by R A Wallace
Teaberry Baking Contest
A Teaberry Farm Bed & Breakfast Cozy Mystery
R. A. Wallace
2018
Author’s Note
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, dialogue, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Material in this book is not intended as a substitute for legal or medical advice from qualified professionals. The author has no connection to any software or website mentioned.
© 2018 R. A. Wallace. All rights reserved.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Megan’s Recipes
Books by R. A. Wallace
Chapter One
Lauren Dempsey checked herself in the mirror. The thirty-two year old blonde haired, blue eyed image she saw staring back looked slightly frazzled and decidedly pensive. She was fairly certain the frazzled look was because she’d spent her morning with her two children, Mia and Noah. Although she loved them both fiercely, at seven and five they had the healthy energy that anyone past childhood would envy. Now in her second trimester and well past her own childhood, Lauren’s energy level couldn’t compete. But her mother-in-law had arrived to free Lauren up for her Saturday lunch plans with friends.
She didn’t have to wonder why she felt pensive. The mail had just arrived. Lauren told herself that she would walk out of the house, check the mail in her box, then drive to the Jammin’T diner like a normal adult. No matter what happened. If the letter was in the box, she’d be the typically happy person that her friends expected to see. If the letter wasn’t in the box, no one else would ever know how very unhappy she was.
It was just a baking contest after all. They happen all the time. It didn’t matter if she wasn’t chosen to be one of the contestants. Just because she’d sent in some of her very best recipes as part of her application to participate in the competition didn’t mean anything. So what if they didn’t pick her, right? Lauren looked out the front window of her house and sighed. This was silly. She was going to walk out the front door, check the mail, and be on her way.
The drive to the Jammin’T was short. Lauren practiced smiling in her rear-view mirror, hoping that she’d be able to hide her disappointment from her friends. After all, there was no reason to bring any of it up. No one had to know. She checked the mirror again. There, she did it. A smile. Certain that she’d be able to hold her head high and enjoy her time with her friends, Lauren parked her car on the street and walked the short distance into the restaurant.
The Jammin’T was busy for the lunch crowd. Nearly every table was taken and the room was buzzing with conversation. She saw her friends, Erica and Caitlyn, and her cousin, Megan, seated at a table across the room. They had already ordered her a glass of iced tea. Erica had her back to the wall, as usual. Lauren walked toward them with her practiced smile that faltered when she glanced past Caitlyn and saw Tara Hartle and Gladys Hawkins sitting at another table. Lauren had known both women since they were in school together.
Although Gladys was older, she had always competed with Lauren when it came to baking and anything else if Gladys had her way. Gladys had even tried luring Lauren’s husband away before she and Justin had married. Tara was the same age as Lauren and currently worked at the post office though it was no secret that she had always wanted to be a professional baker. Tara had often made back handed compliments to Lauren about Lauren’s bakery business, making it clear that Tara could do a better job at running her own bakery if only the post office didn’t need her so much.
Gladys and Tara were whispering to each other, both bent across their table with their heads together, when Lauren first entered the Jammin’T, but they were now sitting straight up and staring at Lauren expectantly. Then it happened. Deep down, Lauren knew it would somehow. She knew she’d never be able to keep something this important to her from her friends anyway.
“So, Lauren. Have you received your invitation to the Teaberry Baking Contest yet?” Gladys asked loudly enough for everyone in the diner to hear. There was, in fact, a short silence that followed throughout the diner, as everyone looked toward Lauren for her response.
Plastering the practiced smile back on her face, she was about to answer when Caitlyn stood up from her seat at the table.
Caitlyn looked directly at the other two women and said in a disgustingly cheerful voice, “Why wouldn’t she with Tara on the job to ensure that the Teaberry mail is always delivered safely?”
The sneer slipped momentarily from Gladys’s face. The look that Tara shot back was downright venomous.
The collective gasp of everyone in the room was a theatrical touch, Lauren thought numbly. Caitlyn smiled sweetly at Tara and Gladys then motioned toward the seat she had just vacated. Taking it would ensure that Lauren wouldn’t have to sit facing Tara and Gladys at the other table. It was a cowardly move, but Lauren took it gratefully and sank into the seat as gracefully as she could manage given that the entire room was still watching her intently. Caitlyn swung around, raised her eyebrows, and made eye contact with several people in the diner, turning her head from table to table before everyone got the hint and turned back to their own conversations.
Lauren smiled brightly and hissed, “How mortifying.” She switched glasses of tea with Caitlyn.
“Ignore them,” Erica suggested, leaning back in her chair as Betty approached. “We aren’t in grade school anymore.”
