Death, Taxes, and Pecan Pie

by Diane Kelly

  “Brown sugar pecan,” she continued. “Butter pecan. Pecan shortbread. Pecan toffee. She stopped. “Now there’s a cookie I haven’t seen before. They look delicious, too.”

  I took a gander. “They do look good.” Too bad spectators couldn’t try a sample.

  When the judges took their seats at the table, we stepped aside so that those with a vested interest in this contest could stand closer. I noticed that the woman who’d left her cup on the garbage can was among the crowd. Her wide brown eyes glittered and she bit her lip as she watched the judges sample the cookies. Looked like she was as anxious as my mother had been in the praline contest.

  As before, the judges jotted down their scores and handed them to the assistant, who rushed off with them. She returned minutes later with an envelope and a blue ribbon in hand, and handed the envelope to the mayor.

  He opened it and unfolded the paper inside. “The winner of the pecan cookie contest is . . .” He pulled the same stunt as earlier, pausing to create tension before announcing the name. “Rosario Garza!”

  The woman put her palms to her face. “Me?” she shrieked. “Really?”

  Her? Really?

  Though the woman looked and sounded surprised, my gut told me she could be putting on a show. Something wasn’t right. It was too much of a coincidence that Pauline Lang, who’d won the pie contest, and this woman had both come in close contact with the woman in the sun hat. Maybe when Rosario had bit her lip it wasn’t due to anxiety but was instead an attempt to keep her lips from spreading in a smug smile.

  “Congratulations!” the mayor called as he held out the check for the winnings.

  There was a scattering of applause among grumblings from the losing entrants as Rosario stepped forward to accept her check from the mayor and the ribbon from Jordyn. The newspaper photographer snapped a photo of the woman with the mayor.

  I turned to my mother. “You know earlier when you said you felt like you’d been cheated?” I cut another glance at the smiling Rosario, whose friends and family were congratulating her with hugs and pats on the back, before turning back to my mother. “I think you might have been.”

  My mother looked taken aback. “What are you saying?”

  I gestured with my hand, and Nick, Bonnie, my dad, and Jesse followed me to a quiet spot under a nearby tree and gathered in. I told them how I’d seen the woman in the sunglasses and straw hat pick up a cup that had been left behind on a picnic table by Pauline Lang. “That same woman was in line behind Rosario Garza at the pretzel booth. I think I might have seen Rosario drop something into the woman’s tote bag.”

  My mother’s face puckered in confusion. “I don’t understand. How is any of that important?”

  I gave her a pointed look. “Maybe the cup on the picnic table didn’t hold lemonade. Maybe it held a bribe for the judges. And maybe whatever Rosario dropped in the woman’s bag was a bribe, too.”

  Mom looked up in thought before meeting my eyes again. “Did you see the woman in the hat interact with any of the judges?”

  “Well, no,” I admitted. “But who else would she be paying off?”

  Mom’s forehead crinkled in skepticism. “I hate to be a negative Nellie, but are you sure you aren’t making too much of things? Maybe all that fraud you see on your job has made you overly suspicious.”

  She had a point. Still, my instincts told me something was up.

  Bonnie shrugged. “If I was cheated, I’d sure like to know.”

  Nick was thinking like the special agent he was, analyzing the evidence. “You’re certain she picked up the wrong cup?”

  “Yes.” Or at least I had been until he’d asked me. Was it possible I’d been mistaken? Of course it was possible. Even so, it would be unusual for someone to set their own cup down so close to a similar cup that had been used by a total stranger, wouldn’t it? Wouldn’t a person be more careful, try to avoid mixing them up?

  Nick thought out loud. “It could be nothing more than a coincidence. But the fact that the woman in the hat was in close proximity to two of the winners could mean something. There are hundreds if not thousands of people at this event. What are the odds that someone would have crossed close paths with two of the winners right before their contests?”

