by Agatha Ball
"I'll explain it wasn't your fault," I tried to reassure her, rubbing her arm supportively. "Were you able to get your supervisor?"
"That's a good question," said Fred, his voice suddenly changing to an accusation. "Where was your supervisor when this crate went crashing to the ground?"
"Um... at home? I guess?" said Henrietta. She looked at her watch. "I think he goes cycling about this time."
"A likely story. He had better have a witness and a good alibi." Stan and Fred high-fived each other, delighted that they may have cracked the case. "Now, I don't suppose you have any security cameras to prove our hunch?" Stan asked.
Henrietta looked embarrassed. "It's a historic building. The owners didn't want to ruin the aesthetic. I'm sorry."
I could see both Stan and Fred deflate like someone had poked a hole in a sad balloon.
"Well, maybe someone took a video or something on their phone..." Fred offered, trying to raise his buddy's spirits.
Speaking of phones, an alarm went off and I realized I was so late. Everyone else would have set up their kitchens already and were getting ready for a nice relaxing introduction by the judges. "I am so sorry," I apologized, "But I gotta go."
Stan squinted at me accusingly. "And where do you think you're going so fast, missy? Guilt weighing on you?"
"No," I said, pointing at my cart. "I have the bakeoff to get to."
"No chance you wanted to try and... eliminate some of the competition?" Fred challenged.
"NO! I didn't even want to be in this bakeoff! I'm only doing it because Granny already paid the entry fee and Madison wouldn't refund it."
Fred and Stan consulted each other. Fred spun around. "We'll let it slide this time, but don't go leaving town anytime soon."
"Sure," I said. They were utterly ridiculous. I mean, I was the one who called them in the first place. "I promise not to leave town. I just need to leave the lobby."
I grabbed my cart and jogged down the hall to the ballroom. I used my foot to prop open the double doors as I shimmied inside.
The ballroom was square with a stage set up on the far end. A podium was to the left of a projection screen, which was displaying a rotating slideshow of all of the bakeoff's advertisers and sponsors. A picture of Trevor in his seal suit with Lorraine in her Miss Seaside sash flashed through. It looked like they took it last night at the bar.
The carpet was a burgundy shade with green and gold leaves, but where we were going to be had been covered up by wood parquet. There were rows of counters and cooktops, and a lot more contestants than I had been aware of. They must have just come over with the ferry and then were planning on going home when the day ended.
The judges hadn't gotten here yet, thank goodness. I ran up to the check-in table.
"You're late," said Madison, primly. Her lips pursed. "I should probably disqualify you."
"Someone tried to sabotage Kylie. The bottom of her wooden crate fell out and a cleaver almost cut off her foot. I was talking to the police," I exclaimed, breathlessly.
Her mouth opened into a small "O". Flustered, she pulled out my paperwork. "Well... bending the rules a bit can certainly be excused for a contestant. Displays of good sportsmanship and such. Did you say you were helping with... did you say the police? Is Kylie okay?"
"Yeah..." I said. I really felt like dealing with our local police force filled my "good deed" quota for the day. Repeating it all to Madison would send me over the edge. I needed to get my head in the game or my bake was going to suck. "You should probably talk to Kylie. She's so much better at explaining things than me."
"True that," she replied. She pushed my number and an envelope my direction. "Well, go find your work area. They're in numerical order." She then leaned forward. "And if you wouldn't mind, don't go gossiping about what happened." She saw my quizzical look and she rolled her eyes. "It's just that Nate is working so hard to make this a success. All of us are. And if word got out the police were here and one of the contestants almost had a cleaver accident... I mean, I'm sure it's just termites eating her crate or something..."
"Funny. That's what Stan suggested."
"This is an old hotel."
"It didn't look like termites."
"Whatever!" she said, waving her hands at me to shoo. "Just don't talk to anyone about it. Don't go interfering in official police business."
I took all of my stuff and began pushing my cart to my cooking space. But I couldn't help glancing back at Madison.
