Gingerbread to Die For

by Valerie Tate

  “In Toronto with his wife’s family. They invited Ramesh and me to join them too, but… it’s the same problem. What if we had a big snow storm and I was stuck there for several days?”

  Seeing her friend’s downcast expression, Alicia made a quick decision. “Then come and have Christmas dinner with us, at the farm. It’s only going to be Chris and I, our parents and his sisters. We’d love to have you join us.”

  Saanvi’s face lit up with pleasure. “That would be lovely! Thank you. What can I bring?”

  “I’m doing the main course, obviously – turkey, potatoes, vegetables. My mom is bringing dessert and Chris’ family is bringing the wine.”

  “I could bring samosas as an appetiser,” Saanvi offered.

  “Great! I hadn’t even thought about appetisers.” What else hadn’t she considered? The thought set off the butterflies in her stomach again. “And just to warn you, I’ve never cooked a turkey before.”

  Saanvi looked at her curiously. “You say that as if cooking a turkey were something to be dreaded. Why?”

  Alicia shrugged. She’d never analyzed her feelings. “I guess it’s just intimidating.”

  “I can’t believe that.” Saanvi sounded surprised. “I’ve heard that you’re a good cook.”

  “Thanks. I’m pretty good now, although I wasn’t when we got married, and it’s largely due to Davina Dove’s cookbook and her TV show. Before I was married, the only things I ever cooked were Kraft Dinner and Rice Krispie squares. I couldn’t even make coffee. In college I lived at Tim Horton’s.

  “Chris is a good cook. He’d lived on his own for quite a while and it was either cook or eat out or starve. But neither of us has ever cooked a turkey for Christmas.” She gave herself a shake. “I have roasted a chicken. It can’t be much different, right?” she said, sounding more certain than she felt.

  “No different,” Saanvi said with assurance. “Just bigger. You’re psyching yourself out about this. Don’t worry. I’m sure it will be delicious. I’m looking forward to it.” She sounded so positive that Alicia started to relax. She could do it.

  The invitation seemed to have lifted Saanvi’s spirits. Her eyes were bright and she sounded positively chipper as she said, “Now I suppose we had better get to work.”

  They both agreed that the first thing that needed to get started was the life-sized gingerbread house. It would need both carpentry and artistic skills to complete and they decided to try to hire the firm that had built Santa’s Castle a number of years before. Saanvi would call them on Monday to find out if they were available and hopefully make the arrangements. They would need to meet as soon as possible to discuss design and dimensions and then go to the community centre to check out the lay of the land.

  Decorations for the rotunda and the entrance would also need to be planned and then all of the materials purchased. Once they knew the number of competitors, they would know how many tables would be needed to display the gingerbread. The community centre had a lot of them and they could borrow tables from the local churches and the high school if they needed to. Advertising for the event would be simple – signs in store windows, ads in the newspaper and on the local radio station and some banners at the community centre. The council had a talented, local graphic designer that did all of their posters and Saanvi had contacted her and she was already getting to work on it. Finally, The Divine Miss Dove show had publicity people that would take care of the television promotions.

  “You’ve made a good start,” Alicia told her.

  “I suppose so.” Saanvi didn’t sound like she believed it. “The other thing we have to plan for is the welcoming ceremony for Davina Dove. Weather permitting, the mayor wants it to be in front of the big gingerbread house. She’ll make a speech welcoming Miss Dove and talking about what a boost it is for the town to have her and her television show here. She’s going to present her with a symbolic key to the town – I have to have one made – and she’d like the high school band to play something Christmassy.”

  “Instead of having a fake key made, why don’t I try to find a large, antique brass one,” Alicia suggested.

  “That’s a great idea!” Saanvi made a note in her binder.

  Thinking quickly, Alicia went on, “We can have it engraved with her name and the date on one side and Dunbarton Gingerbread Competition on the other side.”

  “Fantastic!” She scribbled furiously in her binder. “Now, after the competition, the mayor wants all of the gingerbread to be on display for a day or two for people to be able to walk through and view it. We’ll need people to act as security.”