  When he looked to me for an answer, I shrugged. I might be trained in accounting and taxes, but I was no statistician, no oddsmaker.

  He mulled things over for a moment and exhaled a long breath. “Regardless of the odds, we can’t prove anything.”

  I looked him in the eye. “Then let’s investigate. Get some proof. Or at least figure out whether I’m way off-base here.” It might be a waste of time, but by that point we’d seen everything the festival had to offer. We had time to kill before dinner and the concert tonight. Might as well make good use of the time. Besides what did we have to lose?

  “Count me in,” Bonnie said. “If your mother and I got ripped off, I’d love to help you nab those responsible and get the prize winnings we deserve.”

  I nodded. “Consider yourself deputized.”

  Mom, who’d been skeptical mere seconds ago, now wanted to be included in the adventure. “Deputize me too.”

  I tapped the end of her nose with my finger. “Boop. You’re now an officially unofficial special agent for the Internal Revenue Service.”

  “Me too!” Jesse insisted.

  I reached down and tapped her nose, too. “Boop.”

  My mother’s eyes narrowed as she thought. “Do you think all of the judges were in on it? That all of them were bribed?”

  Damn. Another potential weak spot in the case.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I find it hard to believe all five judges would agree to fix the contests.”

  “I agree,” Nick said. “But it would take more than one judge to cinch the final score. Even if one judge was bribed and gave the highest score possible, the person who paid the bribe might still lose if the other judges gave that entry lower scores.”

  Dad chimed in now, looking from Nick to me. “So how’s the math work out, then? Would two of the judges have to be involved to guarantee a win? Three?”

  Again, statistics? Not my thing. I raised my shoulders. “I guess it would all depend on the scores the other judges gave.” Which meant something wasn’t adding up here. Either all of the judges had to be involved, which seemed highly improbable, or enough of them had to be involved to influence the outcome. Still, I doubted that a majority of the judges were involved. Would that many people be willing to put their reputations at stake? And for what? How much money would an entrant be willing to pay for fifteen minutes of local fame and a five-hundred-dollar prize? Common sense told me it had to be less than the cash award. Even if bribes had been paid in all five contests, it seemed the most a judge would have been paid was a few hundred dollars. Besides, the woman in the straw hat would want a cut, too. That would spread the bribe even thinner.

  I shared my concerns and confusion with the others. “The more I talk about this,” I admitted, “the less sure I am that there’s something going on.” But no matter what my brain was telling me right now, my gut was telling me something else.

  “I suppose the only thing we can do now,” Nick said, “is try to gather information. We can split up and each of us follow one of the judges for a while. See what they do, who they talk to, whether they meet up with one another or the lady in the straw hat.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “Let’s go find them and reconvene at the pecan brittle booth at four o’clock.” That would give us an hour to find and follow our suspects.

  We headed en masse toward the midway, our eyes roaming over the crowd, seeking the judges.

  “There’s the lady from the school cafeteria,” my mother said, angling her head toward a jewelry booth where the woman was looking over a sparkling selection of beaded necklaces.

  “You’re up,” I said. “Try to be as inconspicuous as possible.”

  “Will do.” Mom peeled off from the group,
taking Jesse with her.

  The rest of us continued on down the midway.

  As we walked, Dad said, “Target at one o’clock.”

  We looked ahead to see the judge who oversaw quality control at a pecan processing plant. He held a dart in his hand, aiming it at a red balloon mounted on a corkboard. He pulled his hand back, closed one eye, and sent the dart sailing. The sharp point hit the corkboard two inches to the right of the balloon, missing its target. Looked like he wouldn’t be taking home a prize today.

  “He’s all yours,” I told my father.

  As Dad slowed, Bonnie, Nick, and I walked on. It was another few minutes before we spotted both chefs relaxing on a blanket. The male chef had his back to a tree. He was chatting with the female chef, who was sitting with her legs crossed on the blanket. Were the two chefs in cahoots, benefiting from a bribery scam? Or were they simply hanging out together? Both chefs were locals. Surely they’d known each other before today. But I wasn’t sure whether their familiarity increased the odds that they’d work together to fix a contest or not.

