by Hillary Avis
“Having trouble?” she asked.
Garrett frowned. “Darn burner keeps going out, and my cornbread is still raw!” He lifted the lid of his large Dutch oven to show her. “Might as well be cooking with a microwave. I wanted a proper fire, but they said no, because of the goldarn tent.”
He motioned to Chuck and Ned, who were just entering the tent with their cameras and gear. She was surprised to see Ned carrying such a heavy load after his stint in the hospital. He must be feeling a lot better today.
“Well, better safe than sorry,” she said sympathetically. Better safe than burning the tent down. She turned off the burner and Garrett yelped with displeasure.
“What the heck? All you people are set to ruin me!”
Bethany held up her hands. “I’m just trying to help. I can’t adjust your flame without turning it off, now, can I?”
He eyed her suspiciously but let her keep working. She moved his pot off the burner and waited for the metal to cool for a minute. Then she adjusted the air shutter so the flame would get more oxygen. She lit the burner and stood back, her satisfaction growing as she watched the flame burned blue and steady.
“Set me back a good five minutes,” Garrett grumbled, hoisting his chili back onto the heat. “I’ll be lucky if the cornbread cooks through.”
“You’re welcome,” she shot back, but he barely acknowledged her.
Alex Vadecki noticed their exchange from his station beside Garrett’s and smirked. “Out to sabotage the competition, huh? Typical.”
I can’t believe this guy still has a problem with me. He’d fired her from her fry cook job almost a year ago, but it seemed like he still couldn’t let it go.
“I was helping him,” she explained. “His burner was acting up.”
“Well, don’t come near my burner.” Alex glared at her and clapped the lid of his pot down as if he were guarding his chili from her meddling hands.
Bethany sourly remembered the many lectures he’d given her when she tried to improve his recipes at the Seafood Grotto. “Don’t worry—I have no interest in helping you.”
“Keep your hands off my prize purse, too.”
“It’s not yours. We all have an equal shot at the prize.” She rolled her eyes and started to walk away.
“Not that—the real prize.”
She stopped, confused. “What are you talking about?”
Alex lowered his voice. “Who wants a stupid cash award when they could have Chuck ‘The Tenderizer’ Bolton as a partner? You and I know that’s worth way more than any measly one-time payout. These fools can have it. A business relationship with The Tenderizer is worth millions.”
Bethany laughed and shook her head. “Oh, I’m not interested in partnering with that guy. That prize is all yours.”
She looked over to where Chuck and Ned were shooting an interview with Clementine. Ned reached to hand Clementine a microphone and fumbled it. It landed on the ground and Chuck swiped it up angrily, shoving it into her hands.
“Get it together, Sparky!” Chuck growled. “Watch your step or you’ll be looking for a new job—and who else would take you?”
“Sorry.” Ned furrowed his forehead, his skin pale. Bethany noticed his hand trembling as he adjusted the focus on the camera. “OK, we’re good to go in three, two, one...” He pointed and Chuck was off, rattling out his wrestling patter and posturing as he introduced Clementine.
Bethany winced seeing Chuck’s poor treatment of Ned. Something was off about their relationship. No job was worth putting up with that kind of treatment—a fact she knew all too well from her time working for Alex. She glanced over at him. He was also watching the exchange, but rather than an expression of disgust, a smile of satisfaction spread over his face.
“See? That’s a guy who gets things done.”
Bethany wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather do them myself, thanks.”
“Then you’re an idiot,” Alex snapped. “You’ll never get ahead if you don’t start thinking bigger.”
Bethany opened her mouth to make a retort when she saw Chuck and Ned turn and head toward Alex. She didn’t want to get caught off-guard on video, so she pretended to have a keen interest in talking to Clementine and made straight for her work station. Chuck opened his mouth to say something when she approached, but she just blew on past before he could get a word out.
When she got to Clementine’s work station, she leaned on the small table that served as counter space, a little out of breath. “Hey.”
“Are they watching?” Clementine asked, leaning to see around Bethany.
