Mystery Comes in Waves

by Agatha Ball

"It doesn't apply to sponsors."

  A disgusted huff made its way around Granny's posse.

  "Forget it," said Granny, throwing up her hands. "It's not worth it." She pointed her finger at Madison. "You've taken this whole experience and made it dirty. Here I was so excited to be a part of this and you had to sully the whole thing. I wouldn't bake for you if the life of Seaside depended upon it. I quit."

  I knew how much it cost Granny to take such an action. I realized the other judges had gathered around us to see what the altercation was about.

  I noticed a slight smile twitch the corners of Madison's mouth and I wondered if the reason she baited Granny was because the life of Seaside might actually depend on Granny's participation.

  But that's when things took a turn and the smile was wiped right off of Madison's face.

  Richard stepped forward. "And I will certainly not lend my name and reputation to a competition where my integrity is challenged, and I shall make sure to let everyone know Trevor's Saloon and your unprofessionalism are responsible for this indignity."

  Madison's face paled. I didn't think she had been planning on getting a judge to quit, much less name her publicly as the reason why. It was the sort of thing that would get back to the organizers and put a black mark next to her name. I knew for a fact Madison wasn't planning on hanging around Seaside for any longer than she needed to and was going to need a job recommendation.

  "Now, let's not be hasty..." she started to say.

  But the other judges were looking mutinous, like they were about to quit out of unity and principal.

  "I will, of course, expect a full refund of my entry money," stated Granny.

  Madison looked over at Trevor's costume. I knew that she had spent a pretty penny on branding her mascot and it was about to become totally worthless if it was aligned with a failed bakeoff. "Well... I can't do that... I mean... I'm sure in the fine print of your contract it says I can't do that."

  But out of the blue, Nate stepped forward. "What if Paige took the Bitter Beans slot?" he offered.

  I elbowed him in the ribs for putting me in this position. I just wanted the world to swallow me whole as Granny looked from him to me. I didn't want this. I didn't want to be the one who took away my Granny's dream of winning a bakeoff.

  But Granny's anger was slowly fading and, instead, it was replaced with a pleased smile. She nodded her head, liking the idea more and more. "That would be amenable." She squeezed my hand and announced loudly, "My granddaughter will be representing Bitter Beans in this weekend's competition." She leaned over and whispered in my ear. "Don't you turn this down. You show that harpy not to mess with the Comber girls."

  What could I do? I nodded, accepting my fate.

  You could almost feel the collective exhale ripple through the room.

  "Would you still judge if Paige takes her grandmother's place?" Nate asked Richard.

  Madison didn't have the good sense to keep her mouth shut. It was like she was willing to risk anything to take me and Granny down. She raised a nervous finger. "I'm sorry... But he knows her grandmother..."

  "Oh, let him judge. He can't override us if her bake is terrible," said Shelia.

  But Richard would not be moved. He was still fuming. "I will not judge for any competition where a woman like Cindy would be thrown out by a sponsor and my integrity is questioned."

  Victor sipped his tall, blue colored drink loudly through a straw before speaking. "So, we're down to two judges? Is that what's going on? Because we will be required to inform central office that you have seen fit to malign us."

  Nate shot a look at Madison, letting her know how much trouble she was in for opening this can of worms. She jutted out her jaw defiantly, but didn't say anything.

  Suddenly, Lorraine stepped forward. Her Miss Seaside sash sparkled in the neon beer sign light. "Wait! Wait, y'all. My character on the hit YouTube series The Days & Years once had to become a chef to raise enough money to pay for chemotherapy for her secret child. As you all know, I am a method actress." She placed her hand upon her heart and inclined her head like we were applauding her for that decision. "I trained with a celebrity chef in Hollywood and I am sure he would leap at the opportunity to work with me again. Allow me to make a few phone calls and see if he'll hop on a plane."

  She then bowed to imaginary applause and backed out of the room.

  Victor inclined his head at Madison. "We shall see what we shall see, shan't we?"

