by Darci Hannah
Dad and I whipped up a sample batch, including the tricky penuche-style frosting that had to be cooked over a stove. Dad had given me a little tip on how best to spread it on the cookies before it hardened, which was always the problem when using such a frosting. It was best to make the frosting in small batches. I then lined eight of the buttery pecan cookies close together on a cooling rack at a time and poured a tablespoon of warm frosting over each of them. While the frosting was still warm, a pecan half was pressed in the center of each one. I continued the process until all the cookies had been frosted. Then it was time for the real test. I handed one to Rory and watched his face as he took his first bite. Yep, it was a winner. His double groan of knee-weakening pleasure sealed the deal.
The second challenge was a gingerbread house showstopper. This required a little more prep work than the cookie. To save time, the gingerbread panels were to be designed and baked beforehand then brought to the bake-off, where they’d be assembled and decorated. Not only did the gingerbread house have to look good, but it needed to taste good as well. Instead of a traditional house, Rory helped me design a gingerbread replica of the Beacon Bakeshop complete with light tower. It was a real team effort. Everyone had piled into the kitchen to help. I put Mom and Kennedy on the candies I’d use for decoration. Dad helped me mix up batch after batch of a tasty yet stout gingerbread batter. The batter was then put into the molds Rory and I had made, and baked. It was tricky business. A few of the gingerbread panels cracked or broke as they were being removed from the mold, making this challenge the favorite of Welly, Brinkley, and Ireland. By the end of the day, the three dogs were gingerbread aficionados, having developed a real taste for the spicy cookie.
“Ready for this?” Rory asked. It was the morning of the bake-off, and I had just turned into the crowded parking lot of the Harbor Hotel. I parked my Jeep, turned off the ignition, and flashed him a confident smile.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” What I didn’t tell him was that butterflies were terrorizing my stomach. Although I had baked nearly every day for the past eight months, the thought of this bake-off made me nervous. I was prepared. I believed I had thought of everything. The back of my Jeep was testament to the fact that I had packed up nearly my entire kitchen, with the exception of the kitchen sink. And yet there was something bothering me. Apparently, Rory was more perceptive than I gave him credit for. His handsome face was pinched with concern, prompting me to add, “Even if I don’t win, it will still be fun.”
“I hope,” he added, with a pensive gaze out the window.
“What does that mean?” The others had pulled up behind us in Dad’s rental luxury SUV. They were about to get out, but something was troubling Rory.
“Were you up in the light tower last night?” His untimely mention of the old light tower tripped off another wave of terrorizing butterflies. The Beacon Harbor light tower was rumored to be haunted, and I had good reason to believe the rumor. Although I loved hanging out in the lantern room in the warmer months, it was bitter cold in the winter. Besides, I had been too busy to even think of going up there, and he knew it.
“What did you see?”
He answered cautiously. “Maybe the lights.”
Urgh! The mere mention of the lights sent my heart tripping away with the same physical annoyance as the butterflies in my stomach. This wasn’t good. The lights he was referring to were the ghost lights of Beacon Harbor, a quite famous phenomenon that was thought to be a portent of danger. “The whole light tower is wrapped in Christmas lights,” I reasoned. “What you probably saw was a reflection of them.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Could have been that. But just in case, stay sharp up on that stage today.”
With arms loaded with supplies, we entered the ballroom where the bake-off was being held and where the Beacon Harbor Christmas Festival was soon to begin. All thoughts of impending doom faded as the sights and smells of Christmas enveloped me. I knew the room was going to be decorated, but I hadn’t realized that it would be transformed into a remarkable winter wonderland complete with a German-style Christmas market. I was enchanted with the little wooden stalls, bedecked in Christmas lights, that had been erected in the main hall and around the perimeter of the ballroom.
Mom and Kennedy, the fashionistas of our group, were wearing matching Ellie & Co Christmas sweaters. I could tell they were enchanted by the prospect of shopping while I baked, and I really couldn’t blame them. Each stall sold little delights, like handmade ornaments, wooden puzzles, toys, sugared nuts, hand-dipped candles, knit hats, scarfs, mittens, and far more. It was a charming touch and one sure to bring smiles to all the visitors.