  “That’s no problem,” Alicia told her. “There are already a couple of security people at the community centre and we can ask for students at the high school. They need to cover their volunteer hours. I’m sure we will have more than enough willing to help out.”

  “That’s another great idea! I’m so glad I asked you to help,” Saanvi said sincerely with a grateful look.

  “It’s true what they say. Two heads are better than one,” Alicia said modestly. “I’m sure you would have thought of it.”

  They were making lists and dividing up the chores when their luck ran out. Without warning, the office door opened and Mayor Wright walked in.

  “Good, I’m glad to see you’re getting right to work on this. No time to waste,” she said abruptly as she crossed the room and sat down at Saanvi’s desk. Even on a Saturday she was dressed to kill in a knee-length knit dress in a shade of royal blue that went well with her short blond curls. “I’ve just had another brilliant idea,” she went on. “Doves.”

  “Yes, we have that.” Saanvi nervously checked her notes. “The doves you’ve ordered for the wreaths and garland are being delivered on Monday and town staff will get right to work on putting them up.”

  “Not those doves.” The mayor waved her hand dismissively as if they were no longer of importance. “I’m talking about live doves. I want to release a flock of white doves from the large gingerbread house during the opening ceremonies in honour of Miss Dove.” She smiled triumphantly and looked to the other women for approval.

  Alicia and Saanvi glanced quickly at each other. “In December? Don’t you think it might be a little cold in December for that?” Alicia said dubiously.

  Mayor Wright’s face fell and she thought for a moment before replying. “You might be right,” she conceded. “We can release them inside the rotunda on the opening night of the competition instead. It will be warm in there and the effect will be quite dazzling.” Her normally glacial expression warmed at the thought.

  Alicia had an immediate vision of frantic doves desperately throwing themselves against the windows as they tried in vain to get out, and newspaper headlines the next day proclaiming ‘DOVE DISASTER IN DUNBARTON!’. And there was also the possibility of unsanitary deposits made by the agitated birds on spectators and the gingerbread entries.

  “That might not be too… hygienic,” Alicia said, glancing at Saanvi who was staring wide-eyed at the mayor like a deer caught in headlights.

  Gritting her teeth, the mayor said reluctantly, “I suppose you’re right.”

  “We could have a Christmas tree with lights and white dove decorations in the rotunda,” Alicia suggested, looking hopefully at the mayor.

  “Good idea. Put it on the list. You can get one at the tree farm. Make sure it’s a big one.” And with that the mayor stalked from the room.

  Alicia turned to Saanvi and said in disbelief, “Live doves!” No wonder the deputy mayor was stressed.

  Chapter 4

  The days from the end of November into December passed in a haze as Alicia helped Saanvi make arrangements for the big gingerbread house, hunted for and finally found a large, brass key in an antique shop north of town and had it engraved, bought decorations for the community centre and chose a tree for the rotunda. In her spare time, she looked after her horses, did her barn chores, moved her dressage horse, Harley, to his winter stable and got him set
tled, helped Chris decorate their house inside and out and started her own Christmas baking – the easiest shortbread cookie recipe she could find. The one positive was that she was spending so much time worrying about the gingerbread competition that she forgot to be worried about having the family for Christmas dinner. She did remember to go to the butcher to order a big, twenty-pound turkey.

  As the day of the competition grew closer, the excitement in the town rose dramatically. Her mother called her on a daily basis to give her updates on how her preparations for her gingerbread Dunbar House were progressing and to ask Alicia if she had heard anything about what the other contestants were making.

  “I really don’t know anything, mom, and I couldn’t tell you if I did,” she told her mother for the umpteenth time on the Sunday before the competition. “You’ll just have to wait until set-up on Tuesday to see what the others have made. Now, I have to go and do some grocery shopping. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” She hung up before her mother had time to protest, grabbed her purse and headed for town.

  Two hours later, she rushed into the kitchen carrying two bags of groceries. Dumping them on the island in the centre of the room, she announced breathlessly, “She’s been seen all over town!”

