Next, Tricia returned to her basement office and fired up the computer. This time, her Google search was centered on Toby Kingston. The first thing that popped up was the Pets-A-Plenty website About page. The paragraph about Toby was brief, just saying that he had come to the pet rescue after work in the “agricultural industry.”
That covered a lot of ground.
Tricia logged into her LinkedIn account and searched for Toby. His profile came up almost immediately. His résumé was quite a bit longer than what Pets-A-Plenty was willing to convey—and rather enlightening, too. Toby had started his career working at a meat-processing plant near Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Hogs came from Iowa. Monterey Bioresources raised pigs for the medical industry and Big Pharma. He’d worked his way up from an entry-level position to management during his ten years with the firm. Obviously, he hadn’t been all that interested in animal welfare back in the day. Had something happened to give him a change of heart, or was a white-collar management job just a paycheck and it didn’t matter what kind of widgets he was passing around as long as he kept to a budget?
The other Pets-A-Plenty board members had to have known about his background before they agreed to hire him. What if donors to the rescue found out about Toby’s former career—would they want to run him out of the rescue on a rail? She certainly didn’t like the idea that someone in his position had been responsible for the deaths of potentially millions of pigs.
And then she again thought about her own hypocrisy. She really did love bacon, even if she had avoided it for most of her life—and not because of the taste, but because of the fat content.
Tricia’s cell phone gave a ping and she removed it from her slacks pocket to see she’d received a text from Marshall.
Good luck with the Bake-Off.
Thanks.
Nervous?
You bet.
Call me later?
I will.
Dinner?
Sounds good.
And then Marshall sent a thumbs-up emoji.
Tricia smiled and glanced at the clock. Pixie would be arriving at any minute. She put the computer to sleep, pocketed her phone, and went up the steps to her store to get the beverage station up and running for her employees and customers.
As Tricia had asked, Pixie arrived at Haven’t Got a Clue early—exactly twenty minutes before her workday was due to start. Despite the warm summer day, she was dressed in a black suit—almost as though she was in mourning. Her expression was dour, and on this day she’d gone easy on her makeup. Her bright red hair was twisted into a chignon and she wore no jewelry—nothing to brighten her appearance.
“I’m here,” she said wearily as she closed the store’s door behind her, the tinkling bell sounding absurdly cheerful in contrast to Pixie’s appearance.
“Are you going to a funeral later today?” Tricia asked, concerned.
“No.”
Oh, dear. That didn’t bode well.
“Let’s have some coffee and sit down,” Tricia said, and poured two cups. They stood at the beverage station, not speaking, as they doctored their brews, and then Tricia led the way to the reader’s nook.
“What did you want to talk about?” Pixie asked as she sat down across from Tricia.
“I think you know.” When Pixie didn’t comment, Tricia tried again. “Angelica told me you’d visited the day spa.”
Pixie wouldn’t look at Tricia and just stared at her coffee cup.
“Are you unhappy working here? Is there anything I can do to—?”
Pixie shook her head. “No. I’ve loved working here since the day I started.”
“Then why did you put in an application to become a nail tech at the new day spa?” There was no way Tricia could call it by the name Angelica had proposed.
“I really think we should talk about this on a day when you haven’t got so much on your mind,” Pixie said. “I want you to have a real shot at winning that Bake-Off.”
“How can I do my best when this is hanging over my head?” Tricia asked. She didn’t even dare think about the other dark clouds hovering over her.
“Because my explanation is probably going to take longer than the ten or fifteen minutes we’ve got.”
“If you need more money—”
“You pay me extremely well.”
“Then . . . ?”
“Later, please,” Pixie insisted, sounding close to tears.
Tricia looked into her friend and employee’s dark brown eyes. “Okay. But we will speak about this later.” She got up from her seat, walked to the washroom, and dumped her untouched coffee. Then she went upstairs to retrieve her purse and the bag of supplies she planned to use in the Bake-Off. By the time she got back to the front of the store, Pixie had moved to stand behind the sales counter, her posture straight, and had regained at least a portion of her joie de vivre.
She gave Tricia a big smile. “Now, you go get your sister and you two skedaddle to the high school and make the best damn cupcakes in the world.”
“Better than Nikki’s?”
“She may have won the professional portion of the contest, but she didn’t win any hearts.”
That was certainly true.
“Now, go. And I want a full report later today.”
Tricia smiled. “Okay.”
Tricia headed for the exit. Upon opening the door, she looked back, but Pixie was facing away from her.
There wasn’t anything else to say. Tricia left the shop, closing the door behind her.
* * *
* * *
Angelica was waiting just inside the Cookery and practically burst through the door before Tricia could even reach for the handle. “Well, what did Pixie say?”
“I don’t even get a hello?”
Angelica closed the door behind her and grabbed Tricia’s elbow, steering her north up the sidewalk. “Hello. Now, what did Pixie say?”
“She didn’t say anything except that what she had to say would take longer than the time we had before I needed to get to the school for the Bake-Off.”
