren’t her concern. She didn’t see it that way, but she supposed she could understand why some people would have that attitude toward her. What they failed to realize was that she had just been trying to get to the truth in order to help her friends. She wasn’t going to turn her back on that responsibility.
In this case, though, there was nothing for her to investigate, and even if there had been, she wasn’t personally acquainted with any of the people involved. No matter what Bailey and Hank were doing—if, in fact, they were doing anything at all—Phyllis had no stake in it whatsoever.
So she gave a little shrug, mental as much as physical, and turned back to the table to watch as Carolyn officially entered her cookies in the contest.
Sam said to the woman in charge of the entries, “Might as well save time and give this lady three blue ribbons right now. Nobody’s cookies are gonna beat hers this year.”
“That’s all right, Sam,” Carolyn said. “You shouldn’t be trying to influence the judges.”
“Our judges are above reproach,” said the woman sitting at the table. “I’m sure you feel that way about your wife’s cookies, sir, but we’ll have the contest anyway.”
“Wife!” Carolyn repeated. “You think this man is my hus- band?”
“That’s all right, honey,” Sam said. “You don’t have to claim me if you don’t want to.”
Phyllis stepped between them, took hold of Sam’s left arm and Carolyn’s right one, and said, “Come on, you two. Let’s let these people go on about their business.”
That was good advice for everybody, she thought.
It would be more than an hour before they learned the results of the contest, so in the meantime Phyllis led the little group away from the cookie contest tables, saying, “Let’s take a look at some of the entries in the other contests.”
They strolled past tables full of pies and cakes, and it was just sheer happenstance that they headed toward the entrance of the service corridor where Phyllis had seen Hank and Bailey a short time earlier. If it wasn’t happenstance, it was her subconscious that led them there, she told herself when she realized where they were going. It certainly hadn’t been a conscious decision on her part.
But since they were right there, she couldn’t help but notice when Hank emerged from the corridor, still acting rather furtive. The others were looking at a table where half a dozen lovely chocolate cakes were displayed. Phyllis didn’t hurry them along. She kept an eye on the corridor, and sure enough, Bailey appeared a couple of minutes later, eyes downcast and hurrying through the crowd.
Phyllis was about to ask herself once again what that meant, when she noticed a sign above the corridor entrance with the universal symbols for restrooms, phones, and water fountains on it. That was the answer right there, she thought. Hank and Bailey both had to use the restroom. Nothing sinister or mysterious about it. The idea that they’d been, well, skulking was just a figment of her imagination.
Bailey’s route through the hall took her past where Phyllis was standing. Without thinking about what she was doing, Phyllis nodded and said, “Hello, Miss Broderick.”
Bailey stopped short and actually flinched. It was a guilty reaction if Phyllis had ever seen one. The young woman stared at her and demanded, “Do I know you?”
“No, no,” Phyllis said quickly. “I’m just a fan of The Joye of Cooking. I was at the broadcast yesterday, and I’ve seen you on the show many times before that.”
“So you think that just because you’ve seen me on TV, you know me? You consider us friends? Is that it?” Bailey looked and sounded angry now, which was completely at odds with the way she seemed to be on television. “What is it you want from me?”
“Why, nothing,” Phyllis said, somewhat flabbergasted by Bailey’s reaction. Or overreaction, rather, she tho
ught, and once again she was reminded of the way a person who felt guilty about something might act. “I just recognized you and said hello.”
Bailey’s eyes widened, and now she looked stricken. “Oh, my God,” she said. “Did I actually just do that? I nearly bit your head off just because you said hello to me. I can’t believe it. I’m so, so sorry. I just . . . I . . .”
“It’s all right,” Phyllis said, sensing how genuinely upset Bailey was. “I imagine you’re under a lot of pressure. It’s got to be a tremendous amount of work putting on a TV show from somewhere like this.”
“You don’t know the half of it, Ms. . . . ?”
“Newsom. Mrs. Phyllis Newsom.”
Bailey summoned up a weak smile and put out her hand. “And you know who I am, obviously. I’m glad to meet you, Mrs. Newsom, and again, I’m sorry for the way I acted.”
