Punked by the Pumpkin: A Cozy Mystery (Sweet Home Mystery Series Book 4) (9 page)

Chapter Eight

There was something different in the air today. The shroud of silence and apprehension that’d been hanging over our little town for so long, led by the “Tuesday Night Congregation,” had finally been lifted. People seemed happier. The sun and colors of nature seemed brighter. Even the air felt lighter and more invigorating. The park was filled with laughter and smiles and birdsong, and you could feel the more optimistic mood that had taken over everyone’s body and soul. There hadn’t been many more sightings of the chupra-whatever, so that had helped.

I stood near the pie tent as the judges tasted each entry, listening to each baker’s tale of baking magic and quizzing them on ingredients and techniques. Jules and a couple of other reporters were eavesdropping and taking notes. The head judge was Mayor Danton’s wife, Millie, who had won the contest three years in a row and was a nutritionist at the hospital. Jeremy Santos, an overweight food blogger from Daytona, and Sandy Guthrie, feature editor of the Orlando Moon, were the other judges.

Getting the Internet and a big city newspaper involved had given us some preliminary blurbs in their publications and really bumped up the interest in this year’s bake-off. There were even whispers that there were scouts here from flour companies, big baked goods wholesalers, book publishers, and cable TV shows. There were even a few camera crews from area TV stations covering the event. How odd for our little town, but good for business.

Eli came strutting up in uniform with a big smile for me. He stopped a few feet away, so I knew he didn’t want a hug while he was on duty.

“Nice day for a baking contest.” He looked at the entries on our end of the tent. “Looks like a lot of pumpkin pies.”

“There are some more creative things on the other end. I thought you were stationed by the street dance stage and all those concessions and booths over there.”

“Well, Officer Crenshaw saw you standing here and asked me to switch with her.”

Karen is so sweet. “That’s pretty nice of her, considering she’s been out on that hot pavement over there without any shade all week.”

“Yeah, I guess I owe her one.”

“So…are you on ‘hard’ duty or ‘soft’ duty, Eli?”

“Uhhh…kind of medium, I guess.”

“Medium? What’s that?”

“That is one of the perks of being Lieutenant Eli Davis, detective extraordinaire and next in line for Chief.”

“Ah, I think I see. So you get to work a little bit of real life into your 18-hour shifts as a policeman as long as it doesn’t affect public safety.”

“Something like that, yeah. Looks like there are a lot of press and media people around here today.” He turned his eyes into binoculars and did a 360-degree scan of the area.

“What are you looking for, Eli?’

“Trying to see if Toe Thompson is around here. All we need is for him to tell his chupacabra story to the Orlando TV people. Sweet Home will become a laughingstock.”

“What are you going to do if you see him?”

“Shoot him…”

I gave him a pretty powerful slap on the arm. “That’s not funny, Eli.”

Eli beamed his trademark superhero grin at me. “…Shoot him an icy look and shake my head sternly. He’ll get the idea.”

Okay, that might work.

The judges had finished their tasting and were making the 50-yard walk to the room at the back of the band shell to deliberate. The baking tent was far enough away to keep the smell of “horse business” around the hayride from spoiling the aroma of the goodies. Moira must have gotten back from her hayride when I was talking to Eli, and she and Jules waved to me as they walked toward the chairs in front of the band shell for the announcement of the winner. Then I saw them return a wave from the front row of chairs. It looked like Carmen and Trevor were saving seats for them. Jules had her laptop and notepad in one hand, and Moira still had the camera and was snapping pictures of the crowd and the judges.

A table with three trophies and ribbons was already set up on the stage, and a young woman was doing a microphone check. The media crews were getting set up near the band shell too, and the horses and empty hay wagon were pulled behind the structure, where they would take a break until it was time for the Moonlight Hayrides – kind of a misnomer this year, since there would be no moonlight at all tonight.

Eli and I found a shady spot to stand behind the chairs. “So, is Trevor going to watch over the hayrides again tonight?”

“No, Mike said he’s going to do it himself. He’s the Captain of the Volunteer Fire Department now, you know.”

Hmmm. So history does repeat itself. The son of the Captain proctors the hayride, and, ahem, an attractive young lady sits next to him.

“Trevor is a lot younger than I was when I was in charge of the event. And it’s going to be dark tonight, and we have that…”

“Chupacabra…”

“…that animal running around. There’s something out there. We’ve all seen it. So, if people spot something when the wagon goes by the cemetery, Mike wants to be there himself to quell any panic.”

“Makes sense. Sooooo…what did Mike have to say about Jules?” I had to dig a little, since Mike’s name came up.

Eli just kind of grinned. “Mike’s a guy. You know, he said, ‘nice lady’ or something like that.”

He could see that the answer didn’t satisfy me.

“But it was pretty obvious that he was blown away by Jules’ charm and sweetness and…”

“And hot body?”

“…and beauty. Does she have a hot body? I hadn’t noticed. She looks like a teenage boy next to a real woman.” He put his arm around my waist and pulled me closer.

Either Eli was in serious need of glasses, or he knew exactly what to say to me. Or maybe he actually liked the way I’m put together. I think I’ll go with that one.

I put my head on his shoulder, and he pressed his strong fingers firmly against me. I didn’t even feel self-conscious about my extra belly flab. I just felt…loved.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the judges have made their decisions, and we are ready to announce the winners of the Twelfth Annual Sweet Home Harvest Festival Pumpkin Baking Contest!” Mayor Danton was the emcee of the event, and the crowd cheered and applauded his announcement. The three judges were lined up beside him. “Their decisions are based on: Presentation and appearance – 20%; Creativity in the use of pumpkin – 30%; and Taste – 50%.”

There were shouts of “Go, Rodney!” from the Mayor’s buddies in the crowd as cameras clicked away steadily.

