by Agatha Ball
"So, I see that you made it through to tomorrow," Bryce commented. It was not a compliment. I turned to acknowledge him as I also scoped the room for an opportunity to escape. He gave me an appraising look up and down. "I tasted your bake. It was a little overworked. You should watch that in the future."
I wondered what he was getting at. I had tasted my bake and thought it was fantastic. Was there something I had missed?
"Ummm... thanks. Congratulations on making it through to tomorrow, too," I said through a strained smile.
Suddenly, it was like our own private 2nd round party as Kylie sauntered over. She had changed into something designer nautical to match the décor of Trevor's Saloon. "What a day! I'm not surprised us three got through. I had us all pegged from the get-go."
Bryce narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. "How great that we get to go head to head again, Kylie. Ready to take second place to me again?"
She flipped her long, flat-ironed hair over the shoulder of her navy suit jacket. "Stop pretending that you are God's gift to the stove, Bryce. You've just had a run of good luck. I bake circles around you."
"You should put your money where your mouth is."
"Whatever."
"A little friendly wager?"
"Please," she said. She turned to me. "He always has to make it so competitive."
"It's a competition," he said, leaning forward like a 5th grader trying to win an argument on the playground.
"Listen, Bryce, you know and I know that I'm the only competition you have." She gave me a pinched smile. "Sorry, Paige." And then like she hadn't just insulted me, she turned to Bryce and stated, "You didn't have to try and kill me."
He looked at her like she was nuts. He placed his fingertips on his chest. "Excuse me, I did what?"
"Breaking my box? Putting a meat cleaver in there? You're lucky no one got hurt."
"I had nothing to do with that," he hissed at her, and then he backpedaled like he had said too much. "I mean, I'm fully capable of beating you on my own terms. I don't need to go dropping knives on people to win this crown."
"If you can't stand the heat, you should have stayed out of the kitchen," said Kylie. "I know exactly what sort of a person you are and have no doubt you were behind it all."
"You probably did it yourself to drum up sympathy," he retorted. "That's the only way someone like you is going to get the judges on your side."
"It's so weird..." I mused. I pointed my finger as I was about to complete the sentence.
But Kylie cut me off. "Are you insulting my outfit?"
"No!" I replied. I realized I was sort of pointing at her clothes but not intentionally. "I wasn't talking about your outfit. Your outfit is very nice."
"Paranoid much?" Bryce shot back at her. "But since we're on the topic, blue is really not your color."
"Blue is everyone's color," she snapped. She turned to me. "Everyone comes to these bakeoffs, pretending to be your friend, but I know what's really going on. You and Bryce. Teaming up together to try and get me to fail. Well, I will have you know that you have to get up a lot earlier in the morning if you hope to pull the wool over my eyes." And then she stormed off.
It happened so quickly, it left my jaw hanging and took a second for me to close my mouth. "She's intense," I finally said.
"Yeah. SO easy to mess with," laughed Bryce, sipping his amaretto sour. He put it down and ran his finger up my arm. "Although, I think we should team up just to completely send her off the rails."
I pulled back. "Ew. No."
"I bet you $10 I could totally tank her."
"No. I don't bet on competitions I'm in. Isn't that against the law or something?"
"$100."
"Again, what I said before."
"You're a ton of fun. Has anyone told you that lately?"
"Sorry, I need to go see my boyfriend," I replied, grabbing my drink and walking straight toward Nate.
But as I was pushing my way through the crowd, suddenly, someone grabbed my elbow.
I turned to see who it was.
Out of the frying pan, into the fire.
Victor leaned in close, pretending like he needed to talk directly into my ear over the hum of the crowd. "That was a wonderful bake you did today, Paige."
He smelled of whiskey. "Thank you," I replied, trying to be polite, but also pulling away. "If you'll excuse me."
"I would really love to taste more of what you're baking," he continued.
