at the top.
“I’ll be damned,” Mel said. “Look at that.”
She quickly perused the board and noticed that Confections was listed third after Polly’s Cookies.
Angie pumped her fist and let out a very unsportsmanlike whoop. Given the circumstances with Vic, Mel couldn’t get that enthused, but she did feel a surge of satisfaction that was impossible to deny.
“Don’t get too used to it,” a voice snarled from behind them. “This is just the first cut.”
Mel whirled around to find Olivia and her sous-chef glaring at them. She wondered if Olivia had any other look or if she suffered from an advanced case of permascowl.
“Oh, I don’t think it’s for us to get used to,” Angie said. “I’d say that’s more your problem, ’cause we’re number one and we’re planning to stay there.”
“Hunh,” Olivia grunted. “That’s going to be kind of hard now that your little judge buddy is dead.”
Mel felt a blast of white-hot anger light her up from the inside with the explosive force of gunpowder. Olivia did not deserve to even utter Vic’s name, never mind be dismissive of his death.
“Shut up,” she said. There must have been something in her tone because both Angie and Olivia’s sous-chef looked at her in surprise. “A man is dead—show some respect.”
Olivia shrugged. “What do I care? I didn’t know him. I wasn’t his little pet.”
Mel moved before it was a conscious thought. She fisted Olivia’s blue chef coat in her left hand while her right formed a fist.
“I said show some respect,” she said through gritted teeth. “What part of that don’t you understand?”
A flash of fear lit Olivia’s eyes, and her sous-chef stood behind her flapping her arms uselessly as if she thought she should defend her boss, but she didn’t want to be the one to take the pounding herself.
“Hey, would you look at that?” a voice asked. Mel glanced over her shoulder to see that the pert and perky Polly Ramsey had joined them. She was looking at her number two spot and appeared very chuffed about it.
“Wow, do you see my name?” she asked. “Look, I’m up there with you!”
Polly set off to get a closer look at the board, and they all watched her go before anyone moved.
Mel relaxed her grip on Olivia’s coat and smoothed the creases with her palm as she said, “I think we understand each other now.”
“Oh, I understand,” Olivia spat. “Now you understand I’m going to pound you, just so we’re clear.”
Angie stepped forward, but Mel stopped her with a hand on her elbow.
“May the best chef win,” Mel said.
“Don’t worry, I will,” Olivia said, and she stormed away from the dais.
“Mel, so help me, if you withdraw us from this competition because of Vic, I will understand, but oh, I will be so disappointed.”
“I’m not going to withdraw us,” she said. “After all, this may be the best place to find out more about Vic’s death.”
“No, no, no!” Angie protested. “We are not getting involved in this, absolutely not.”
Twelve
“ We already are involved ,” Mel said. “Vic was my friend, and we’re the ones who found his body. How much more involved can we get?”
“That’s one way to look at it,” Angie agreed.
Mel had started to walk around the grounds, and Angie fell into step beside her. They had to duck and weave as workers were hauling carts, setting up for the day’s events.
“Or we could focus on making mincemeat out of Olivia in the competition and save the whole murder thing for the police.”
“Absolutely,” Mel agreed. Her eyes scanned the gathering crowd. “Olivia’s going down, but if along the way I happen to gather information that I think will help Uncle Stan, I’m going to pass it on to him.”
“But that’s not our purpose,” Angie said, looking concerned. “That’s secondary. Mel, hear me, ‘There’s one thing I want you to do for me. Win. Win!’”
Mel turned to look at her and frowned.
“Did you
“I’ll be damned,” Mel said. “Look at that.”
She quickly perused the board and noticed that Confections was listed third after Polly’s Cookies.
Angie pumped her fist and let out a very unsportsmanlike whoop. Given the circumstances with Vic, Mel couldn’t get that enthused, but she did feel a surge of satisfaction that was impossible to deny.
“Don’t get too used to it,” a voice snarled from behind them. “This is just the first cut.”
Mel whirled around to find Olivia and her sous-chef glaring at them. She wondered if Olivia had any other look or if she suffered from an advanced case of permascowl.
“Oh, I don’t think it’s for us to get used to,” Angie said. “I’d say that’s more your problem, ’cause we’re number one and we’re planning to stay there.”
“Hunh,” Olivia grunted. “That’s going to be kind of hard now that your little judge buddy is dead.”
Mel felt a blast of white-hot anger light her up from the inside with the explosive force of gunpowder. Olivia did not deserve to even utter Vic’s name, never mind be dismissive of his death.
“Shut up,” she said. There must have been something in her tone because both Angie and Olivia’s sous-chef looked at her in surprise. “A man is dead—show some respect.”
Olivia shrugged. “What do I care? I didn’t know him. I wasn’t his little pet.”
Mel moved before it was a conscious thought. She fisted Olivia’s blue chef coat in her left hand while her right formed a fist.
“I said show some respect,” she said through gritted teeth. “What part of that don’t you understand?”
A flash of fear lit Olivia’s eyes, and her sous-chef stood behind her flapping her arms uselessly as if she thought she should defend her boss, but she didn’t want to be the one to take the pounding herself.
“Hey, would you look at that?” a voice asked. Mel glanced over her shoulder to see that the pert and perky Polly Ramsey had joined them. She was looking at her number two spot and appeared very chuffed about it.
“Wow, do you see my name?” she asked. “Look, I’m up there with you!”
Polly set off to get a closer look at the board, and they all watched her go before anyone moved.
Mel relaxed her grip on Olivia’s coat and smoothed the creases with her palm as she said, “I think we understand each other now.”
“Oh, I understand,” Olivia spat. “Now you understand I’m going to pound you, just so we’re clear.”
Angie stepped forward, but Mel stopped her with a hand on her elbow.
“May the best chef win,” Mel said.
“Don’t worry, I will,” Olivia said, and she stormed away from the dais.
“Mel, so help me, if you withdraw us from this competition because of Vic, I will understand, but oh, I will be so disappointed.”
“I’m not going to withdraw us,” she said. “After all, this may be the best place to find out more about Vic’s death.”
“No, no, no!” Angie protested. “We are not getting involved in this, absolutely not.”
Twelve
“ We already are involved ,” Mel said. “Vic was my friend, and we’re the ones who found his body. How much more involved can we get?”
“That’s one way to look at it,” Angie agreed.
Mel had started to walk around the grounds, and Angie fell into step beside her. They had to duck and weave as workers were hauling carts, setting up for the day’s events.
“Or we could focus on making mincemeat out of Olivia in the competition and save the whole murder thing for the police.”
“Absolutely,” Mel agreed. Her eyes scanned the gathering crowd. “Olivia’s going down, but if along the way I happen to gather information that I think will help Uncle Stan, I’m going to pass it on to him.”
“But that’s not our purpose,” Angie said, looking concerned. “That’s secondary. Mel, hear me, ‘There’s one thing I want you to do for me. Win. Win!’”
Mel turned to look at her and frowned.
“Did you
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