“Mom, I have a question for you.” Skye figured that at the rate they were going it would take them at least fifteen minutes to get to the restaurant, which meant this was a good time to ask her mother about something that had been bothering Skye for the past few months. She was especially worried after her mom’s performance at the press conference.
“So, ask it already.”
“Why are you suddenly so intent on marrying me off?”
May hadn’t been this determined to get Skye married in a long time. Had Skye’s biological clock started ticking so loudly that even her mother could hear it?
May twisted the knob on the radio until she found the weather. “I don’t know what you mean by ‘suddenly.’ I’ve always wanted to see you married.”
“Well, you’ve wanted me to settle down with some nice guy and produce two-point-five grandchildren since I turned twenty-one, but the last few months you’ve ratcheted your efforts up about a hundred percent.”
“Things have changed.”
Skye turned off the radio and focused on her mom’s face. “What has changed?”
“You and Wally.” May’s expression soured. Although she wanted Skye married, she wasn’t keen on her marrying Wally, who was several years older, divorced, and not Catholic.
“What about Wally and me?” Skye asked.
“I’m worried that by the time you get Wally out of your system, Simon will have found someone else. I saw that nurse from your school, the one who dated Vince for a while, talking with Simon at church. And that new woman, the one who moved to town last summer with that wild daughter, was flirting with him at the gas station the other day.”
“Mom, I don’t want him back.” Skye had dated Simon Reid, the funeral home director and county coroner, on and off for the past three or so years. Her mother’s news that other women were flirting with him caused a twinge of jealousy, but Skye pushed it away. “I’m happy with Wally. Not that I necessarily want to marry him.” She didn’t want May to start planning that wedding either.
“You’re going to be thirty-five this December!” May exploded. “It’s time you settled down. Do you want to go to your kids’ graduation in a wheelchair?”
“Mother!” Skye blew out an angry puff of air and crossed her arms. “A lot of women nowadays have kids well into their forties.”
May muttered something about old eggs not producing a good omelet, then stared out the windshield. After several minutes of icy silence, she spoke as if nothing had happened. “Did any of the other finalists look sort of familiar to you?”
Deciding to let the Simon/Wally marriage issue go, at least until the contest was over, Skye teased, “Besides you, Vince, and Charlie?”
“Yes, smarty-pants, besides us.”
Skye pictured the other twenty contestants, then shook her head. “No, I can’t say anyone stuck out. I take it one did to you?”
“Sort of, but I couldn’t place her. She’s the one with short black hair that looks like a wig, and glasses with rhinestone frames. Her name is Imogene Ingersoll. I was only able to speak to her briefly—she was on the way to the bathroom— and she said we hadn’t met. I didn’t get a chance to talk to her again.”
“Well, we’ll all be together for the next couple of days, so maybe it will come to you, or she’ll remember something.”
“Maybe.” May frowned. “But it’s like a sore tooth. I keep poking at it.”
“I hate when that happens.”
May sighed, then asked, “What did you think of the other contestants?”
“It’s hard to tell. I never got to speak to most of them.”
“Yeah, we should have had a plan.” May stomped on the brakes as the only stoplight in town changed from green to yellow. “We could have divided them up into four groups and gotten the scoop on each of them.”
“Why would we want to do that, Mom?” Skye thought about the mysterious conversation she had overheard coming from the teachers’ lounge. That person had wanted information on a contestant too; maybe May could explain why that data was so vital.
“It gives you a psychological advantage.” May flipped down the visor and checked her hair.
“How does that help in a cooking contest?” Skye turned slightly so she could study her mother.
May eased off the brake and made a left. “Because if you can psych someone out, they might get so rattled they forget to add an ingredient, or they overcook their dish, or do something else that ruins their recipe.”
“But that’s not fair.” May’s primping prompted Skye to smooth her own wayward curls and apply a fresh coat of apricot gloss to her lips.
“All’s fair in cooking and baking.”