"And you shall!" I replied, trying to sound light and perky. "Can hardly wait to bake up what I have in store for you. But isn't it so sad that you won't be able to taste more of Yvette's wares." I turned him and pointed at the café owner. She was sitting at a table with a bunch of other women. They were all taking turns with her paper crown.
Victor adjusted his cravat and smiled. "Yvette. Yes, such a tragedy someone would do that to her. I should probably go over and offer my sincere condolences."
"I think you absolutely should do that," I replied, giving him a friendly little shove.
I watched as he stumbled over to her table and then slid onto the bench beside her. Yvette seemed delighted to have his attention and full on flirted back. Listen, the woman had dated a mass murderer for a while. A sleazeball like Victor was technically a step up.
I looked around for the man who was my right direction, however. Nate was busy in a conversation with a few of the other contestants but pulled away as soon as he saw me.
"Having a good time?" he asked.
"I was..." My voice trailed off as my earlier conversation with Bryce looped in my head and I realized what he had been up to. I turned to glare at Bryce, but he just lifted his glass like he couldn't believe it took me so long to put two and two together. "...until Bryce tried to get in my head and mess with me, which I just figured out."
"He did what?" Nate asked.
I waved his concern away. "It's nothing. Just some not-so-friendly competition tactics. Speaking of which, any word on what happened to Kylie's crate?"
Nate shrugged. "Stan and Fred have said they'll follow up on it, but the fact no one was hurt puts it lower on their priority list."
"Is anything ever high on the priority list?"
Nate thought for a moment. "Not including accusing Johnny or me of random criminal activity? No."
"Something really weird is going on here," I mused. "I mean, the note I got? The broken, booby-trapped crate? Yvette's supplies getting switched? She's super organized. It's not like her to have made a mistake like that." I thought back to Bryce. "And then that creep trying to get into my head. He's super competitive."
"I haven't talked to him," Nate replied, glancing over while trying not to be obvious. "Do you think he's capable of doing any of those things?"
I answered his question with a question. "What would you do to save Seaside?"
Nate let out a huge, thoughtful exhale and ran his fingers through his floppy hair. "That's a good question."
"This competition is every contestant's version of your Seaside. Who knows what people are willing to do to win." I looked over and spotted Granny and Richard walking hand in hand out the door. They looked so happy. "Well, at least one good thing has come of this."
Nate put his arm around my shoulder and planted a kiss on the top of my head. "I can think of a couple things, Ms. Second Round Contender."
Chapter Twelve
I opened my eyes blearily. They were crusty and didn't want to greet the morning. I had been out way too late at Trevor's shindig and the thought of having to be my best was an unpleasant thought.
Yawning, I stretched and got out of bed. Just two more days and this whole mess would be over. I threw on some shorts and a tank top, and pulled my chestnut hair back into a messy bun. I was feeling pretty proud of myself for managing to swipe on some mascara.
Baking for the crowd today was going to be brutal.
I brewed myself a cup of coffee and used it to wash down two aspirin.
I was finally
feeling somewhat human as I left my house. The sun was up, but barely. There were birds singing, but it didn't help my mood. The worst, though, was that when I walked over to my bike, the wheel was flat.
I heard the door to Bryce's cottage open. "Something happen to your bike?"
I wondered if I was imagining the smug smile on his face. Had he slashed my tire?
"Somehow I got a flat," I replied, waiting to see his reaction.
He didn't have much of one. He pointed at the dirt road. "It's a wonder you haven't gotten a flat before," he said. "All those pointy stones? Well, at least we can walk down together and keep each other company."
I had half a mind to tell him to go on, I was going to fix the wheel, except I didn't have time. It was either leave now on foot or risk getting in late and forfeiting. I braced myself and said, "Well, I'm headed down now if you can keep up."
I tried to keep a brisk pace, and he kept trying to slow me down.
"Where's the fire, Paige?" he asked, his squashed face getting pink from the exertion.
