by Lois Lavrisa
“Why, of course not. I would never accuse you of anything so Machiavellian.” Turning to my team, I said, “Take five.”
“I came here to ask a favor, that’s all,” Priscilla said.
“Oh?” I arched an eyebrow. This woman would rip the shirt off your back and then ask for your pants, too. I bit my lip to keep from unleashing what I really thought about her.
“My thespians would like to use your rehearsal space later this afternoon,” she said.
I started to protest.
She held up a hand. “I know you don’t owe me anything. But you have to admit it puts the other teams at a disadvantage when the previous year’s winning team, in this case yours, is awarded use of the theater while the others get scattered around campus.”
I knew what Priscilla was thinking. She thought if my team won first place again this year, it would be because they were given the theater for rehearsals, not because of their talent, skill and work.
“I heard your group was assigned the gym, there’s plenty of room to rehearse there,” I said through clenched teeth.
“The space is rather cavernous.” she said. “We need to strategize our set in the actual performance venue.” She tucked her auburn hair behind her ears. “Of course, you’re not obligated to me in any way.”
Regardless of my disdain for her, I couldn’t return her callousness. I sucked in a breath. “No, I’m not.”
“On the other hand, you wouldn’t want me to tell everyone that one of the judges is your boyfriend.” Priscilla smirked.
“Are you referring to Professor Gill?”
“Do you have more than one boyfriend?”
“Not that it’s any of your concern, but Professor Gill and I are just good friends.”
My chest tightened. After my husband died just over a year ago, I felt too old to date, and I’d resigned myself to being alone, a widowed and childless retired old lady. Accepting this was easier than hoping for something better, only to be disappointed in the end. Although Gerald Gill, a widower himself, was a kind, handsome man, and we had a lot in common, the romance part of my life had ended when Ernie died.
Priscilla glared. “Is that why someone saw you last night at Tequila’s Town head to head over margaritas?”
Was my every move being observed? “Are you implying, that because of our friendship, Gerald might not be impartial when it comes to doing his job as lead judge and director this week?”
“I didn’t say that,” she sneered.
“Well you may as well have.” I threw the question back at her. “Is that what you think?” It was hard to read her facial expressions, because her eyebrows didn’t move. I had a feeling she used Botox. “Don’t you know me by now?” I persisted.
She pursed her lips. “If you are indeed in a relationship that could affect your work here this week, then you’d best disqualify yourself now. This contest needs to run with objectivity, not favoritism.”
I knew where she was heading, but I thought if she said it out loud she could hear how ridiculous she was. “Spit it out. What are you getting at?”
Pricilla squinted at me. “If Gerald helps a particular team win, just because of a friendship he has with that team’s leader, well that wouldn’t be fair, now would it?”
Flames of anger shot through me. “You really are a piece of work. What I do think, is that you need not worry about me. I’m a professional, and so is Gerald. Our friendship will in no way cause any issues at camp this week.”
“Hmm. We’ll see.” Priscilla lowered her eyelids. “You never answered me. Can my team get in here today or not?”
I wanted to get rid of her, so I said, “Against my better judgment, I’m giving you one hour. Three to four o’clock. That’s it.”
“How generous of you.” She half grinned. “You’ve proven, once again, what everyone says about you.”
“Oh?” Dang it. She had lured me in and my curiosity got the better of me. “What are they saying?” I asked.
Priscilla tugged her sleeve. “That you’re quite magnanimous.”
“Is that so?” I let the praise settle in, filling me with a cozy feeling. “I didn’t realize people talked so kindly about me.”
“They also talk about your, how would you call it, your gumshoe skills? You know, how you found the murderer of your friend Lucy. They say that was such a display of intelligence and loyalty.” She grinned. “I have a golden retriever with those qualities too.”
There it was again. She made me feel good, then simultaneously slammed me. “Well, that’s a first.”
“What?”
I snorted. “Being compared to a dog.”
