She answered then settled onto the unmade bed to recount the evening for her husband. Her hands trembled as if she'd drunk a quadruple shot latte, and tears pooled in the corners of her eyes by the time she got done explaining everything. Then Alex asked the question she dreaded answering, "Do you want me to come home?"
Of course, she didn't want to spend more time than necessary alone with her disturbing, I found a dead person memories. Snuggling up with Alex would help her forget the creepiest cooking competition ever. She just couldn't ask him to cut short his business trip because she had the heebie-jeebies.
"No. Don't come home early. Please. I know how important this conference is for your business. I wasn't physically hurt. I'm just tired and a bit stressed, the usual way I feel at the end of the Summer Festival. Don't worry about me. I just need a nap or two and I'll be fine."
"You're sure?" The phone connection was scratchy, but the concern in his voice came through loud and clear. "I can be home this afternoon."
"No. Stay in Atlanta. I'm fine. I promise."
"Okay. I love you."
"I love you, too."
Amy put the phone back on its base. She scooped up the laptop and settled back onto the pile of fluffy down pillows she had arranged while talking with Alex. Researching recipe contests was always a great way to keep her thoughts from bouncing around in her head like Super Balls. A new baking competition had just been posted on a message board. A magazine was looking for decadent brownie recipes. The grand prize was a huge box filled with gourmet chocolate bars and cocoa powder. A few additions to her basic, awesome brownie recipe would give her a solid entry for the contest without a lot of additional mental work. The perfect project to relieve stress.
She pulled up the recipe from her files and copied it into a new document. Then she started adding ingredients and adjusting measurements: pecans, dried fruit, cut down on the sugar to balance the sweetness from the fruit. The brownie recipe was coming along nicely. Amy yawned and stretched her arms over her head. She was too tired to think straight anymore.
Pogo bounded onto the bed and snuggled into the nest of pillows. Amy put the laptop to sleep and set it on the night stand. She curled up with Pogo nestled against her chest. He was so warm and soft. The ideal napping partner when her hubby was unavailable.
A warm blanket of sunshine was draped across her legs when she woke up. She yawned and rolled over to look at the clock. It was afternoon. If the previous night had been normal, she would've missed the pie contest awards ceremony. The email stating that the ceremony had been postponed because of "unusual circumstances beyond the control of Maxson's Bakery" had arrived at 8 a.m. that morning. Instead of gussying up for the trophy presentation she got to stay in her stretchy pants and develop a new recipe. Winning a contest was the only cooking-related activity that was better than tinkering around in the kitchen. The last few ingredients that would turn the basic brownies into contest-winning-worthy brownies, clicked into her mind as she scratched Pogo's belly. Naps were such a lovely way to come up with innovative ideas.
"Let's go make some yummy brownies." She said as she sat up and twisted her torso from side to side to loosen up her back. "No chocolate for you, though. You can have some of those peanut butter treats I made last week."
The little dog's ears perked up at the mention of a treat. He spun in circles in the middle of the bed, yipping his approval at her suggestion. Amy laughed as she picked up her laptop. Pogo skittered out of the bedroom, leading the charge to the doggy treat jar on the baker's rack in the kitchen.
After settling her pint-sized, furry assistant with a chew toy filled with homemade peanut butter oatmeal treats, Amy raided the pantry for ingredients. The brownies would be dense and fudgy, filled with dried fruit and nuts, just like her favorite candy bar. She deposited jars of raisins, dried blueberries, dried cranberries and pecans on the island counter then opened the refrigerator to retrieve eggs and butter. A basket of plump, ruby red raspberries sat innocently on the middle shelf. Normally she would grab a handful of the sweet, natural candy to munch on while she prepared the brownie batter. Now the beautiful berries seemed sinister after the trauma of seeing their fruity cousins smeared on Mandy Jo's face. Amy's stomach gurgled. There was no way she could eat them now. She plopped the basket of fruit in the trash and tried to concentrate on making the perfect brownies that the judges at Cooking from Scratch magazine would love.