"I really want to get down to the baking hall to double check no one has tampered with my ingredients," I said to him.
That caused him to pick up his pace. "That was a really nasty thing to do to someone," he admitted. I was about to compliment him on his newfound empathy when he followed it up with, "But at least that's one less person in the competition for us."
"Everything has to be about the competition with you, doesn't it?" I stated, glancing at him over my shoulder. "You can't just be a normal person and have a normal conversation."
He rolled his eyes with disgust. "Listen, Paige, you don't win three bakeoffs in a row by being 'nice' to people. You focus on winning, no matter what it takes. All is fair in war and the kitchen. There is no room for second place in my life."
"Did you sabotage Yvette?" I asked, unable to keep the words from slipping out of my mouth.
"Don't be ridiculous."
"You didn't say 'no.'"
"Is that what you want?" he replied so loudly that it scared away some birds near our path. "No, I did not sabotage that woman. She probably did it to herself. Didn't want to show how terrible she was compared to everyone else, so made it look like someone was out to get her so she could bow out and save face."
"Um... what?"
"You heard me."
"I know 'that woman' and 'that woman' would never do anything like that."
"Really? Because if she lost on her own accord, if she got eliminated on the first day, it would look really terrible for her shop."
I paused for just a moment. I didn't want to admit he had a logical point. It was why I had thought about not entering. I didn't want it to reflect badly on Bitter Beans. And, yes, Yvette was certainly not as strong as the other bakers in the room.
But I had seen her reaction. She was genuinely upset by what had happened.
But then I thought back to her demeanor in Trevor's Saloon that night and how she didn't seem as upset anymore. She had been laughing and carrying on with her friends. Had she really gotten over it that fast?
I pushed the idea out of my mind and started walking again. The bugs humming in the tall grass sounded as angry as I was feeling inside. "That's ridiculous. It doesn't explain Kylie's broken crate—"
"You have a really terrible police force. I'm surprised people aren't breaking into people's stuff right and left."
"—or a note I received telling me to drop out."
"Well, whatever is going on, it benefits me, so I hope no one gets to the bottom of things anytime soon."
Fortunately, we had gotten to the bottom of the hill and I didn't need to pretend like I was a supportive listener any longer. I pointed at the Grand Hotel.
"Have a great bake!" I growled.
"After all this is done, let me know if you need any tips or pointers on how to become a better baker," Bryce replied, smartly. "I might be hyper-focused during the competition, but I'm always happy to help out a struggling baker learn how to suck less."
"Thanks," I said as I dashed off. "Right back at you."
We made our way into the ballroom. Henrietta waved cheerfully from behind the front desk counter and gave us a thumbs up of support as we sped past. Her face fell as Bryce didn't even acknowledge her.
All the other contestants had already arrived. I would have arrived, too, if it hadn't been for my flat tire and Bryce's miserable company.
Everything looked the same as we left it, which was a relief. We were going to have time this morning to make our treats and then we would take them out into the garden for the public to taste as part of the outdoor festival, and then we'd be free once our bakes were gone to do whatever we pleased.
Lorraine took the stage. She looked like I felt. Her hair hadn't been brushed, her makeup was left over from last night, but at least her pink velour tracksuit color coordinated with her bloodshot eyes.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am here on behalf of all of the judges today," she said into the microphone, sans yesterday's perkiness. She looked at the air horn and decided to pass. "Start your bake. We'll see you in three hours."
She then walked off the stage and headed for the door. I should have asked Bryce if he wanted to place a bet that she was heading straight back to bed.
I envied her.
It was time to get this party started, however. I put on my apron and opened up my white cupboard. Suddenly, I gasped. All my papers were gone.
"Where did everything go?" I asked. I looked around. "Did anyone... Is anyone missing their recipes?"
"What?" asked Madison, coming over as she texted on her phone.
"My recipes. I had them here with my ingredients but now they're gone!"