The frizzy-haired waitress in her sixties stopped, took their order, refilled glasses, and left them alone.
Megan reached under the table and laid her hand over her cousin’s. Lauren turned and managed a real smile at three of the people she loved most dearly. “I wasn’t going to tell anyone.”
“You mean, you sent in an application and really didn’t get a response?” Caitlyn asked in amazement. “I just assumed they were blowing smoke. Why wouldn’t you get picked?”
Lauren sighed and shook her head. Her eyes conveyed the misery that she felt. “Yes, I sent in an application. No, I didn’t get a response. And I really did send in my very best recipes. I guess they just weren’t what the judges were looking for.”
“Wait. I don’t know anything about baking contests. How does this all work anyway? I mean, can’t anyone just enter a baking contest?” Erica asked.
“They’re all different. Some competitions, especially local ones like at the county fair, are open to all. This one required that you show you are at a certain level of expertise by submitting some sample recipes,” Lauren explained. “For the contest itself, you can submit in more than one category. You can also submit more entries than what you submitted with your application.”
“Who gets to be the judge at the competition?” Erica asked.
“The Teaberry Baking Contest competition will have some judges who are local but also some judges from out of town because it’s actually at a regional level, it isn’t just local. What I mean is, there will be bakers from outside of Teaberry at the competition also.” Lauren glanced around the room. Although it appeared that most of the people were involved in their own conversations, some were taking furtive looks at Lauren’s table while they spoke.
“Filtering by application for a regional level will help to make the number of applicants more manageable. There is going to be a lot of contestants. Some people actually travel around, sort of like following a circuit, competing at these kinds of contests,” Megan added.
Erica looked at her in disbelief. “Why would they do that?”
It was her day off and she was wearing khaki shorts and a tee. Her red hair was in a long braid down her back. The freckles across her face were slightly more pronounced because of the summer sun she’d been getting.
The other three women chuckled. Erica had never enjoyed being in a kitchen.
“For the bragging rights. Or, in some cases, they might get a book deal out of it. Maybe have their recipes included in a publication,” Caitlyn said.
She watched four women at another table swinging their heads back and forth as they first looked at Lauren before facing each other to speak in low tones among themselves. She waited until the women had swung their heads toward Lauren again. Then she made a show of rising from the table as though she were going to confront them, making eye contact with them as she did. They quickly swung their heads away and remained that way.
Erica watched Caitlyn and tried not to grin. She thought it was pretty funny that a five foot one inch, one hundred pound person with a pixie cut could intimidate an entire room. “The next time I need help with crowd control, I’m calling you.”
“It also adds a little prestige to be invited to participate, and that attracts a certain kind of competitor and even a certain kind of audience. The audience understands that the baking contest will have a higher level of opponents battling it out and that makes for more drama,” Megan said.
“When is the baking contest?” Erica asked.
“Next weekend. I thought I would have received a notification by now so I’m sure I wasn’t selected,” Lauren said, wiping the condensation from her glass of iced tea.
“Sounds like there’s still time yet,” Erica said, her hazel eyes opening wide in anticipation as their food was brought to their table. Her plate included a grilled capicola ham and pepper jack cheese sandwich with a mound of crispy golden fries.
Lauren looked down at the healthy salad with grilled chicken that she had ordered then reached over and stole a handful of fries from Erica’s plate.
“Hey!” Erica said, feigning indignation. “There are laws against that.”
Lauren smiled sweetly as she dipped the fries into her salad dressing. “I’m eating for two.”
Megan and Caitlyn laughed. Lauren’s cravings during her pregnancies were legendary. They couldn’t wait to see what interesting foods baby number three would be requiring.
Chapter Two
Sasha Chantelle picked up another custom-made apron from the pile and put it on. She had them hand painted with colorful designs to complement her art in the kitchen and she often wore them even outside of the kitchen. She took her cooking seriously and that meant paying attention to every detail. She bent her tall frame in front of her oven to check the progress of her sponge cake. It was one of the recipes that she’d submitted for the competition next weekend.
Although she knew that others from Teaberry would also be competing, she was certain her sponge cake could win its category. Certainly, Gladys Hawkins could never produce a sponge cake of this quality, Sasha thought to herself with a contented smile as she pulled the cake from her oven. Her dark skin was moist with perspiration from having the oven on all day.
Setting it on a rack to cool, Sasha examined the sponge cake with a critical eye, searching for any imperfections. Satisfied with what she saw, she pulled out her other recipes to review them again. She planned to practice with them for the full week before the competition. It was important that she perfect each and every one. She didn’t want to leave anything to chance. Of course, it would be very helpful if she knew what others in town were planning to bake.
