strategy, to make a fortune playing professional poker in Las Vegas and Atlantic City, he’d become Shadow Bend’s wealthiest entrepreneur.
It didn’t hurt that he now had muscles, a straightened nose, and a jutting chin—the latter two features owing to the wonders of plastic surgery. Transformed into the handsome prince, he’d returned to town, where he purchased a nearly bankrupt factory that he built into a thriving business. All of this made him one of our community’s most eligible bachelors. I loved the quirk of fate that had turned the bullies of his high school years into the sycophants who now were his entourage.
I flashed Vaughn a grin, both because we had been buddies at the bottom of the teenage hierarchy and because it would drive Gwen nuts.
He beamed back at me, tilted his head toward his date, and stage-whispered, “Me with a homecoming queen, who would have thunk it?”
Hoping Gwen wouldn’t use and abuse my starstruck friend, I smiled at him and moved on. Just before reaching my chair, I glanced at the head table. Geoffrey Eggers was leaning close to Kizzy and whispering in her ear. Kizzy’s demeanor was easy to read since she wasn’t trying to hide that she was bored out of her skull. But Lee’s expression was tougher to figure out. Was it concern that her partner would be rude to the mayor or something else?
Could it be jealousy? It had to be hard always to play second fiddle to Kizzy. While Lee was attractive in a quiet sort of way, her business partner was stunning. Tonight, while Lee had on a nice pair of khaki slacks with a white blouse and cream jacket, Kizzy’s full-skirted green and white polka-dot dress was cinched in the waist with a velvet ribbon. Her trademark blond French twist was perfect, as was her polished pink fingernails.
As I neared the coffee urn, I saw GB O’Rourke and his wife, Millie, filling their cups. Their backs were tome and I heard Millie say to her husband, “If that witch suggests one more time that your recipe isn’t the real McCoy, we’re going to need to take care of her.”
I paused. Was the “her” Millie referred to another contestant?
“Ms. Cutler says she knows she’s seen my cupcake somewhere before.” GB’s voice was tense. “I made up that recipe, but she warned me that she’s got one of her employees searching the Internet, and if she finds proof it isn’t an original creation, she’ll kick me out of the contest. What if someone else thought of the same recipe before me and she finds it?”
“That can’t happen,” Millie snapped. “Even if you’re completely innocent, your congregation wouldn’t forget an accusation like that.”
Evidently, GB was a minister. I tucked the piece of data away, making a note to myself to avoid the preacher and his wife in the future. It always seemed to me that people who wanted to share their religious views with me never wanted to have me share mine with them. When I noticed Millie staring at me, I nodded and quickly continued on to my table.
Taking my seat, I whispered to Poppy, “Did you see that Gwen’s here?”
“It was hard to miss her.” Poppy giggled. “She made a big deal about moving her aunt’s lame angel food cake to the front of the dessert table.”
“She could have put that dried-up piece of crap on an illuminated pedestal and offered to pay people to eat it, and it still would be the last item of bakery left.” I rolled my eyes. “Mrs. C always buys her pastry contributions from the day-old shelf, and everyone around here knows it. Her only hope of getting someone to take a slice is that one of the out-of-towners forgot his or her glasses and can’t see how shriveled up it is.”
“Yep. People in these parts take their food seriously.” Poppy took a bite of her brownie. She moaned at the chocolaty goodness, then said, “And it’s the ultimate humiliation to have your contribution to the potluck dinner be the platter that’s still full.”
“Too true.”
It didn’t hurt that he now had muscles, a straightened nose, and a jutting chin—the latter two features owing to the wonders of plastic surgery. Transformed into the handsome prince, he’d returned to town, where he purchased a nearly bankrupt factory that he built into a thriving business. All of this made him one of our community’s most eligible bachelors. I loved the quirk of fate that had turned the bullies of his high school years into the sycophants who now were his entourage.
I flashed Vaughn a grin, both because we had been buddies at the bottom of the teenage hierarchy and because it would drive Gwen nuts.
He beamed back at me, tilted his head toward his date, and stage-whispered, “Me with a homecoming queen, who would have thunk it?”
Hoping Gwen wouldn’t use and abuse my starstruck friend, I smiled at him and moved on. Just before reaching my chair, I glanced at the head table. Geoffrey Eggers was leaning close to Kizzy and whispering in her ear. Kizzy’s demeanor was easy to read since she wasn’t trying to hide that she was bored out of her skull. But Lee’s expression was tougher to figure out. Was it concern that her partner would be rude to the mayor or something else?
Could it be jealousy? It had to be hard always to play second fiddle to Kizzy. While Lee was attractive in a quiet sort of way, her business partner was stunning. Tonight, while Lee had on a nice pair of khaki slacks with a white blouse and cream jacket, Kizzy’s full-skirted green and white polka-dot dress was cinched in the waist with a velvet ribbon. Her trademark blond French twist was perfect, as was her polished pink fingernails.
As I neared the coffee urn, I saw GB O’Rourke and his wife, Millie, filling their cups. Their backs were tome and I heard Millie say to her husband, “If that witch suggests one more time that your recipe isn’t the real McCoy, we’re going to need to take care of her.”
I paused. Was the “her” Millie referred to another contestant?
“Ms. Cutler says she knows she’s seen my cupcake somewhere before.” GB’s voice was tense. “I made up that recipe, but she warned me that she’s got one of her employees searching the Internet, and if she finds proof it isn’t an original creation, she’ll kick me out of the contest. What if someone else thought of the same recipe before me and she finds it?”
“That can’t happen,” Millie snapped. “Even if you’re completely innocent, your congregation wouldn’t forget an accusation like that.”
Evidently, GB was a minister. I tucked the piece of data away, making a note to myself to avoid the preacher and his wife in the future. It always seemed to me that people who wanted to share their religious views with me never wanted to have me share mine with them. When I noticed Millie staring at me, I nodded and quickly continued on to my table.
Taking my seat, I whispered to Poppy, “Did you see that Gwen’s here?”
“It was hard to miss her.” Poppy giggled. “She made a big deal about moving her aunt’s lame angel food cake to the front of the dessert table.”
“She could have put that dried-up piece of crap on an illuminated pedestal and offered to pay people to eat it, and it still would be the last item of bakery left.” I rolled my eyes. “Mrs. C always buys her pastry contributions from the day-old shelf, and everyone around here knows it. Her only hope of getting someone to take a slice is that one of the out-of-towners forgot his or her glasses and can’t see how shriveled up it is.”
“Yep. People in these parts take their food seriously.” Poppy took a bite of her brownie. She moaned at the chocolaty goodness, then said, “And it’s the ultimate humiliation to have your contribution to the potluck dinner be the platter that’s still full.”
“Too true.”
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