“But this bake-off is—”
“Exactly that. It’s a bake-off,” Amy said. “Put it in perspective, Linnie: It’s just fucking pie.”
Linnie slumped back into her seat. “Not to me.”
Amy kept one eye on the road and the other on her sister. “Is this about the money? Because I’ll write you a check right now if it’ll get me out of this. How much do you need? Two thousand? Five?”
“Forty.”
Amy choked. “I’m sorry. Could you repeat that? I thought you said you need forty thousand dollars.”
Linnie nibbled her lip, calculating internally. “Well, probably more like forty-five once all is said and done.”
Amy whistled long and low. “Vasylina Bialek, what did you get yourself into?”
Linnie sighed. “Just come and do this with me, okay? Please. I’ll stop badgering you.” She paused, then amended that to, “I’ll try to stop badgering you.”
The smart, sensible side of Amy knew this was the time to get tough, cut her losses, and leave Linnie in the rearview mirror. But her sappy, sentimental side had summoned up an absurdly misguided sense of protectiveness. “Fine. Fine. But remember, we’re supposed to be a team. Cut me a little slack, and I’ll do the same for you.”
“I don’t need slack.” Linnie straightened up, straining against her seat belt. “I’m never late.”
Amy rolled her eyes. “For anything? Ever? In life?”
“It’s one of my rules.”
“You sure have a lot of rules.”
“What can I say? I respond well to structure.”
Amy adjusted the heater vent and bit into a nacho chip. “Do you mind if I turn the Pretenders back on? Or do you have a rule against new-wave music, too?”
“Is it going to be too loud to talk?”
“Yep.”
“Then by all means, rock on.”
“Good afternoon. Welcome to the Hotel McMillan.” A willowy, well-coiffed hotel receptionist smiled expectantly. The little brass pin on the lapel of her maroon blazer identified her as Michelle. “How may I help you today?”
Amy cleared her throat, the sound echoing through the high-ceilinged, marble-tiled lobby. “Hi, I’m with the Delicious Duet Dessert Championship and I have a room reservation through the weekend. Should be under Amy Nichols.”
“I’ve got a reservation, too,” Linnie piped up from over Amy’s shoulder. “Vasylina Bialek. That’s V-A-S-Y-L—”
“Wait your turn,” Amy admonished.
Michelle remained perky and attentive, but didn’t make any move to enter the information into her computer. She just upped the wattage of her smile and announced, “Well, ladies, I have good news and bad news.”
Amy glanced back at her sister. “Uh-oh.”
“The bad news is, the hotel has been inadventently overbooked for the duration of the bake-off and we’ve run out of rooms. But the good news is, we’ve arranged for our overflow guests to stay a few blocks away at the Hilton. We’re going to supply a courtesy shuttle to get you back and forth. Plus, we’ll provide you with a hundred-dollar voucher for our hotel restaurant, and—”
“Unacceptable,” Linnie said. Her breathing had accelerated, and she was digging her fingernails into the nape of her neck.
“Stop scratching,” Amy whispered.
Linnie dropped her hand, but continued hyperventilating. “Staying in this hotel is absolutely imperative,” she told the clerk. “I need to be able to monitor the humidity and air temperature on the mezzanine levels at precise intervals over the next few days and nights. We’ve got perfect piecrust on the line here.”
“Hmm. Let me see what I can do. Give me just one second.” Michelle tapped at her keyboard. “Are you two together?”
“No,” Amy said, just as Linnie said, “Yes.”
“Well, it appears that we do have one last vacancy, up in the South Tower. I’m really not supposed to put Delicious Duet registrants up there, but I suppose, if you don’t mind bunking in together—”
“I mind,” Amy said.
“It’s a suite,” the clerk continued. “Normally goes for twenty-two hundred dollars a night.”
“We’ll take it,” Linnie said.
“Hold on a second,” Amy interrupted. She addressed the clerk. “Does this suite have two bedrooms?”