“That’s quite all right, dear,” Phyllis said as she shook hands with the young woman.
“Not really. I had no right to act like some prima donna celebrity when I’m pretty much a nobody.”
“I taught school for many years,” Phyllis said, “and one thing I made sure my students knew was that they weren’t nobodies. Everyone has value.”
Bailey smiled and canted her head slightly to one side, as if to say that was a nice ideal but not something that was necessarily true in real life.
“Anyway, I’d like to make it up to you,” she went on. “You say you’re a fan of the show?”
“Yes, and so are my friends.” Phyllis glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see Carolyn, Sam, Eve, and Peggy standing there, but to her surprise the four of them had wandered off and were several tables away, looking at more contest entries and having no idea Phyllis was talking to Joye Jameson’s assistant.
“Well, here’s what I want you to do,” Bailey said. “Come by after today’s broadcast and I’ll see if I can introduce you and your friends to Joye. It’ll just be for a minute, mind you—”
“Oh, a minute would be fine,” Phyllis told her. “I’m sure they’d all be thrilled, and so would I. That’s very nice of you, Miss Broderick.”
“Bailey. And without fans like you, well, we wouldn’t have a show, would we?” She reached into the pocket of her jeans and took out a business card. As she handed it to Phyllis, she went on, “If anybody tries to stop you or gives you any trouble, you show that to them and tell them I said you were welcome. And if they have any questions, they can come and ask me.”
Phyllis took the card and nodded. “All right. Thank you.”
“We’ll see you later, okay?” Bailey smiled again and turned away, and it wasn’t until she had disappeared in the crowd that Phyllis remembered the funnel cake competition was this afternoon. She might not be able to visit the broadcast set after all. It would all depend on how long the contest lasted.
They might be able to meet Joye later in the week, but for now maybe she would be better off if she didn’t say anything to the others, Phyllis decided. She was turning back toward them when Peggy said, “Hey, weren’t you just talking to that girl from the TV show? What was that all about?”
So someone had noticed her talking to Bailey after all, Phyllis thought. And since the others had come up to her in time to hear what Peggy said, now they all knew about it. Well, it wasn’t that big a deal, Phyllis told herself. She smiled and nodded.
“Yes, I was talking to Bailey Broderick,” she said. “You know, Joye’s assistant. We just sort of bumped into each other and got acquainted. She, uh, told me to come by the set after the broadcast this afternoon and she would try to introduce us to Joye.”
“Really?” Carolyn said. She looked impressed, and Phyllis knew from experience that it wasn’t easy to impress Carolyn Wilbarger. Carolyn frowned and went on, “But won’t that conflict with the funnel cake contest?”
“I don’t really know. The contest might be over by then.” Phyllis paused, then added, “And you know, I don’t actually have to enter that contest . . .”
“Nonsense,” Carolyn said without hesitation. “I’ve seen how hard you’ve worked trying to come up with a winning entry. You’re not going to just walk away from the chance.”
Sam said, “Carolyn’s right. Meetin’ some TV personality doesn’t stack up to that.”
“Celebrity is pretty shallow, anyway,” Eve put in. “Some people are famous just for being famous. Like that girl whose family owns all the hotels.”
“Or Snoopy,” said Peggy. “No, wait a minute. That’s the dog from the comic strip. Who am I trying to think of?”
Phyllis wasn’t sure and didn’t really care. She said, “Let’s just wait and see what happens. If the funnel cake contest is over in time, we’ll go right over to the broadcast set and see if Miss Broderick can introduce us.”
“And if it’s not, it won’t be the end of the world,” Carolyn said. “That sounds like the sensible approach to me.”
Before they could talk about it anymore, an announcement came over the loudspeakers that the ribbons for the cookie contest were about to be awarded. Carolyn’s eyes got wide with excitement and anticipation. She turned and led the way back to the part of the hall where the awards presentation would take place.