She had seemed so delighted to see Kylie when she first came to the island. But were they more frenemies than friends? Would Madison have done something to sabotage Kylie? I mean, not that I could see Madison actually working a hammer to remove the nails, much less know how to weaken the bottom of the crate. But where had that comment about the termites come from? She had her boyfriend wrapped around her little finger, and Trevor was really turning into a "do the deed / ask questions later" sort of fellow. Had she roped him into doing something uncool?
I was unpacking my stuff as a cheer rang through the crowd. I looked up and saw the judges had taken the stage, along with Trevor in his dumb seal suit. I mean, if Madison could get him to dress up in that and appear in public, there's no telling what else she could get him to do.
Lorraine stepped up to the mic. She had decided to wear a beaded, strapless, evening gown that looked like something left over from her pageant days. I guess no one told her that Seaside fell a little more on the casual side. You'd think the seal standing next to her would have clued her in. Victor was busy trying not to leer at her plunging neckline and Shelia was trying to pretend she was not completely aware of what was going on.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Lorraine said, flashing a bleached, white smile. "I am so pleased to welcome you to the Seaside bakeoff!"
I noticed Yvette in the row ahead of me. Bryce was next to her, all of his utensils and ingredients laid out in neat little rows. Kylie was looking a little flustered, picking up the generic bakeware between her thumb and forefinger in disgust.
A nice little crowd was seated on the edges of the ballroom behind velvet ropes and stanchions. I was pleased to see most of them were holding paper coffee cups with the Bitter Beans emblem. It looked like Granny was doing a bang up job with concessions. Even if my bakes failed miserably, at least the shop was raking in the dough.
"Allow me to introduce our judges, Shelia and Victor," said Lorraine, sweeping her arm toward the judges. "Unfortunately, Richard is unable to join us in this competition," she gave him a little finger wave in the crowd. He lifted one of Granny's cups to her. "So a mystery celebrity judge will be arriving straight from filming his television show just in time for the taste testing." She waited for the polite scattering of applause. "For today's elimination challenge, bakers will be making shaped savory bread sculptures. I'm sure they'll 'rise' to the occasion. Bakers, get ready!" She lifted up an air horn and then blasted it. From the groans of pain, I think it was completely unnecessary.
But we began.
It was a little nerve-wracking having people watch me cook. I mean, usually I was able to just get into the zen and if I messed something up, start over. But with the time limit, every movement counted and there was a room full of people waiting for me to do something wrong. I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my sleeve. I glanced over. Nate was there on the sidelines, giving me a great big thumbs up. Wanda, Marnie, and Holly waved enthusiastically. I realized they were all wearing homemade t-shirts that read: "Bitter Beans' Bitter Broads."
People drifted in and out of the room as the hours stretched on. The judges passed by and I thought I suddenly felt like I was all thumbs. I tried to ignore Victor, who kept hanging out by my table, giving nonverbal commentary on what I was doing to anyone in hearing range – little disappointed clicks of his tongue or pleased hums.
I heard some light applause as my bread diorama took shape, but I'm not sure if it was for me or for another competitor. My arms ached from pounding out the d
ough. My back was screaming at me. My eyes were all dried out from the recycled hotel air. My brain was like mush.
But finally, the air horn sounded again, and I was able to step back and get a gander at what I had created.
I smiled.
It had turned out great.
I had made Seaside's beach. There was a little surf shack assembled from crackers and some surfboards of small baguettes, even a tiny Johnny waving from inside the hut. The sand was dusted with Italian herbs and a nice egg wash gave the waves their shine. I made little tortilla beach towels and, against my better judgment, a seal on the other end to balance out the shack. And then, I had baked the word "Seaside" and set it up as the backdrop like our island's version of the Hollywood sign.
I looked around, though, and everyone's displays were incredible. I guess it was all going to have to come down to taste.
I brought my display up to the front to a round of applause and set it on the judge's table. This was so big and so important, and I had worked so hard. My stomach was doing flip-flops.