  Nate walked over to Madison and folded his arms. "I'm afraid that sponsorship has just gotten a lot more expensive if you want to keep your 'brand' on the bakeoff."

  She squinted at him, trying to figure out the perfect comeback. Failing, she replied, "I'll have Trevor write you a check."

  Trevor gave out a bark of protest. I think he had been spending too much time in character.

  Yvette, the owner of the café down the road, came over to Granny. She had dressed up, maybe thinking this would be a great opportunity to meet someone. She was wearing a tight, wraparound dress and her frizzy, blonde hair was loose around her shoulders. "Oh, Cindy! This is just awful. I'm so sorry we won't be facing off against one another."

  There was a part of me that thought perhaps she wasn't as sorry as she was pretending to be. Although we tried to keep our offerings separate, there was a bit of friendly rivalry between Yvette's café and Bitter Beans.

  Granny patted her hand. "Not to worry. Paige will represent Bitter Beans just fine. After all, she's a chip off the old block." She gave me an encouraging smile, but then her eyes fell upon Richard and she heaved a sigh. "Richard, you shouldn't have gone off and been so chivalrous."

  His soft, liver-spotted fingers wrapped gently around hers. "It wasn't just for you. I couldn't take that sort of a blow to my reputation after such an accusation. If Paige ends up winning, the whispers would have followed me around the circuit. It was an act of self-preservation."

  I wasn't sure I believed him.

  "Well," said Granny. She reached up and straightened his bowtie. "The least I can do is buy you a cup of coffee after you're done tomorrow and let you taste what I would have cooked."

  He took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. "And here I thought I was supposed to be the one handing out prizes."

  As I watched them stroll happily out of the bar, I couldn't help but think Granny may have won something much more important than a bakeoff.

  Chapter Nine

  I gathered up all of the items I wanted for my bakeoff kitchen. Things just never turn out right in someone else's pan. I would have traded all of this excitement and butterflies for Granny to have had a chance, but since the situation was upon me, and there was no way around it, I was going to try my best.

  I looked at the list of items we would have to bake. The first day was an elimination round. We would make something and then the group would be cut in half.

  The next day was more of a popularity contest. Madison had negotiated with the organizers to have a day when the public had a chance to taste test our masterpieces. There would be an audience favorite and then the judges' picks. And those who survived would make it to the final day where the champion would be crowned.

  I took a deep breath.

  Did I have what it would take to stand out in a crowd with people like Kylie and Bryce? If I lost, would Madison rub it in my face that her friend won and I didn't?

  I rested my hand on my heart, willing it to stop beating so frantically.

  Nate was supposed to be over with his truck to help me carry things over to the Grand Hotel. I wished so bad he was here now to talk me down.

  Suddenly, I heard the mail slot flap and the sound of a letter slide through.

  Granny had been over at the hotel since the wee hours to run a refreshments table. It got her out of the building while the A/C guys came to install the new system, and made sure everyone had something to snack on while they watched us contestants work.

  "Nothing makes a person hungrier
that smelling delicious food they aren't allowed to eat," she had said with a wink as she left this morning.

  But that meant I was here alone and already, there had been several people knocking on our windows, wondering why we weren't open.

  I walked into the bookstore just as Captain got off his comfortable chair to see what had invaded his space. It was a folded flyer. He batted at it with his paws.

  I picked it up before he pounced and wrinkled it. It looked like what we hung up on our community outreach board, a piece of blue paper folded in half. But then, I noticed my name was printed on a shipping label attached to the front. I opened it up, figuring it was just an event, and probably something to do with the bakeoff.

  Immediately, my hand began to shake.

  It read: "Drop out now if you know what's good for you."

  I walked over to the counter. Who would write such a horrible thing? I just found out last night I was even doing this. Had the person been in Trevor's Saloon? Did I know this stalker?

  Suddenly, the front door bell tinkled. I spun around, my hands balled into fists and ready to fight whoever had come through.

  It was just Nate.

  "Whoa! Whoa! Whoa, Paige! It's just me!" he said, lifting up his arms to reassure me. "Is everything okay?"

