Town in a Lobster Stew chm-2

by B. B. Haywood

  Instead, they took her off in another direction, toward the judges’ tent. She passed by families and couples who strolled the lawn, headed toward the booths to watch the contestants work. The day had turned out beautiful, with a pale blue sky and high wispy clouds drifting over the bright green lawn and freshly leafed trees. The temperature was steadily warming. A light wind tossed Candy’s hair.

  As she approached the inn she saw Ben, who was walking past, chatting with another man Candy didn’t recognize.

  “Oh, Candy, there you are,” Ben said when he saw her. “I’ve been looking for you.” Before she could say anything, he added, “Hey, I’m sorry about last night. I hated to cancel on you. But, as I said, I had a friend come into town at the last minute. Candy, I’d like you to meet Roger Sykes.”

  Candy turned toward the man at Ben’s side. He wasn’t quite as tall as Ben, nor quite as good-looking, but he had a pleasant, tanned face, framed by black hair and a black, well-trimmed goatee, all of which made his teeth look blazing white. He was probably in his early to midthirties, and wore a charcoal gray suit and expensive-looking black shoes, which seemed out of place among the other more casual outfits on the lawn.

  He held out a hand toward her. “Hello, Candy.”

  “Hello.” She reached out to shake his hand. “So you’re Roger Sykes. I didn’t know you were Ben’s friend. I just heard from Oliver that you’re going to be a judge today.”

  “And I’ve heard we’re going to be working together. I’m honored. Ben’s told me quite a lot about you. If you’re half as wonderful as he says, you must be quite a catch.”

  “Oh, he’s just being polite,” Candy said with a smile.

  “I’m glad Oliver took my suggestion,” Ben said, pointing at the judge’s badge. “It looks good on you.”

  Candy glanced down at the fancy badge and its ribbons. “Well, thank you... I guess. It’s not exactly what I’d planned on doing today. To be honest, I’m feeling a little stressed about it.”

  “Oh, it won’t be so bad,” Roger said, patting her arm. “I’ll help you any way I can. I’m just glad I don’t have to judge this whole thing by myself.”

  “Besides,” Ben added, “it’s good publicity for the paper. And you can write about it in your next column. Sort of an insider’s look at what it’s like to be a judge.”

  “Yeah, I suppose so,” Candy said halfheartedly. She looked over at Roger. “So do you have experience doing these sorts of events?”

  “I’ve done a few of them. It’s something I sort of fell into.”

  “Roger came up at the last minute to fill in for one of the judges who couldn’t make it today,” Ben explained. “He called me yesterday afternoon. It was all pretty sudden. But it’s great to see him. We went to BU together. I used to hang out with him and his brother back in our college days.”

  Roger filled in some of the details. “Brant Wisely had a last-minute emergency,” he explained, “so he called me and asked if I could fill in for him. I’ve known Oliver for a few years, and of course Ben and I go way back. I’ve been meaning to visit Cape Willington for some time. It just worked out for the benefit of everyone. And I get to meet wonderful people like you.”

  Brant Wisely, Candy knew, was the well-regarded food critic for the Boston Globe. He maintained a summer cottage in Harpswell, down the coast a ways toward Portland, and had served as one of the event’s judges a few times over the years. Many around town had been looking forward to his visit.

  “Roger owns a couple of seafood restaurants in Boston,” Ben continued, “so he’s well qualified to serve as a judge — though Oliver’s a bit put out by the last-minute substitution.”

  “And now he’s had to replace another judge,” Candy said.

  Ben shrugged. “You know what they say about the best-laid plans. Oliver’s always been a bit of a perfectionist.”

  “I’m sure he’ll get over it,” Roger said with a chuckle. “Brant promised to make it up to him somehow. I think they’re talking about some sort of culinary event later in the summer.”

  “Hey, it all worked out for the best,” Ben said, slapping Roger on the shoulder. He turned to Candy. “I’m going to introduce Roger to a couple of folks, and then we’re going to head over to the judges’ booth. Want to come along?”

  Candy shook her head. “I’ll meet up with you later. I still have to visit the rest of the booths, and I want to make some notes for my column.”