Her mother’s attitude of “anything goes” made Skye wonder whether she should mention to someone in charge that one of the finalists had bought her way into the contest. After a few minutes’ consideration, she realized that she had no idea who either of the two people she overheard was, and she could end up reporting the incident to the very person who was involved. She had been trying to learn that every problem was not hers to solve. This seemed a good place to start.
May eased over the bump leading into the restaurant’s lot, then abruptly put on the brakes. “Shoot. The lot’s full.”
“Where are we going to park?” Skye asked. Her gaze swept the double rows on both sides of the building. All four were solidly packed.
May frowned. “We might have to park at Vince’s salon and walk back.”
Great. Skye looked down at her new Ann Taylor zebra-striped pumps. She had splurged during a recent shopping trip in Chicago. Loretta had talked her into getting them, even though Skye knew there were limited places she could wear them without crippling herself. Now their pointy toes mocked her. Talk about shoes that weren’t made for walking. She’d do better taking them off and carrying them than trying to hike a mile in the three-inch heels.
Skye was about to suggest her mother double-park—after all, everyone at the restaurant would be leaving at the same time—when she spotted a police car backed into a space right next to the restaurant’s door. As she watched, Wally unfolded himself from the driver’s side and approached the Olds. He had muscles in all the right places, and she enjoyed seeing him move.
She rolled down the window. “Hi, handsome. What are you doing here?”
He leaned in for a quick kiss, then answered, “I figured you might have some trouble finding a place to park, so I saved you a space.” He leaned further into the car. “Hi, May. I’ll pull out so you can pull in.”
May nodded, but otherwise didn’t respond.
Wally’s smile cooled at May’s cold shoulder, but it warmed back up when he turned to Skye and said, “Come ride with me. I need to talk to you for a minute before you go in.”
“You don’t have time.” May’s hand clamped down on Skye’s wrist as she opened the car door. “We’re on a tight schedule. You’ll make everyone late.”
“It’ll be fine, Mom.” Skye freed herself and stepped out of the car. She definitely had to make it clear to her mother that she needed to be nicer to Wally. After the contest they’d have a little daughter-to-mother talk, and May had better straighten up. “Go inside and save me a seat.”
For a moment Skye was afraid that May would run them over when they crossed in front of the Olds, but she only revved the engine.
Wally helped Skye into the passenger side of the squad car, then slid into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and pulled out. He was silent as he maneuvered the cruiser into the lot’s lane of traffic and around the corner. He parked next to the Dumpsters in a space that said, RESERVED FOR DELIVERIES.
Skye bit her bottom lip. What was up? She studied Wally. He was a handsome man who filled out his crisply starched police uniform in exactly the right way. His warm brown eyes melted her heart, and his shiny black hair edged in silver made her itch to run her fingers through the waves. He also had a gorgeous year-round tan. But his most attractive feature was his
kind and generous nature.
Now his expression was serious and unhappy. He half turned, took her hand, and opened his mouth, then seemed to change his mind and instead said, “Did I tell you how beautiful you look?”
Skye shook her head. “How could you? This is the first time you’ve seen me today.”
“Mmm.” He brought her hand up to his lips and nibbled on her fingers. “You taste good, too.”
“That’s because I haven’t started cooking yet,” Skye teased.
Wally continued to nibble. “When’s your next time off from school?”
“Well…” Skye wasn’t prepared for the question, and she stammered, “If you mean more than one day, that would be the end of school, which is June eleventh. Why?”
“We should plan a trip together.” Wally’s lips were now on the inside of her elbow.
“That’d be fun.” Was this what he had needed to talk to her about? Skye glanced at the dashboard clock. She had to get inside pretty soon, or May would send the cavalry to find her—and her orders wouldn’t be to hold their fire until they saw the whites of Wally’s eyes. Skye prodded. “So, you had something important to discuss?”
“Right. Sorry. I know you don’t have long. It’s just that I wanted to tell you … that is, before someone else did … that, uh …”
He hesitated, then opened his mouth, but before a single word escaped his lips the radio squawked to life. “Chief, there’s been an accident over by the I–55 exit. Car versus semi. Traffic is completely stopped, and the ambulance and fire truck can’t get through.”