  I collapsed with relief. "Oh, Nate... no, it is not." I pulled out the note and showed it to him. "I think there's someone on this island that doesn't want me to be in this bakeoff."

  Nate looked at it, his face becoming stony and serious. He tried to lighten the mood by saying, "Maybe they're just intimidated by your cooking and are trying to scare you off...?"

  I could see he was as spooked and angry about it as I was, though.

  "Well, it might be working," I admitted. "Did you see anyone on the street when you came in?"

  Nate shook his head. "It was completely empty."

  "This is just getting too weird. Granny being forced out. Someone coming after me the day after?"

  Nate folded up the paper and put it in his back pocket. "I'll share this with Stan and Fred and make sure the police are aware."

  "A fat lot of good that will do."

  He hugged me. "You can do this, Paige. You can't let some mail bully stop you. You've wanted to be a professional baker since you were a kid, and here's your opportunity to get into the ring. Think about what could happen if you won! You've wanted to go to the Cordon Bleu. Winning this contest... well, there's no way they wouldn't take you. Ignore the letter. If you can't do it for you, do it for your grandma. She and all her friends are rooting for you."

  Ugh. He knew just want to say to get me back in the game.

  "Now, help me load up your stuff up and let's get you over to the Grand Hotel. You have a competition to win!" And he sealed his pep talk with a good luck kiss.

  We got everything into the back of his truck and arrived at the hotel with time to spare. There was a bellman's cart out in front and we filled it in no time flat.

  Nate stopped, though. "I'm going to let you go from here," Nate said. I could tell he was really conflicted as he tried to explain. "Not that I don't want to help you! But with as weird as Madison is being, I don't want to give her any excuse to accuse us of nepotism."

  "Pretty much everyone knows we're an item, Nate," I reminded him. "You could help me push this heavy cart and I'm sure it wouldn't reflect poorly on either one of us."

  He hooked his thumb over to Madison's red convertible. "We've already seen what Madison is capable of. Let's not give her any excuses to disqualify the entire Bitter Beans staff." He kissed me one more time. "I'm going to park. I'll see you inside the ballroom."

  I sighed and smiled as I watched him climb into his truck and go. Time was a-wasting mooning over my man. I pushed the cart into the foyer.

  Unfortunately, perfect timing is unfortunately perfect. And just as I entered, Madison's friend Kylie descended the staircase like some sort of high maintenance fairy princess.

  "Paige!" she yoo-hooed at me. "Oh good! You're here to help me carry my stuff!"

  I looked at the bellman's cart full of my own supplies. "Um... I can bring the cart back once I'm done..."

  "Ugh, this box is SO heavy."

  But suddenly, the bottom of her crate broke, sending all of her supplies crashing down the steps. She barely sidestepped a wicked looking cleaver as it dropped toward her feet.

  Kylie lost it. "I would like to make a complaint to the manager!" she screamed.

  Henrietta came rushing over to see what had happened. "Is everyone okay?" she asked.

  "Someone sabotaged my crate!" Kylie snapped.

  Henrietta began wringing her hands. "I am so sorry. SO so sorry.... I don't know how to handle this. Um... I must... I need to call my supervisor." She then paused. "Um... you, as the customer, are always right, but why do you think the crate was tampered with?"

  "A) it is a wooden crate."

  "Well, maybe the wood got old or something...?"

  "And B), that is not my meat cleaver!"

  Henrietta and I looked at the knife. It had impaled itself into the strong, oak wood floor at the base of the steps.

  "I'll go call my supervisor," Henrietta stammered.

  "You better!" said Kylie. But then she said, "Wait!" She peered into Henrietta's face. "You look familiar...."

  Henrietta flushed a bright shade of red. "We went to school together, I think. In high school."

  "Yeah..." said Kylie, as if she could vaguely place the memory. "You were in lab with me or something."