  Ben nodded, serious again. “Okay. I just spotted Robbie Bridges making the rounds of the booths, telling the contestants they have one hour to get their stews over to the judges’ table for tasting. Things will be heating up here pretty soon.”

  “At least I know what they’re serving for lunch,” Roger said, flashing his dazzling smile. “I’m looking forward to it, actually. It’ll give me a chance to sharpen my taste buds. It was nice to meet you, Candy. We’ll have fun working together. I’ll see you shortly.”

  As Ben and Roger moved away, Candy felt a nudge in her back. “So, you got a new boyfriend?”

  “Huh?” Candy turned around.

  Maggie stood behind her, grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Who’s Mr. Handsome?” She pointed with her eyebrows at the disappearing backs of Ben and Roger.

  “The guy with the goatee? That’s Roger Sykes. He’s the new judge today — well, the other new judge. He’s a friend of Ben’s.”

  “Well, he can be my friend too. He reminds me of a young Burt Reynolds. I’ve always had a thing for guys who look like that. Do you think he’d ever go for a gal like me?”

  Candy considered that. “Maybe. Of course, he’s probably married with four kids.”

  Maggie looked dejected. “You’re probably right. Just my luck.” She paused, and they both noticed Roger turn around to glance in their direction. He waved.

  “Isn’t that cute?” Maggie waved back. “I don’t think he was looking at me, though. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he has eyes for you.”

  “Aw, go on, you’re kidding.”

  “No, I’m not. I saw the way he was ogling you.”

  “He wasn’t ogling me,” Candy said with a laugh.

  “Well, that’s what it looked like to me. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Ben has some competition.”

  Candy scoffed at the remark. “They’re friends. Nothing like that could ever happen.”

  “Things like that happen all the time,” Maggie said dramatically.

  Candy laughed again, though it was a bit forced this time, as she pulled her notebook and pen out of her back pocket. Quickly she jotted down a few things while they were fresh in her memory. Brant Wisely out. Roger Sykes in. Owns restaurants in Boston. Ben’s friend. She paused a moment, then added, Ask Oliver about his views on the last-minute change in judges. Interview Roger about the winner.

  “Oh, here comes Wilma Mae,” Maggie said.

  Candy looked up. The elderly woman was walking across the crowded lawn, looking totally disoriented. She didn’t seem to know where she was. Then she saw Candy, and recognition dawned. She hurried over to them.

  “Oh, Candy, I’m so glad you’re here,” Wilma Mae said, her voice trembling. “I still can’t seem to find Mr. Sedley. He never returned home, and I’m incredibly worried about him. Where could he be?”

  “We’ve alerted the police,” Candy said. “I’m sure he’ll turn up soon. I really wouldn’t worry about him too much. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation and he’s fine.” Deep inside, she hoped she was right.

  “Oliver told me you’re going to serve as a judge in Mr. Sedley’s place.”

  Candy nodded. “I’ve agreed to do that, yes. I hope it’s okay with you.”

  “Oh, it’s fine, dear, fine. I just wish Mr. Sedley was here. He does love this event so much.”

  Candy pointed toward the judges’ tent. “Look, Wilma Mae, why don’t we take you over to the judges’ table and get you something to drink? We’ll find you a comfortable chair, and you can sit and wai
t there until the judging begins.”

  “Oh, Candy dear, that would be wonderful. I don’t know what I’d do without you. To be honest, I could do with a nice warm bowl of lobster stew.”

  “I know just where to get one for you. Come on.”

  Taking Wilma Mae by the arm, Candy and Maggie escorted the elderly woman across the lawn to the blue and white striped tent. Candy set Wilma Mae down in a padded wicker chair, while Maggie ran off to find her a bottle of water.

  Candy had planned to visit the other booths, but instead she was pulled into a series of conversations with people who wanted to meet the new judge. Maggie returned with several bottles of water, handing one to Candy, and sat down with Wilma Mae as the day warmed. Before Candy knew it, an hour had passed, and when she looked around, covered bowls of lobster stew, in groups of three, were being set out on a long table adorned with neatly pressed white tablecloths.

  In front of each group of bowls was a numbered placard but no other identifying information; this would, presumably, ensure the judges’ objectivity. Only Oliver and Robbie knew who had created each of the sample stews. There was a bowl of each stew for each of the three judges.