The mic squealed as Lorraine picked it up. The light reflected off her dress and danced on the walls. "And welcome back everybody! I hope you had time to enjoy the secrets of Seaside! And as a reminder, after the judges have their tastes, we'll allow you all up to take pictures with the creations, and then if you have a yellow ticket, you're invited to taste test for yourself!" She then motioned to a man with curly black hair standing behind Lorraine. He was wearing a black half-mask like Zorro or something. "And we are pleased to welcome tonight's mystery judge. Isn't he mysterious, ladies and gentlemen? Mark my words, his taste buds are honed like a bloodhound! He's criminally good!"
The judge's face was a complete blank as the crowd tittered.
"And now, for the tasting!" Lorraine exclaimed, throwing up her hands.
The judges made their way from display to display, tasting a little bit and then spitting it into buckets. I guess when you're making your way through a playing field of twenty bakers, you've got to watch your carb intake.
They made quiet notes and huddled together to quietly consult with one another, but didn't tip their hand. I watched them try mine and it seemed to go okay. It was absolutely nerve-wracking! I kept looking for some sort of sign from them one way or another, but they were stonewalls as they moved on to the next display.
But then Lorraine bit into Yvonne's bread. Suddenly, her whole face pulled back in disgust and the polite, professional detachment came to an end. She gagged. A ripple ran through the entire crowd.
"Oh my goodness... what did you put in there?" she asked in horror.
Yvonne looked confused. The three judges ripped off pieces, had a taste, and then immediately spit it all into the spit bucket.
"What in the..." Sheila stared at the bread and then at Yvonne, condemningly. "Someone did not taste their salt and their sugar before they baked."
Yvonne looked at her in confusion. "No, that's not possible," said Yvonne. She pulled out her tins. "These are from my shop. I packed them myself." She opened up the lid to the one marked "sugar," poured a little into her hand, and then spat it out. "It's salt," she said in disbelief.
"And the leavening," said Shelia, clucking with disapproval. "Someone doesn't know the difference between baking powder and baking soda."
A polite titter rose from the crowd. I could see Yvette absolutely implode. The woman knew how to cook. This was more than just a nervous contestant screwing things up. I thought back to the note shoved through the door this morning and Kylie's broken crate.
Someone had sabotaged Yvette.
"Wait!" I interrupted. "She knows how to cook! Someone must have mixed up her ingredients."
She flashed me a grateful smile and nodded her head to indicate the judges should listen to me.
"Well, whether someone did or didn't, it makes no difference. She has presented what she wanted us to judge her on," said Shelia. She was not impressed with my display of solidarity. "She should have tested all of her ingredients before the competition and then during the competition. Perhaps some other people will have made a disastrous mistake. We will let you know in about one hour about who has made it through to the next round."
As the judges moved on to the next display, I snuck over to Yvette. Her back was turned, so I rested a comforting hand on her shoulder and said, "I am so sorry."
Her face was hidden by her frizzy brown hair, but I could see she was wiping away something from her cheeks before she turned to me. Her eyes were red and glassy. "Oh... it is just a dumb competition," she said. "Certainly nothing to get worked up over. There will be other bakeoffs. This one was just nice because it was right here." She leaned against the counter as we watched the judges move on to the next display. "I loaded up my cabinets yesterday afternoon. I wanted to make sure I had all of the time available to me today. Locked them myself and the hotel said that there would be a guard keeping an eye on things. So much for that plan."
"Something strange is going on..." I assured her.
But we were interrupted by Lorraine's air horn going off again, and we all turned to face her, ears ringing.
"The judges will now take a thirty-minute recess to discuss their final tallies and we will return with our list of who has made it to tomorrow's semi-finals!" she pronounced with enthusiasm. "Until then, we invite our guests to get a little closer. Enjoy looking at our bakers' creations!"
Trevor, in his seal costume, and Madison, in her 'I'm a horrible human being' outfit, took their places on either side of the table to usher everyone through who wanted to check out our bakes.