Her large hazel eyes narrowed. “Oh no, I certainly did not do that. I hope you’re not turning my genuine and sincere remarks into anything but what they were intended to be.”
Folding my arms over my chest, I glared. “Trust me, I know exactly what you intended.”
Pursing her red lips, Priscilla glanced around the room. “And how in the world did you wrangle it so that your friend Betsy got the catering job for this week’s theater camp?”
“Her name is Bezu, and she got the job fair and square.” My skin began to crawl, which meant my patience was running thin. The last thing I needed was her implying anything negative about my dear friend.
“Oh! I’m sure she did.” She clicked her tongue. “My brother owns a catering company. I don’t know if you were aware of that.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
She was going someplace with her line of questioning, like a slippery snake slithering out from underbrush to catch it’s unaware prey, but it was too late to get out.
Priscilla tapped her shoe on the wooden floor. “Anyway, he must’ve missed the required public announcement to submit bids. He’s up to date on all the business and health permits and so forth, and I’m sure your friend is as well. I mean, Biddy’s running a legit business, right?”
“Legit?” I wasn’t even going to acknowledge that she called Bezu the wrong name again.
She glowered. “I’m sure she has all her documentation and license for running a business. Plus, I’m sure she’s following all the necessary city codes to conduct a food-related business.”
“Bezu’s business is none of your concern.”
“Anyway, I do have a message for her. Please let her know that Dwight says hello.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Oh, you probably know him as Bradley, but he goes by his middle name now. It’s much more sophisticated.”
“You know Bezu’s ex-fiancé?” I asked. My, how this woman got around.
Priscilla leaned toward me and whispered, “He’s my beau now.”
My mouth fell open for a moment. Priscilla was around fifty or so, Dwight was closer to Bezu’s age, late thirties. I looked away for a moment to compose myself. I didn’t want her to have the pleasure of knowing that she’d dropped a bombshell on me.
“Good for you,” I said. “However, Bezu is over him. In fact, I think she feels lucky to be rid of the skunk.”
“That is not at all decorous. Dwight is quite the catch.” Priscilla puckered her lips. “Granted, I’m not trying to stir any pots here, so I won’t discuss this anymore.”
Then why had she brought it up in the first place? She had not only mixed the pot—she’d rattled it, boiled it and, once it was scalding, dumped it over me.
I threw my hands in the air. “Let’s get back to work. We’ll be out by three today, so your team can get in here. Just so you know, I’ll also give every team an hour in the theater as well. To keep it fair. After all, your team shouldn’t be the only exception to the rule.”
“Humph.” She spun around and left.
I turned to my team. “Okay, let’s get going, I suggest you get some blocking done before you break for lunch.”
Making my way out of the theater into the foyer, I stopped in front of a wall of posters. Each team leader and judge had one, which included a short bio and two pictures, o
ne current, and one from their senior year of high school. My high school picture was of me in bell-bottoms, a peasant top and a stylish—for the time—large Afro.
I glanced at Gerald’s black and white Polaroid picture from high school. He wore a knit hat and a Parka coat—which was open and showing a Led Zeppelin T-shirt. He leaned against a Pontiac GTO Judge. He was a looker now, so it was no shock he’d been quite the stud back then as well.
In Priscilla’s high school picture, she stood behind a picket fence. She wore a billowing chiffon dress with her ample cleavage pouring out of the scoop neck. That was strange. Had she gotten a breast reduction after high school? Ever since I’ve known her, she’s had a smaller chest. Maybe she was just heavier then. Although she looked full, like she was pregnant. As suddenly as it came to me I let go of the thought. Priscilla had no children.
I scanned the other posters and smiled. We’d all changed a lot. I bet the high school students got a kick out of seeing how different we were when we were young.
Moving along, I saw Bezu setting up the buffet. She had on a bright, lime green apron over a coral sundress. In my eyes, she was the epitome of a genteel Southern Belle. “Hey there, what did you make?” I asked.
