by Tegan Maher
"Yeah," Bobbie Sue said, "but I haven't even been up there yet. Been too busy here all weekend."
"Then maybe there's a silver lining," Anna Mae said. "Why don't y'all close up the food truck, we'll go close up the tent, and we'll spend an evenin' pretendin' we aren't here to work. This is supposed to be fun, after all."
Bobbie glanced at her phone. It was almost three. "Gimme an hour to get the food put away and clean up a little, and we'll do that." She turned her head. "Earl, we're callin' it a day, sugar. Let's have us some fun!"
I was glad to see they were both bouncing back, because I knew they had to be crushed.
"Wait," I said to her. "Aren't you entering your beans? You always do." She advertised them as award-winning, and they were.
She waved me off. "Pht, I wouldn't feel right winnin' today when Earl took such a kick in the ass." She winked. "And you and I both know I'da won. 'Sides, the only real competition I ever have is Jimbo over there, and he's out. Everybody else uses pork-n-beans."
"Oh, the crime against humanity," I said, putting the back of my hand to my forehead.
"You laugh, Missy, but it's because you've been spoiled by the good stuff."
Valid point. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had any baked beans besides hers. Or Bush's, but no way was I gonna say that to her. She'd wash my mouth out with soap.
"Now git!" she said. "Go on down there and close up, and we'll meet y'all back up here. I wanna go check out the pies, then go over to the carnival."
I wiggled my fingers. "You want me to help?"
"Nah, I can have it done in no time."
Max decided to hang around with them, but the rest of us cruised back to our spot.
Using the same method we'd used the night before, it didn't take us long to close up.
Anna Mae pulled one of her bins out of her camper and counted the quilts she had left. They'd been a hit so far. "It's kinda a good thing we're closin' up shop early," she said. "I don't think I brought enough stuff to get me through another two days if we don't."
"Yeah, same here,” I said. “I figured I'd be takin' a bunch of stuff home, but at this rate, the trailer's gonna be mostly empty."
I only had four big pieces left—an entry bench I'd made out of an old church pew and a dresser, the vanity that TJ had admired, a wrought-iron patio set I'd rescued, and a kitchen display case I'd made from some oak cabinets. I decided to mark the vanity sold and giving it to her for her birthday.
"I think groupin' 'em helped, too," Anna Mae said while we consolidated what we had and made up a couple more displays. "Seemed like those sold as soon as we put 'em together." She snapped the lid back on her bin. The guys were relaxing in the camp chairs, talking about motorcycles. That reminded me that we hadn't seen the antique cars yet.
"We still have forty-five minutes before we meet Bobbie Sue. Wanna walk over to see the cars?"
The guys were all about it, and even Anna Mae was down. "Just because I don't know jack about horsepower and motors and stuff doesn't mean I can't enjoy the nostalgia, I guess." She looped her arm through Matt's and we set off in that direction.
The cars were impressive, but the owners were sorta testy—likely because they'd been trying to keep girls in miniskirts and kids with cotton candy on their hands from touching their cars for two days. I couldn't say that I blamed them, but it did keep the guys from getting hung up talking shop.
We met back up with Earl and Bobbie Sue and did a tour through the great hall, sampling every type of pie, jam, jelly, and bread you could imagine. I grabbed some different jams that would go well in some of my recipes, and Earl picked up some jalapeno jelly from TJ and Moira's neighbor that he wanted to try as a marinade. By then, I was used to just trusting him when he said something would be good, no matter how weird it sounded.
Justin had been good all afternoon about texting every fifteen minutes like he was supposed to, and I thought about how excited he was about the competition the next day. I decided to swing past and put an extra charm on their trailer to prevent any more mishaps that would ruin it for him.
Many of the crafters still had their booths open, so we cruised a couple of aisles through there, then made our way to the carnival. The weight seemed to have lifted off Earl by the time we got there, though we did make it a point to avoid the sausage trucks when we decided to get something to eat. No need rubbin' salt in the wound when corn dogs were better anyway.