Her fuchsia lips became round and she batted her lash extensions at me. "Intrigue at the bakeoff? This is terrible! Who would do such a thing? Let me text this out to all of my followers. #SeasideBakeOffDisaster."
"A little corporate espionage?" asked Stan, hooking his thumbs on his gun belt as he strolled over. He nodded knowingly at Madison. "It is amazing what some people will do to win a blue ribbon." He squinted at me. "Did you steal your own papers to give yourself the unfair sympathy vote with the judges?"
"No!" I said. "That is utterly ridiculous!"
"Well, I stationed an armed guard here all night and I didn't see anyone try to break into anyone's cupboard," he informed me. "So either you misplaced them or you forget them, but no one got into your stuff while I was on patrol."
Panic began to rise in my throat as I saw all of the other bakers getting started. Time was ticking away. People would be here in just a few hours to taste whatever I could concoct. I wasn't allowed to use electrical devices to pull up a recipe.
I wiped my hands nervously on my apron. I was just going to have to wing it.
I reminded myself I baked every morning. Just because I had been planning on pulling out an heirloom recipe from the Comber family archives did not mean that I was lost. Cinnamon rolls were my specialty. I would just make bite-sized versions for everyone.
I tried to squash the panic as I wrote down everything I could remember. I thought I had it memorized, but now I was doubting myself. Had I missed anything? I pulled out all of my ingredients, making sure to taste them. As if losing my recipe wasn't bad enough, the last thing I needed was a replay of Yvette's mistake. At least whoever took my recipes hadn't messed with that.
The hours flew as I produced the batch of the one-hundred pieces required. I was placing the cream cheese frosting on top just as Lorraine blasted me out of my zone with her air horn.
Fully recovered, she was her old beauty queen self again. She had managed to throw on some make-up and rat her hair tall. I guess that's what a few extra hours can do for a girl.
"The morning ferry has just arrived and the public is ready to taste your bakes! Out to the garden, everyone!" She whipped her air horn overhead like she was conducting a cattle drive.
I wiped the sweat from my brow and looked around. Everyone
else seemed done. Their bakes were laid out on pretty catering trays and in rustic baskets. Mine were stacked on three-tiered dessert displays. I was relieved to see that at least at first glance, I was on par with everyone else. Kylie gave me a Cheshire smile that, if it wasn't my imagination, was a little snide.
Had she stolen my recipes?
I grabbed my cinnamon rolls and told myself not to be paranoid.
Except there was that unfortunate truth that someone most definitely was messing with me.
I walked out into the formal garden, careful not to jostle my displays. I probably should have done it in two trips. My arms were screaming at me. But with the way things were going, I didn't want to let them out of my sight.
In the Grand Hotel garden, there was a gazebo usually used for weddings. We each placed our taster's plates there for the judges, and then found our booths to meet-and-greet. I tried to comfort myself with the thought that even if I had epically failed on introducing the world to one of Granny's favorites, at least this was an opportunity to steer people to Bitter Beans. I would use my cinnamon rolls as sort of a promotional taste test for the coffee shop.
The crowd from the ferry started to make their way over. I was happy to see that there was a fair amount of people already amassing outside the garden gate. Hopefully, they would make their way over to the other stores in town and not spend the entire time here.
Everyone who wanted a taste would get a punch card, and then could make their way from baker to baker, trading a taste for the allotment of punches they had paid for.
Someone had put Johnny in charge of selling tickets. I hope someone reminded him he was supposed to collect money and not exchange free entry for good karma.
He gave me a friendly wave using his whole arm, his shoulder-length, sundrenched curls bouncing back and forth. He then pointed two fingers at a table hidden behind a tree.
Granny was brilliant. She had set up a mobile coffee bar and was serving everyone waiting in line. And I totally smiled as I saw the sign on the front of her cart which read: "Bitter Beans Has Air Conditioning!" As the heat started to build, people seemed very interested.