Greer put her hand over her heart and fluttered her eyelashes. I gave her a little shove that she wasn’t expecting, and she stumbled into the door, making a banging noise. Jasper’s boots had just started to retreat, but now they stopped, causing Greer to give me a “Now you’ve done it” look.
We all held our breath again. If he turned back now, I’d have little choice but to open the door.
“Lemmi?” Jasper called out.
When no one answered he waited a few more breaths, then started walking away again. Another few moments and we heard his truck engine rev. Finally his lights beamed out across the driveway and away.
Once we were sure he was gone, Charlie moved over and turned the lamp back on. We squinted in the sudden light.
“And here I was thinking we were going to have a quiet evening,” said Charlie, shaking her head.
I looked down at my hand. It was most definitely still blue.
Chapter Four
As the sun streamed in the next morning, all three of us woke up in the living room, as if we’d had a slumber party that none of us really wanted to be at: the I Turned Blue Slumber Party.
The sound of the breeze rustling the trees came through the window, with late spring in full swing and summer just around the corner. All sorts of critters were outside celebrating the nice weather.
As I sat up slowly, I realized that something had in fact awakened me, I hadn’t done it on my own.
Charger exploded with excitement.
A split second too late I heard footsteps on the porch and the sound of muffled voices outside the front door. I tumbled off the couch, waking up my two friends in the process, and sprinted to the door to try to lock it before anyone could enter uninvited. Only when I reached for the lock did I catch sight of my hands.
We had simply collapsed where we’d been the night before after all my efforts to get rid of the blue skin had failed. And now . . . the blue was gone, just as Charlie had predicted.
“What’s that? Who’s here now? Did Jasper come back?” Charlie sat up blearily.
Generally speaking, Charlie liked mornings. She was even happy about getting up early. Greer was the exact opposite. She woke up angry and stayed angry for at least a solid hour, especially if you got her up too early.
Unlike Charlie, Greer still hadn’t moved from where she had slept, face down on the couch. Her mouth was open and there was little bit of drool sliding out one corner; her dog’s excitement seemed to be making no impact on her. She also periodically kept swatting at her nose as if there was a fly bugging her. I couldn’t see anything that should be triggering that reaction, so I figured she must be dreaming.
There came a sharp rap at the door, and I hurried over to open it. Just before I reached it, I looked down at myself. My shirt was rumpled and my jeans had blueberries stains on them, but at least my skin was no longer the same color as my jeans! I tried my best to fling my hair up into a quick ponytail so the Medusa-like curls didn’t terrify whoever was on the other side of the front door.
I don’t know what I was expecting to see when I opened the door, but Mayor Clabberd, flanked by Mrs. Cook and Mrs. Barnett, was not it.
I glanced past them at the cars, where a figure was standing next to Mrs. Cook’s old blue Beetle. Looking more closely, I realized that it was Pickle Eves, Mintwood’s longtime assistant fair director. Pickle was a familiar figure because of the fair, but I didn’t know her personally, and apparently I wasn’t going to meet her now. When she saw me gazing at her she looked away, so I turned my attention to the trio standing on my porch.
All three of them looked as surprised to see me as I was to see them.
What! I lived there! Even if I wasn’t expecting them, surely they were expecting me!
Then again, maybe they were just surprised at how disheveled I was at that particular moment.
“Morning,” I said, squinting into the sun. It had been a long time since we’d last had a good day of rain. I loved the sun, but the grass was already starting to brown and summer hadn’t even quite begun. If we didn’t get rain soon, the flowers were going to wilt. Thinking about drought wasn’t doing me any good, though, so I forced my attention back to the group at the door.
“Morning,” said the mayor. He gave me a jovial smile, but there was something uncertain behind his eyes. As usual, he was wearing a white suit and his signature top hat.
“Is there something I can help you with?” I asked, glancing back to where Greer was still asleep on the couch.
“We had a rather delicate matter that we were hoping to discuss with you,” said the mayor.
The last time he had shown up at the farmhouse wanting to discuss a delicate matter he had all but admitted that he knew I was a witch. I couldn’t imagine what he wanted this time, especially given his choice of companions.
Mrs. Barnett was squirrelly herself, and I could certainly see the two of them tag-teaming to ask something crazy.
It was the addition of Mrs. Cook that was confusing me.
“Can we come in?” Mrs. Barnett asked with a purposeful air.
“Well, I mean . . .” I said. Before I could really respond, they had walked past me into the living room. I had a moment of panic because of Greer, but by the time we had all regrouped in her temporary bedroom, she was sitting up bleary-eyed.
“Good morning,” the mayor greeted her.
“Goodness, it’s almost nine in the morning. How could you possibly still be sleeping?” Mrs. Barnett asked her.
Before Greer had a chance to answer, Charlie quickly cut in and said, “Greer keeps later hours because of her bartending work.”
“I forgot about the bartending,” clucked Mrs. Barnett, but she still looked confused. As a woman who owned and operated a coffee shop, she probably got up at three every morning and thought she was sleeping in if she didn’t wake up until four.