The ceremony was low-key, not really a ceremony at all. All it amounted to was several members of the judging committee going around to the tables placing ribbons beside the winning entries. A woman wearing a name tag announcing her status as a judge stopped in front of the table where Carolyn’s butterscotch sandies were displayed along with several others in the icebox sliced cookie class. Phyllis held her breath as the woman’s hand reached out with a blue ribbon in it.
The blue ribbon went down next to someone else’s plate of cookies. That brought a cheer from the winner and her supporters, but Phyllis heard a sigh come from Carolyn.
“There’s still second or third place,” Eve said. Carolyn shrugged.
The other two ribbons didn’t find their way to Carolyn’s entry, either. Sam said, “Well, those folks just don’t know what they’re doin’. Those were some of the best cookies I ever ate.”
“Don’t coddle me, Sam,” Carolyn said. “I can stand being defeated.”
The judges moved on to the next class. Carolyn didn’t have an entry in that one, but then the suspense level rose again as they reached the table where her pumpkin oatmeal bar cookies were on display. Again Phyllis held her breath as the judges placed the first-, second-, and third-place ribbons on the table next to those entries.
“That’s all right,” Carolyn said when none of those ribbons wound up next to her cookies. “They may have considered that cookie too cakelike. I never really expected to win, you know.”
Peggy said, “I don’t much care for contests that have to be judged. It’s too damn subjective. Give me a race anytime, where you can see who wins with your own eyes, or a game with a scoreboard where you can see every point go up.”
“There’s an old sayin’ about how the scoreboard doesn’t lie,” Sam agreed.
“Well, it’s not that way in cooking,” Carolyn said, “and if you’re trying to cheer me up, there’s no need. I’m fine.”
That might be what she wanted them to believe, but Phyllis knew better. She and Carolyn had been friends for too long and competed against each other too many times. She knew how the competitive fire burned inside Carolyn.
But there was still a third contest, and Phyllis thought that Carolyn’s dark and nutty Nutella drop cookies were the best of the three she had entered. She watched eagerly as the judges moved on to the tables where those entries were set out on plates with their recipes above them.
The woman with the blue ribbon headed straight for the plate with Carolyn’s cookies on it. Phyllis was afraid she would go past it or turn aside, but as the judge neared the plate her steps slowed, and she reached out and almost delicately placed the blue ribbon ne
xt to Carolyn’s cookies.
Beside Phyllis, Carolyn let out a long sigh. When Phyllis glanced over, smiling in happiness—and a little relief—for her friend, she saw that Carolyn’s eyes were closed.
“Are you all right?” Phyllis asked.
“Yes. Just enjoying the moment.” Carolyn sighed again and opened her eyes. “A state fair blue ribbon winner! Can you believe it?”
“If you were a fella, I’d give you a big ol’ slap on the back,” Sam said. He settled for patting Carolyn on the shoulder instead. “Good job, pal.”
“Thank you.” Carolyn accepted hugs of congratulations from Phyllis, Eve, and Peggy. “I was trying not to let it bother me, but I have to admit . . . I’m so glad I won!”
“So are we,” Phyllis said. “You deserved it.”
“I predicted it all along,” Sam said. “Just like I’m predictin’ that Phyllis will win that funnel cake contest this afternoon.”
“Well,” Phyllis said, “we’ll have to wait and see about that.”
Chapter 8
The funnel cake competition was scheduled for one o’clock that afternoon. The Joye of Cooking broadcast was at two. There was a chance she and her friends would be able to attend both events, Phyllis thought, or at least get to the broadcast before it was over. Bailey had said she would introduce them to Joye Jameson after the show.
Phyllis had brought along some of the ingredients she would need and left them in the car along with the pan, funnel, and cooking oil she would use. The fair furnished the perishable ingredients and the stoves. This competition required advance registration, and Phyllis had worried that she wouldn’t be able to get a spot. There must have been a cancellation, though, because when she went online to sign up, there was one opening and she’d been able to grab it.
Maybe that was a good omen, she had thought at the time, although she really wasn’t a big believer in luck. Preparation, hard work, and a spark of creativity were much more important in cooking contests, as well as in life in general.
The Fatal Funnel Cake Page 5