Recipe for Redemption

by Anna J. Stewart

  “I’ve got time to kill,” Alice said from her usual chair by the window. “How about some gin rummy? I’ll keep score.”

  “You cheat. Hey, Jason?” Lori called. “Take pictures of Abby’s entrance to the competitors’ tent? I want to add it to the website and give updates as the weekend progresses.”

  Great. An internet presence. Like she needed more pressure. “I can’t believe how busy we’ve been,” she said as she and Jason headed toward Monarch Lane. “Between all the rooms being booked and the dining room service, the inn’s actually bringing in cash.” She’d even managed to write a few checks last night and pay some bills. Things were definitely looking up. Kind of.

  * * *

  EVEN FROM A distance she could hear the rumblings of a crowd. A boost of energy kicked her into high gear and she picked up speed.

  “Have you talked to Mr. Vartebetium again?” Jason asked.

  “Not since I saw him at the hospital. I’m hoping these three weeks—well, less than that now—will be enough to make a difference and hold off the tax collectors. All that aside, I think, finally, I’m ready.” She puffed out her chest and let a confident breath escape.

  “For the decathlon? Slow down.”

  “For this competition to be over with!” As if walking faster would make time speed up. “I met the other competitors the other day. Clara Sterling is from Monterey. This is her third competition. She won some home baking thing last year, so I’m guessing she’ll be good under pressure.” She couldn’t seem to stop herself from babbling. “And then there’s Steve Sawyer, whose sister runs a small B and B in Pacific Grove. I heard he’s good with a BBQ.”

  “Shoot,” he muttered. “The BBQ. I should have given you the basics—”

  “Hey, there’s Paige and Charlie. Hi!” She waved at them across the street as they stopped on the corner and waved back. The entire length of Monarch Lane was packed with parked cars and people streaming up and down the sidewalk. All manner of signs and banners welcomed festivalgoers and out-of-town guests as the wafting aromas of hot food roasting and grilling, drifted over them.

  Abby couldn’t remember the last time Butterfly Harbor had been so full of life. And this was only opening day. “I heard Charlie gave you some poker assistance at last night’s game.”

  “How does word get around this place so fast?” Jason asked. “First Holly, now Charlie.”

  “We have a special communication system. It helps I’m good friends with her mom. Charlie, aren’t you looking cute!”

  Charlie grinned at them, her cupcake T-shirt in rainbow hues bright as the summer day. “I’ve been saving this for today. I’m so excited!” She clenched her fists and bounced on her toes. “Mom says there’s going to be all kinds of treats and food to try.”

  “Yes, it’s true. I’m raising a child with a very advanced palate,” Paige joked as they resumed making their way to the park.

  “Mom makes yummy cheese tarts. They’re new. I’m her guinea pig,” Charlie told Jason. “They have goat in them.”

  “Sounds tasty.” Abby almost gagged.

  “She probably means goat cheese,” Jason said. “And I’d love to try them some time. I hear today is all about the wine.”

  “Yuck. Wine.” Charlie stuck out her tongue. “Grape juice that stings.”

  “Don’t ask.” Paige held up her hands. “Holly’s manning the kitchen today so we can explore the festival. You ready for your final instructions, Abby?”

  “Can’t you tell?” Abby looked down at her clean jeans, perky peach sandals and matching T-shirt.

  “You’re also shaking like a leaf. Come on. Kick the nerves,” Paige ordered. “You’ve got the whole town behind you.”

  “Thanks.” Abby managed a tight smile. “That helps.”

  “Once she gets to cooking tomorrow, things will shake out.” Jason wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

  “They asked me to give them a list of my least favorite foods. Why would they do that?” Abby asked Jason.

  “Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “Because that would be cheating.” She just had to be in love with a guy with an oversize sense of honor.

  She tripped, her heart nearly tumbling out of her chest. Jason grabbed hold of her and pulled her up before she face-planted on the cement. “Thanks,” she whispered as the afternoon breeze chilled her skin. She looked up at him. In love? With Jason Corwin?