Yvette leaned over as she saw a woman pointing at her display and laughing. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to find myself a good, stiff drink." And then she wandered out of the ballroom, the double doors banging behind her.
I was going to follow her and explain all the weird things that had happened that morning to me and Kylie, but my Nate and Johnny decided to swarm me.
"DUDE! PAIGE! You made a mini-me!" Johnny exclaimed. I think his brain was about to explode. "That's so rad! There's me! And there's my shop! And you even made the boards I made! I call dibs on eating my head!"
He held up his hand for a high-five.
"Johnny, it is all yours," I promised him.
Nate had a massive grin on his face. He scooped me up in a big hug and swung me around, before setting me down again. "That is an AMAZING job, Paige. I wish that we had a way to preserve it forever. I can hardly wait to taste it!"
I tried to pretend that it was no big deal, that luck just happened to be with me. But, I had to admit, I felt really good. Yeasted items can go so wrong, but I had read the temperature and humidity and gluten strands just right. I had made something really great. And as I saw the crowd pause a little longer before my bread beach, a warm feeling tingled up my toes and wrapped itself warmly around my heart.
Dare I say that I was feeling a little proud?
It felt awesome people were finding my art something to talk about. And, yes, it was art. It was my creation that I made from nothing. And, sure, it was edible, but it was art nonetheless.
The judges returned. Nate reached over and grabbed my hand, giving it a warm squeeze. And then Johnny reached out and grabbed my other hand, just to show he had my back, too.
Granny and her posse peeked in from the lobby for the announcement. Granny crossed her fingers and held them up. Nate leaned over to kiss my temple, just to reassure me it was going to be okay.
The judges began running through the names. Each time, my heart fell just a little. So many names and they hadn't said mine yet. Ten people were going to be eliminated. Only ten would go on to the next round. Would I make the cut? I began counting. Five names. Seven names. Nine names. Only room for one more...
And then suddenly, I heard Lorraine say it. "Paige Comber for her Seaside Beach Bake."
She flashed me a smile and I silently apologized for any snarkiness I had ever aimed her way. In this moment, I loved Lorra
ine.
A cheer rose up from Granny, Richard, and her posse in the lobby. Nate and Johnny squished me in the middle of a hug sandwich.
Nate whispered in my ear, "I knew you could do it."
I looked around and saw there were a lot of disappointed faces. My happiness was dinged just a touch at how sad everyone else was looking. But suddenly out of nowhere, Trevor in his dumb seal suit took to the stage.
He tapped the microphone. "Hello! My name is Trevor and I'm the owner of Trevor's Saloon." Polite clapping from all the people who had been at the party yesterday greeted him. "Congratulations to the winners and I know how painful it can be to those who find themselves in 2nd place. But you all made it here and you all are deserving of being here. The luck of the draw, right? So, tonight, you're all winners. To all of those who didn't make it through to tomorrow, there is a party at my Saloon tonight. It is a two drink minimum for anyone who made it to the second round, but to those of you who were cut? Your two drinks are on the house!"
And a great cheer rose from the crowd. Madison looked around, her face a little pinched. I think she was a bit upset that Trevor was giving up the profits on all those people who would have liked to have drowned their sorrows at any cost.
But I gotta say, I thought it was a classy move. No matter how I felt about him or his girlfriend, all those frowns were turned upside down, and I was able to enjoy my victory without any guilt.
Trevor caught my eye as he carefully stepped off the stage, and gave me a wink. I sure hoped this was a genuine act of kindness and he wasn't doing it just to get into people's good graces.
Chapter Eleven
The party was a riot. All the people feeling down in the dumps were given paper crowns, and as much as I hated to admit it, Trevor and Madison really did a great job making them feel good about being here on Seaside.
I leaned against the counter as Nate made his rounds, congratulating everyone on their participation. He was doing a pretty great job, too.
But I was so focused on Nate, I didn't even see who was sidling up to me at the bar. If I had, I would have made a beeline for the door.