Max was the star of the show most of the night, and I was proud of what a good sport he was about it. Of course, he'd had a couple of nips with Earl earlier, so that may have paved the way a little. It probably didn't hurt that he was fawned over by almost as many cute women as he was adoring kids.
Justin met up with us when we finished eating and talked Anna Mae, Matt, and TJ into riding some rides with him. Since Bobbie Sue'd never seen a llama, we headed over to the petting zoo. As we neared the place, I got a case of the heebie-jeebies when I remembered what had happened the day before, and I cast an anxious glance toward Serena's tent.
Moira noticed my discomfort and raised a brow at me. She waited ’til Bobbie Sue and Earl were fawning over the llama before sidling closer to where Hunter and I were standing with our elbows propped on the aluminum fence that circled the zoo. "Somethin' you need to talk about, sunshine?"
She'd been involved in the uppermost workings of the Virginia Witch’s Council before she'd moved to Eagle Gap, so maybe she could explain what had happened. And how I could control it so it didn't happen again.
"Yeah." I shifted my weight and sighed. "I sorta stopped time yesterday. Or slowed it down, I guess would be a better word. Or at least I think that's what happened."
Her eyes about popped out of her head and the fence rattled when she jumped back to stare at me like I had a third eye growing out of my forehead. "You what?"
A couple standing several feet away looked our direction, curious to see what the fuss was about. I scowled at her and pulled her back to my side. "Holy cow—keep your voice down!"
Her cheeks went pink and she cringed. "Sorry. But ... you did what? I'm gonna need a little context."
I gave her the condensed version, and she rubbed a hand over her face.
Hunter said, "If it helps any, Max and I weren't affected." He took a deep breath. "Except now I'm wondering if the Slurpee I rescued would have caused a woman to slip into the love of her life or something, had I let things happen the way they were supposed to."
That wasn't helpful, because I could literally see her pulse pounding in her temple. "Yeah, you said it exactly right—the way they were supposed to. Love, or maybe she was a soon-to-be serial killer and Fate planned for her to slip and die from a blood clot in her brain or something," she hissed. "Ohmuhgawd. You actually changed things when it happened rather than just restarting it when you realized what was going on?"
"Yes," said a voice from behind us. I'd only heard it once, but I recognized the husky, Cajun accent. "She did. Enough that I felt the ripple."
Moira whipped around, and when she did, her face split into a grin. "Serena!"
The psychic smiled and pulled Moira into a hug. "It's good to see you, cherie."
Hunter and I glanced at each other, then at the two women. He spoke first. "Maybe some introductions—then some explanations—are in order."
Serena smiled at him, her ebony eyes sparkling. "That's what I been tryin' to say, honey!"
"Noelle, Hunter, this is Serena Trahan, one of the most talented seers I've ever known. Or even heard about."
Serena dipped her head.
"Serena, this is Noelle Flynn and Hunter Woods."
Understanding crossed her face. "Ah, a Flynn witch. That clears things up a bit."
"Explains what?" I asked, feeling like I'd missed a critical part of the conversation.
Moira looked as confused as I did and Serena tilted her head toward Bobbie Sue and Earl, who'd finished feeding the llama and were heading our direction. "We'll talk more later. Come se
e me before you leave."
I nodded as Bobbie Sue and Earl reached us, grinning like a couple of kids.
"You must be Billy's mama," Bobbie said, holding her hand out. "Cheri Lynn told us all about you. I'm glad our boys met. It's been good for him to have another boy to play with."
Serena was warm and welcoming in return, and I sensed zero bad will or fake congeniality on her part. Though she did shoot me a look when I tried to take a superficial peek into her melon to make sure.
My rule usually applies to everybody, but I'd make an exception in a heartbeat when it came to my family. Or to someone who knew more about my magic than I did.
Not that it would take much, apparently.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
RUNNING INTO SERENA had shaken me up a little, but I had to admit Moira was a shrewd judge of character. If she trusted the seer and thought I should talk to her, then maybe she was right. After all, it wasn't like I had to take what she said as gospel, but if she could shed some light on my new gift, then it would be dumb not to at least hear her out.
