by Joanne Fluke
“Because we’re not supposed to believe she’s old enough to have gray hair. If we mention it, she’ll take it as an insult.”
Andrea thought about that for a moment. “You’re right. I’ll never mention it.”
“So are you going to try it?”
Andrea made a face. “I hate oatmeal. Remember how you used to try to trick me into eating it by sprinkling on brown sugar and making a face out of chocolate chips on the top?”
“I remember. And it worked because you always cleaned your bowl.”
“You only thought it worked. I ate off the brown sugar and the chocolate chips, and then I gave the bowl to Bruno when you weren’t looking.”
“You did?” Hannah was disillusioned. She thought she’d been so clever in getting her sister to eat oatmeal, and the Swensen family dog had gotten it instead.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have told you,” Andrea said, watching the play of emotions that crossed Hannah’s face.
“That’s okay.” Hannah began to smile as she thought of the perfect ploy. She’d get Andrea to eat oatmeal now, every single day, to make up for her deception! “Bruno was a gorgeous dog. I used to wish I had hair that color.”
“I know. And his coat was so soft. I still get a little lump in my throat every time I see an Irish Setter.”
Hannah took a deep breath. She was about to drop the other shoe. “I’m glad you told me about the oatmeal.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because now I understand why Bruno never went gray. It must have been the oatmeal you gave him. Too bad you didn’t eat it.”
Andrea groaned. “If I’d known, I would have. And now I suppose it’s too late!”
“Not necessarily. Mother never used to eat it when she was young.”
“Really?”
“You were probably too little to remember, but all she used to have for breakfast was coffee. She said she never got hungry until noon, but I think that was just an excuse.”
“For what?”
“For not admitting that she was on a diet. Mother put on a little weight after Michelle was born and she had a hard time taking it off.”
“So when did she start eating breakfast?”
“It was after I went off to college. I’m not positive because I wasn’t there, but I think she started eating oatmeal for breakfast right after she got her first gray hair.”
Andrea shuddered slightly. “Okay, I’ll just have to do the same thing. It’s close to a toss-up, but I’m pretty sure that I hate gray hair more than I hate oatmeal.”
“Atta girl!” Hannah reached into her purse and pulled out a bag of cookies. “And just to make that oatmeal more palatable, here’s a present for you.”
“Cookies?”
“Karen Lood’s Swedish Oatmeal Cookies. They’re authentic and they’re absolutely delicious. Mother got the recipe from Karen before she moved out of town.”
“Thanks, Hannah. I don’t usually like oatmeal cookies, but they’re bound to be better than eating oatmeal in a bowl.”
“Taste one.”
Andrea pulled out a cookie and took a bite. She chewed and then she smiled. “Good! I like these, Hannah!”
“I knew you would. They’re a really simple cookie, and sometimes simple is best.”
“Maybe this is crazy, but these remind me of your Old-Fashioned Sugar Cookies.”
“It’s not crazy at all. Both of them are buttery, crunchy, and sweet. Just make sure you have three a day, and come down to the shop for more when you run out. We bake them every day in the summer. There’s no chips to melt and they hold up really well in hot weather.” Hannah glanced down at her watch and started to frown. “You’d better get a move on, Andrea. You don’t want to be late turning in that photo.”
“Right.” Andrea stood up and took a step away from the picnic table. Then she turned to smile at Hannah. “Thanks, Hannah. No matter what’s bothering me, you always make me feel better.”
Hannah smiled back. Andrea could be a pain at times, especially when she went into a tirade about the unfashionable way Hannah dressed, or the fact that she was a bit too plump. But on that giant tally sheet sisters kept in their heads, she’d won this round hands down.
SWEDISH OATMEAL COOKIES
(Karen Lood)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in middle position.
1 cup butter (2 sticks, ½ pound)
¾ cup white (granulated) sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup flour (no need to sift)
2 cups oatmeal (I used Quaker Oats—Quick)
1 egg yolk
Melt the butter in a microwave safe bowl on HIGH for approximately 1½ minutes. Let it cool to room temperature. Mix in the white sugar.
Add the baking soda, flour, and oatmeal. Stir thoroughly.
Beat the egg yolk with a fork until it’s thoroughly mixed. Add it to the bowl and stir until it’s incorporated.
Grease (or spray with Pam or other nonstick cooking spray) a standard-sized cookie sheet. Make small balls of dough and place them on the cookie sheet, 12 to a sheet. Press them down with a fork in a crisscross pattern the way you’d do for peanut butter cookies.
Bake at 350 degrees F. for 10 to 12 minutes or until they’re just starting to brown around the edges. Let the cookies cool for a minute or two on the sheets and then transfer them to a wire rack to complete cooling.
Yield: approximately 5 dozen, depending on cookie size.
Chapter Two
“Did I say thank you for the cookies?” Pam Baxter, the head of the three-woman judging panel, reached for another cookie.
“You did. About six times.”
“And did I?” Willa Sunquist asked, reaching in right after Pam.
“Seven times, I think.”
“What did you call them again?”
“Pineapple Delights. We got the idea from Lisa’s aunt, Irma Baker. She uses dried apricots too, but Lisa changed it to all pineapple because Herb’s crazy about pineapple.”