“Well, that’s a disappointment.”
“Tell me about it. She said she didn’t want me to think about it until after the competition was over.”
“Thoughtful of her—except now that’s probably all you’re going to be able to think about.”
Not true. Tricia had a lot of other thoughts whirling around her brain, but it was time to focus.
“No, I’m going to try to put it out of my mind,” Tricia said as they approached the corner and the crosswalk. “I can’t be distracted if I want to beat you in this competition.”
“At least I know you’ll try your best,” Angelica said.
Tricia gave her sister a sour look but decided not to continue that conversation.
Only one van from the Good Food Channel remained parked in front of the school, and the chaos from the day before had pretty much diminished now that the main thrust of the professional portion of the contest had concluded. There would be no live feed to the auditorium, and even the Nigela Ricita food truck, Eat Lunch, had disappeared from the site.
“In contrast to yesterday, it seems like we’re a pitiful afterthought,” Tricia muttered.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t intend to win,” Angelica asserted, then sighed dramatically. “Despite my long odds.”
Oh, yeah? Tricia thought, and brightened. Despite Angelica’s theatrics, Judge Grant Baker was someone Tricia definitely wanted to speak with.
As they approached the school from the south, they saw Mr. Everett approach from the north. The sisters waited for him to catch up, and Tricia greeted him with a smile. “Mr. Everett, what are you doing here? Did you come to watch the contest?”
“Why, I’m going to compete in the Bake-Off. Pixie gave me the day off.”
Tricia blinked in
shock. “But why didn’t you mention it to me before now?”
Mr. Everett looked sheepish. “I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”
“I didn’t even know you baked,” Angelica said.
“When I owned my grocery store, I needed to know every job just in case one of my employees couldn’t make it in on any given day. Out of necessity, I learned a lot about baking, albeit in large quantities. That’s why I chose one of my first wife’s recipes.” He smiled fondly. “Alice would have jumped at the opportunity to participate in the Bake-Off. So in her honor, I’ve entered her maple walnut recipe in the contest.”
“Well, isn’t that sweet,” Angelica quipped. She sounded sincere, but Tricia had no doubt Angelica had calculated that her chances of winning had just gone up another notch.
Mr. Everett offered his elbow to Tricia. “Shall we go in?”
She gave him an affectionate smile. “Yes.”
They climbed the stairs that led to the building and entered the school. The corridors were empty, and they made their way to the culinary rooms on the second floor.
“Are you excited, Mr. E?” Angelica asked, apparently unable to hide her own anticipation.
The older gent shook his head. “Grace was disappointed that there was no way she could come and watch, but I told her if they allowed it, I would bring one of my cupcakes home for her to try.”
“That’s sweet of you,” Tricia said. “I hadn’t thought about having leftovers.”
“I saw on one of the Good Food Channel’s baking shows where contestants were terribly confident and only made one or two cupcakes, only to have them fail,” Angelica said.
“I’m baking as many as the muffin pan will hold,” Tricia said. “Just in case.”
They entered the culinary rooms, which Tricia and Angelica were already familiar with, but which now looked so much nicer after the Good Food Channel’s spruce-up and even better than what they’d seen projected on the screen in the auditorium the previous day. It was also much hotter than it had been on the day they’d visited the week before. It had to have been stifling the day before, with all the extra lights for the cameras. No wonder they had stopped for a makeup touch-up before the winner was announced.
A bored-looking young woman with a clipboard handed out numbers to the contestants that corresponded to the kitchenettes, along with a full-front apron that said GREAT BOOKTOWN BAKE-OFF.
“Oh, look,” Tricia said, indicating the bottom of her apron, where the logo for the Armchair Tourist had been printed. “Marshall told me he was a Bake-Off sponsor. It looks like these were his contribution.”
“They’re darling,” Angelica said.
“And a nice souvenir of the day,” Tricia agreed.
Tricia and Angelica were assigned to Room 1, while Mr. Everett was given a number for Room 2.
“Good luck,” Tricia wished him.
“And to both of you, Ms. Miles,” he said, nodding in the sisters’ direction.
They split up and the sisters took their places before their counters, where Nikki and Joann had performed the day before, tying on their aprons.
The kitchenettes were equipped with new, state-of-the-art standing mixers in a variety of colors, ranging from lime green to neon pink, sure to thrill the heart of any young wannabe pastry chef. Tricia looked at the rest of the mixing bowls, spatulas, measuring cups, and everything else she needed to prepare her cupcakes. The contestants were also allowed to inspect the ingredients cupboard so as not to lose time once the competition began.
Tricia was on her way back from the cupboard as two more contestants arrived: Toby Kingston and Rebecca Shore, each carrying a plastic grocery bag. Every contestant was allowed to bring some of their own ingredients and utensils, but first, each had to be approved by the woman in charge.
Toby’s gaze strayed in Tricia’s direction, and she could swear his upper lip began to curl. “Tricia,” he said by way of greeting.
“Toby,” she said brightly. “It’s so nice to see you.”