“Only one, I’m afraid. And one bed. But it’s king-size, with the special linen package we use for our luxury suites: featherbed mattress topper, eiderdown duvet, Egyptian cotton sheets, Belgian chocolates every night with turndown. . . .”
“We’ll take it,” Amy relented.
“And if you prefer separate sleeping quarters, there is a large sofa in the sitting room,” the clerk said.
“Works for me.” Amy jerked her thumb toward Linnie. “She’ll be on the sofa.”
“Very well. You’re all set.” Michelle handed Amy a small stack of paperwork. “You’ll want to use that elevator right over there. Just slip your room key into the slot above the elevator keypad to access the tower floors.”
Amy gathered up two of her suitcases, left the rest for the bellhop, and led the way across the lobby. She assumed that Linnie was right behind her until she heard a muffled thump and a surprised “Oof!”
She turned around to see Linnie struggling to disentangle herself from the long, slender straps of a gym bag carried by a tiny young woman with biceps that would make Madonna jealous.
“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry!” exclaimed the deep-dimpled petite powerhouse, who sported a sassy dark brown shag haircut, tightfitting workout gear, and diamond stud earrings. “I was gawking up at that huge chandelier, and I didn’t even see you. What a klutz! Here, let me help you.”
“I’m fine.” Linnie pulled away with a frown, her tone positively glacial. Amy shot her a questioning glance.
“Holy cow, are you okay?” A tall, lanky man with wire-rimmed glasses and a wide, earnest face appeared on the other side of Linnie.
“It’s my fault,” the woman told him, all the while trying to brush off Linnie’s coat. “I walked right into her.”
“Sugar plum, you have got to watch where you’re going,” the man said. Then he turned back to Linnie. “You sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.” Linnie yanked at her coat lapel and backed away from the couple. Amy felt alternately outraged and embarrassed by her sister’s rudeness. Because Linnie had grown up so sheltered and isolated from her peers, the Bialek family overlooked a whole lot of what might tactfully be termed “eccentricity.” But there was no excuse for this kind of behavior.
“She’s fine.” Amy inserted herself between Linnie and the well-meaning couple. “She’s just had a very long flight.”
“Hey, are you guys here with the Delicious Duet competition?” the man asked.
“Yes, we are.” Amy extended her right hand. “I’m Amy Nichols and this is my sister, Linnie Bialek.”
“Oh goody!” The little lady clapped her hands. “I’m always so thrilled to meet my fellow bakers.”
“I’ll say!” The man clasped Amy’s hand and gave it a hearty shake. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Ty Tottenham and this is my wife, Tai.”
Chapter 8
Linnie saw Amy’s smile flicker as Ty and Tai introduced themselves. The change in expression was so fast, anyone else would have missed it, but Linnie caught the nanosecond of pure panic in her sister’s eyes.
“Ty and Tai,” Amy echoed. “You don’t say.”
“I know, crazy, right? Obviously we were meant to be.” Tai craned her neck to give her husband a quick buss on the cheek, then said, “Hope we’ll see you gals around. What room are you staying in, anyway? Maybe we’re neighbors.”
“We’re in a suite up in the South Tower.” Amy glanced down at the digits scrawled on the paper jacket for her key card. “Room two-six-two-eight. Ow!” She yelped as Linnie threw a swift elbow jab to her rib cage.
“Lovely to meet you both. We have to go.” Linnie strode across the lobby and onto
the elevator without a backward glance.
“What the hell is wrong with you? You are so rude.” Amy caught the elevator doors just as they were closing and forced them back open. She rubbed her side and winced. “Ow. I think you broke my clavicle.”
“Your clavicle’s your collarbone,” Linnie said. “I hit your asternal ribs. And how could you be so stupid as to tell them our suite number? I can’t believe you’d give them ammunition like that. Now we’ll have to change rooms.”
“We got the last room in the entire hotel,” Amy reminded her. “We can’t change. Not that there’s any reason to.”
“Don’t be so sure about that.” Linnie jammed her key card into the “restricted floors” slot and punched in twenty-six. “I know sharks when I see them.”