CHAPTER THREE
A gust of cold air rushed past Amy when she opened the door to Maxson's Bakery. The heat and humidity had been relentless for the past week. It was like Mother Nature tried her best to broil the residents of Kellerton every year during Summer Festival. It didn't matter if it was unseasonably cold for the entire summer, a record breaking blast of heat, along with thousands of visitors, would roll into the southeastern Michigan town for the festival. She was so glad she could crank the air conditioning in the house down to arctic levels to make the delicate buttercream icing for her cakes. Obviously Elliot Maxson was worried about the fate of the icing on his cases full of cupcakes, cookies, and doughnuts. It felt more like she was walking into the cold beer cave at the party store than a bakery. He must be paying a fortune to keep the place that cold with all of the ovens and doughnut fryers toiling away in the back room.
Mr. Maxson was standing behind the register accepting cash from a scowling elderly woman who looked like she could use more sweetness in her life. A strained smile was pasted on his face. Maybe the woman had been unhappy about something and Elliot was trying to smile his way through the confrontation. The Summer Festival was over, and the town was back to being quiet and rather sleepy. Three women dressed in mint green smocks stood behind the sparkling glass counters, smiling and looking expectantly at Amy, as if their jobs depended on her ordering a bran muffin. The bakery was so small there wasn't even space for tables or chairs. Despite shelling out big bucks to the power company for the excessive air conditioning, Amy wondered how well Elliot's bakery did during non-festival times, when the bakery's name wasn't plastered on banners all over town advertising the baking contests. There were two coffee shops, a tea room, and a cupcake store all within three blocks of Maxson's Bakery. Those places had plenty of indoor seating for customers and offered fancy, gourmet treats that made Elliot's baked goods look like ugly stepsisters. It couldn't be easy to stay afloat with competition like that.
"Amy, what a pleasant surprise to see you this morning." Elliot handed a waxed paper bag to the grumpy looking woman and motioned for Amy to come closer. "Saturday night was absolutely horrific. What a disgusting blemish on our peaceful, close-knit community."
The image of a giant, puss-filled zit sitting on the roof of the Kellerton Town Hall pushed its way into Amy's mind. Her stomach grumbled. She had been thinking about buying a shortbread cookie before Elliot tossed out the nausea-inducing analogy. "Yes, it is such a tragedy. I've known Mandy Jo for years. I still can't believe she's gone. I was wondering if we could talk a bit about honoring her in some way."
"Certainly." Elliot nodded. His dark, onyx-colored, very likely dyed hair gleamed in the bright spot lights trained on the bakery cases. It looked like it was made out of plastic. He had always reminded her of a movie star from the 1950's, perpetually tan with thick, slicked back hair despite being in his mid-50's. In fact, everything about him seemed slick in a wily used-car-salesman way. He whispered something to one of the women working the counter with him. She slid into place behind the register, despite the lack of customers, as Elliot came around the end of the counter to stand next to Amy. He gestured to the door. "Why don't we go to that new coffee shop that opened practically next door? I haven't been there yet, and I like to keep tabs on my competitors."
"Sounds like a good idea. I could use some more coffee this morning." The only way she was going to make it through the day was by reapplying liberal doses of coffee every few hours. She still hadn't slept well. The half day nap, after the sugar high from the quadruple chocolate muf
fins wore off; combined with being alone in the house, had caused her to stay awake watching cooking shows until 3 a.m. As Amy turned to follow Elliot out the front door she caught a glimpse of his wife emerging from the back room. Kristi was the head cake decorator at the bakery and its biggest asset. Her wedding cakes were as spectacular as her copper-colored hair, which she always coiled on top of her head in a big, messy bun. There had been a rumor circulating around town for several years that Elliot had married her because she was pregnant with his baby, but there had been a miscarriage soon after the ceremony. Was the story true? They didn't have any children, but that was about as much proof as saying a woman was anorexic because she didn't want to eat dessert. Who knew what happened behind closed doors. Earthy, plain Kristi was at least 20 years younger than the King of Pompadour Hair. Definitely opposites in many ways. What had attracted her to him?