  “It’s those shoes of yours.” His mouth twisted into that disapproving frown that made her smile. “What?” He glanced behind him as if something was happening there. “What’s that look for?”

  “Yes, Abby? What’s that look for?” Paige chimed in.

  Abby’s face flushed.

  “It j-just occurred to me why they asked me what my least favorite appliance to cook with was.” She resumed what she hoped was a straight path. Exactly what she needed. Yet another question she had to have an answer for.

  “Was oven or stove an option?” Jason teased.

  Paige laughed. “I haven’t heard of any fires at the Flutterby lately. Has the crisis passed?”

  “We’d better hope so, or this will be a very short competition.” Oh, boy. Abby swiped a hand across her suddenly moist forehead. Did she have the absolute worst sense of timing or what?

  “I think you’re going to win, Abby!” Charlie jumped around and walked backward. “So does Simon. In fact, we’re going to make sure you do.”

  Paige and Abby both came to a halt.

  “What does that mean?” Paige asked her daughter.

  “Nothing.” Charlie smiled mischievously. “Oh, there’s Simon...and Luke. See you later, Mom!”

  “Now I’m terrified.” Abby turned wide eyes on Paige. “Tell me you can find out what she’s talking about.”

  “Sure. We both know Charlie’s an open book when it comes to her plans with Simon. I’ll get back to you.” She moved off to join Luke and the kids.

  “Okay, I give up. What’s the story with those two? They seem to scare the heck out of most every adult I’ve met in town.”

  “Let’s just say Simon is one comic book away from becoming a mad supervillain.” Who knew what fresh ideas that kid had come up with this time? “Really? Darn it.” She planted her hands on her hips and stared at the throng of people flooding Skipper Park.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, only that Gil was right.” Her heart swelled with pride and gratitude. “This festival’s turning out to be a really good idea. Look at all these people.”

  “Yes, look at all of them.” Jason didn’t sound nearly as thrilled as Abby felt. Well, too bad. It was time for him to get social.

  She lost count of the number of bright white tents zigzagging through Butterfly Harbor’s largest park. She could see the metal beams of a makeshift stage at the far end of the perimeter. She’d heard the committee yesterday discussing the pros and cons of seating before they decided to use hay bales instead of folding chairs.

  Picnic tables had been set up and scattered about the park, some under trees for shade, others in the bright sun for added warmth. The weekend forecast was promising one of the nicest temperature runs in a long while, as if Mother Nature herself approved of the festivities.

  “Mmm, smell that?” Abby took another deep breath and inhaled the aroma of smokers running on high, the salty brine of boiling seafood and the telltale kick of hops from a family-brewing company. Add that familiar tinge of fresh ocean air as she and Jason pushed their way through the crowd, and she couldn’t fathom a more perfect day.

  The beer and wine were definitely flowing, the congenial crowds cheering as bottles were opened and everything from bar snacks to gourmet appetizers was served to hungry drinkers.

  Music from the band was beating away in the distance and the tinkl
ing of butterfly wind chimes added to the carefree atmosphere.

  “Hey, Abby.” Jason squeezed her arm. “Don’t look now, but you have a fan club.” She found the Cocoon members, minus her grandmother and Eloise, heading toward her, wearing bright coral T-shirts with Go Five-Alarm Manning! emblazoned on the front along with her face.

  “That’s not unnerving at all,” she whispered, then smiled when she heard Jason chuckle.

  “That makes having come here worth it.”

  “Benny, Myra, hi!” Abby couldn’t help laughing as the group of elderly Butterfly Harbor residents encircled her. From what she remembered, they traveled in the same pack they had in high school. “And Elliot, Harold, Delilah. Marty! Oscar? Even you’re here. What’s all this?”

  “This is us showing our support!” Delilah, all of five foot nothing with hair taller than her closest friend, puffed out her ample chest and twirled, showing off the one hundred twenty-fifth anniversary banner displayed on her back. “Abby Manning’s going to win this for Butterfly Harbor!” Her cheer drew additional cries of support.

