Eggs Benedict Arnold (52 page)

Suzanne glanced at her Timex. It was five minutes past
the deadline they
’
d set, but Nadine looked so eager and
hopeful. And, of course, she
’
d just lost her husband a week
earlier, so Suzanne felt more than a little compassion for
her.
“
Of course we can squeak you in,
”
she told her.
“
No problem. Let
’
s see what we have here . . .
”
While Nadine
filled out her entry form, Suzanne stu
died
her cake. It was a
small, round, three-layer cake covered with vanilla crackle glaze and artfully decorated with chocolate swirls. On top, enormous pieces of shaved chocolate formed a glistening
poufy bow. It was beautifully done. A cake that might even
give Carmen Copeland a run for her money ...

Nadine pushed her completed entry form across the
table as she uncrumpled a blue flyer. One of the flyers
Toni and Petra had passed out all over town advertising the
cake-decorating contest.
“
Are Sharon and Petra still doing
the judging?
”
she asked.
Suzanne shook her head.
“
Slight change in plans. Now
Sheriff Doogie will help do the honors. Along with Petra, of course.
”
She indicated the two of them, who had their heads together, whispering, down at the other end of the tent.

“
Oh,
”
said Nadine.
“
Doogie.
”

Suzanne reached out and patted Nadine
’
s arm.
“
Don
’
t worry, I know what you
’
re thinking. What does Sheriff
Doogie know about cakes anyway? Am I right?
”

Nadine
’
s head moved slightly.

Suzanne continued.
“
But Doogie actually has a rather
discerning palate.
”
She laughed.
“
At the very least, he can
tell a cinnamon scone from a cake doughnut.
”

“
Well, that
’
s
something,
”
agreed Nadine, with a good-natured grin.

It
took Petra and Sheriff Doogie some forty minutes to
study all the cakes, jot a few notes, then decide the winners
in each of the four cake-decorating categories, as well as
first runner-ups. In fact, they were still marking their judg
ing sheets when Ray Lynch poked his head into the tent.

“
Sorry,
”
Suzanne told him, waving her hands and hur
rying over to bar him from entering.
“
This tent
’
s closed for
judging.
”
She gazed at him, wondering why Ray Lynch, of
the Roth Funeral Home Consortium, had chosen to show up here and now.

Lynch seemed to spot the question mark in Suzanne
’
s
eyes, so he said,
“
I was just driving by and noticed all the
commotion.
”

“
It
’
s our Take the Cake Show,
”
Suzanne explained.

Lynch regarded her with a slightly curious look.

Suzanne let loose a deep sigh.
“
If you
’
d like,
there’s a
cake social starting in about ten minutes. You can go into
the other tent and take a seat.
”

‘
That sounds lovely,
”
said Lynch.

Lovely?
thought Suzanne.
This from a guy who buys dis
tressed funeral homes for a living?

Petra was suddenly standing at Suzanne
’
s elbow.
“
We
’
ve
got a problem,
”
she said in a terse voice.

“
Hmm?
”
said Suzanne, whirling about.

“
We simply don
’
t believe Carmen Copeland decorated
her own cake,
”
said Petra. She cast a conspiratorial glance
at Doogie.
“
Do we?
”

He shrugged.
“
If you say so. It
’
s awful nice and fancy, though.
”

“
It
’
s gorgeous!
”
agreed Petra.
“
But since she already
asked me to create that handbag cake, do you really think Little Miss Romance Writer knows how to feather frosting
or do garrett frills?
”

Suzanne
’
s mouth twitched.
“
Maybe she took a class?
”

“
And maybe she
’
s out-classed,
”
replied Petra in a huff.
“
A lot of hard work and love went into baking and decorat
ing all these other cake entries. They
’
re the ones who are the most
deserving.
”

“
So what are you gonna do?
”
asked Suzanne. More
and more, she was becoming a bottom-line gal. Define the
problem. Figure out a solution. Don
’
t agonize or burst a blood vessel in the process.