Amy burst out laughing. “Sharks in L.L.Bean corduroys and Nikes? They were just being friendly, for heaven’s sake. They’re from Ohio!”
“Don’t fall for that wide-eyed, aw-shucks facade. What they just pulled in the lobby is a classic two-person pickpocket maneuver: the sandwich.” Linnie narrowed her eyes. “The woman bumped me and tried to distract me with her apologies and inquiries about things that are none of her business while her partner started to ransack my coat and bags. She’s the stall; he’s the pick. I see it all the time on the casino floor.”
Amy made a big show of peering into her purse. “Oh, thank heavens, my wallet’s still here. Whew, that was a close one.”
“How can you be this gullible?” Linnie tapped her foot as the elevator zoomed up. “They don’t want our wallets. They want our baking intel!”
“Do you have any idea how insane you sound right now?”
“Who spent five years on the Junior Science Olympiad circuit, you or me? People who spend their lives training for intense competitions don’t see the world like you do. They get desperate and irrational. They get vicious.” Linnie had to avert her gaze as she finished with, “They stoop to things they never imagined they’d be capable of.”
Amy said nothing, so Linnie kept going. “I’ve met dozens of Ty and Tais. Keep your mouth shut and your guard up or you’ll be sorry. Trust me.”
At this, Amy grinned. “Whatever would I do without you to protect me from the cold, cruel world?”
“You’d be an appetizer at the Delicious Duet feeding frenzy, that’s what,” Linnie shot back. “From now on, you’re forbidden to talk to any contestants unless I’m standing right there to supervise. That’s right, I said forbidden.”
“So you’re not allowed to be late, and I’m not allowed to talk to anyone.” Amy ticked off these points on her fingers. “I’m going to have to start writing this down.” She swayed on her feet as the elevator car shuddered to a stop.
“What was that?” Linnie demanded, scanning the button panel. “Are we stuck?”
Amy gripped the railing and glanced up at the ceiling. “Evidently.”
Linnie immediately shifted into meltdown mode. “What are we going to do? Who should we call? Where’s the alarm button?”
“Why don’t we just wait a few minutes? I’m sure it’ll get going again.”
“We’re already behind schedule,” Linnie exclaimed. “You have no idea how much I have to do this afternoon. I’ve got to track down the judges and make sure all our equipment arrived and start recon on the baking floor layout and atmospheric conditions.”
“And as exciting as that all sounds, there’s really nothing we can do to change our situation right now. So let’s take a nice deep breath and try to have a pleasant conversation.”
Linnie crossed her arms. “I don’t do small talk.”
She had her finger on the red button depicting the alarm bell when she heard a muted grinding noise and the elevator lurched back into motion.
“See?” Amy released her death grip on the side rail. “Here we go. Just a momentary glitch.”
When the elevator finally opened on the twenty-sixth floor, Linnie grabbed her bag and bustled down the hallway, leaving Amy to wrestle with her oversize suitcases and the closing doors.
“No worries,” Amy called after her. “I got this.” Linnie heard a few muffled bumps and grunts of exertion, and then a deep male voice said, “Let me help you with that.”
Amy’s voice instantly took on a fluttery, girlish lilt. “Oh, thank you!”
Linnie glanced back over her shoulder to see a tall, darkhaired man hoisting up her sister’s luggage. She didn’t get a good look at his face, but she deduced that he must be handsome from all of Amy’s carrying on.
“Such a gentleman!”
“My pleasure,” the man replied. “May I carry these to your room?”
“Oh no, I can take it from here, but thanks again.” Amy caught up with Linnie at the door to their room and hissed, “Did you see that guy?”
“Yeah.” Linnie shrugged. “So?”
“So he’s cute! He’s got lots of potential.” Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.
Linnie looked down her nose with a stern schoolmarm stare. “Must I remind you that you’re married?”
Amy looked shocked for a moment, then laughed. “Oh my God, you’re hopeless. Not potential for me—for you. He was so busy checking you out, he practically ran into the wall.”
Linnie brushed back her hair. “I didn’t notice.”