Moving to the stage, we spied Mrs. Nichols looking festive in a timeless red dress with white fur trim, white hose, and black buckle shoes. She was standing in a group with the rest of the gang from the Beacon Bakeshop. I had to laugh when I noticed that all my young employees had donned their craziest Christmas sweaters and hats for the occasion.
“Let me help you with those,” Tom said, taking a bag from me. We had stopped to chat with the group for a moment, but I was getting nervous. All the other bakers were already at their baking stations on stage, setting up for the Christmas cookie challenge.
“Thank you,” I said, as Ryan took the other bag. The young men bounded up the steps and headed for the empty baking station.
“Relax. You’ve got this, Lindsey,” Rory said, handing me the box of carefully packed gingerbread panels he’d been carrying. “Looks like your Christmas cookie nemesis is going to be too busy wooing the cameras and Chevy to bake.”
I looked to where he indicated on the stage and spied Felicity Stewart. She was wearing a frilly red apron over a green Christmas sweater. She was also standing so close to Chevy Chambers that she was nearly on top of him.
“Wow, she’s not even trying to hide the fact that she’s flirting with the judge,” I remarked. “And look at her over-the-top baking station!”
“That’s got to be a little distracting,” Rory remarked with a shake of his head. Felicity had covered her entire station in mini white lights. She had a mini Christmas tree set up beside her mixer (that was going to be awkward!) with a little miniature train running beneath it. Her hand-painted white mixer sported festive holly leaves and red berries. All her mixing bowls were red and green, and even her antique rolling pin reflected the season. It had wooden handles and a decorative ceramic roller embellished with little gingerbread men. I had to admit that it was kind of adorable. I had been so concerned with gathering all the things I was going to need for my two challenges that any extra thought of decorations had gone out the window. If we were being judged on our stations, Felicity would surely have that title in the bag.
Tom and Ryan bounded down the steps and gave me the thumbs-up. I thanked them, thanked Rory, and went to finish setting up my baking station. That’s when the ballroom doors opened to the public. The Christmas Festival had begun!
Chevy, spying me, broke away from Felicity and his camera crew. “Lindsey,” he said, taking hold of my arm while accompanying me to my baking station. “Naughty girl,” he whispered close to my ear. “I heard you’ve been baking cookies for nearly every shop in town.”
Conscious that people were watching us, I gently pulled away and forced a smile. “Not every shop. Only the ones who asked me. I do run a bakery, you know.”
He stood a little too close for my taste and smiled brightly. “Well, the ones I tasted were delicious . . . except for the dog biscuit at that pet groomer’s. Nasty.”
Conscious that I was running behind, I frantically began unloading my bags. I set down my container of flour and looked at him. “You ate that?”
“The woman behind the counter handed it to me, even though I didn’t have a dog.”
Peggy, I silently mused, bless you. To Chevy, I said, “Excuse me, but I need to get my baking counter set up.”
Chevy didn’t take the hint. Instead, he leaned close. “How about after you win t
his thing you have dinner with me? With that body and those high cheekbones, you’d look great on camera. If you play your cards right, I could see you hosting your own baking show. I can make that happen.”
Dumbfounded, I stared at him. What the heck was happening? Did he just tell me he was going to let me win? I was about to set him straight when Felicity appeared.
“Chevy! I have something else to show you. You’re going to want your camera crew to see this.” With a flirtatious smile, she placed a hand on his arm. Grabbing his attention, she glared at me. “I hope Lindsey’s not trying to bribe you. And look, how typical. She’s given no thought to decorating.”
“Hold on a minute,” Ginger said, stepping between Felicity and Chevy. Her baking station was all set up and looking great. “He’s been at your station for fifteen minutes,” she complained, looking at Felicity. “I’ve been promised some camera time as well, and a nice blurb about Harbor Scoops. I want to remind people that we’re still open and have fabulous hand-packed ice cream take-away pints in all our flavors, as well as jars of our homemade ice cream toppings.”
