As the nurse busied herself taking off Wilma Mae’s shoes, Candy leaned close. “Are you sure it was Mr. Sedley’s recipe?” she whispered. “Maybe you were mistaken, or maybe it just tasted similar.”
“Oh no, that was definitely his recipe,” Wilma Mae whispered back. “There’s no mistaking it. It’s the secret ingredient, you know.” She glanced at the nurse, then said softly into Candy’s ear, “It’s a pinch of cinnamon, though it has to be added in a special way. It adds a subtle sweetness to the flavor. Mr. Sedley always said someone sprinkled cinnamon on me the day I was born, so that’s why he put it in the stew.”
At the mention of her longtime friend, she paused and her eyes began to water. “I do hope he’s all right. I just don’t know what I’d do without him.”
Candy patted her hand. “We’re going to find out where he is. Don’t you worry about that. You just need to stay here for a while and rest. I’ll be right back.” She rose and started toward the door.
“Where’re you going?” Maggie asked, coming back into the room.
“To look for something. Keep an eye on Wilma Mae for me, will you?”
“Sure.” Maggie studied her. “Is everything all right?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Need any help?”
“If I do, I know where to look.”
“I’ve always got your back, you know.”
Candy nodded. “I know.”
Outside, Oliver had quickly put the day’s events back on track. The old cups of stew for the judges had been cleared away, and Alby, Robbie, and a few other staff members were bringing in newer, warmer cups, which they were again placing in front of placards with large black numerals. Roger Sykes was leaning over the table, checking out the samples with a studious eye, while Wanda Boyle was just concluding her remarks.
Standing nearby, Alby saw Candy and motioned. “We’re ready for the judges,” he said, crossing quickly to her. In a lower voice, he asked, “How’s Wilma Mae? Is she going to be able to participate?”
Candy shook her head. “I don’t think so. She’s a little shaken up.”
“Is she going to be all right?”
“She’ll be okay. The nurse is with her.”
Alby thought for a moment. “Well, we’ll have to move on without her. Hopefully you and Roger will be able to agree on a winner. If you wouldn’t mind, would you please take the chair next to his? He’s taking his seat now.”
“Okay, sure.”
Alby headed off in a different direction, and as she moved toward the table, Robbie walked past. She grabbed his arm. “What happened to the cups of stew that were just here?”
Robbie looked at her, uncertain at first. Then he seemed to understand what she was asking. “Oh, you mean the old cups? They got jostled around when that old woman fainted, and we weren’t sure who they belonged to, so Mr. LaForce had us clear them off and get new cups from all the contestants.”
“Where’d you take the old cups?”
Robbie shrugged. “To the kitchen. We dumped them in the trash.”
Candy groaned. “Are there any left?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Why?”
She sighed in resignation. “Nothing.”
Robbie looked uncomfortable. “I gotta go.”
As he hurried off, Candy crossed to the judges’ table, pulled out a chair, and sat down next to Roger. “Okay, what do I have to do?”
Sixteen
Thirty minutes later she was done.
She had tasted eleven stews, then retasted several of them to determine her favorites, pausing between each tasting to nibble on a saltine cracker and drink from a bottle of water to cleanse her palate. She had to admit, as she made her way through the samples spoonful by spoonful, she was impressed by the range of colors, consistencies, textures, and flavors.
About halfway through the tasting she came across a stew that was a little sweeter than the others, and detected a hint of cinnamon. The lobster meat was delectable, and the broth had a chunky consistency, thanks to perfectly sized pieces of potatoes, onions, and even a few carrots. She studied the lobster meat for the longest time, wondering if the brown spice flecks covering it were indeed cinnamon. She thought of Wilma Mae and wished she knew who had made that stew. But there was no way of telling — at least, not for the moment.
She tried a second spoonful and had to admit it was excellent. But by the time she reached the end and had tasted the final stew, she knew there were others she’d enjoyed almost as much.