  “Those two are more my speed,” Bonnie said. “I’ll take them.” She stepped away and took a seat on a low stone retaining wall where she could keep an eye on the couple.

  Our group had dwindled down to just me and Nick. We walked on and eventually spotted the restaurant reviewer sitting on a park bench, typing on his laptop. Looked like he might be trying to squeeze in some work between the contests. Nick sent me a questioning look.

  “You take him,” I said quietly. “I’ll see if I can find the woman in the straw hat.”

  After he broke off, I wandered up and down the midway, as well as the cross rows where the vendors were hawking their wares, nibbling on one of my mother’s pecan pralines as I strolled along. The woman in the straw hat was nowhere to be seen. I stepped to the edge of the park and looked across the road to see if she might have gone to her car in the parking lot, but I didn’t see her there, either. Of course if she’d removed her hat, I probably wouldn’t even recognize her. With her hat shading her face and her sunglasses covering her eyes, I had no idea what she looked like. My mind couldn’t recall what else she’d been wearing, either. Must have been something unremarkable. Hmm. Of course it was possible she’d left the festival already. Maybe even likely. It wasn’t like there were many places to hide at an outside event like this. She seemed to have disappeared into thin air. On the other hand, I had begun to recognize many of the other attendees. The happy young mother with the baby strapped to her chest, her husband pushing their toddler in an all-terrain stroller. The elderly veterans who wandered around with their buddies, razzing each other at the game booths just like the young boys did. The many volunteers in bright yellow shirts who darted about like hummingbirds, making sure everything was running smoothly. I’d passed the contestants for Pecan Princess several times, too. Looked like they were getting a break to enjoy the festival before their next competition.

  Despite my best efforts, I didn’t find the woman before it was time to head to the pecan brittle booth. Darn! With any luck, one of the others would have some juicy information for the rest of us.

  We met up and powwowed near the booth.

  I looked around at the others. “Anybody got anything?”

  “Not me,” Mom said. “All the lunch lady did was shop. She waved to somebody or another here and there, but the only people she talked to at any length were the vendors. I didn’t see any women wearing a straw hat.”

  “Same for me,” Dad said. “My guy tried the dart game a couple more times, but didn’t win anything. He can’t aim to save his life. He spent a while at his company’s sales booth, but it looked to me like he was taking care of normal business.”

  “Nothing struck me as unusual, either,” Bonnie said. “The chefs just sat on their blanket and talked. I get a feeling they might be interested in each other, maybe be dating, but nobody stopped by or anything like that.”

  “Same here,” Nick said. “The restaurant reviewer just sat on that bench working until it was time to head over here to judge the pecan brittle.”

  I raised my palms. “I’ve got squat, too. I must’ve covered the park a dozen times, but I never saw the woman in the straw hat. She might have taken it off. If she did, I could have walked right past her without knowing it.”

  “What now?” Mom asked.

  Nick turned to me. “We could confront the winners, see if they’ll admit to bribing the judges.”

  I shook my head. “Our evidence is too flimsy. And what if I was wrong about the cup and the bag?” After all, it was a sunny day, not a cloud in the sky. Maybe the bright sunshine had affected my vision. Or maybe that ride on the Octopus had shaken my brain, made me think I was seeing things I wasn’t. Or maybe the mix-up with the cups truly was nothing more than coincidence. “We run the risk of making fools of ourselves.”

  I closed my eyes and put a hand over them, as if shutting out the world would help me think. As I mulled things over, Cathy launched into an introduction of the judges. I opened my eyes and glanced over at her, spotting her assistant waiting patiently nearby, a pleasant smile on her face.

  Or was it an evil smile?

  Chapter Five: Guilty until Proven Innocent

  I turned back to Nick and my family, angling my head to indicate the assistant. “What if it’s her?” I flicked my eyes in her direction.