“Well it’s a cinch you’ll win the cookie competition!” Willa declared.
“No, I won’t. I run a bakery and coffee shop, and according to the rules, I’m not allowed to enter.”
“That’s a break for the rest of the contestants,” Willa said with a laugh. A nice-looking woman in her late twenties, Willa had just finished the school year as Pam’s classroom aide. The job hadn’t paid much, but Pam and George had given Willa a break by renting their basement apartment to her at a ridiculously low price so that she could finish her teaching degree at Tri-County College.
“Do you have any questions about the rules, Hannah?” Pam asked, closing her slim booklet titled, Guidelines for Judging Baked Goods.
“I don’t think so. The score sheets spell everything out. We just rate each entry on the variables, using a scale from one to ten.”
“And when we’re finished with an entry, Pam collects the score sheets,” Willa said. “At the end of the night, we add up the numbers, enter them on the master score sheet, and Pam authenticates it by signing her name.”
Pam glanced down at the sample score sheet that had come with the booklet. “Do you have any questions about the variables?”
“Just one,” Willa said with a frown. “What’s the difference between presentation and appearance?”
Pam gave her a quick smile. “I asked the same thing! Presentation is how the entry looks when we first see it on the plate or platter. Appearance is what it looks like when it’s sampled.”
“That makes sense,” Hannah said. “The decoration and frosting on a cake would be judged under presentation. We don’t judge appearance until we actually cut the cake and see how it slices and looks inside.”
“How about pies?” Willa asked, still looking a bit confused.
“We rate the top crust or the meringue under the presentation variable. And we don’t rate appearance until we actually dish out a slice and see if the custard slumps, or the berries are too juicy.”
“If it’s been baked in a pan, we judge presentation on how evenly the top crust and the sides are browned. If it’s a coffeecake and it’s frosted or studded with fruit, we rate how that’s done. The same goes for sweet rolls, sticky buns, and doughnuts.”
“Okay.” Willa glanced down at her booklet again. “Muffins and quick breads would be exactly the same, but how do you judge cookies on presentation and appearance? It’s not like you slice them or anything.”
“Hannah?” Pam turned to her.
“It’ll be harder, but it can be done. Some cookies are frosted or decorated with sugar. That would be presentation. Others might be decorated with nuts and dried fruits. And if the cookie isn’t decorated at all, we’ll have to judge the presentation on how expertly the baker browned it in the oven.”
“How about appearance?” Pam asked, looking almost as puzzled as Willa.
“We’ll have to bite into the cookie or break it apart to judge appearance. If it has a filling, we can judge how well that’s placed in the cookie. If it’s chocolate chip, or chopped nuts, we can judge how many there are and whether the cookie might need more, or less. With cookies I think we’ll have to take it on a case-by-case basis.”
“Good thing you’re filling in as a judge,” Willa said. “Judging cookies sounds really tricky.”
“Maybe, but it’ll be fun. What time should we meet tonight?”
Pam glanced down at the schedule. “It has to be after six. That’s the cutoff for the day’s entries.” She turned to Willa. “You’re through at eight, aren’t you, Willa?”
“Yes. I can come right over here after the pageant. Once the curtain closes, the girls are free to go home.”
Hannah’s ears perked up. “Are you talking about the Miss Tri-County Beauty Pageant?”
“Yes, I’m the chaperone.”
“My baby sister’s a contestant,” Hannah told her. “Michelle Swensen?”
“I saw her name on the roster.”
“If you get the chance, say hello from me and tell her I’ll be by to see her at Mother’s when I’m through judging. She came in on the bus early this morning.”
“From college?” Willa guessed.
“Macalester. She’s a theater major. I wonder if she’s got a chance of winning.”
“Everybody’s got a chance. Your sister’s pretty. I saw her picture. But the judging covers a lot more than that.”
“Talent? Personality?” Pam looked puzzled when Willa shook her head.
“We have those, too, but they’re a part of any beauty contest. Just like the rest, we have one night for evening gowns, one for swimsuits, one for the talent showcase, and one for the interviews with the announcer. The fifth night is just for fun, and the girls perform a couple of musical numbers for the audience. And then on Saturday night, we have the pageant parade, and the judges announce the winner and the runners-up, along with the special awards.”
“So what makes Miss Tri-County different?” Hannah wanted to know.
“We also assess a girl’s character. Just take a look at my grid,” she said, pulling a clipboard out of her backpack and handing it over so that Hannah and Pam could see. “The girls are expected to get here by noon and check in with me at the auditorium. They have to make themselves available at various venues, hold interviews with the press and the beauty contest judges in the afternoon, and take part in the formal pageant in front of the audience every night from seven to eight. That’s a lot more than just looking good in a bathing suit.”
“It’s an eight-hour day,” Hannah agreed.
“It’s meant to be. The pageant organizer retired to Arizona, but I talked to her by phone. She told me that the activities planned for the contestants are a test of their maturity and reliability. They’re judged on those categories, too, and that’s why I have the grid.”