She had participated in other competitions throughout the country, but this was the first time she’d be taking on other bakers in her hometown. She had placed fairly well in the past and she knew some of the names from outside of Teaberry that she expected to see for this competition. She knew their skill level and the categories that they would most likely submit in. But she’d never competed against others from Teaberry and she knew from personal experience that some of them were downright devious.
At thirty-five, Sasha had been in the same grade in school with Gladys Hawkins. Tara Hartle and Lauren Dempsey were a couple of years behind them and Allison Germaine didn’t even warrant a second thought. There may be others in town also invited to compete.
Sasha narrowed her eyes, wondering if there were any way she could find out who they were and what they each had planned. Perhaps she could think of excuses for visiting her competition. Looking around her kitchen, she realized that any reconnaissance work would take her away from her oven. Frowning, she tapped a recipe card against her hand as she considered it.
Perhaps the best plan of action would be to perfect as many of her recipes as possible. If she does learn of any other planned submissions from her competition, she can selectively choose which of her recipes she’ll use at the last moment. Satisfied with both her sponge cake and her plan of attack, Sasha began taking ingredients out for her next recipe.
***
Allison Germaine pulled on a well-worn, clean white apron over her full-figure and looked around her kitchen in trepidation. Although cooking had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember, she’d never been in a baking competition before. As a young girl, she’d learned to cook out of necessity. Her single mother had to work, leaving Allison at home with her younger siblings.
Allison had taken over all of the household duties at a young age. She’d never had time to socialize and certainly had never had the money to go to college. In high school, she’d begun helping out in the school cafeteria for extra money. When one of the cooks in the cafeteria had retired at the end of Allison’s senior year, she’d been lucky enough to step right into the position.
Now, here she was, forty years old and the head cook in the Teaberry High School cafeteria. She knew that the competition at the baking contest would be fierce. She wasn’t certain that she had what she’d need to compete at the level of skill she expected to see. Still, she told herself, the judges had invited her. Of course, it was possible that they just wanted to include a certain percentage of the local bakers to appease the town they’d be visiting. Allison shook her head. She was wasting time. She needed to practice. She had no clue what to expect from the other contestants from out of town. But she knew that others in town would be difficult to beat. She didn’t believe that she really had a chance to win. But she knew for sure that she didn’t want to submit anything embarrassing. She’d better start practicing.
***
Max DeWitt strolled through the grocery store, his long digital shopping list stored on his tablet. He clicked on some icons, pulling up the list to check it again. His cart was getting full, but he wanted to make sure he wasn’t missing any necessary ingredients.
He was retired now and sixty years old, but as a young man he had been a cook in the service. He still enjoyed cooking for family and friends and thought that competing in the baking contest would be fun. It certainly beat sitting in the house, staring at the television.
Max was certain that he’d be older than much of the competition in the baking contest and he planned to use that in his favor. He was going to use some of his grandmother’s old recipes. He’d first learned to cook
watching her when he spent summers with his grandparents as a young boy. Now those are recipes, Max thought. The old tried and true comfort food.
He stopped to look at the rhubarb in the refrigerator section and shook his head. It looked pretty pitiful compared to the lush stalks growing in his own garden. His garden was his secret weapon and that included his fruit trees. He’d be using his own produce as much as possible. Glancing back down at his tablet, he crossed off another item as he selected some fresh lemons. He wasn’t planning to use them for the contest, but he wanted to make a nice pitcher of lemonade to drink while he was working in a hot kitchen. These would do the trick.
***
Walter Goodfellow re-read the letter of invitation to the Teaberry Baking Contest and marveled again at his chance. He couldn’t believe that he’d been selected. Oh, he watched all of the cooking shows on television, both old and new. He’d even taken some formal classes over the years, driving all the way to Pittsburgh. And he’d tried to learn as many cooking techniques as possible, practicing at the end of the day when he’d gotten home from his maintenance job at the Teaberry High School.
But he knew with utter certainty that he could never be at the same level as someone like Allison Germaine. He had worked at the school with Allison since, well, since they’d been in school together as students. Both he and Allison had gotten jobs at the school as soon as they’d graduated that same year.
Walter had been trying to work up his courage to tell Allison his feelings for her for years now. But they’d been friends for decades and he didn’t want to ruin that friendship if Allison didn’t feel the same way.
He hoped to get her interest by showing that they have cooking in common. Maybe she would start to look at him in a new way. He could only hope.
Chapter Three
Megan sat on her back porch, drinking some sweet tea with Emma purring in her lap as she planned the rest of her Saturday afternoon. She did not have guests this weekend, but she spent the morning working on the web sites she designed content for. That would help pay the bills.