As they passed by the bakery's front window, Elliot glanced sideways and stopped. Amy managed to side-step to the right and only grazed his arm with her shoulder. He recoiled from the light contact and said, "Excuse me. I need to return to the bakery for a moment. I believe Kristi would like to know where we are going."
"Okay, I'll just wait here," Amy said as Elliot spun on his heels. She peeked through the dusty window of the empty storefront next to the bakery as she waited for him to return. Wire racks, shelves and small tables were scattered inside the space that had been a gift shop. Now it was a buffer zone between the old-school bakery and trendy coffee shop. Elliot emerged again and charged past her. She hadn't heard any yelling, but it didn't look like the conversation with his wife had been pleasant. Even though it was only mid-morning, the heat had turned Main Street into a sauna. Nothing was said as they plowed through the thick air to reach Riverbend Coffee. The rich scent of espresso accompanied the cool air when Elliot opened the door for her. Amy noticed a sweet note mixing with the dark, roasted aroma of the coffee beans. She didn't have the heart to tell him she had already been to the coffee shop several times since it opened a month earlier. Everything was homemade, from the delicate French macarons to the flavored syrups used in lattes and Italian sodas. She maneuvered through the maze of tables to the order counter.
After Amy requested a large, non-fat, brown sugar and nutmeg latte the clerk asked, "Would you like a maple scone with that? We just pulled them out of the oven."
She glanced at Elliot. He had wanted to check out this competitor to his bakery. She could spare a scone corner for him to sample. "I'd love one."
Amy studied the elegantly decorated cakes and cookies in the display case as Elliot placed his order. The barista instructed them to find a table and a waitress would deliver the drinks and pastries. Amy took the lead again and chose a two-person table in the back corner, far away from the windows that faced the busy sidewalk. Since Elliot seemed to be on a spying mission, he probably didn't want to be spotted by any of his loyal customers. Although, a man wearing a pastel green polo shirt wasn't exactly cruising around town in stealth mode. He might think the elegant coffee shop was his competition, but it was really like comparing a plain, sour cream doughnut to a dark chocolate, hazelnut meringue torte.
They had barely settled into the chairs when the waitress arrived with their orders. An elaborate arrangement of hearts was drawn in brown espresso on the layer of white foam atop Amy's latte. The scone was covered with an artistic squiggle of glaze. The cream-colored lines were flecked with dark speckles of vanilla bean seeds. Elliot's order of black coffee with a toasted onion bagel looked appetizing despite its simplicity, but since his bakery didn't make bagels she wondered how he was doing a comparison. Another waitress walked by the table. Two pieces of cherry pie sat on her tray. Amy's thoughts hopped back on track. She cleared her throat and said, "I was wondering if we could chat about doing some kind of memorial for Mandy Jo."
Elliot plucked two packets of fake sugar out of a basket on the table. He ripped the tops off the pink packages and dumped the white powder into his coffee. "It's a tragedy that a young woman in the prime of her life was murdered. Even more so that the unfortunate event happened at the pie contest she loved competing in. What form of a memorial are you proposing?"
"I actually have two ideas. A memorial bench in Town Center Park or renaming the Summer Festival pie contest in her honor. It could be called the Mandy Jo Pierce Memorial Pie Contest."
He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. Amy doubted the coffee tasted that bad, but doctoring anything with a sugar substitute was blasphemy, especially since he was a professional baker. He should know there was no chemical substitute for real sugar. It would serve him right if the Kona coffee had rebelled and turned bitter. Or maybe the face contortions were more in reaction to her memorial ideas.
"Who do you propose to fund the bench? I've heard they are quite expensive. My bakery spends a great deal of money already as the main sponsor of the culinary events at the Summer Festival."
So it was the memorial ideas souring Elliot. The man must have a death grip on his business's purse strings if he was worrying about a three hundred dollar bench. Amy responded, "I'm not asking you to buy the bench, but I certainly wouldn't mind if you contributed." She smiled. "I could organize a fundraising campaign. If the whole amount isn't raised I can make up the difference. On the other hand, renaming the contest shouldn't cost anything and it would be a lovely gesture on your part."