One stew in particular intrigued her, with its huge chunks of lobster meat and generously cut tomato wedges seasoned with dill and sea salt. It made a wonderful combination, and she truly enjoyed the presentation, with its corn-colored broth accentuated by the red and white lobster meat and fresh green parsley.
Another stew was topped with several slices of lemon and had a wonderful citrusy flavor, while a fourth one consisted of shelled lobster claws swimming in a beautiful milky orange broth seasoned with a trace of cayenne pepper.
There were others that stood out as well, including one with beet red chunks of lobster swimming in a tasty broth sharpened by undertones of red wine, and another with paper-thin slices of green and red peppers immersed in a light broth flavored with a trace of garlic.
She also, she thought, detected Bumpy’s stew. She had to admit, it was very good — perhaps not an award winner, but very good indeed. She’d have to compliment Bumpy on it later.
After much consideration, she narrowed her favorites down to six, and then to five, and finally to three. The most difficult part was ranking her final choices.
Once she puzzled out the order of the top three, she couldn’t help wondering again who had made them. It was an intriguing game to play. She thought one could be Burt Ramsay’s stew, and another seemed to have Melody’s touch. But which one was Wanda’s?
In the end, she felt she’d done her job fairly, choosing the stews she honestly thought were the best, and not based on who might have made them. That was the way it should be. Now, like the rest of the crowd, she’d just have to wait for the names of the winners to be announced.
She looked up. Wanda stood perhaps twenty-five feet away, next to Oliver, who had a tight smile on his face as she chatted with him. She wore a businesslike outfit, with a red jacket and beige slacks, accented by gold jewelry and shiny gold shoes. Her flaming red hair was neatly arranged. Candy had to admit, the woman knew how to stand out in a crowd, and she certainly looked like she knew what she was doing. Maybe that’s why certain people were attracted to her. They admired her confidence. And the woman had that in spades.
Roger leaned close. “I think I’m ready. How about you?”
They compared their lists and discovered some agreement between the two of them. For the next ten minutes, they sorted through their notes, discussing back and forth, trying to reach a consensus. Roger had selected as his top two stews ones that had been on Candy’s narrowed-down list of three, but in a reverse order. Candy’s top pick was farther down his list, which surprised her. As they negotiated, he wouldn’t even consider her top choice, for reasons he had a hard time explaining. “It’s too gimmicky. It just doesn’t work for me,” was all he said.
Finally, with much compromise on Candy’s part and somewhat less on Roger’s, they came to an agreement and handed their final list to Oliver. He studied it as he walked over to one side of the tent, where he checked a sheet on the clipboard held by Robbie to confirm the identity of each contestant. He jotted down several names, hesitating almost imperceptibly as he wrote one or two of them, then walked toward to the podium, waving the sheet of paper high in the air, flashing it for the crowd. “We have our winners!” he announced as he walked, his smile almost genuine.
The crowd applauded enthusiastically as Oliver reached the podium, switched on the microphone, and put on his reading glasses. “May I have your attention please?” He waited a few moments for the crowd to quiet, then said again, “M
ay I have your attention — I’m going to announce the winners of today’s cook-off competition!”
“Who do you think will win?” a voice behind Candy asked.
She turned. Doc, Bumpy, and the boys had come up on the back side of the judges’ table. Bumpy looked nervous, and Finn seemed distracted. Artie was chewing on a fingernail. Only Doc appeared calm.
“I have no idea, Dad.” She rose and joined them at one end of the tent, edging up close to her father and crossing her arms in front of her to watch the proceedings. “I just chose the stews I thought were the best. At this point, anyone could win this thing.”
“I probably didn’t win,” Bumpy said dejectedly.
Finn patted him on the back. “Hang in there, buddy. You ain’t out of this yet.”
“You have as good a shot as anyone,” Artie told him encouragingly.
Candy held her comments until the winners were announced.
“First,” Oliver said, his amplified voice carrying out over the lawn, “I would like to thank all the contestants who participated in today’s event, and congratulate them on their wonderful stews. It’s inspiring to know we have so many excellent cooks in our little coastal community. I’m sure the judges had a very difficult time making their selections.”