“Fried chicken, cornbread, buttered green beans, mashed potatoes and peach cobbler. Of course, plenty of ice-cold sweet tea.” As Bezu smiled, her green eyes lit up against her porcelain complexion.
“Do you need any help getting ready?” I offered.
“Oh for heavens sake, no.” She set down a large covered aluminum container, pulling off the lid. “I’ve hired a girl to assist me.”
I inhaled. The scent of crispy, deep fried chicken mixed with the syrupy sweet aroma of peach cobbler was so comforting. “This all smells delicious.”
“Isn’t it just grand? Who knew all this would happen to me?”
“Your success doesn’t surprise me. I’ve always thought that you were the best cook amongst the Chubby Chick Club members.”
“I still think it’s cute that you named our group that. And I love that José doesn’t mind the moniker, even though he’s our only male member.”
“And none of us are chubby, except me.” I laughed. Sucking in a deep breath, my mouth began to water. “But, Bezu, you’re by the far the best cook.”
“I think all of y’all make great food.”
Smiling, I thought about our motley group. José, the Savannah police officer who looked like actor, wrestler Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, and felt comfortable enough with us to tell us that he was gay. Then there was Cat, the owner of Sunshine Health food market in Forsyth Park. This week, she was with her husband and their two sets of twins, teenaged boys and five-year-old girls, visiting family in Korea.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I said. “José makes great barbeque, and Cat’s dishes are delicious, too. But your food is always extra special.”
Bezu smiled. “Why, thank you.”
“I think that’s why the publisher contacted you.”
“That only happened because of the media exposure that Cat and I received after we uncovered my tenant’s murderer.”
“Well, that too of course. And then they found out you’re the whole package. Gorgeous, smart, charming, and of course a fantastic cook.”
“You’re very sweet, Annie Mae. I still don’t think I deserve your praise, but trust me, the advance they gave me sure helped influence my decision.”
“So what are they calling the cookbook?” I asked.
She flipped her long blonde hair behind her as she laughed. “Killer Muffins and More.”
I chuckled.
“I’m as happy as a tick on a fat dog,” she said.
“It’s well deserved.” I reached over and patted her arm. “So how’s that hunky boyfriend?”
Bezu blushed pink. “Luiz?”
“Unless you have another?”
She shook her head. “He left for Brazil on business this morning.”
“When will he be back?”
“He’s not sure.” She held a hand to her heart. “But he did say, if he has to stay there longer than a week, he’s going to fly me out to be with him.”
“Good for you.”
“Annie Mae, how did all this happen? One day, I’m so poor that I couldn’t jump over a nickel to save a dime. I had nothing but gumption, trying to hold my house together with duct tape and a prayer. And now, well, I have an adorable, loving boyfriend, my finances are getting in order, and I have this book deal.” Suddenly, Bezu frowned.
“So why the dejected face?”
She exhaled. “Because everything is going so well—too good. I have this feeling that something bad is going to happen. You know how if you’re doing great, then you think it’ll all crumble like an overcooked biscuit?”
“You can’t think like that. Live in the moment. Be happy for what you have.”
Bezu sighed. “I’m trying.”
I needed to reassure her. “You deserve all the good that is coming to you. And for your information, your biscuits are perfectly cooked, they would never crumble.”
Bezu smiled as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
Just then a man in a suit walked up to us.
“Pardon me,” he said. “Which one of you is Barbara Elizabeth Susan Gordon?”
“That’s me,” Bezu answered.
He pulled out a business card. “I’m from the Chatham County Health Department. May I see your license and permit?”
And so the Wicked Witch of the South struck again.
Chapter Two
“I know who called him,” I said, after the health inspector had looked over Bezu’s documents and left.
“Who?” asked Bezu.
I lowered my voice. “Priscilla Woodham. Otherwise known as the meddling Wicked Witch of the South.”
“I take it, you don’t fancy her in the least bit,” Bezu said.