  As Candy took the seat next to Wilma Mae, Oliver appeared from inside the inn. He had changed his clothes for the judging and presentations. He now wore sharply pressed gray slacks, a light blue shirt with a yellow bow tie, a navy blue blazer, and a stylish wide-brimmed hat.

  He walked down several steps to the lawn and crossed to a microphone set up on a podium to one side of the judges’ table. He flicked on the mic, tapped it a few times to make sure it was hot, and then said, “Welcome, everyone, to the Twenty-Ninth Annual Cape Willington Lobster Stew Cook-off!”

  The crowd gathered around the tent and podium, as well as others across the lawn, responded with a warm round of applause. Oliver put on his reading glasses, looked down at a sheaf of papers in front of him, and launched into his opening remarks.

  “As you know, our little event has traditionally served as the kickoff of the summer season here in Cape Willington. We have the good fortune of a beautiful day, and we have eleven very talented contestants who have made some wonderful stews for us to sample today.”

  As she was listening to him speak, Candy spotted Roger Sykes, who stood near Oliver, along with Alby, Robbie, and Wanda. He must have sensed her looking at him, for he glanced her way and gave her a warm smile before turning his attention back to Oliver.

  Wanda, however, ignored her completely.

  “As you might have heard,” Oliver told the crowd, “we’ve had to make some last-minute changes to our lineup of judges this morning. Brant Wisely, who has been a good friend of this event, sent his regrets earlier in the week. Stepping in for him today is a highly qualified individual who owns two award-winning restaurants down in Boston — Harbor Seafood on the waterfront, and the Captain’s Table at Copley Square. Ladies and gentlemen, would you please give a warm welcome to today’s primary judge, Mr. Roger Sykes!”

  Roger raised his hand slightly and turned this way and that as the crowd applauded politely. Oliver pulled him toward the podium, and after a few moments, Roger acquiesced and leaned toward the mic.

  “First, I’d like to apologize for not being as handsome nor as talented as Brant Wisely,” he said charmingly, drawing a few chuckles from the audience. “I know how much all of you were looking forward to meeting Brant and having him serve as a judge for today’s event. However, I promise you, I’ll do my very best to fill his sizable shoes. I’m looking forward to meeting the contestants today and to tasting all your wonderful stews.”

  As the audience applauded again, Oliver referred to his notes before he continued.

  “Our next judge,” he said, “needs no introduction. She has been a mainstay of this event almost since its inception and has won it herself six consecutive times. Please welcome back to our event Mrs. Wilma Mae Wendell!”

  Candy and Maggie helped Wilma Mae stand as the crowd applauded. The elderly woman did her best to smile. But she seemed preoccupied and quickly sank back down into her seat.

  “Are you okay, Wilma Mae?” Candy asked, leaning close to her.

  The elderly woman smiled bravely. “I’ll be alright.”

  “We’ll get you something to eat in just a few minutes.”

  Candy turned back to the podium as Oliver glanced her way. “Finally,” he said, “we have a last-minute fill-in for one of our honorary judges who couldn’t make it today. I’m sure you’ve all read her wonderful columns in the Cape Crier newspaper. She has graciously agreed to serve as our third judge today. Ladies and gentlemen, would you please welcome our community correspondent and the co-owner of Holliday’s Blueberry Acres, Ms. Candy Holliday.”

  Candy rose briefly, flashed a smile at the crowd, waved, and sat back down, all in the space of three seconds.

  Maggie, who was sitting nearby, patted her shoulder. “Well at least no one can accuse you of hogging the spotlight.”

  “I’m trying to keep a low profile,” Candy whispered as she noticed several disapproving looks peppered throughout the crowd. Obviously Wanda’s friends.

  Speaking of which...

  “And now,” Oliver said, looking around, “I’d like to turn the microphone over to a woman who has been invaluable to this event. In fact, without her help, we never could have pulled it off. I’d like to invite Wanda Boyle to make a few comments.”

  “Oh, great,” Maggie said. “I wonder what she has to say.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be delightful,” Candy added with a touch of sarcasm.

  “Hmm, this one is very good,” Wilma Mae said.