“Good luck, Lindsey.” Chevy tossed me a wink and left arm in arm with Ginger. Felicity stormed off in a huff. Bradley, in the manner of a true chef, ignored us all and focused instead on the pound of butter he was unwrapping.
We were all ready for the bake-off to begin when Betty Vanhoosen walked onto the stage. She looked adorable in her own bright, cotton candy–pink version of what Mrs. Claus should look like. Wearing a short white wig and glasses for effect, she waved at us before picking up the microphone. Betty, unbeknownst to me, was the other cookie judge and host of the Great Beacon Harbor Christmas Cookie Bake-Off. After welcoming the crowd, and after giving a few short community announcements, she proclaimed that the bake-off had begun.
The butterflies in my stomach were long gone as I mixed up dough for my frosted southern pecan cookie. I was just about to scoop the delicious buttery batter onto a parchment-covered baking sheet when Mrs. Nichols hailed me from the foot of the stage. I had half a mind to ignore her, but the look in her wide blue eyes went straight to my heart. She was troubled about something. I set down my scoop and walked around my station to see what was troubling her.
“One of the cookie-nappers is here!” she exclaimed in a loud whisper.
It wasn’t exactly the best timing. I needed to get my cookies into the oven. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. She’s over there . . . the platinum blonde in the tight pink sweater.”
I looked at the woman in question but couldn’t see her clearly. The crowd watching the bake-off had grown, and the woman was swiftly moving away, weaving through people as she left. All I could see was her back and the fall of her thick white-blond hair. I didn’t know what to do. Thankfully, Rory and Kennedy had seen me.
“Lindsey, what’s wrong?” Rory’s eyes flashed concern as he came to the edge of the stage.
I shrugged. “It’s probably nothing. Mrs. Nichols thinks she’s spotted one of the cookie-nappers. Can you two check it out for her?”
“We’ve got it,” Kennedy assured me. “You just keep baking!”
I turned away as Mrs. Nichols began describing the woman to them. The cookie-napping was hardly relevant now that I was in the bake-off, but Mrs. Nichols was highly agitated. With Rory and Kennedy handling the matter, I was able to return to my cookies. I had no sooner put them into the oven when I noticed that something else seemed very strange. Chevy Chambers was nowhere to be seen.
CHAPTER 16
Where had the cookie judge gone to? The thought that he had left the stage made me nervous, especially since Rory had planted the seed that something bad might happen. Why did Rory have to mention the ghost lights? Then there was the fact that Rory and Kennedy were still gone, too, which made me nervous. However, I didn’t have time to dwell on it. I lined up the cookies and quickly poured the hot, glossy penuche frosting on them before it hardened, just like I had practiced. With my cookies done and sitting on a decorative Christmas plate, I was about to go look for Chevy. The moment I got to the end of the stage, I saw him walk through the back door of the hotel kitchen. It was the same door Kennedy, Rory, and I had walked through when Bradley had shown us the ballroom.
Chevy must have taken a bathroom break, I thought, watching him return to the stage. He had come back to judge the first round of cookies and was looking a little flustered. His face was red, and he wasn’t smiling as he went to meet Betty Vanhoosen at the judges’ table. But like a true professional, he plastered on a smile and began entertaining the crowd with witty comments as he sampled Ginger’s Oreo truffle cookie.
I was third to be judged. I had just set my plate on the judges’ table when I noticed Rory and Kennedy standing at the foot of the stage motioning to me. The moment Chevy and Betty had finished sampling my frosted southern pecan cookie, and after answering all their questions for the crowd, I quietly slipped away to talk with my friends.
“Did you find her?”
“We did,” Kennedy announced, “but only from a distance. She was talking with that man over there.” She pointed to Chevy.
“With Chevy?”
“Didn’t look like they were strangers either,” Rory added. “I think she was flirting with him. However, the moment she spotted us, she took off, slipping out a side door. Chevy took off, too, but we caught up with him. He looked flustered but swore he didn’t know her. Said she was a fan. I’m not sure I believe him.”
“Interesting. So, Chevy might have a connection to one of our cookie-nappers,” I remarked.
