"Those things may technically be safe to eat, but I wouldn't really consider them edible."
"Ha! Sounds like you've tried them."
It was also not a good time to reminisce about the long weekend she and Alex spent in Traverse City a couple years ago. Talk about a distraction. "If I drop this pie because you're messing around and making me not pay attention to where I'm walking, I won't make double chocolate muffins for you anymore."
"Okay. I'll stop." She held her hands up in surrender. "I can't live a week without those muffins."
Carla opened the heavy glass door and stepped aside. Elliot Maxson, owner of Maxson's Bakery and main sponsor of all of the Summer Festival baking contests greeted Amy. "I'm so glad you made it, my dear. You told me you were entering this contest too, but I was afraid something dreadful had happened as the hours ticked by."
Pogo was far from dreadful 97% of the time, but his unexpected foray into pie thievery sure was. She set the pie on the corner of the small table Elliot was sitting behind. He scribbled something on a sheet of paper then handed her a red sticker with the number 51 written on it.
"Thank you." She plucked the sticker out of his manicured grasp. "My dog ate my first pie this afternoon. Hopefully this one is just as good."
"I prefer canines over felines, if I am pressed to choose, but the seemingly perpetually hungry mongrels can choose the worst moments to help themselves to their owner's food." He flashed a sympathetic smile. "Please state the name of your pie."
"Bumble Apple Crumble Pie."
"What a fascinating moniker," he said as he filled in the blank on a form. He held out the clip board and used the tip of an ink pen to point at a line. "Please sign here. It's a document stating that you produced the pie from your own, original recipe. When I lived in Chicago an unscrupulous scoundrel entered a contest with a pie he had procured at a gourmet bakery. The disingenuous cad may have won if the professional baker who actually made the pie hadn't been a judge."
She looked at Carla and raised an eyebrow. So, her theory about Mandy Jo taking the pie to enter it as her own was plausible. As Amy signed her name she said, "I promise on my entire collection of cookbooks that I created an original recipe, and Carla is a witness that I baked it myself. This should be a scandal-free contest."
"Let's hope so." He gestured at a doorway in the movable divider wall that was used to split the space into two rooms. "Find an acceptable display space on one of the tables in the other room, and affix the sticker to the bottom of your pie tin, so it isn't visible. The numbers are to ensure impartial judging."
"Got it." Elliot had said the same thing to her dozens of times over the years, twice that week even. Did he think she was stupid and he needed to repeat it when she entered every contest? Or did he have to explain the numbers to every contestant for legal reasons?
The intoxicating scent of fresh baked goods intensified when Amy walked into the display room. Nobody else was in the room, so she had plenty of time to study the fifty other pies. As expected, that late in the day there was little space left on the three, long tables arranged end to end. A cluster of pies had accumulated directly in front of the door. A blatant ploy to be noticed by the judges when they entered the room. Glass pie plates rubbed shoulders with disposable aluminum pans. The front and center strategy was a decent one, as far as strategies went, but she had another one. She would put her beautiful, perfectly golden brown, crumble topped pie next to the ugliest one she could find. A splash of bright green caught her eye as she searched for prospective pie neighbors.
A pumpkin pie covered with scorched blisters and edged with a ragged, charred crust was definitely a contender, but the rainbow-colored pie at the end of the third table was the winner. She stopped to study the abomination. It appeared to be some kind of pineapple pie with a Grand Canyon sized crack, from being over-baked, spanning its width. Blobs of blue tinted, whipped cream crowned with green maraschino cherries were plopped in a random pattern on the fluorescent yellow filling. She had found the perfect pie to set hers next to. In fact, there was plenty of room around the garish creation, as if the other competitors were afraid its freakishness was contagious.
The table was too wide for Amy to reach the perfect spot from the front. She walked around to the back side. As she started to set down the pie her toe slammed into something protruding from under the table, but hidden by the ruffled, linen skirt. The pie plate thunked on the table. She held her breath as she once again examined the crumble and crust for cracks. Thankfully she didn't find any. Now to make sure none of the judges would trip like she had and shake the table or worse, do a face plant into her pie. Losing because of faults caused by someone other than herself…not a journey she wanted to take. She lifted up the fabric and screamed like a horror movie star.
"What's wrong? Did you drop your pie or something?" Carla yelled as she and ran into the room.
Amy shook her head. She couldn't take here eyes off Mandy Jo, sprawled under the table with a fresh raspberry pie smashed on her face. "Is she dead, Carla? She sure looks like she is."
"What…damn," Carla said as she rushed to Amy's side. She dropped to her knees and pressed her fingers into the side of Mandy Jo's neck. "I don't feel a pulse. Elliot call 9-1-1."
"Certainly." Elliot fished a cell phone out of his shirt pocket as he trotted across the room to see who was under the table. "Oh my," he said as he dialed the emergency number.
Pies & Peril
Culinary Competition Mysteries book #1
available now for Amazon Kindle!
Murder Al Dente: A Southern Pasta Shop Mystery (Southern Pasta Shop Mysteries Book 1) Page 23