  Candy looked around. “What?”

  Wilma Mae had taken a bowl of stew that sat nearby, removed the plastic wrapping covering it, located a spoon, and was dipping into it.

  “Wilma Mae! You’re not supposed to eat that yet!”

  The elderly woman seemed not to hear her as she shoved a spoonful into her mouth. “But... I’m so hungry,” she said apologetically after she swallowed. “And this stew is so — ”

  She stopped abruptly as her face changed in an instant, first to an expression of shock and then to one of horror.

  “Oh my!” she squeaked, and tumbled out of her chair in a dead faint, falling heavily onto the well-manicured lawn of the Lightkeeper’s Inn.

  Fifteen

  “Oh my God!”

  As Candy dropped to one knee beside the unconscious Wilma Mae, several others swarmed around to help, and a small pocket of chaos enveloped them. Maggie jumped up, calling out loudly for a doctor, interrupting the ceremony taking place at the podium.

  Wanda stopped in midsentence, her words trailing off as she looked around with a confused expression on her face. Oliver studied the situation for a moment, seemed to quickly grasp what was going on, and snapped his fingers at Robbie, who dashed off to summon an on-call nurse Oliver had hired for the event.

  Candy checked Wilma Mae’s pulse, which was faint but steady, and tapped the elderly woman gently on the cheeks. “Wilma Mae! Wilma Mae! Can you hear me?”

  Wilma Mae let out several quick breaths as her eyelids fluttered.

  Alby Alcott arrived and knelt on the other side of Wilma Mae. “Here, let me have a look at her.”

  “She just fainted dead away,” Candy said. “She was eating the stew — ”

  Even as the words left her mouth something clicked inside her brain.

  The stew? Is that what caused Wilma Mae to faint?

  She twisted toward the table, where the cup of stew still sat, barely touched, growing cooler.

  “She’s coming around,” Alby said. “Could everyone just back away, please? Give us some air.”

  Candy felt a wave of relief going through her as she turned back toward the elderly woman. “Wilma Mae, what happened?” she asked breathlessly.

  The elderly woman looked up at her with blinking, unfocused eyes. “Oh... oh... Candy dear.” She put a hand to her forehead, looking daze
d. “Where am I?”

  “I think she just needs a few minutes to recover,” Alby said reassuringly. “I’ll go see where the nurse is, though.” He rose and dashed off.

  Wilma Mae’s gaze shifted through the faces around her, then settled back on Candy’s. “Why is everyone looking at me so strangely?”

  “You fainted,” Candy told her. “You gave us quite a scare.”

  “Oh, oh.” Wilma Mae’s mouth worked a little, and the tip of her tongue flicked out, tasting her lips. Suddenly her gaze sharpened. “It was the stew!” she said in a harsh whisper.

  Candy leaned closer. “The stew? Was something wrong with it?”

  “Oh no, no. It was... delicious.”

  “Delicious?”

  Wilma Mae’s gray eyes stared deep into her. Reaching up with an unsteady hand, she took Candy by the shoulder and pulled her closer. “It was made with Mr. Sedley’s recipe!”

  “What?” Candy’s head popped up again. She turned back toward the table, searching for the cup of stew Wilma Mae had eaten from. But someone had already whisked it away. “Where’d it go?” she asked no one in particular.

  She never got an answer. Oliver was back at the microphone. “There’s nothing to worry about, folks. We’ve just had a small interruption. Mrs. Wendell fainted, but it appears she’s going to be okay. Just give us a couple of minutes to attend to her and we’ll begin again. The judging will commence shortly.”

  The nurse arrived and quickly took control of the situation. “Let’s get her inside,” she said. “She can rest in there, out of this crowd, and I’ll give her a quick checkup.”

  With the nurse’s help, Candy and Maggie were able to get Wilma Mae on her feet. They escorted the dazed woman into the inn, to a quiet side lounge, where they placed her on a sofa. While Candy and the nurse helped Wilma Mae lie down, propping pillows around her to make her comfortable, Maggie ran off to find more water and a cool cloth.

  “I’m so embarrassed,” Wilma Mae said weakly, holding on to Candy’s hand. “I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble, but that stew just took me by surprise.”