"If you would like to spearhead the collection of funds for the bench, I have no problems with that idea. I could even let you put a donation jar on the counter at my bakery if you'll keep track of the money. On the other hand, there would be expenses for me if the pie contest is renamed in her honor. There will be additional costs to have the longer title engraved on the trophies, and a new banner for the awards stage will need to be made, not to mention the loss in promotional value for me not to have my bakery associated with the contest. I'm afraid I would have to remove my sponsorship of the pie contest as it would no longer be fiscally beneficial to me."
Talk about shrewd. The crop of swanky competitors must really be taking a toll on his bakery's profits. "My husband's company makes banners, and I'm sure he'd be happy to donate a replacement if that makes changing the contest more appealing."
"Donating your husband's services is very generous of you, but as I said, there are other factors that I must consider."
Amy took a bite of scone. It was the less painful option as opposed to biting her tongue. She studied the hand drawn, chalk board menu hung above the gleaming, red enamel espresso machine as she considered whether it would be wise to push Mr. Maxson any farther. Mandy Jo had insulted a lot of people with her rude, acerbic comments and fiery temper explosions. Perhaps money wasn't the only thing making Elliot testy. She decided to backtrack onto safer terrain. "Thank you for listening to and considering my ideas."
He dumped the contents of another pink packet into his coffee, but didn't bother to stir it before taking a drink. The bagel was still untouched. "You're welcome. By the way, you'll have a chance to start your collection this evening. We're having all of the competitors come to the hall en masse to pick up the pies, now that they are no longer considered a component of a crime scene. We'll conduct a short meeting then." He stood. "I need to return to my bakery to consult with my wife about a suitable time. Someone from my staff will call you this afternoon to convey the finalized meeting information."
* * *
The town hall parking lot was packed with cars when Amy pulled in. The meeting called by the Maxsons wasn't due to start for twenty minutes, but plenty of people must have decided to arrive early. Even though the newspapers and television station had only reported that a body was found, the whole town had been buzzing, the rumor mills cranking out the correct assumption that Mandy Jo had been murdered. Twenty nine year old women generally didn't just drop dead and conveniently roll themselves under a table, out of the way. People were smart enough to figure that out.
Amy squeezed into what appeared to be the l
ast available parking space. Fitting a full load of groceries into the compact Mini Cooper she nicknamed Mimi was often frustrating, but parking the tiny car was a breeze even when the other vehicles were over the border lines on both sides. As she approached the hall she pulled a basket out of the tote bag slung over her shoulder. The wicker basket was lined with pink paisley fabric, so change wouldn't fall through. She had written "Mandy Jo Pierce Memorial Fund" in fancy, swirling script on a piece of cardstock and tied the placard to the handle with white satin ribbon. Elliot may, or may not, be still considering renaming the contest, so she had decided to continue with the idea to get a memorial bench.
Groups of people were congregated everywhere around the room when she entered the hall. The dividers that hung from tracks on the ceiling had been pushed back, turning the area into one, large room, but it was still packed. Since she had placed the number 51 under her pie, there should have been only 50 other people present at the meeting. There seemed to be at least twice that many people jostling for prime gossip tidbits. There was nothing like morbid curiosity to draw a crowd.
The linen covered tables full of pies were lined up along the back wall, barely visible through all of the people. A small, wooden podium sat near the industrial kitchen pass-through. Amy couldn't see either one of the Maxsons, but that didn't mean they weren't present. Finding people in a crowd was always a challenge for her. Her 12-year old nephew was already taller than she was. Locating someone in a throng of normal sized people was difficult, especially if she was in the thick of the mass of humanity. She worked her way toward the back of the hall, squeezing through small crevices of free space and eavesdropping. Speculation as to who hated Mandy Jo enough to kill her was the hot topic in the room. Stories about unpleasant encounters with the dead woman were also being discussed. Amy overheard several not so quiet whispers about the fact that she, of all people, had found the body. There were also a few sputters about Amy competing in the pie contest for the first time. Apparently the pie-baking contingent wasn't happy about her making an appearance in their contest.
Pies & Peril: A Culinary Competition Mystery (Culinary Competition Mysteries) Page 3