Bethany looked over her shoulder and saw Ned firing up the camera and pointing it at Alex, who was standing awkwardly next to Chuck. Chuck slammed his fist into his palm and flexed his delts. She rolled her eyes. “Nah, they’re on to the next one. I’m dreading my turn.”
Clementine breathed a sigh of relief and reached under the counter. She pulled out a couple of cans and set them in front of Bethany. “Can you stand there and make sure they can’t see? I don’t want them to know I used canned chili.”
“Sure.” Bethany shifted so her body was blocking the view of Clementine’s workstation. “Just curious—why didn’t you cook it yourself?”
Clem shrugged. “No one can really tell the difference. This is good stuff—all organic.” She quickly ran a can opener around the edges of each can and, with a glance around the tent, added them to her pot of chili. The escaping steam smelled suspiciously like spaghetti sauce.
“What else you got in there?” Bethany raised her eyebrows and couldn’t help trying to get a peek inside the pot. She wondered if everything else in the pot was canned and bottled, too.
Clementine quickly hid the empty cans away and pursed her lips. “It’s none of your beeswax.”
“Oh, come on. It’s not like I can change my recipe now. I’m just curious. Chef to chef.” She smiled, but Clementine’s expression didn’t soften. Probably all prepared food, then. What else can you expect from someone who specializes in toast?
As if on cue, Clementine produced a mini toaster oven from a large tote bag and plugged it in to one of the tent’s outlets. “I can’t talk right now—I need to make the Texas toast to go with my chili.”
“I thought we weren’t allowed side dishes,” Bethany said.
“You’re not.” Ned spoke from behind her, and Bethany jumped and whirled around.
“You scared me!”
“Sorry!” he stammered. “I just came to prep you for your interview segment, and I couldn’t help overhearing. I’m sorry, but you can’t have side dishes.”
“I don’t have any. I was talking to—” Bethany broke off as Clementine shot her a look that was hotter than Yasmin’s spiciest dried chilies.
“It’s not a side dish!” Color burned on Clementine’s cheeks, and she looked ready to burst into tears. “It’s only bread. You’re not a real judge, anyway—you’re just a lackey.”
Ned’s shoulders tensed, but his voice stayed calm. “I hold the rulebook until Judge Gallagher arrives. I regret to inform you that you aren’t allowed anything except chili. Bread counts as a side dish in this case.” He flipped through the book and showed Clementine a page, pointing to a particular line.
Clementine glanced wildly around the tent. “Where’s Judge Gallagher? I want to talk to him!”
“He’s giving a campaign speech. He won’t be here until the actual judging,” Ned said, his voice becoming firmer and clearer as he spoke. “If you insist on the toast, you won’t be allowed to present your dish to the judges—and I’m the one who gets to decide!”
Clementine pointed at Garrett. “He has bread, too! Why aren’t you taking his away?”
Garrett’s eyes went wide, and then he scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have any bread!”
Clementine marched over and yanked the lid off his Dutch oven. “Then what do you call that!”
Ned gingerly peered into the pot and sighed. “It looks
like bread to me. You’re going to have to take that out of there, Mr. Underwood.”
“That’s not bread, it’s cornbread!” Garrett glowered and swiped the lid back from Clementine.
“He cooked it in the pot with the chili,” Bethany protested. “I’d call it an integral part of the dish, not a side dish.” Garrett gave her a single appreciative nod, but she couldn’t detect even a hint of a smile underneath his mustache.
Ned took a deep breath. “You both will have to get rid of the bread if you want to present to the judges. If you insist on submitting a side dish, I’ll be forced to disqualify your entry.”
Garrett glared at him and began angrily scooping the golden cornbread topping out of the pot, flinging each spoonful into the small trash can at his station. “What if I put cheese on top? Or green onions and sour cream? It’s the same thing. Can’t make it original if we can’t add a garnish,” he grumbled.
“It’s not fair!” Tears streamed down Clementine’s face as she tipped her bread into the bin.
Ned looked between them, distressed, and held out his hands helplessly. “I’m sorry—it’s the rules. We have to ensure an even playing field, so everyone has to follow them.”