“Of course you didn’t. I guess it must be hard to find men who live up to your standards, huh?”
Linnie swiped the key card through the door lock and waited for the tiny lights on the lock to flash green before turning the knob. “What standards?”
“I believe you once told me that any man with an IQ under one fifty might as well be brain-dead,” Amy said. “You said you were holding out for Einstein’s intellect, James Bond’s savoir faire, and Debussy’s musical sensibilities.”
Linnie thought about the handful of dates she’d had over the last few years: nice, normal men who asked her out with great enthusiasm, only to take her dinner, bring her home early, and never call her again once they realized that the blond hair and buxom body were false advertising and that she was, in fact, more puritan than party girl.
Not that she cared. Much like small talk and tardiness, Linnie didn’t do relationships.
She’d tried out a few one-night stands in her early twenties when she wanted to feel more desirable and less lonely, but she found the whole experience—from bar hookup to breakfast—debasing and distasteful.
“I’ve given up on finding anyone who can actually keep up with me.” She flipped on the light switch, illuminating the suite’s interior.
“Dude.” Amy dropped her bags, bent her elbow, and jerked down her fist in a gesture of triumph. “Score.”
A sumptuous gold brocade sofa and a pair of padded, embroidered French chairs surrounded a limestone-topped coffee table. Floor-to-ceiling silk drapes flocked the huge windows, which were framed with molded wood panels. An original oil painting hung above the fireplace mantel. Silver bowls full of fresh fruit and crystal vases full of fresh flowers completed the atmosphere of quiet elegance. Everything looked authentically antique, exorbitantly expensive, and highly breakable.
“We have our own dining room!” Amy reported, peeking around a corner.
“Where’s the thermostat control?” Linnie pulled her coat tighter around her torso. “It’s freezing in here.”
“Check out this bathroom.” Amy’s voice echoed off the slabs of white marble. “You could swim laps in this tub.”
Linnie zeroed in on the cut-crystal tumbler next to the sink. “Oh my God. Look at this.” She pointed out the ring of coral pink lipstick on the rim. “That is vile.”
But Amy had moved on to the next room. “It’s the bed of my dreams,” she whispered reverently. “There must be fifteen throw pillows.” She ran her hands over the puffy down comforter and the massive hardwood headboard. Her eyes got misty. “And look, there’s a white-noise generator right here on the nightstand.”
“I just hope it’s properly sanitized,” Linnie frette
d. “Though after seeing that drinking glass, I don’t hold out a lot of hope. Bedbugs are absolutely rampant in this city. No one in the hotel industry wants to acknowledge it, but I just watched a PBS documentary on parasites and—”
Amy silenced her with a look. “Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“You like rules, right?” Amy kicked off her shoes and flung herself backward onto the bed. “Here’s a rule for you: No more complaining.”
“But that glass had someone else’s lipstick—”
Amy turned on the white-noise generator, drowning out Linnie’s voice with the sound of waves crashing on the beach.
Linnie stopped protesting when she noticed the time on the digital alarm clock. “The welcome cocktail reception starts at six. I’ll go freshen up and leave you to your linen fetish.”
When she turned off the faucet after her steamy shower, Linnie heard Amy talking out in the sitting room. She finished toweling off and was reaching for the hotel’s hair dryer when she heard Amy utter a word that sounded like “Kyle.”
The air-conditioned chill suddenly turned icy against her bare skin. Her limbs broke out in goose pimples.
She cracked open the bathroom door and peeked out toward the sitting room. “Amy? Who are you talking to?”
Amy was nestled into the sofa cushions with her feet propped up on the priceless antique coffee table. She pointed to the cell phone pressed against her ear and made a shushing gesture. “Yes, she has a sister . . .” she said into the phone. “Yes, for real . . . No, I can’t imagine why she’s never mentioned me.”
“Is that my phone?” Linnie demanded.
Amy ignored this and continued her exchange with the caller. “No, she never mentioned anything about The Joy of Cooking. Why do you ask?”
The Bake-Off Page 8