I decided to do as she asked and talk to her before I left.
After we'd gathered the group up, we'd gone back to the barbecue truck and hung out for a bit. TJ and Moira had a meeting with the local werewolf pack the next day—apparently, they were getting drawn into local witch/pack politics—so they didn't stick around for long.
Justin claimed to be too excited to sleep, but dozed off sitting in his chair. Bobbie Sue shuffled him to the camper, and while she was gone, Jimbo came over, looking madder than a wet hen.
"Earl, you need to see somethin'." He motioned down the aisle between their two trailers.
We all got up and followed him to a dumpster not far away, the smell of rotten meat growing so strong as we approached that it was all I could do not to gag.
Earl was making a conscious effort to breathe through his nose as Jimbo pointed at the contents. I edged around him to peer over the edge, and there, partly covered with half-eaten sandwiches and paper products, was a mountain of sausage, chickens, and a steel serving pan of baked beans.
"Looks like I found our missin' food," Jimbo said, pulling up the strap on his denim bibs. "And unless I miss my guess, your cooker was messed with, too. We were set to take first and second in the chicken, sausage, and beans."
Growling Earl turned away from the dumpster and we headed back to fresh air. "But why go about it like that? Now it's gonna be easy to figure out who done it. Just look at who did win."
I shook my head. "I don't know about that. Too obvious."
Hunter agreed. "One thing's for sure though. We need to let the sheriff know what's going on. In case it's connected to the murder, he needs all the pieces he can get."
"I still think we need to find out who won," Bobbie Sue said, scowling with her hands stuffed in her pockets. "And I'd like to taste their entries, too."
"After we talk to the sheriff," Hunter insisted. "We probably need to talk to the competition officials, too."
Earl looked like his head was about to explode. "I don't know what we'll expect them to do about it," he said. "They sure didn't seem to care a whit when we told ’em it was all stolen to begin with."
For some reason, I'd expected them to cancel those sections of the competition, but according to everybody else, that wasn't how it went. The show goes on. Whoever can present a dish gets judged. Period.
Bobbie Sue pulled out her phone.
"Who ya callin'?" Earl asked. "Ain't gonna do ya no good now. It's done too late. The officials are probly done gone to their hotels."
"Actually," Hunter said, "I saw one of 'em coming out of a trailer over by the great hall earlier today. I think he's camping here."
Jimbo hitched the strap of his bibs back onto his shoulder and squared himself in that direction. "Well if we had ta lose out on the competition, they're at least gonna listen while I tell ’em why. ’Sides, they need to know there's monkey business goin' on around here. I ain't never in all my years on the circuit had any problems like these."
Earl was right behind him, and I pitied the judge if he wasn't willing to come over and take a gander into a dumpster at midnight. I snapped a couple pictures of half-rotten, bean-covered sausage with my phone just in case, then turned to follow Bobbie Sue back to camp.
It only took a few minutes for them to return with a grumpy-looking man in a bathrobe who's comb-over was sticking up in all directions.
"This better be good. I was having the most marvelous dream about—"
Bobbie Sue held up her hand. "I don't think I want you to finish that sentence."
He gave her a sour look. "I was gonna say T-Bones. I hope these kids tomorrow know what they're doin'. Makes me nervous handin' over that quality of meat to young’uns. Even worse, I gotta taste it."
Taking in his rotund form, I wasn't convinced that he was all that particular, but I kept it to myself.
"This won't take but a minute, Grundy," Earl said, pointing to the dumpster. "Take a gander in there."
The judge made a concentrated effort to breathe through is mouth as he poked his head over the edge, then heaved a big sigh. "We're gonna have to have a meetin' tomorrow."
Jimbo frowned at him. "So now that you have proof, you'll consider it? What, you thought we were lyin'?"
"No," he said. "But the rules say that we judge what's submitted. Who submits is beyond our control. You know that. But it so happens, me and another judge—who I'm not namin'!—know both of your styles well, and thought you'd found your meat durin' the tastings today."
Earl scratched his head. "What'd make you think that?"