Clementine scrubbed her cheeks with her sleeve. “An even playing field?! What about him?” She pointed at Monsieur Adrian. “He didn’t even cook his chili! He had his sous chef do it.”
Bethany bit back a smile and waited for Monsieur Adrian’s reaction. She’s got a point there, chef. What do you have to say for yourself?
He snorted. “It’s not against the rules to use prepared ingredients, no?” Ned shook his head, and Monsieur Adrian continued. “I see those cans under your station, mademoiselle. The contents were prepared by a cook in a factory. So mine were prepared in a restaurant kitchen—what is the difference?”
“Both of you should be disqualified,” Garrett muttered. “I’m of a high mind to quit myself. A goldarn cooking competition where none of the people actually cooked anything.”
Bethany frowned. She couldn’t let Garrett quit—especially if some of the competition might drop out. That raised the odds that he might actually win the prize purse that he so desperately needed for his treatment. “You and I did. And we know that everything is better cooked from scratch. Don’t give up. The judges will taste the difference.”
Her comment seemed to mollify Garrett, but it sent Clementine over the edge. “I’m just trying...to do...my best,” she sobbed, snuffling into her sleeve again. “I don’t have a fancy degree or any employees. I just wanted to do something for myself for once.”
“I—uh—I don’t know what to say, folks. Your choice—do what you want to do. I’m just the messenger.” Ned’s expression was so strained that Bethany felt terrible for the guy. He was making enemies right and left.
It’s not like he chose to be the rulebook stand-in.
She put on as cheerful a voice as she could. “You said it was my turn for an interview?”
He smiled gratefully at her. “Yes. You’re the last one. If you don’t mind, we can go to your station and I’ll fill you in on what’s expected.”
She nodded and they walked the few yards away. “Sorry for my fellow contestants’ attitudes,” she said. “Everyone is on edge. They’ve already forgotten the ordeal you went through.”
He smiled wanly. “No worries. So when The Tenderizer comes over, he’ll expect you to have a snappy intro. Two or three sentences will do, something about your daily life. Then he’ll ask you a couple of questions. Make your answers short and unequivocal. If you ramble, we’ll have to cut most of it anyway, and you may not like the parts we choose to keep. You understand?”
Bethany thought back to when she’d been quoted very out of context in the newspaper. “Oh, I understand better than you might think!”
“Great. And whatever you do, keep smiling.” Ned adjusted his glasses. “Mr. Bolton! We’re ready for you.”
Chuck swaggered over and clapped Bethany on the back. “About time! Ned been chewing your ear off? Took him long enough.”
Bethany grit her teeth and smiled. “No, he was just clearing up some of the contest rules. He’s been very helpful.”
“Look at the camera.” Chuck pointed. Ned counted down with his fingers, and when he closed his fist, Chuck began. “The heat is on in Newbridge, folks! We’ve got five hungry contestants who have made five tongue-tantalizing treats. Our fifth contestant is the youngest, but she’s not going to let experience outweigh enthusiasm, no sir!”
From behind the camera, Ned pointed at Bethany, and she stretched her fake smile even wider. “Thanks, Chuck! I’m a soup chef by trade, so I speak chili as my native language. I can’t wait for the judges to taste what I’ve created.”
“She is ready to rumble! I bet you’ve got a secret ingredient up your sleeve. Can you tell us what it is?”
Bethan grinned, and this time it was genuine. “I can’t tell you what it is, but I can tell you where I got it—at Rue the Day spice shop in Oldbridge.”
Chuck rolled his eyes and groaned. He waved his arm at Ned. “Cut, cut. We can’t use that. Why didn’t you tell her? I swear, a little girl could do a better job than you.”
Bethany cringed inside. Whatever she’d done, she didn’t want Ned taking the blame. “What did I do wrong?”
Ned leaned to the side so he could see her around the camera. “I forgot to remind you—we can’t mention any businesses or products unless they’re sponsors of the show.”
“Ah, OK, that makes sense.”
