“Mr. Silva, you have to stop this,” the judge said. “If you keep it up, you’ll be banned from the fair!”
“It won’t matter!” Silva said. “When word gets around that a little old lady’s funnel cake beat mine, my business will be ruined!”
Phyllis thought that had to be an exaggeration, and she didn’t much care for that “little old lady” comment, either.
Sam moved up beside Silva and said, “You’d better take it easy there, buddy.” He put a hand on Silva’s shoulder.
Barking a curse, Silva turned and swung a punch at Sam’s head. Phyllis gasped in alarm, thinking that Sam was going to be hurt.
Not seeming to move fast at all, Sam leaned aside so that the blow missed him. Silva lost his balance and stumbled. Before he could right himself and try to attack anyone else, a couple of uniformed security guards pounded up and grabbed him. Silva thrashed back and forth, but since he probably didn’t weigh much more than 130 pounds, he was no match for the two guards.
“What’s going on here?” one of them asked. Phyllis was a little surprised that she recognized him. After a moment she remembered his name: Chet Murdock. He had been working near the set of Joye Jameson’s show the day before.
“Mr. Silva is upset about the results of the funnel cake contest,” the male judge said.
“Didn’t win, eh?” Chet stepped back as the other guard pulled both of Silva’s arms behind his back and looped a plastic restraint around his wrists. Being bound like that seemed to take all the fight out of Silva. His shoulders slumped.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the judge said to Sam. “If you want to press charges—”
Sam stopped the man by shaking his head. “No need for that. The fella was just shook up. No harm done.”
“You’re sure?” The judge seemed quite nervous, and Phyllis had a pretty good idea why. In this day and age, everybody who dealt with the public was scared to death of lawsuits.
“Positive,” Sam said.
Chet Murdock asked the judge, “Do you want us to call the cops, Mr. Thaxter?”
The judge sighed and shook his head. “I suppose not. Mr. Silva has been coming to the fair for a long time. I guess we can give him a break . . . this time.”
“Okay.” Chet nodded to the other guard, who was still hanging on to Silva. “Take him somewhere and let him cool off.”
As the second guard led Silva away, the crowd parted to give them plenty of room. Silva had acted like a crazy man, and nobody wanted to get close to him.
The judge turned back to Phyllis and managed a weak smile. “Well, after all the excitement, this might be a little anticlimactic,” he said, “but congratulations again, Mrs. Newsom.”
He held out the blue ribbon. Phyllis took it and said, “Are you sure this isn’t some sort of mistake?”
“No mistake. Your funnel cakes were the best we tasted today. You are definitely our winner.”
“Thank you. I can hardly believe it. I never even made any funnel cakes until recently.”
“You picked it up quickly, then,” the judge told her. “Those were some of the best funnel cakes we’ve had here.” The two female judges had come closer now that the trouble was over, and they nodded in agreement. “We’ll send over a photographer in a few minutes to take your picture with the winning entry, if that’s all right.”
Phyllis looked at the clock again. “If it’s not too long,” she said. Across the hall, Joye Jameson’s broadcast soon would be drawing to a close.
“We’ll see to it right away,” the man promised.
Carolyn, Eve, and Peggy gave Phyllis congratulatory hugs, as did Sam. She shook her head as she looked at the blue ribbon and said, “I still can’t believe it.”
“I’m not a bit surprised,” Sam said. “I told you all along you were gonna win, didn’t I?”
“You’re a funnel cake Nostradamus,” Carolyn said dryly.
Sam looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “You know, Funnel Cake Nostradamus would be a good name for a rock band.”
• • •
Chet Murdock hung around that side of the hall for a few minutes, until the fair’s photographer showed up to take Phyllis’s picture. He explained that he’d been covering temporarily for another guard but didn’t have to get back to the set of The Joye of Cooking right away.
While they were waiting, she told him about meeting Bailey Broderick earlier and how Bailey had invited her and her friends to visit the broadcast set.
“Really?” Chet said. “That’s pretty cool. I’ll go with you, just to make sure nobody gives you any trouble.” He grinned. “And if I, uh, happen to get a chance to meet Ms. Jameson, too . . .”
“You haven’t met her yet?” Carolyn asked.
“No. She’s not exactly standoffish, but she doesn’t really mingle with the staff, if you know what I mean. Hollywood types, they sort of stick together, even the nice ones.”
Phyllis thought about asking him whether he had noticed any odd behavior on the part of Bailey and the cameraman Hank, but she stopped herself. That really would be sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. She didn’t want to take behavior that was probably totally innocent and make something suspicious out of it.
Besides, that might just get the others talking about her being a detective again, and she could do without that.
The photographer arrived and took several pictures of Phyllis and the fourth funnel cake she had made for the photo after winning the blue ribbon, then moved on to photograph the second- and third-place finishers. Phyllis and her friends, accompanied by Chet Murdock, headed across the hall toward the broadcast area. Today’s show would just be coming to an end.
The audience was leaving the bleachers when they got there. Phyllis’s eyes scanned the kitchen set, and she felt a little disappointed when she didn’t see Joye Jameson anywhere. But then she spotted Bailey Broderick standing in the open door at the rear of the set, talking to someone on the other side of it. Bailey glanced around, perhaps feeling Phyllis’s gaze on her, and smiled in recognition. She raised a hand and motioned for Phyllis to join her.