Hannah glanced down at the grid again. “I see the names of the contestants. They’re written here in the left margin. But what are the numbers in the columns at the top?”
“Each number represents an attribute. They’re coded so if someone sneaks a look at my clipboard, it won’t show how any individual contestant is doing. They’ll see checkmarks, but they won’t know what they represent.”
“I know you can’t tell us the code,” Pam said, “but could you give us an idea of the categories?”
“Sure. One number stands for complaints. Every time a girl complains about going to a venue, or talking to the press, or how she’s sick to death of smiling and she wishes she hadn’t entered the contest in the first place, I put a checkmark in the complaint category.”
“That makes sense,” Hannah said. “Nobody likes a whiner. What are some of the other categories?”
“Another number stands for being tardy. If a girl is late to any scheduled activity, I put a checkmark in that column. There’s another code for breaking the rules.”
“For instance?” Pam asked.
“Like swearing. The girls aren’t allowed to swear while they’re wearing their contestant ID badges. That’s because younger girls look up to them and we don’t want our contestants to set a bad example. If they forget and get five checkmarks in the swearing category, I have to disqualify them.”
“So some checkmarks are weighted more than others?” Hannah asked.
“Definitely. If a girl does something illegal, she’s immediately disqualified. That one’s a no-brainer. But she gets more than one chance with things that aren’t so serious, like being late and not showing up for a planned event.”
“Sounds complicated,” Pam said.
“Not really. It’s just like life. The consequences for some things are worse than the consequences for others.”
“So you think it’s fairer than other beauty contests?” Hannah asked, reading between the lines.
“I think so. As a rule, I don’t like beauty contests, but this one’s the best I’ve seen. Each girl gets marked in exactly the same way. If her total adds up to the wrong number, she’s gone.”
“Do you have to tell a contestant when she’s disqualified?” Hannah asked.
“Yes.”
“That must be tough.”
“It must be, but I agreed to do it when I took the job. I’m hoping that I won’t have to disqualify anybody. I’m giving every girl a copy of the rules, so it’s not like they won’t know. And I’m planning to tell them that I’ll be keeping track of their behavior on my clipboard. I’m even going to warn them when they’re one checkmark away from disqualification. I don’t think it can be any fairer than that.”
“I have to stop by the Cookie Nook booth and see if they need more supplies,” Hannah said as they walked out of the Creative Arts Building.
“Is that Mayor Bascomb’s booth?” Willa asked.
“Technically it’s the Lake Eden Chamber of Commerce booth, but Mayor Bascomb’s the one who’s running it.”
“Must be an election year,” Pam said, grinning.
“It is,” Hannah confirmed, “but he’s running again, unopposed.”
“Do you think anyone will ever challenge him?” Willa asked.
Both Hannah and Pam shook their heads.
“Never?” Willa persisted.
“I doubt it,” Hannah answered. “Everybody agrees that he’s doing a fine job running Lake Eden.”
“And nobody else seems to want the job,” Pam pointed out.
“I can understand that!” Hannah gave a little laugh. “If something goes wrong, the first person people call is Mayor Bascomb.”
“You’re right,” Willa said. “Remember when the power went out in our classroom and I went to report it to Mr. Purvis? The first thing he did was to ask Charlotte to call Mayor…”
Willa stopped in her tracks. She gave a strangled gasp and her face turned so pale, Hannah reached out to grab her arm. “What’s wrong?”
“I…I…”
&n
bsp; “Are you in pain?” Pam asked, grabbing Willa’s other arm.
“No! I just…have to sit down.”
“Help her around the corner to the food court,” Hannah said, taking charge. “I’ll get her some water.”
Hannah rushed up to the nearest booth and got a cup of water. On her way back, she looked to see if she could spot anything that might have startled Willa. The only thing happening was a roping demonstration on one of the outdoor stages. Several cowboys from the rodeo were doing rope tricks and teaching them to the 4-H kids.
“Thanks, Hannah,” Willa said when Hannah got to the table and handed her the cup of water. “I’m not sure what happened. I just felt a little faint there for a second.”
“Did you eat breakfast?” Pam asked.
“No, but I had lots of Hannah’s cookies and I’m not a bit hungry. I think it was the sun. It was beating down on the top of my head, and I started feeling a little woozy.”
“That could do it,” Pam said, nodding quickly. “We’ll just sit here for another couple of minutes, and then I’m taking you to the booth that sells hats.”
“But really, Pam. I don’t need…”
“Yes, you do,” Pam interrupted her. “And I’m going to buy it for you. No way do I want one of my judges quitting because of sunstroke!”
“So we all got hats.” Hannah wound up her story and handed Lisa a bag. “I got one for you, too. They’re cute and they were really cheap and they had a two-fer going. The second one was only a dollar.”
“Thanks, Hannah,” Lisa said, and she looked absolutely delighted as she opened the bag and pulled out the white straw hat with red flowers around the brim. “It’s just great.”
Hannah smiled. Once she’d left the hat booth, she’d checked in with Mayor Bascomb and agreed to deliver ten dozen more Pineapple Delights. Then she’d driven straight back to The Cookie Jar to help Lisa handle the afternoon rush.