“He’s got that right,” Candy said softly to her father.
“I’d also like to thank all of our guests and visitors for coming out today and enjoying this lovely spring weather,” Oliver continued. “Of course, we couldn’t have pulled all this together without the help of our dear friend, Wanda Boyle, her talented assistants, and our top-notch staff here at the Lightkeeper’s Inn. Finally, I’d like to remind all of you that Emerald Isle, a wonderful Celtic band, will start playing shortly. We have some activities planned for the children a little later this afternoon. And I invite all of you to stick around and sample the excellent stews available today. As far as I’m concerned, all of our contestants are award winners. However, there can be only one champion. And now, if the judges would please join me here at the podium, I’ll read the names of the third-, second-, and firstplace winners.”
“I guess that’s my cue,” Candy said, and to a smattering of applause she walked to the podium with Roger. Oliver shook both their hands, and then she and Roger stood together on the proprietor’s right. Wanda Boyle stood on his left, looking smug and confident, as if she’d just won the lottery.
She thinks she’s already got this thing wrapped up, Candy realized with a start. What is she up to?
The words of Judicious came back to her at that moment: Keep a close eye on everything that happens today.
Candy was doing her best.
“Here we go,” Oliver said dramatically. He checked his sheet, adjusted his reading glasses, then continued, “And our third runner-up is... Melody Barnes from Melody’s Café!”
Upon hearing her name, Melody beamed, waved her hand high in the air so everyone would know where she was, and worked her way through the crowd to the podium. She shook hands with Oliver, Wanda, and the two judges, and Oliver proudly awarded her a small trophy in the shape of a golden lobster, along with a white ribbon, as Jesse Kidder snapped a few photos of her.
Candy applauded warmly along with the crowd, pleased her friend had made the final cut. That meant Melody’s stew had been the corn-colored one with the huge chunks of lobster meat. She should have guessed. She had it as number two on her list, while Roger had it as number three on his.
“Next,” Oliver said, “our second-place winner is” — again he paused as he checked the name — “Tillie Shaw!”
The endlessly enthusiastic farmer’s wife gave a quick shout of joy, jumped up and down, and applauded herself as she trotted to the podium and shook hands with everyone, then collected her trophy and red ribbon. She stood next to Melody at one side of the podium, barely able to contain herself. Candy again applauded with the others. That had been one of Roger’s choices, a stew Candy had found a little bland and underwhelming. It hadn’t been in her top six. Nevertheless, he had insisted.
“Finally,” Oliver said, waving the paper in his hand, “we’ve come to the moment you’ve been waiting for all morning. Here we go. The winner of the Twenty-Ninth Annual Cape Willington Lobster Stew Cook-off is” — another dramatic pause as the crowd waited in hushed anticipation — “Juanita Perez from Duffy’s Main Street Diner!”
A few in the crowd gasped as others burst into applause. Candy heard Doc and the boys join in, adding a few whistles and cheers of congratulations to the warm ovation, which grew louder as Juanita emerged from a group of friends and made her way to the podium. She wore an ankle-length denim skirt and a stylish white blouse with silver jewelry. Straight black hair tumbled down her back. She smiled sweetly, dark eyes gleaming as she shook hands with Oliver, Wanda, Roger, and then Candy.
“Nice job, Juanita!” Candy congratulated her as they shook hands. “You made a wonderful stew.”
“Oh, thank you. Thank you!” She seemed on the verge of speechlessness.
It had been a fairly simple stew, Candy knew, with few ingredients other than cream, butter, beautifully cooked lobster, and carefully chosen spices, including cayenne. It had been one of Candy’s top three choices. After much contemplation, she had placed it as number three on her own list. But Roger’s enthusiasm, which he credited to that bite of heat provided by the cayenne, had elevated Juanita’s stew to the top of their combined list.
So Candy knew who had cooked two of the stews on her list. She had placed Melody second and Juanita third in her own ranking.