Phyllis gestured toward her companions. Bailey nodded and waved for all of them to come on.
“You come along, too, Mr. Murdock,” Phyllis told Chet. “That way we’ll have an escort.”
He chuckled. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing . . . but thanks.”
Phyllis took the lead, stepping up onto the kitchen set and crossing it. The bulky cameras were still sitting in their positions around the outside of the set, although their operators were nowhere in sight, and the boom microphones were still in place, too. Phyllis felt a little like an intruder, as if she shouldn’t be here. But Bailey was waiting for her and still smiling.
The others followed her, so at least Phyllis wasn’t as nervous as she would have been if she had been alone. Just having them around made her feel better.
Bailey said, “Hello, Mrs. Newsom. I’m glad you could make it. I was a little worried when I didn’t see you in the audience.”
“I was busy with something else,” Phyllis explained. She had put the blue ribbon in her purse and thought about taking it out, but that seemed too much like showing off. “But we hurried over here as soon as it was finished.”
Bailey leaned her head sideways. “Come on. I’ll show you backstage. I warn you, though, it’s not all that impressive.”
She stepped through the door, and Phyllis followed her. Phyllis halfway expected to see Joye Jameson standing there, since Bailey had been talking to someone, but there was no sign of the star. Instead, Reed Hayes, the show’s producer, stood a few feet away behind the set’s rear wall, talking to someone on a cell phone. Phyllis supposed Bailey had been talking to him.
“As you can see, not all that fancy,” Bailey went on. Indeed, there was a lot of bare wood, equipment that Phyl
lis didn’t recognize, and electrical cables. Off to one side was an area partitioned off with temporary walls that didn’t reach all the way to the hall’s tall ceiling. Phyllis wondered if that was Joye’s dressing room. That seemed likely, as she didn’t see any other place a star might go after the show.
“So tell me who your friends are,” Bailey said. Phyllis introduced everyone, including Chet.
“It’s a real honor to meet you, ma’am,” the security guard said. “I’ve seen you on the show many times.”
“And I’ve seen you around the hall here, Mr. Murdock,” she said. “The fair seems to have good security. That’s always reassuring.”
“We do our best,” Chet said. “A few minutes ago we had to answer a call about a disturbance on the other side of the hall.” He nodded toward Phyllis. “Mrs. Newsom was involved in that.”
“Oh, no,” Bailey said. “Was there some sort of trouble? I thought I heard a commotion from over there, but I wasn’t sure.”
“It was nothing to worry about,” Phyllis replied with a shake of her head. “One of the contestants in the funnel cake competition was a little upset that he didn’t win; that’s all.”
“You were at the funnel cake competition?” Bailey asked, suddenly seeming even more interested.
Peggy said, “She wasn’t just at it. She was in it.”
“And she won,” Carolyn added, obviously proud of her friend. “That’s why that troublemaker was so upset. He tried to steal Phyllis’s blue ribbon.”
“You have the blue ribbon?” Bailey said.
Phyllis hadn’t wanted to boast, but since Bailey had asked her . . . She opened her purse and took out the ribbon. “Yes, it’s right here.”
A new voice said, “You won the prize for the best funnel cake?”
Phyllis turned and looked to see who had spoken, and a shock of recognition went through her as she saw Joye Jameson standing only a couple of feet away. For a second she couldn’t find her voice, but then she held up the blue ribbon and said, “Yes, I did.”
“Then, lady, have I got a deal for you!”
And with that, Joye threw her arms around Phyllis in a big hug.
Chapter 10
For a few seconds, Phyllis was too surprised to say anything. When she was able to speak again, all she was able to get out was “Oh, my goodness!”
Joye let go of her, stepped back, and laughed. “You must think I’m a crazy woman, grabbing you like that,” she said. “I’m just glad I didn’t have to go looking for you. You fell right into my lap, so to speak.”
“Why would you, uh, be looking for me?” Phyllis asked.
“Well, not for you in particular, I suppose. I meant the winner of the funnel cake competition. But that’s you! Your funnel cakes are the best in Texas!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as to say—” Phyllis began.
“I would,” Carolyn interrupted her. She put an arm around Phyllis’s shoulders. “There’s no need for false modesty. You won fair and square, and it’s even more of an impressive accomplishment when you consider that you’d never even made funnel cakes until last week!”
Joye Jameson’s eyes widened. “Is that true? Oooh, this story just gets better and better.” She looked at the others. “Who are your friends?”
Phyllis was glad Joye had asked. It gave her a reason to get the focus of the conversation off of her for a moment. She introduced everyone, including Chet Murdock. The security guard pumped Joye’s hand and said, “Gosh, it’s an honor to meet you, Ms. Jameson. I haven’t missed one of your shows in . . . well, since the show started, I guess!”
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Murdock. Or do guards have ranks, like captain or lieutenant?”
“No, just call me Chet. That’d be fine. More than fine. It would be great!”