  “Who has?” Chris asked absently, his head in the fridge as he searched for something to eat.

  “The mystery woman, the one with the hat and the veil. She’s dressed to the nines in a designer suit and shoes with three-inch heels and a black hat with a veil that covers her face.” She stopped to take a big breath before adding, “Of course, everyone knows who she is.”

  “If she’s wearing a veil that covers her face, how do people know who she is?” Chris asked as he grabbed an apple.

  “Because it’s Davina Dove. I read about it on Google. She does this whenever she goes to a new town or city to film her show. It’s a publicity stunt to get people talking, and boy are they. No one in town is talking about anything else.”

  With his mouth full of apple, Chris mumbled something that Alicia couldn’t understand so she ignored him and went on, “She’s staying at The Driftwood Inn and her staff are at the Huron Heights Hotel near the highway. The rest of her crew arrives tomorrow. Great publicity for the inn and hotel, too.”

  The Driftwood Inn had been the location of their wedding and they both had fond memories of their stay there. An up-scale, vintage hotel on the lake to the north of the town, it boasted a golf course, a spa in the tower with views of the water, and gourmet dining. The Huron Heights Hotel was more conveniently located for the community centre but lacked the gracious living of the inn. It was also considerably less expensive.

  “I must admit, the mayor had a good idea when she arranged to have the show shot here. It’s all over social media and the photos of the town look great.” She gave Chris a pointed look and added, “There are more bags in the truck.”

  Still eating, he nodded and headed for the front door.

  Davina Dove appeared in public the next morning, without the hat and veil. Her many fans had no difficulty recognizing the slim woman with the pale, oval face and large brown eyes. Her black hair was cut in a long bob which was parted in the centre to frame her lovely face. She wore a bright red coat that was belted at the waist with a cream-coloured scarf tucked around her neck.

  Of course, everyone knew the story of Davina Dove, the Mighty Chef publicists had made sure of that. And Davina, herself, was not above using her impoverished beginnings to highlight how far she had come ˗ how her parents had fled poverty and sectarian violence in Northern Ireland in the seventies and come to Canada where she had been born. Of course, she wasn’t Davina then. That persona would come later. Back then she was Deirdre Doyle, skinny and awkward and crushingly poor. As a teenager, she had worked part-time in bakeries and restaurants, first washing dishes, then waitressing and finally helping in the kitchen to earn the money to go to cooking school, where they soon recognized her talent. They encouraged her to try out for the television show, Mighty Chef, and she did, signing up as ‘Davina Dove’. The legend was born. The critics and reviewers had dubbed her ‘The Divine Miss Dove’ and when she won, the network offered her her own show. Of course she had accepted, and had immediately signed up the Mighty Chef runner-up to be her sous chef. With the money she won, she opened her first bakery, The Divine Dove, which soon became a chain. She was known for fabulous food and over-the-top, often outrageous behaviour.

  Followed by a small film crew she visited shops along the main street: Ex Libris books where that gallant gentleman, octogenarian ‘Uncle Ned’ Randall, proudly displayed his collection of first editions; The Toy Chest where Davina was delighted by the life-sized figures of famous children’s literature characters; even to the micro-brewery where she declared a sample of one of their craft beers to be ‘just perfect’. She made a point of stopping in at Betty’s Baked Goods to sample her wares. Betty was excited beyond belief at the unexpected visit and was even more thrilled when Miss Dove praised her butter tarts and raisin squares. Davina said she hoped Betty had entered the gingerbread contest and a starry-eyed Betty assured her she had. The Divine Miss Dove clasped her hands in delight at the news and then said quietly that there was something she’d like to discuss with her later. When she left, Betty found it necessary to sit down while one of her employees brought her a cup of tea to settle her nerves.

  It was pretty much the same wherever she went in town, with excited townsfolk rushing up to assure Miss Dove that they always watched her show and that she was their absolutely favourite chef. Davina was magnanimous in the face of her public and humbly accepted their praise and adulation. For those old enough to remember, it resembled a sixties era love-in and was gratifying all around.