Petra made an unhappy face.
“
Since I can
’
t
prove
Car
men didn
’
t decorate her own cake, we
’
re probably going to have to award her a ribbon. Her cake is
clearly
the best in
the sugar arts category.
”

“
What about the other categories?
”
asked Suzanne.

Petra squinted at her judging sheet.
“
Nadine is the hands-
down winner in tiered cakes, Lynda Jenner in sheet cakes,
and Kathy Cromley in wedding cakes. And, of course, we
also have our first runner-ups.”

“
Okay,
”
said Suzanne.
“
So seven out of eight
’
s not that
bad. The contest
’
s not a total disaster.
”

Petra was still unsure.
“
But don
’
t you think everyone
will
guess
that Carmen didn
’
t decorate her own cake?
”

Suzanne raised an eyebrow and flashed a snarky, know
i
ng grin.
“
Yes, I think that might well happen. So . . . it
’
s
not a total capitulation on our part, is it?
”

Petra stared at her, then a gradual smile stole across her
broad face.
“
Yes,
”
she said, clearly warming up to the idea.
“
I see what you mean.
”

The
cake social proved to be an even bigger hit than when
the Kindred Sluggers faced off against the Jordan Brewers
in the state finals.

Toni and Kit brought out all the cakes Petra had baked
and set them up as a veritable cake buff
et. Thin slices of co
conut cake arranged on a sterling silver tray. Devil
’
s food on
a three-tiered curette. Chocolate cake decorated with fresh
strawberries on a tall crystal cake pedestal. Marble cake on a
marble slab balanced atop two silver columns. Petit fours on a fancy lacquer tray. And scattered among the cake display were flickering candles and elegant floral bouquets.

“
Oh my goodness,
”
Laura Benchley marveled to Su
zanne.
“
Forget Old Country Buffet or the potluck at St.
Sebastian
’
s. This is what
every
buffet should look like!
”
As
editor of the
Bugle
turned eager reporter, Laura was snap
ping photos and jotting notes like crazy.

“
Sugar, gobs of frosting, and fruit glazes,
”
agreed Su
zanne.
“
I
mink I could live on this stuff.
”
And sometimes I have,
she thought, feeling a small pang of nutritional guilt.

“
What kind of ice cream are they serving?
”
asked Laura.
She pointed toward the far end of the table where Toni and
Kit were doing the honors, scooping ice cream and sorbet.

“
Vanilla bean and peach mango,
”
said Suzanne.
“
Along
with Petra
’
s homemade strawberry sorbet.
”

“
Dear Lord,
”
murmured Laura.
“
Petra
makes
her own sorbet?
”

“
She
’
s just an old-fashioned gal,
”
laughed Suzanne.

“
Deep down, don
’
t we wish we all were,
”
replied Laura.

Suzanne worked her way down the cake buffet line and stepped behind Toni and Kit, who were scooping like mad.
“
How
’
s it going?
”
she asked.

“
Great,
”
said Toni,
“
except for the fact we
’
ve got frostbite up to our elbows.
”
Toni shook her right hand to warm
it up.
“
This is even worse than going ice fishing!
”

“
You never . . .
”
said Suzanne with a laugh, then did a
double take.
“
Ice fishing? Really?
”

“
I
’
ll have you know Junior dragged me out onto Lake Elmo last winter,
”
said Toni.
“
Or, rather,
I
dragged the ice auger, spincast reels, and night crawlers, while Junior dragged two six-packs of Budweiser.
”

“
You see,
”
murmured Suzanne,
“
that
’
s one of the reasons your relationship doesn
’
t work.
”

“
Incompatibility?
”
asked Toni.

“
Inequality,
”
said Suzanne.

Some
fifteen minutes later, Petra and Sheriff Doogie stood
in front of the group with fluttering purple and blue ribbons
in hand. Somewhere during the judging process, Doogie had picked up a chef
’
s hat that
m
at
ched Petra
’
s. So now
they looked like a pair of giant white mushrooms perform
ing a song and dance act in front of the crowd.