“Okay, Chet,” Joye said, smiling and looking a little like a person on the verge of being overwhelmed by a large, friendly puppy. She turned back to Phyllis and took her right hand in both of hers. “You know we’re going to feature the winning funnel cake recipe from the competition on my show?”
“Oh, my,” Phyllis said again. She was the one feeling overwhelmed now. “I remember you saying that on TV . . . but I never even thought . . .”
“Now, is that going to be all right with you?” Joye asked. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Mind?” Carolyn repeated. “Of course she doesn’t mind. She’d be honored.”
Phyllis felt a little flash of annoyance. Carolyn needed to let her speak for herself. And yet, strictly speaking, her old friend wasn’t saying anything that wasn’t true.
“Carolyn’s right,” Phyllis said. “I’d be very pleased—”
“Oh, but that’s not all I’m going to do,” Joye broke in, sounding like someone on a late-night infomercial trying to sell greatest-hits CDs. For a second Phyllis wondered crazily if Joye had ever done anything like that before becoming a cooking show star. Joye continued, “I have something else even more exciting in mind. Do you want to know what it is?”
“I suppose so,” Phyllis said, feeling a little breathless from this whole conversation.
“I’m not just going to talk about your funnel cakes. I’m going to make some myself . . . and you’re going to help me!”
“You mean . . .” Phyllis had to force the words out. “I’m going to be on TV?”
Carolyn squealed. The excited sound was so unexpected, especially coming from her, that Phyllis had to turn and stare at her in disbelief for a second.
She didn’t have much time to be surprised, though, because Joye went on, “That’s exactly what I mean. You’ll do it, won’t you, Phyllis? It’s all right if I call you Phyllis, isn’t it?”
“Of course—”
“Then it’s a deal! Tomorrow we make the prizewinning funnel cakes for the whole world to see!”
“Wait, I didn’t mean—”
Phyllis stopped short as she was about to say that she’d been replying to the question about whether it was all right to call her by her first name, not the business about being on television. There was no reason why she shouldn’t take Joye Jameson up on that invitation, she realized. She didn’t have anywhere else she had to be, and the idea of appearing before millions of viewers wasn’t as intimidating as she would have thought it might be. Actually, the bleachers being used as seating for the audience at the broadcasts held just a few hundred people. Those were the only ones Phyllis had to worry about, since she couldn’t see all the others out there on the other end of the broadcast. Decades of standing in front of a classroom full of students had long since dulled any fears Phyllis had of speaking in public.
Joye was looking at her with an inquisitive frown. “Didn’t mean what, Phyllis?” she said.
“Nothing,” Phyllis said. She smiled. “I’d be happy to appear on the show with you.”
A part of her still didn’t believe she was hearing those words come out of her own mouth, but it was too late to bring them back now. She was committed.
Sam echoed that sentiment by saying, “All right, it’s a done deal, like the lady said. You don’t need any ex–basketball coaches on your show, do you, Miss Jameson?”
Joye laughed and said, “Sorry, but not right now, Mr. Fletcher. Although we might do something about sports-related cuisine in the future. That’s actually not a bad idea. Maybe something about dressing up your nachos and hot dogs with new and exciting ingredients. Thank you for the suggestion.”
“You’re welcome,” Sam said with a grin.
Joye turned to Bailey and assumed a more brisk and businesslike attitude as she said, “You and Reed will talk to Phyllis and work out all the details?”
“Of course,” Bailey said. “Don’t worry, we’ll handle it.”
“You always do,” Joye said. Phyllis might have been mistaken, but she thought she heard the slightest
undertone of something—she couldn’t have said what—in the star’s voice. Joye took Phyllis’s hand again and was all smiles once more as she went on, “This is going to be great. I can’t wait for tomorrow.”
“Neither can I,” Phyllis said, although the more skeptical part of her was still wondering what she had gotten herself into.
• • •
Joye went back to her dressing room. Bailey motioned for Reed Hayes to come over, and when the producer had joined them, she asked him, “Did you hear what Joye was talking to Mrs. Newsom about?”
“I couldn’t help but hear,” Hayes said. He nodded to Phyllis and went on, “Hello, Mrs. Newsom. I’m Reed Hayes, the producer of The Joye of Cooking.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Hayes,” Phyllis said. “Producing a show like this must be a wonderful job.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Hayes said. Before Phyllis could consider the implications of that question, he went on, “I’ll have some papers for you to sign tomorrow before we go on the air, releases and other legal documents like that, you know. I’d have had them ready for you today, but, well, I didn’t know Joye was going to ask you to appear on the show until just now.”
“If it’s any problem—” Phyllis began.
“No, no, it’s not a problem at all. It might be nice if our star let me in on her plans from time to time, but hey, I’m only the producer, right?”
“Reed,” Bailey said with a slight warning note in her voice.
Hayes smiled and shook his head. “Don’t mind me. There’s just a lot to keep up with, and my bark, as they say, is worse than my bite. I’m happy to have you appear on the show, Mrs. Newsom, really. If you could be here tomorrow an hour before we go on the air, that would be great.”
“To sign those papers, you mean?” Phyllis asked.
The Fatal Funnel Cake Page 7