“What can we help you with?” Charlie yawned, managing to look and sound professional even in pink pajamas. It was as if she had forgotten she was wearing them, so you should too. From the straight set of her shoulders and how high she held her head I could tell she was trying very hard to forget that there were frills around her collar.
Before we got started, I took Charger and led him into the back yard. He had business to do and so did we.
“Well, we actually came on a very urgent matter,” said Mrs. Barnett when I came back into the room.
“Would you like some tea?” I offered.
“Certainly, that would be lovely,” said Mrs. Cook, who was wearing a floral pink dress that was cinched at the waist, and matching shoes. She looked like she belonged somewhere in the fifties.
“It smells delicious in here. Greer, have you been baking?” Mrs. Barnett asked. All three guests settled themselves on the couch that Greer had just vacated.
“As a matter of fact I have,” said Greer, looking surprised.
“We ate it all,” said Charlie quickly, giving me a sharp look.
I took the hint and headed all the faster toward the kitchen, where I threw away what remained of the pie before even putting the water on to boil.
While the water was heating I returned to the living room and asked, “What did you need?”
“We were actually hoping to talk to Greer. We did try calling, but it didn’t get through. Darn service out here,” said Mrs. Cook. “Time is really of the essence.”
“We’re all ears,” said Charlie, smiling brightly.
Mrs. Cook gave her a grateful look, but she still didn’t start talking. In fact, both she and the mayor were looking at Mrs. Barnett.
“What are you looking at me for?” the café owner asked.
“It’s just that you’ve known her the longest,” explained the Mayor.
Mrs. Barnett gave a gusty sigh. “Very well,” she said.
Turning to Greer, Mrs. Barnett started to explain what was going on. “As I’m sure you know, the Mintwood Summer Fair is fast approaching.” Greer was rubbing her eyes furio
usly with her hands, obviously not ready to have people come in this early in the morning and actually try to talk to her as if they expected a coherent response. But because the visitors were such important citizens of the town, including the mayor and the woman who gave us a coffee every day, she was trying very hard to wake up. She was going to have to form real sentences instead of grunts, but I had faith in her.
“Maybe it would help if you gave her one of those,” I pointed out.
Mrs. Barnett was clutching a cardboard tray with three coffees, but she had yet to offer us any. “At least I assume they’re for us,” I added.
“Right you are, dear. Very sorry. How silly of me. It’s just that I’ve been mulling this conversation over in my head since we realized that Greer was unreachable by phone. The next step would have been to try and track you down at the bar,” Mrs. Barnett said, looking over at Greer again and shaking her head at the impossibility of the task.
“Greer is always very reasonable. You shouldn’t be afraid to talk to her,” said Charlie.
“I’m going to remind you that you said that the next time you tell me I’m being ridiculous, which will probably be later today,” said Greer.
“Is the tea ready?” Charlie asked, looking pointedly my way.
The kettle was just starting to whistle, so I disappeared back into the kitchen. Mrs. Barnett had brought us coffee, and I was supplying tea to the three guests. It felt like an even exchange.
“So what’s this about the summer fair?” I asked as I came back to the living room and handed out the tea.
Greer was sipping her coffee gratefully and looking more human by the minute, but she too looked puzzled about what was going on.
“You know,” Mrs. Cook began, surprising Mrs. Barnett, “there’s a lot that goes into the fair. I’ve been running it for the past twenty-nine years and I’ve done a lot with expansion. We have rides, we have animals, and there’s of course the annual parade. For such a small town we’ve really made a name for ourselves with such a big event. I’m proud of the work we do. For years the fair has been going strong, but in recent years there’s been a bit of a slip.”
“Of course. We go every year,” I said. I had no idea where this was going, but I was hoping to find out any day now.
“We do a big write-up in the paper,” Charlie chimed in.
“Of course you do, and of course I really appreciate it,” explained Mrs. Cook. “We always love the write-ups, and your photographer takes such good pictures.”
“So what do you need Greer’s help with? I didn’t think you served alcohol at the fair,” said Charlie.
“We usually don’t except for the Saturday night events, which are adults only,” said Mrs. Cook. “No, we don’t need Greer for her bartending work.”
“You might as well just tell her,” sighed Mrs. Barnett after another very long and awkward pause.
“Yes, I can’t help if I don’t know what it is you’re asking,” said Greer.
“Every year we’ve had a baking competition,” said Mrs. Cook. She was now frantically twisting her hat in her hands.
“Right, I know,” said Greer. “You’ve won it every year.”
“Yes, I suppose I have, but I’m getting older and I haven’t had as much of a chance to bake this year. On top of that, we’ve been asked to open up the bakery competition to surrounding towns, including Caedmon. We hope that going so will give the fair new life, while also proving Mintwood’s continuing dominance.”
“Which means there’ll be more bakers than ever?” I asked.
“Yes, including Mrs. Barb from Caedmon,” said Mrs. Cook. “If her full name was Barbed Wire it would fit her personality perfectly.”
We looked at her in surprise, mostly because of how irritated she sounded. Mrs. Cook was normally like the perfect behavior police; I never would have expected to hear her criticize anyone. She must really not like this Mrs. Barb, or whatever her real name was.