Furrowing his brow, Grundy said, "Because one of the samples in each category were your fellers', plain as day. But when we announced the winners, it wasn't you two that turned ’em in."
Jimbo growled. "You're sayin' our meat conveniently ends up in a dumpster, and somebody else submitted entries using our recipes? And you didn't find that fishy?"
"Course we found it fishy," Grundy muttered. "We dug through the rules, but couldn't find anything to hang ’em with." He motioned toward the dumpster. "This changes things, though. I'll be convenin' with the other judges in the mornin' before the kids' competition. Earl, I assume your young’un’s competin'?"
Earl jerked his head in a nod. "Usin' our rub."
Grundy held up a hand. "I didn't need to know that." He rubbed his jaw. "Though it does help. If we get duplicates—"
I lost track of what he was saying when the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. One of our security wards I'd placed on Bobbie Sue's trailer had been triggered. It was in my line of sight, but the side entry door wasn't. I ran toward it, hoping to catch whoever'd set it off. Hunter followed, but by the time I skidded around the side, there was nobody there.
"Mind tellin' me what's goin' on?" Grundy asked as he puffed around the corner.
Hunter looked at me, not sure how to respond because all he'd done was follow when I took off.
"I thought I saw somebody messin' with the trailer," I said.
"Well there ain't anybody here now, so I'm goin' back to bed." He turned to Bobbie Sue, Earl, and Jimbo, who'd followed me, too. "I'll let you know what we decide tomorrow."
"Ain't you at least gonna tell us who it was that turned in our recipes?" Jimbo asked.
Grundy shook his head. "I can't do that." He narrowed his eyes, thinking. "But if it makes you feel better, Earl, they didn't place as high as you would have. It wouldn't be honorable to mention who used your bean recipe or your sausage either, Jimbo."
Earl and Jimbo looked at each other, understanding running between them. "Okay, Grundy. Thanks for doin' what you can," Earl said, reaching out and shaking his hand.
Once the judge was gone, robe and comb-over flapping in the wind, Bobbie Sue said, "He's a good egg. He used to compete before he moved up to judge, and was always in the runnin' for the money. Lucky for us, he knows his seasonings and recognized ours."
"Yeah," Jimbo said
. "And now we can figure out who submitted our recipes," Earl said.
"What?" I asked. "How?"
Bobbie Sue grinned. "He emphasized place, which means third. Then honorable mentions are fourth, so the folks who submitted Jimbo's recipes came in fourth in the divisions."
Once she explained it, I felt kinda silly because that's how many smaller, local horse shows did it, too.
Now we had a place to start.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I WOKE UP GROGGY THE next morning. I'd tossed and turned all night, plagued by weird dreams about stopping time and not knowing how to start it again. Reasonable, I guess, and it cemented my decision to talk to Serena.
I stumbled out of bed and grabbed a bottle of OJ out of the fridge. My mouth was dry as a bone. Anna Mae knocked on the door, then poked her head in.
"Knock knock."
"C'mon in," I said, drinking half the bottle of juice in one slug. "You're up early."
"Yeah," she said, puckering her lips and pushing them to the side. "Matt just got a call. Somethin' went wrong on one of their jobs and Jared doesn't know how to fix it. We gotta go."
"Aww, that’s a bummer." Jared was Emily Wheeler's son in law. He knew a lot, and was slated to take over the company eventually, but he still had a lot to learn.
"I know. Do you want me to pack my stuff and take it with me, or do you mind bringing it back with you? I figured I'd ask since we made up those displays last night, and they been sellin' so well. For that matter, if you want, I can stay and ride back with you all."
I flapped a hand at her as I took another drink of the OJ. "Nah, you don't have to do that. Go on with Matt and just leave your stuff. I'll bring back what I don't sell and we'll divvy up the cash when I get home. Do you have to leave right now?"
She wrinkled her nose. "Yeah. They're already behind on this job, and the owner's havin' a conniption."
"Okay, lemme know when you get home." I gave her a brief hug and got dressed.
Hunter had gone to get coffee, so I set about opening up the booth, not that it took much.