“Not one iota.” I pulled my shoulders back. “However, unlike her, I can stay professional and not let our differences affect my work.”
“Does she work here with you?”
“She advises one of the teams, like I do. And believe me, you wouldn’t like her one little bit either if you met her.”
“How can you be so sure?” Bezu asked. “I always try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt.”
“And that’s a great quality to have,” I said. “But, trust me on this one. Stay as far away from her as you can.”
Bezu and her helper finished placing the food on the buffet table, and the teams gathered for lunch.
An hour later, I stood next to my dear friend as her employee began cleanup. “Lucky you, Priscilla must be on a diet,” I said.
“Why do you think that?”
“She wasn’t here.”
In that same instant, a voice shrieked. “Annie Mae, Annie Mae. I need to speak with you.”
My breath hitched as I whispered, “I spoke too soon. Here she comes, swooping in on her designer broom. And she has someone with her, too. Hopefully not a flying monkey.”
“Hello.” Priscilla stuck out her hand to Bezu. “You must be Bitsy.”
“Bezu.” Bezu shook her hand.
“I’m Priscilla Woodham. I’m glad we finally got to meet,” Priscilla said.
Then she turned to me and said, “Let me introduce you to my personal assistant, Winona Fowler. Winona, this is Dr. Maple.”
“Nice to meet you, Winona,” I said.
She was an attractive, petite thirty-something, with large hazel eyes behind round glasses. Her dyed, pastel blue hair was in a pixie cut. She had a cute dimple in one cheek and a dainty cleft chin. She held a clipboard in one hand, and a pen in the other. Something about her seemed familiar. Where had I seen her before?
“It’s a pleasure meeting you, too.” Winona smiled, showing straight white teeth under full lips.
“This is my friend, Bezu,” I said.
Bezu and Winona shook hands.
Priscilla glanced at the food t
able and said, “I always like to see how another caterer stacks up against my brother.”
“Your brother is a caterer?” Bezu asked.
“One of the very best in town, if not the top one,” said Priscilla as she bent over the peach cobbler. Her nose crinkled. “I can tell with one whiff if the food is edible. Let’s just say that I’m not regretting my decision to skip lunch.”
Bezu looked crestfallen.
“Bezu has a cookbook deal with a major New York publisher. With a big advance and all,” I defended.
“Is that so?” Priscilla asked.
“Yes,” I said. “And I already know it’ll be a bestseller. And I bet Bezu’s going to be bigger than Savannah’s own reigning culinary queen, Paula Deen.”
Bezu looked uncomfortable as she fiddled with her pearl necklace. In my zest to stick up for her, I may have embarrassed my modest friend.
Priscilla scooped a forkful of cobbler into her mouth. As she chewed, her face scrunched. “I’ve worked on committees with Paula. I know Paula. Paula Deen is a friend of mine. You’re no Paula Deen.”
“Hey, that was uncalled for,” I said.
“What do you mean?” She acted oblivious to her own harsh remark as she tossed the plastic fork into the nearby trashcan. “It sounds like you’re taking offense to something that was not intended in that way.”
Bezu sucked in a breath. “If you would please excuse me, I have a lot of work to finish up.”
“Before you leave, I wanted to tell you we have someone in common,” Priscilla said.
“We do?” Bezu asked.
Knowing that Priscilla was still up to no good, I wanted to protect my dear friend. “Bezu has work to do, and so do we. Why don’t we leave her alone so we can all get something done?”
Priscilla’s mouth compressed as she looked at Bezu. “I just wanted to let her know that her ex, Dwight, will be around here a lot.”
“Mine? Dwight, like in Bradley Dwight Rabren?” Bezu asked.
Priscilla turned to me and said, “I guess you didn’t tell her.”
“Tell me what?” Bezu asked.
“Your former suitor and I are an item.” Priscilla gave Bezu a smug look.
“He doesn’t go by his first name, Bradley, anymore?” Bezu asked.