“Just because Mrs. Barb lives in Caedmon doesn’t mean she’ll enter the competition. Maybe she’s out of town that weekend,” said Charlie.
“She has already entered the competition,” said Mrs. Cook, looking disgruntled. “She was the first to sign up, even before any Mintwood residents, not that I’m going to tell her that.”
“Ah, I see. And she’s a good baker?” asked Greer. From her voice I could tell she was just asking out of politeness.
“She’s the best,” said Mrs. Barnett. “She runs one of the two bakeries in Caedmon. Hers is the fancy one in the Caedmon Hotel. She thinks very well of herself over there.”
“And what does all of this have to do with me?” Greer wanted to know.
“We need a champion,” said Mrs. Cook. “I can’t do it anymore. My hands aren’t what they used to be. I know the Barb woman will say I’m chickening out, but truth to tell, I announced last year that it was my last year of baking. It’s why I was fine with expanding the field, to be honest.”
“You need a champion in what?” I asked. Reading my two roommates’ expressions, I knew I wasn’t the only one who was confused on that point.
Mrs. Cook blinked at me as if she thought she’d said everything she needed to say.
“We need someone from Mintwood to enter the baking competition. Then we need them to win,” said Mrs. Barnett, her eyes suddenly luminous.
“And you want me to help you find someone?” Greer was still looking confused.
“No, silly girl. You ARE that someone! You are the champion we’ve been waiting for! Dreaming of! You’re the champion we need!” said Mrs. Cook.
“When have you ever eaten anything I’ve baked?” Greer frowned. “I don’t recall you coming over before.”
Now Charlie was looking downright guilty. “I may have taken some cookies and cakes to the office once or twice, and of course Mrs. Cook comes in from time to time. She may have tried some of your stuff there.”
“And here I thought you ate all of those cookies yourself,” sputtered Greer. “Explains why your waistline is still so small,” she added, looking perplexed.
“They were the best cookies I’ve ever had in my life,” said Mrs. Cook. “Billy agrees with me.”
“Who is Billy?” asked Charlie.
The mayor of Mintwood raised his hand and Charlie gulped.
“William to acquaintances, but to my friends it’s Billy, or Bill,” he explained.
Charlie swallowed hard. “Sorry, sir, I should have known that.”
The mayor chuckled. “No harm done.”
“So, you think my baking is good?” Greer asked. She did look kind of happy about it.
“The very best. We need you. No offense to the other Mintwood bakers, but it’s your baking or nothing. We cannot lose to Caedmon,” said Mrs. Cook, her mouth set in a determined line.
“Are you sure you don’t want to bake for one more year?” Charlie asked gently. “We all know how much you love baking.”
Mrs. Cook squared her shoulders. “I am very sure. It’s time for a new generation to succeed. And I have every faith that you will.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not a professional baker,” explained Greer, trying to hold her ground. “I just do it for fun sometimes when it’s easier than going out for ice cream. I can’t enter the Mintwood Fair Baking Competition.”
Mrs. Barnett, Mrs. Cook, and Mayor Clabberd all looked like they hadn’t understood what Greer had said. Given the confusion on their faces, my friend tried again. “I’m sorry, but I won’t be entering the baking competition. You’ll have to find someone else. Mrs. Barnett, can’t you do it?”
“No, as a member of the fair board I am prohibited from entering any of the competitions,” she explained. Her face had gone paper white. “My creations are too simple anyway. We need someone with more skill and more heart. In the past, Mrs. Cook simply removed herself from any decisions regarding the baking competition so that she could remain a competitor. But now that we’re opening the competition up to people from other town
s, we can’t afford even the appearance of impropriety.”
“I’m really sorry,” said Greer. “I can’t help you.”
Chapter Five
After they left, Greer set about cleaning the living room, then said she was going to take a shower. Neither Charlie nor I had said much to her, and she looked at us in confusion when Charlie brought the subject up again.
“How can you not do the competition?” Charlie asked.
“Why do the competition? I’m not a baker,” said Greer.
“You’re a baker if you bake,” said Charlie.
“You just have to be the best baker we all know you are,” I pointed out.
Greer shook her head again. “They’ll find somebody else. I probably wouldn’t win if I entered anyway.” And she continued on her way upstairs.
I wanted to argue with her, but I’d have to do that later, since today was shaping up to be quite a busy day. First I had to check on Cesar, then I had to help Liam with the decorations for the fair. On top of all that, I had to get in touch with Jasper and apologize for last night.
The Daily Brew was its usual bustling self when I got there a bit later. Mrs. Barnett had dedicated one corner of the café to making fair posters, leaving even more limited seating than usual. Mrs. Tootsie, the town’s only professional printer, was standing in the corner. Rarely did I see her out and about, but whenever I did she gave me a pleasant wave. This morning was no different; she waved and I waved back, and that was all there was to it.
In another corner, bent over the posters, was Liam. Since my grandmother had passed away he had been charged with doing the promotion and marketing for the fair, and part of that job was to draw the signs that would be scattered around the fairgrounds.
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