  “Please, no more pressure.” Abby was touched, if not a bit overwhelmed. “There’s no guarantee I’ll win.”

  “Of course you’ll win,” Harold McKreevy stated in his typical former-college-professor tone. All that was missing was a pair of Benjamin Franklin spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. “There’s no other choice. Victor’s hoping to be discharged in time to see you compete in the final round.”

  “I thought they were going to move him to a transition facility before releasing him.” Why didn’t Abby know about this?

  “Victor Vartebetium?” Jason muttered under his breath. “Now who sounds like a supervillain?”

  Abby elbowed him in the ribs.

  “We’ve made up dozens of shirts,” Marty told her and hefted the large shopping bag in his hands. “We’re handing them out to everyone in Butterfly Harbor. We’re all behind you, you know. Make us proud.”

  “Oh.” Tears burned her eyes. “You guys are amazing. Thank you.”

  “Abby, there you are.” Gil Hamilton pushed through the crowd, a haggard expression on his face. “NCN would like to take those photos with you and the other contestants. Please. Come with me.”

  Her stomach jumped as if she’d swallowed a handful of crickets. “Would you guys keep an eye on him for me?” Abby jerked her thumb in Jason’s direction.

  “Sure will,” Oscar said with more than an appraising look in his overprotective gaze. “You’d be this New York chef we’ve been hearing of. What’s this about some scandal you’ve got back home? Nothing that’s going to impact our Abby, is it?”

  “No, it’s not, Oscar,” Abby jumped in as she felt Jason stiffen beside her. “If it wasn’t for Jason, I wouldn’t be in this competition, period. So behave.” She pointed at each of them. “All of you.”

  “Go on. I’ll be fine,” Jason said. Abby left them, a little uncertain at first, but then she heard him say, “So, Oscar. I’ve heard for an amateur at the barbecue, you’re quite the Picasso of pork?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “WHERE’S THE OVEN?” Maybe it was the morning sun in her eyes, but as Abby scanned her designated cooking area on the raised stage in Butterfly Harbor’s aged baseball field, she didn’t see a sign of her nemesis of an appliance.

  Pots and pans? Check. Two containers of metal and wood utensils. A mini fridge, two hot plates, a blender, food processor, hand mixer, waffle... “There’s no stove or oven.”

  “Maybe your reputation precedes you.” Jason took hold of her hands and pushed them down to her sides to stop her from fidgeting with her collar. She’d left her chef jacket at the Flutterby. There she might be Jason’s sous chef, but here, she was all amateur.

  Probably the most amateur.

  They’d set her up on the far end of the stage, next to the bulky man who was Steve Sawyer. Hefty and friendly, Steve had that green-around-the-edges look of a man who’d spent a little too long at one of the brewery tents. He gave her a weak wave and pushed his sunglasses higher on his nose.

  Clara, on the other hand, looked as if she’d stepped out of a 1950s family sitcom. She wore a white-and-pink-checked summer frock—Abby wouldn’t deign call that throwback outfit a simple dress—and flipped-up hairstyle. She waved to the crowd and glided across the stage like a former beauty queen. Next to her I-can’t-believe-it string of pearls, Abby felt underdressed.

  Abby lifted a hand to her throat, the absence of her parents’ rings striking fast and sharp. She hadn’t realized until this moment how much she could have used the added support.

  “You keep doing that.” Jason dragged her hand down again, a frown forming. “Why do you—” He seemed to cut himself off as he stared at her.

  “Have they introduced the judges yet?” Abby looked around him to where Roger and his crew were putting the cameras and lights into place. “And where’s this emcee Roger keeps raving about?”

  “Abby, where’s your necklace?”

  “What necklace? Oh, hey, that’s Raymond Benedict, one of the judges. I read about him. Does he really spearfish his own meals and cook them on the beach?”

  “Your parents’ rings.” Jason spoke slowly. “You showed them to me the first day we met. I don’t remember seeing them since.”

  “They’re at home. I didn’t want to lose them.” Her voice broke.

  “Don’t do that.” Jason’s whip-fast order shocked her. “Whatever else you do, don’t ever lie to me, Abby. I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime. Where are they?”