“I’ll be there in five.” Wally had let go of Skye’s hand to work the radio. Now he leaned toward her and opened the door for her. “Sorry, sugar—I’ll explain when I pick you up for the dinner tonight. And remember, don’t believe anything you hear until I get a chance to talk to you.”
It almost felt as if he had pushed her out of the squad car. Skye’s shoulders drooped. What in the world did he have to tell her? Whatever it was, she was pretty sure it wasn’t something she wanted to hear.
Scumble River might be a small town, but it wasn’t quite small enough for the entire population to fit inside the Feed Bag, particularly since the maximum-seating-capacity sign read seventy-six. Still, it looked as if the residents had given it the old college try. When Skye entered the only way she could get to her table was by edging sideways and holding her purse above her head.
Once seated, Skye noticed that Tomi Johnson, the owner of the Feed Bag, was not her usual cool and in-control self. May reported to Skye that when Tomi had been introduced to Grandma Sal, the restaurateur had practically kissed the food manufacturer’s ring. Now Tomi was rushing around bringing Grandma Sal bites of this, samples of that, and hanging on the CEO’s every tidbit of praise.
In fact, Skye noted that a lot of Scumble River’s citizens were acting out of character. They seemed more impressed by Grandma Sal and the contestants than they had been in the past by TV stars and supermodels. Why was that? Could it be that at some level the townspeople knew that nourishment was more important than glamour? Of course, it probably didn’t hurt that Grandma Sal’s picture was plastered on nearly every product her company sold, and many people saw her face at least three times a day.
The contestants were seated at four tables of six. Skye observed that Vince and Charlie had elected to sit separately, each the only rooster among five hens. Both men had self-satisfied looks on their faces that Skye’s palm itched to slap off. She restrained herself, reasoning that once the cooking started and they burned their entries, those smug expressions would be erased with the first wisp of smoke.
Grandma Sal’s staff had its own table, as did the judges and the media, which claimed the three back booths. The other diners were all locals, most of whom appeared to be more interested in catching a glimpse of Grandma Sal and the contestants than they did in eating. Skye was happy to see that Tomi had clipped an index card to the menus that read, MINIMUM ORDER PER PERSON $5.00. NO SHARING. NO DOGGIE BAGS. The restaurant owner deserved to make a profit from all this hullabaloo.
Skye had just bitten into her BLT when Butch King, their table’s token male, tipped his head toward May and remarked, “So, both you and your daughter are from Scumble River?”
May nodded. “I grew up in Brooklyn, but ever since I got married I’ve lived here.” Skye saw her mother peek at the man’s left ring finger, which was bare, and flinched when she added, “I think a woman should live where her husband’s work is, as long as it’s not too far from her mother.”
The man looked amused. He winked at Skye and said to May, “You sound like my mom. She was so happy when I tied the knot and moved into the apartment next to her.”
“How wonderful.”
Skye did not like the expression that had settled on her mother’s face. She could tell that May was already picturing a house next to hers in the adjoining cornfield.
Hastily swallowing, Skye jumped into the conversation before her mother started drawing up the blueprints. “Where are you from, Butch?”
“Laurel.” Butch cut a piece of his chicken-fried steak and forked it into his mouth.
“I was surprised that the contest was open only to Stanley County.” Skye took a sip of her Diet Coke. “I had heard that Fine Foods has been enlarging its market.”
Another contestant joined the conversation. “The scuttlebutt around cooking-contest circles is that this will be the last year there’s a local contest. Fine Foods used to be strictly a Midwestern company, but the last couple of years it’s been expanding to Southern and Western markets. There’s a rumor that Grandma Sal is in negotiations with some big food conglomerate. If that company buys Fine Foods, the products will go nationwide and so will the contest.”
“I wonder if that will affect the factory here.” Skye worried that a lot of locals could be out of jobs if the company was sold.