But, she wondered as Juanita received a trophy and blue ribbon, who had made her personal favorite stew — the one at the top of her list, the one with the sweet hint of cinnamon? She had to admit, of all the very good stews she had tasted today, it had emerged a winner, clearly the best one. Even now, as she thought about it, her mouth watered.
But then she shuddered as a particularly distasteful thought ran through her mind.
What if it was Wanda Boyle’s stew?
If Wilma Mae was right and Wanda had stolen Mr. Sedley’s recipe, then Candy had indeed put Wanda Boyle’s stew at the top of her own list, even though Roger had been less than impressed by it.
Suddenly, she realized, she had to know who had made it. If she could find that out, it would either prove or disprove Wilma Mae’s accusation once and for all.
Her gaze shifted back and forth across the tent. The easiest way to find out, she thought, would be to get a quick look at the clipboard in Robbie’s hands, for it held the sheet Oliver had reviewed to determine the names of the winning contestants.
She looked around and finally spotted the teenager off to one side, talking to a large, burly man with sandy-colored hair, wearing a dark green shirt and jeans. He looked vaguely familiar, and Candy wondered where she’d seen him before. Then she remembered. He had been working in the maintenance shed out at the lighthouse when she had visited on Thursday.
They were talking in low tones, rather intensely, she thought. Robbie looked upset.
Roger leaned in close to her again, so their shoulders touched. “I think we chose the right one,” he said, breaking into her thoughts.
Candy looked around. Juanita stood at the podium, holding up her trophy and ribbon, a huge smile on her face as Jesse shot a few photos and the crowd continued to applaud.
“Oh, absolutely,” Candy agreed. She glanced toward Roger and found herself gazing straight into his shining dark eyes. In that moment she found them oddly compelling. What was she reading in those eyes? she wondered. Was he just being friendly, or was there more to that look of his? Was Maggie right? Was he ogling her?
And, if so, was that such a bad thing?
She had to force herself to shift her gaze back toward the podium. “Um, yeah, she seems overjoyed. And she deserves to be — her stew was very good.”
“It certainly was.” Together they watched as Juanita accepted congratulations from others, including many of the con
testants. Burt Ramsay, Lyra Graveton, Delilah Daggerstone, Walter Gruthers, and Anita Weller were gathered around her, shaking her hand and congratulating her and the other winners. Jesse remained in the midst of the pandemonium, snapping photos. Juanita’s close friend Dolores, who also worked at the diner, gave her a tight hug, and Doc, Bumpy, and the boys were standing in line to congratulate her, since they knew her well from the diner.
But where had Wanda gone? She was curiously absent from the conclusion of the proceedings, Candy realized, when she should rightfully be deep in the thick of it, given her position as comanager.
Candy searched the tent but could see no sign of the woman.
Had she hightailed it out of there when she found out she wasn’t the winner? Could she be that sore of a loser?
No doubt, Candy thought.
As the crowd began to disperse, Roger turned to face her and casually reached out to take her hand. His touch felt warm and oddly sensual. “Well, it’s been great working with you today, Candy,” he said in smooth tones, holding her hand lightly. “I’ve really enjoyed your company.”
Candy resisted an urge to remove her hand from his, thinking it might appear rude. Instead, she smiled in a pleasant, noncommittal sort of way. “It was nice working with you too, Roger. That was a lot of fun. And thanks for all your help. Without your advice, I probably would have looked like an idiot today.”
Roger gave her a doubtful look. “You? Never. You did great, stepping in at the last minute like that. You should be proud. It’s too bad about your friend Mrs. Wendell, though. I hope she isn’t too banged up.”
“Oh, I think she’ll be fine. She’s resting right now.”
“That’s good to hear. And what a shame about Mr. Sedley. It’s too bad he couldn’t join us either.”
“Yeah, it is. I think he was really looking forward to it.”
“I’m sure he was. I hope he turns up soon.” He glinted up at the sun, then looked around, his gaze focusing in the distance. Abruptly he released her hand. “Well, I think it’s time for me to push on. I’m sure we’ll get a chance to meet again soon. Ah, look, here comes Ben.” He pointed across the lawn.
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