  “I—” She couldn’t pull it off. Even if she had the fortitude to try, he was right. She owed him the truth. “They were all I had that was worth anything.” Abby tried to shrug it off. “I sold them to pay for the entry fee.”

  “You sold—”

  She hated the sympathy she saw as he put the pieces together. “Please, let’s not discuss this now. You told me the only way you’d teach me was if I paid the entry fee. So I paid it. And now look. We’re here! Speaking of here. I think the rest of the judges have arrived.”

  “I don’t care about the judges—” Jason started as he glanced in the direction of her gaze. She felt an odd tension in his hands before he released her.

  Roger’s assistant Emily escorted two more individuals, both women, to a table near the stairs that led to the stage. On the table were monitors for them to view the contestants up close.

  “I’m going to need some help here, Jason.” Abby nudged him with her elbow.

  “Magdalena Hernandez is the shorter of the two,” he said. “Her show focuses on Mexican and South American cuisines. She was nominated for a television award last season. And that’s Bobby Palmer.”

  “That name I know,” Abby said.

  “She did a series of specials focusing on cooking for the troops overseas, brings a bunch of celebrities over with her to meet those serving. David and I went to cooking school with her before she broke out on her own. You’d like her. She’s spunky.”

  “Spunky.” Abby grinned. “I love how your vocabulary’s been expanding since you’ve been here.”

  “Never really understood its meaning until I met you. And what do you know.” The humor faded from Jason’s voice faster than it disappeared from his face. “Gary was right. Roger’s up to his usual tricks. I’m betting that’s our new emcee.”

  Abby peered beyond Roger to the younger man coming up behind him. Shorter than Jason, more compact, but definitely in good shape, he had longish blond hair and a dimpled smile that spoke more of Hollywood pretty boy than food show chic. “Who is that?”

  “Marcus Aiken.”

  Abby’s stomach stopped jumping. “That’s Marcus Aiken? He doesn’t look anything like he did from your competition.”

  Even without touching him, she
could feel Jason’s tension rise.

  “Yeah, sorry. I did watch. But that was a while ago, Jason. Water under the bridge. What happened to him?”

  “He’s Roger’s new poster child for success, I’m betting,” Jason muttered. “Hence the makeover. Now it’s as if he should be singing lead for a waning boy band.”

  Abby’s ears began to ring. “I don’t understand why Roger would have chosen him over you.”

  “That’s because you don’t have a devious bone in your body,” Jason told her. “Roger, however, could give master classes. Don’t worry about it. It’ll be fine.”

  “But that’s the guy who exposed you as a cheater. If it hadn’t been for him—”

  “If it hadn’t been for Marcus Aiken blowing the whistle on me, I’d still be in New York, a miserable, lonely, grieving man.” Jason shook his head. Just like that, the irritation she saw on his face vanished. “If anything, I owe him.”

  “You’re not angry?”

  “What good is getting angry going to do me?” He took hold of her arms and switched places with her so she couldn’t see around him. “Other than playing into Roger’s hands? I was as much, if not more, to blame for what happened. You’re right, Abby. What’s past is past. I’m not letting this get to me, and you’re not to let it get to you.”

  “I don’t like either one of them.”

  “Marcus is okay. He’s young. Eager. And maybe a little gullible when it comes to his career. He’s also one heck of a talent. I only hire the best.” Jason brushed a finger down her cheek.

  “Can I at least hate Roger? Maybe slip a vial of bedbugs into his room later today?”

  “That would finish the Flutterby once and for all, so no.” He pressed his lips to hers. “But I thank you for the offer. Now. I’m going to go sit with your grandmother and Holly and watch you kick these cooks’ butts in round one. Don’t let anything distract you. Focus on one step at a time. And if you get flustered, I’ll be right over there.” He pointed to where Alice was sitting, a wide-brimmed bright yellow hat perched on top of her head, her arm linked with Holly’s as they waved at her. Holly shifted to let Eloise join them. “You can’t miss us.”