“We’ll just start from where Chuck asks you about your secret ingredient, OK?”
Chuck jogged in place and punched the air as though he were psyching himself up for a wrestling match. “OK, here we go!”
“And...action!” Ned pointed to them.
“Every chef has a secret ingredient,” Chuck boomed. “What’s yours?”
“I’ll never tell!” Bethany winked into the camera.
“And cut. Great job.” Ned lowered the camera and rubbed his shoulder.
Chuck glanced around, looking for something. “Where’s my water bottle?”
“Oh, sorry! I’ll get it!” Ned put down the camera and scampered over to where their gear was stacked behind the judges’ table. Chuck watched him go, his lip curling with disgust.
“The guy has one job, and he can’t even do that right.”
“It seems like he has a lot of jobs to me,” Bethany said. Like every job you don’t want to do.
Chuck snorted. “Nope, just one: keeping me happy. But he never lands the punch, you know? That’s how it goes—if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.”
As he walked away, Bethany noticed the other contestants standing around watching what had happened, their arms crossed and steely expressions on their faces. Garrett, Clementine, Alex, and Monsieur Adrian only had eyes for one person in the tent, and it wasn’t the larger-than-life TV star. It was his stammering, sweating assistant, who was still fumbling through the gear looking for Chuck’s water bottle. She was surprised to see the amount of dislike all of them seemed to have for Ned. It seemed more and more plausible that one of them had slipped something into his soup at the train station in the hopes they’d get rid of him and avoid being disqualified.
Ned has more enemies than I thought.
Chapter 9
A CRUSH OF PEOPLE ENTERED the tent all at once. Mayor Strauss and Judge Gallagher led a group of reporters and hired servers. The mayor wore a bright red suit, and Judge Gallagher wore a crisp blue one. They avoided eye contact with each other and seemed to be competing for who could smile and wave the longest at the contestants.
They’re both still in campaign mode. Bethany spotted Milo and gave him a little nod, and he returned it, sending a zing up her spine. She shook her head and tried to focus on something other than his warm brown eyes. I can’t get distracted now.
The mayor and the judge joined Chuck and Ned at the judge’s table, and Bethany sc
ooted a few feet closer so she could eavesdrop on their conversation.
“Can I go around and taste now?” Judge Gallagher asked. “I haven’t eaten all day and I’m starving!”
“I’ve had the same schedule as you, Trent,” Mayor Strauss said. “It takes some fortitude to make it through campaign season. Are you sure you’ve got what it takes?”
Chuck laughed. “Aw, the judge is a widdle crybaby ’cause he’s hungry.”
Judge Gallagher gave him an exasperated look, but Chuck didn’t even notice. He put an arm around each of their shoulders and squeezed, practically tucking them into his armpits. Bethany suppressed a giggle.
“Can you get us all in frame?” he asked Ned, who was fumbling with the camera.
“Yes. In three, two, one...”
“These bigwigs will join me on the judging panel today. We’re gonna lay down the law on these chefs and make sure no kitchen crimes have been committed, am I right, Judge?”
“I guess so.” Judge Gallagher apparently hadn’t gotten the smile memo.
“And who better to choose the best chef in town than the mayor. What do you expect to taste today?”
Mayor Strauss smiled, revealing even, sparkling-white teeth. “I think I’ll taste some really top-notch chili, Chuck. We’ve got the best restaurants in the region right here in Newbridge, so I expect nothing less.”
Chuck released them from his armpits and slammed his fist into his palm for the seventy-fifth time that day. “What did I tell you? This is gonna be epic.” He held the pose for an additional ten seconds until Ned indicated that he’d stopped filming. “Phew! I don’t know about you, but all this work is making me thirsty! Where’s the dang water? Why am I still looking for water? Ned!”
“Coming right up.” Ned hoisted a box of water bottles onto the table and put two at each judge’s place.
“Figured out who has it in for him yet?” Milo spoke so close to Bethany’s elbow that she jumped. She hadn’t noticed him there. “Charley told me he was poisoned after all, which is bad news for him, but great news for me!”