No one seemed to have an answer, and a few minutes later May asked, “What made you decide to enter, Butch?”
“I didn’t.” His smile was boyish. “I’m a firefighter, and the guys at my stationhouse love my spaghechili, so they sent in the recipe.”
“Spaghechili?”
“It’s a combination of my Italian grandmother’s spaghetti recipe and my Mexican grandmother’s chili recipe.” Butch grinned. “I came up with it when I didn’t have enough ingredients for either to feed the whole crew.”
“Very clever,” Skye complimented him.
“Clever, my eye,” May muttered. “That’s not a recipe; that’s leftovers.”
“Uh,” Skye said quickly, forestalling May’s next comment, “so you’re a Laurel firefighter? Do you know our police chief, Wally Boyd?”
“Sure. He’s a great guy.”
“My mom works for him as a dispatcher.”
“I’m a police, fire, and emergency dispatcher.” May’s eyes narrowed. “My paycheck is signed by the mayor, not Wally.”
“Oh, I see.” Butch looked at Skye, then May. “I’ve probably heard you on the radio.”
May nodded, then said, “I’ll bet you know Simon Reid too, the county coroner.”
“Right.” Butch handed the waitress his plate and ordered lemon meringue pie for dessert. “Not well. He sort of keeps to himself, you know?”
“He’s friendlier once you get to know him.” May shook her head at the waitress’s offer of dessert. “He’s Skye’s boyfriend, so we know him in a different way, of course.”
“No, he isn’t,” Skye blurted out. “He and I stopped seeing each other six months ago. Actually I’m dating Wally now, but Mom refuses to believe Simon and I have broken up for good.”
May harrumphed, nudging Skye. “Butch doesn’t care about your love life.”
Skye felt her face redden. “But you said …” Why did May always do this to her? Why did she start something, then make Skye feel like the one in the wrong? Skye stuttered to a stop. Anything she said to defend herself would make it worse. “Of course, sorry.”
When everyone else resumed the conversation, she hissed in her mom’s ear, “You brought up the subject of Wally and Simon, so back off.”
May harrumphed again, then turned her attention to another tablemate. “What about you, Monika? Did Grandma Sal say you were from Brooklyn?”
“Yes,” the attractive blonde answered before pushing aside her nearly untouched plate. “I’m lucky it’s only eight miles from here.”
“I have a lot of relatives in Brooklyn,” May said. “Do you know the head librarian, Jayne? She’s one of my cousins.”
“Yes.” Monika reached into her purse and took out a Ziploc bag. “She’s one of my clients.”
May peered at the woman as she opened the plastic sack and started snacking from it. “Didn’t you like your lunch?”
Monika hesitated, then explained, “I have severe food allergies and can’t eat anything with dairy or gluten. I ordered a chicken breast broiled without butter, but they breaded it, and then I was afraid the fries had been in the same oil used to deep-fry other foods with breading.”
“Such a small trace would be a problem for you?” May probed, a look of disbelief on her face.
“Yes, even a tiny bit could cause me to become extremely ill and possibly die.”
“You poor thing.” May patted the woman’s hand.
Skye wrinkled her brow. If she had a food allergy that severe, would she be brave enough to come to a cooking contest, where someone’s innocent crumbs could kill her?
As May had predicted, they were running late, but it wasn’t Skye’s fault. The responsibility lay with Grandma Sal, who was turning out to be a girl who just couldn’t say no. All the townspeople in the restaurant and all the Feed Bag employees wanted an autograph and their picture taken with her. Skye had never seen anyone sign boxes of cake mix, tubes of biscuits, and packets of dry pasta before.
Finally, about three o’clock, a full hour after they were scheduled to have been finished with lunch, Grandma Sal’s staff started moving the contestants out of the restaurant and into their cars. Everyone was instructed to follow Grandma Sal’s limo to the factory, where they would be given a brief tour and then have a chance to do a trial run of their recipes.
Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry Page 4