He didn’t echo the sentiment.
“Hi, Tricia,” Rebecca said. “Going to win today?”
“I sure hope so.”
Rebecca laughed. “I’m going to give you a run for your money.”
“I wouldn’t expect any less.”
The woman with the clipboard cleared her throat and called for all the contestants to gather in the first room. Aside from Mr. Everett, the other contestants were strangers to Tricia.
“I’m Lara Morris and I’ll be the liaison working with you throughout the contest. Before we get started, I need to check out all the ingredients and utensils you brought into our contest kitchen, and then we’ll go through the rules in case any of you hasn’t read through them. Okay? Right. You, number five”—she pointed to Angelica—“you’re first.”
Angelica snatched up her enormous purse, walked over to Lara, and pulled a large plastic bag from it. Tricia’s mouth dropped open in horror as Angelica extracted the exact mold Tricia had borrowed from Donna North. Also in the bag was a plastic container filled with what looked like white candy melts as well as a big bag of nuts.
Oh, no! I’m doomed, Tricia thought upon seeing the mold. Would Angelica be making lemon cupcakes as well?
Toby was up next. He had a large brown shopping bag, and again Tricia cringed as he, too, pulled out the same book mold and white chocolate candy melts. And so she wasn’t surprised when Rebecca did likewise.
Tricia was almost embarrassed when she was called up front and brought out her candy mold, too. She could tell Lara wasn’t impressed.
“Looks like great minds do think alike,” Rebecca said, and laughed hollowly.
Toby merely scowled.
Tricia returned to her station and Angelica hissed, “Why didn’t you tell me you were making chocolate books?”
“You didn’t tell me, either,” Tricia whispered right back.
When it was his turn to appear before the judges, Mr. Everett pulled a small bottle from his pocket, which turned out to be walnut extract.
The others had brought colored jimmies, sprinkles, and edible glitter, but nothing out of the ordinary. Tricia scrutinized her competition. Because the bakers from the second room hadn’t brought anything spectacular to embellish their cupcakes, she determined that her real competition was Angelica, Toby, and Rebecca. She had tasted Angelica’s baked goods so many times during the past year that she deduced Angelica was still the one to beat. Yet, what if Toby and Rebecca had entered other competitions in the past and had won? They were both unknown entities.
Out of the corner of her eye, Tricia caught sight of Chief Baker standing in the wings, alongside the Booktown Ladies Charitable Society’s leader, Adelaide Newberry. She gave Baker a wave and he forced a smile. Was there a chance they’d take a break before the competition started so she could talk to him?
Lara went over the rules before motioning to the two judges to join her.
“Contestants, I’d like you to meet two of your judges, although they may already be known to you. Stoneham Chief of Police Baker, and Mrs. Adelaide Newberry.”
“Hello, everyone!” Adelaide called happily, and gave a cheerful wave.
“Mrs. Newberry would like to say a few words,” Lara announced, not looking all that thrilled about it.
Adelaide stepped forward. “Welcome, welcome, and thank you for participating in this wonderful charitable event. The professional portion of the Bake-Off raised over ten thousand dollars from Stoneham’s citizens and local businesses. Charities benefiting from this generosity include meals for seniors and children, medical research, and animal welfare. The ladies from the society want to thank you for participating and encouraging your friends, families, and co-workers to sponsor you in the event, too. Now. Let’s bake some cupcakes!”
Everyone applauded politely, but Lara looked chagri
ned. “Uh, unfortunately, there’ll be a slight delay in the contest. It seems our talent—Chef Larry Andrews—has been held up. Therefore, we won’t be starting the competition until he gets here. You’re free to use the restrooms, down the hall and to the right, or to get some coffee. We’ve got a station set up out in the hall. If you want to chill here, just sit at the tables between the kitchens. There’s Wi-Fi, so feel free to check your phones. I’ll call you when we’re ready to begin. Thanks.”
The group broke up, with Mr. Everett and his fellow contestants heading back to their room, while Toby and Rebecca settled at one of the tables and took out their phones.
“Do you want some coffee?” Tricia asked Angelica.
She shook her head. “If I’ve got a few minutes, I can text Antonio and Randy and get some work done.”
“Okay.”
By now, Tricia felt the need for a caffeine boost, and she left the room in search of coffee. She saw Chief Baker standing near the coffee station. He must have snuck out of the culinary room during Adelaide’s speech. Perfect!
While Baker had seemed to be enjoying his judging duties the day before, for the professional portion of the competition, he looked downright irritable to be wasting his time for the second part of the contest.
“Hi, Grant. We haven’t had a chance to speak since last week.”
“I’ve been busy,” he practically growled, and turned back to his phone.
“As have I.”
“And now that overrated chef is going to be late. Why didn’t they just have you guys start baking and then call us in?”
Tricia shrugged. “Protocol?”
Baker’s scowl intensified.
“Um, Grant, there’s a delicate matter I need to discuss with you.”
A Killer Edition Page 24