Town In a Lobster Stew

by B. B. Haywood

  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 dazed. “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.”

  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 tha
t 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, “May 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.

&
nbsp; 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.