Rory shrugged. “I don’t know, but I do think we need to keep an eye on Mr. Chambers.”
It wasn’t long before the winner of the Christmas cookie challenge was announced. I half-expected to win because of what Chevy had insinuated to me before the bake-off began, but he surprised me. Although I had baked an excellent cookie, Bradley and his beautiful turtle-topped shortbread had taken first place, while my frosted southern pecan cookie came in second. Ginger took third with her Oreo truffles, and Felicity came in last with her old-fashioned figgy bars with hard-sauce glaze. Really, what was she thinking? Clearly put out that her gelatinous bar-cookie hadn’t won, she flashed Chevy a look that could have killed before storming back to her baking station. There was something about her anger that made me think that Chevy might have promised her a victory as well.
I was satisfied with second place. It meant that Chevy wasn’t on the take. Bradley’s cookie was a work of art. He was also an excellent baker. Had I come in first place after my little conversation with Chevy, I might have been suspicious. Sure, I wanted to win the bake-off, but not that way.
After a short break, the final challenge was announced. Although all four of us bakers had known the two challenges we were to face, the festivalgoers had remained ignorant. Therefore, when the second and final challenge was announced, the gingerbread house showstopper, the crowd erupted in applause.
Ginger, grabbing an array of food coloring for her icing, had come over for a word. “These gingerbread panels were the worst,” she confided. “Didn’t realize we’d be made to construct a gingerbread house from scratch when this town-wide Christmas cookie extravaganza began. I usually just buy a kit for Kate. We have a blast making it, but last night I wasn’t having a blast baking large pans of gingerbread.”
I smiled in agreement. “It was a pain, but I had the whole gang helping out. Needless to say, we broke a few panels. Welly was happy about that.” As I talked, I gently eased a gingerbread panel out of the shirt box I had transported it in.
“I’ll bet he was. Hey”—she leaned in and lowered her voice—“did Chevy offer to come over to the lighthouse and help you bake?”
Stunned, I looked at her. “No, he didn’t. Did he come over to your house last night?”
“When he learned that I was a single mother, he offered. Of course, I didn’t take him up on it.” She made a face, indicating that the whole notion was ridiculous. She the
n walked back to her station.
I glared at Chevy as I turned on my mixer to whip up the thick royal icing that would act as the glue to my gingerbread. What a creep.
I was in the thick of constructing my festive, edible lighthouse when I heard a familiar voice hailing me from the edge of the stage. I looked to where the voice had come from and saw Mrs. Nichols. Her normally jovial face was pinched with anger once again. It was like bad déjà vu.
Noting that Chevy and the cameras were busy with Felicity and her over-the-top Christmas cheer, I set down my bag of icing and went to the edge of the stage.
“Sorry to be a bother, dear, but I’ve spotted another one of the cookie-nappers.” I could have guessed as much, I thought, but I put a concerned look on my face nonetheless. “She came right up to the stage,” Mrs. Nichols continued, “right over there!” She pointed her finger, aiming at a large gentleman standing beside her. “Oops, not him,” she demurred. “But four spaces down there.”
“Stay right here,” I told her. “I’m putting Rory and Kennedy on it.” Although they should have been next to Mrs. Nichols, watching me decorate my gingerbread lighthouse, even I knew how boring spectating a bake-off could be—especially for two non-bakers. They had meandered off to browse around the little Christmas booths with Mom and Dad and the rest of the Beacon’s staff. Walking back to my baking station, I pulled out my phone and sent Rory a text. A moment later he appeared with Kennedy beside him. They found Mrs. Nichols and were taking note of her description of this new cookie-napper.
All my candy bags were open, and I was decorating! I had crushed a bag of Oreo cookies and pressed the crumbs on a layer of icing to create the distinctive black dome of the light tower. I was using white Chiclets gum for the base of the tower to mimic the brick construction. For the roof of the main house, I had layered chocolate nonpareil discs to look like a snow-covered roof. I was currently placing thin pretzel sticks on the lighthouse to look like windowpanes. I had just finished my second window when Betty picked up the microphone and made the announcement that Santa had arrived.