  Nick cut his gaze to the young woman. “Jordyn? The assistant?”

  “Yeah. Maybe she’s putting the wrong names in the envelopes.”

  “Like what happened at the Oscars?” Bonnie asked.

  “Yes,” I replied. “Except this time it would be on purpose.”

  Nick lifted his chin in acknowledgment. “If she’s the one behind it, it would make a lot of sense.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “She’s the one who collects the judges’ scores and brings back the envelope with the winner’s name and check in it.” In other words, she had control over the scores and thus had means to manipulate the data and choose the winner. “She could singlehandedly control the outcome.”

  “And she’d only have to share the bribe with the woman in the straw hat,” Nick added.

  My parents and Bonnie glanced over at the young woman.

  My mother slowly shook her head. “I don’t know. She looks like a nice girl to me.”

  Nick and I exchanged knowing looks. Most of the people we arrested looked like nice people. Heck, many of them wore business suits. Looks could be deceiving. And those committing white-collar crimes often took pains to look respectable to reduce suspicion.

  “I’ll follow her after she collects the scores,” I said. “See what happens.”

  We moseyed closer to the booth to observe the contest. The volunteer again introduced the judges. Given that this was the fourth time I’d heard the spiel, I could probably recite it myself. When it was over, the judges were given small samples broken off from the larger pieces of pecan brittle with a meat mallet that was wiped clean between each entry to prevent corrupting the samples.

  We waited and watched as the judges sampled the pecan brittle entries and marked their scorecards. Once all the samples had been tasted and evaluated, the judges handed their score sheets to Jordyn. She slid them into a manila envelope and scurried off, unaware that I was scurrying after her.

  As we rushed across the midway, I did my best to appear as nonchalant as possible, casting glances here and there as if interested in the games and merchandise for sale. I looked ahead. The young woman had gained a greater lead. Dang, she’s fast! I had to take long, quick strides to catch up with her. I didn’t want to chance losing her in the crowd.

  I followed the assistant through the park, staying far enough behind that she wouldn’t realize she was being trailed. She turned and slipped between two food booths. Ten seconds later, I slipped through behind her, peeking around the corner to see where she was now.

  She headed down the row of RVs. As subtly as possible, I headed
down them behind her. There were far fewer people back here—only a handful of carnival workers and a couple of police officers coming and going from the mobile command center. If she turns around, she’ll spot me. I mentally willed her to keep her focus ahead of her.

  Jordyn walked up to the Airstream trailer I’d seen this morning and knocked on the door marked PRIVATE. The door opened only an inch or two, and a hand reached out to take the envelope before it closed again. The assistant took a step back and waited. Lest she glance around and spot me, I backed up between two food booths, pulling my compact from my purse and powdering my nose, keeping an eye on her over my shoulder in the small mirror.

  A minute or so later, the door opened again and the hand reappeared, holding a blue ribbon and a white envelope. Jordyn took the items and started back in my direction.

  I snapped my compact closed, shoved it into my purse, and backed up against the booth. She passed by and kept right on going, never once looking my way. Thank goodness.

  I eased out from between the booths and set out on her trail again. She made a beeline for the pecan brittle booth, where she handed the envelope directly to the mayor. I hung nearby, still keeping a close eye.

  The mayor opened the sealed envelope and announced the winners of the peanut brittle contest. It was a man this time. The guy smiled broadly and held up his check and ribbon as the photographer from the newspaper stepped into place to snap his picture. I stepped closer, too, leaning in to take a look at the check. It was a preprinted check in the amount of five hundred dollars. The memo section read “Pecan Brittle Contest Award.” Only the winner’s name had been written by hand. Typical scenario. The checks appeared to have been prepared in advance by the festival’s bookkeeper, with the winner’s name to be added later, once the winning entry had been determined. So is that who’s in the Airstream? The festival’s bookkeeper?