  The mayor was basking in the glow of the success of her plan while Saanvi and Alicia manned the community centre where the television crew and the sous-chef and kitchen staff were arriving to start setting up. The gingerbread entries would be delivered by the contestants the next day and the judging and the live show would take place the day after that. Amazingly, it was all coming together. Now they just had to keep it from coming unglued.

  Standing at the community centre entrance, Saanvi with her list of ‘who’s who’ and Alicia with the ‘who goes where’, they greeted the arrivals and gave each one a security badge that said either ‘Television Crew’ or ‘Kitchen Crew’. They had a third one that said ‘Gingerbread Contestant’ that would be handed out the following day. Everyone was admonished to hang onto their badge since no one would be admitted to the kitchen or rotunda without one until the public was admitted, following the judging, in two days time.

  First through the door, smiling but impatiently tapping her pen on her clipboard, was a young woman with a riot of chocolate brown curls. She had large brown eyes fringed by thick lashes under arched brows, and a face with softly rounded cheeks and a pointed chin. Of medium height and slender, she was carrying a black, Canada Goose coat and wearing a narrow, belted navy skirt and a white blouse with a wide V-shaped collar and turned back cuffs. Her stiletto heeled navy pumps tap-tapped on the tile floor.

  “Hi, I’m Fiona James, Miss Dove’s Personal Assistant,” she announced breathlessly. “I’m the one who has to get this circus going,” she added with a smile that momentarily removed the worry lines and lit up her face.

  “It’s very nice to meet you,” Saanvi replied, while she checked the PA off her list.

  “I’m a big fan of the show,” Alicia gushed, handing Fiona a ‘Television Crew’ badge.

  Fiona looked a little askance at the badge and said, “I’ll need access to the kitchen as well.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about that.” Alicia said. “The badge is just to get you into the Community Centre. We realize that the television people will be in the kitchen as well as the rotunda.”

  “That’s good.” Fiona paused for a moment and then said quietly, “I wouldn’t give Miss Dove one of these badges. She wouldn’t be very happy about it.”


  Alicia and Saanvi exchanged glances and then nodded agreement. “We’ll make sure that Miss Dove has unrestricted access without a badge,” the deputy mayor assured her, glancing down at her own identity badge with a small smile.

  Alicia noticed the smile and grinned. She, too, was wearing an identity badge.

  Saanvi handed Fiona a map of the facility, showing the location of the rotunda, display rooms, kitchen and washrooms and told her to ask herself or Alicia if she needed anything at all.

  The line proceeded without any complaints about badges. Everyone understood about the need for security.

  A few minutes later, a middle-aged man with brown hair and a beard, both going grey, wire-rimmed glasses, and a slight paunch under his leather jacket wove his way through to the head of the line and introduced himself as Eric Braxton, the director of the show.

  “Sorry, but I need to get in and start getting things organized. Can someone show me where to set up?”

  He, too, seemed charged with nervous energy and Alicia wondered if this was a constant state of affairs with people in television.

  They gave him a badge and a map and assurances that any questions or concerns he might have would be taken care of before he wandered off, following the map and muttering under his breath.

  Alicia turned to Saanvi and raised her brows and they both had a giggle before turning back to the crowd.

  Before long they had everyone but one checked off. Magnus Wolff, Davina Dove’s Sous Chef, had not yet made an appearance.

  “I wonder if Magnus Wolff is his real name or if he changed it for television.” Alicia said as they closed the doors.

  “It was his name when he was competing on Mighty Chef,” Saanvi pointed out.

  “Yes, but Davina Dove changed hers for the show. He might have too. ‘Magnus Wolff’ sounds just too dramatic to be true,” Alicia said and then thought how cynical she had become in just a short time.

  Behind them, someone started pounding on the door and they turned to see a man who might have stepped out of a show about Vikings. Reddish-blond hair rippled back from his brow and down his shoulders. He was rugged-looking with piercing blue eyes, high cheekbones and elegant lips. Broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, he would stand out in a crowd anywhere.