  Henrietta brightened. "We were! I helped you in lab all the time. When I saw you were here, I couldn't believe it! But I didn't want to be weird and be like, 'Hey! Remember tenth-grade chem class! How are your assays going? Ever achieve Ph balance?"

  "You're being a little weird now," Kylie stated.

  "Oh, sorry..." she replied, flustered. "Um... Anyways, I'm just so excited you're here. Go Wildcats! I think you've accomplished more than anyone else in our graduating class—"

  "I think I probably did, too."

  "And I just think that's really cool. I'll be cheering for you!" gulped Henrietta, excitedly. Her eyes then fell on the cleaver again and she remembered she had a task at hand. "If you'll excuse me. I'll go make that call."

  She went scampering over to the desk.

  But rather than clean up everything that had fallen out, Kylie pulled out her phone and began recording an Instagram video, documenting the mess strewn across the foyer. "Hashtag, my bakeoff is RUINED!" she shouted into the lens.

  I went over and picked up the pieces of Kylie's box. There should have been nails that had kept the bottom on the crate, but it looked like all of them except for two had been removed. There was nothing there but the gaping holes where they should have been. And then there was the cleaver that could have done some serious damage to her foot.

  "What will I do!" Kylie shrieked, pointing her camera at the bottomless box. "Everything is ruined!"

  "The judges have utensils available for all of us..." I offered.

  She flipped the picture back at herself and flicked her hair over her shoulder. "What? And use cookware of questionable quality? Mismatched and scorched by who only knows? That was my matching bakeware provided by my sponsors at Little Red Hen cooking supplies. Love you all! Send me more! The ones that look great in any photo opportunity!"

  "You're lucky it was just your supplies and not you," I said.

  "Whatever!" she dismissed, her arms flapping in her kimono sleeves. "I might lose the competition." That's when she paused her hysterics. She squinted at me. "Wait. Why would you say something like that?" She turned the camera to face me.

  "Something like what?"

  "Suggest I could have been hurt when I didn't say anything about me possibly being hurt. Did you break my crate? Are you trying to psych me out?"

  "What?" I asked. "No! Definitely not! How would I have set up something like that? I just got here." I pointed at the cleaver. "But a knife dropped out and a
lmost hit your foot."

  "I'm totally suing this hotel," she said. She snapped closed her phone and stormed down the rest of the stairs. "Thanks. That should totally go viral." She stepped over her mess, not even bothering to see if anything was salvageable, and headed into the ballroom.

  The last thing the hotel needed was to be sued. I don't know if you actually could sue for a scare without injuries, especially since Kylie didn't seem that upset once she put her phone away. But I looked a little closer at the crate's boards. Not only had nails been removed, but the bottom had also been scored to bend beneath the weight of her tools.

  I hated what I had to do, but I knew someone had to do it. I pulled out my phone, dialed, and waited for the line to pick up. "Um... hey, Stan and Fred! It's Paige Comber. I'm down at the Grand Hotel. I think someone is trying to hurt the contestants at the bakeoff."

  Chapter Ten

  "GET BACK, everyone!" Fred announced, his lanky arms outspread as he directed the empty lobby. His mustache twitched on his narrow face with excitement. "We have a situation here and we don't want anyone to get hurt."

  I knew I was due in the competition room. I hoped they would give me a little bit of a pass on account of the cleaver sticking out of the floor and police presence.

  Henrietta tiptoed over. "How does it look?" she asked worriedly.

  Stan squinted at the crate from all sides, heaving his round body close to the floor and struggling to get up as he made his pronunciation. "Well, it could be termites."

  "Stan," I reminded him, "termites don't chew through boards like that."

  "Very tidy termites?"

  "Or remove nails."

  Stan pointed his finger at me. "I don't think you should be telling me how to conduct police business, Paige!"

  I really wanted to remind him that I was the reason there were any breaks at all in his previous cases this summer, not his super sleuthing detective work.

  "Who would want to hurt our guests?" Henrietta gasped. She shook her head so hard, her curls bounced like Shirley Temple. "I'm so getting fired.... I am SO getting fired."