“Can we clear the stairs on both sides to make room for the winners when their names are called, please?” the Mayor requested, and the people on the concrete steps moved to the grass. An anxious hush fell over the crowd.

“Judge Jeremy Santos from Daytona Beach, and purveyor of the blog,
I Eat Therefore I Am,
will present the award for third place. Jeremy…”

The large young man made his way to the microphone. His waistline was probably equal to his height, but he seemed very comfortable in his skin and spoke with a commanding baritone voice. “Thank you, Mayor Danton, and hello, Sweet Home!”

He knew how to get a rise out of a crowd, and they all seemed to love him instantly.

“There were so many wonderful desserts and even a few wonderful savory pumpkin dishes. All of our entrants should be very proud. Picking winners is not a fun job or a perfect science, and if we were to taste the same dishes tomorrow we might well pick different winners. I can honestly say that there was not a bad dish in the bunch.”

“Give the award, man!”

The shout came from the middle of the crowd. People were excited to find out who the winners were.

“There were, however, a few plates that stood out above the rest, especially in the way they were decorated and the ingenious and imaginative ways they used the pumpkin ingredient. The winner of the white ribbon for third place – and a featured interview in my blog – for his pumpkin pie-filled pumpkin muffins with pumpkin amaretto icing, is Mr. Lonnie Benson! Lonnie, come on up!”

“Hey, that sounds like the recipe I won third place with eleven years ago, except for the icing. My mom invented that.” I wasn’t sure if I was flattered or annoyed.

Lonnie was a teller at the bank and a few years younger than me. He was really shy and quite tall and lanky with receding but natural platinum blonde hair. He was normally white as a sheet, but today his face was beet red as he went up to accept his award.

I looked around and finally spotted Hildie in the third row sitting next to Gertie Price. The Mayor called Sandy Guthrie up next.

“It was a tough choice between first and second place, with both entries scoring all 50 points from each judge on taste and all 30 points from all of the judges on their creativity in the use of the pumpkin. With just one less style point overall for presentation, our second place winner of the red ribbon, for her chocolate-caramel-pecan pumpkin cheesecake flocked with pumpkin mousse, is Miss Hilda Morrissey. Hilda, please come up!”

I looked at Eli, almost unable to contain my excitement. I was bouncing up and down and couldn’t help but give him a big hug. Eli knew just what I needed and twirled me around like a little girl. Or maybe he just did that to get me to let go of him. Hildie was always so relaxed and laid back, I expected her to just walk up and get her trophy. Instead, it was pretty obvious that she was filled with the same kind of excitement that I was. She held the trophy over her head with one hand and held up the red ribbon with the other, actually pumping her arms and hugging the mayor before she went back down the steps.

I nearly ran over a couple of old people and a baby stroller as I ran up to hug and congratulate her.

We didn’t say a word to each other
,
.
except for “Eeeeeeee!” We just grabbed each other’s shoulders and made excited high school girl faces and sounds at each other and then hugged. She went back to sit down next to Gertie, and I went back to Eli.

The applause for Hildie went on for quite a while, which was really nice. Then the Mayor introduced his wife.

“And now our head judge – and my best friend – Millie Danton will present the award for first place.”

I’m not sure why the crowd got so quiet. Everybody knew who was going to win.

“With a perfect score from all three judges for her apple-pumpkin-pecan pie, the blue ribbon goes to Gertie Price!”

The crowd went crazy, and Millie had to wave Gertie up because she couldn’t be heard over the roar of the crowd. Gertie had won a few baking contests for her famous apple pie, but her reputation had been damaged by some lies printed by Fanny Diddlemeier, who ran the local paper before Jules – and before she was murdered.

Gertie got her award, and Millie finally got the crowd to quiet down. She put her arm around a very emotional Gertie and stood with her at the microphone.

“And we have one more announcement as well.”

Two men and a woman walked up the steps to the stage and stood next to Millie.

“First, Mr. John Peabody from Moberg Press.”

“On behalf of the nation’s number one cookbook publisher, Miss Price, I would like to offer you a contract to publish a cookbook featuring your wonderful recipes.”

Gertie was a mess as she nodded and shook his hand. This was almost too much for the old girl.

“And now Nigel Caraway and Angela Burke…”

“Gertie, we would like you to show America how to bake your award winning pie on our program,
The Bakery King,
on the Pastry Network.”

“And one more thing.” Mollie grabbed the microphone again.

Oh, no. One more thing might just kill poor Gertie.

“All three of our winners will be featured on
Good Morning, Orlando!
on Monday morning!”

Jules and Moira were busy interviewing the winners and snapping pictures, and Hildie was surrounded by media people.

Eli could see that I was torn between running back to Hildie and just leaving. “Just let her have her moment in the limelight, Lily.”

“Yeah. I think I will.”

Besides, if I ran up there now, she might think that I wanted piece of the credit and the attention – which I didn’t. Not at all. Hildie was always the silent one on the sidelines, and she deserved this moment, all for herself.

“Let’s have a real sit-down meal and then come back before nightfall. Do you have to get back to the coffee shop?”

“Nope. Essie gave me the whole day off, and Hildie insisted that I take it. So…let’s eat!”

“Pasta, pizza, steak?”

“Mmmm…how about if we avoid the national franchises and keep the money local? I haven’t been to Sal’s in a while.”

“I could eat at Sal’s three times a day. I just didn’t want you to feel like I wasn’t treating you special enough.”

“We can have a special date once a month, and keep it casual and real the rest of the time Eli. I really don’t feel like heels and makeup right now, if you’re cool with that.”

“I’ve been thinking about Sal’s hot beef sandwich all week. Every day you give me a reason to like you more, Lily.”