Fat Cat Takes the Cake (19 page)

A
nna did indeed want to get her mind off the coming Minny Batter Battle, Julie told Chase, but she wanted to do it her own way. She had cooked up a huge pot of savory beef stew for the three of them.

Chase always loved being at Anna's little white house with the pastel blue shutters on Nokomis Avenue. Today, even more so, as the smells of hearty stew and baking bread drifted from the kitchen to the living room when she stepped into the house. She and Julie sipped a rosé. It wasn't Chase's favorite kind of wine, but Anna loved it.

They tried to help in the kitchen, but Anna made them sit in the living room while she finished setting the kitchen table.

“Okay, soup's on,” Anna called.

“Stew's on, you mean,” Julie said.

Anna stood ladling it out into thick crockery bowls as they took their seats at the small round table. The pale yellow bowls, with their plates beneath, sat on green-and-yellow-checked placemats. Fat carrots and potatoes, onions and cabbage floated in the thick, brown stew.

Anna wore a vest of vermilion and chartreuse over a yellow long-sleeved T-shirt. She stood out like a beacon against the pale mint green walls of her kitchen.

When they told Anna about Dillon Yardley waking up, Anna got tears in her eyes, and so did Chase—again. Anna was less pleased about Chase going off with Eddie Heath when she thought he might be a killer, and was downright upset about Bart Fender attacking her outside her own home.

“Grandma,” Julie said, “it's all turned out all right. The detective took him in and a killer is locked up, awaiting trial.”

“Is there any way he'll be found not guilty?” Anna asked.

“I suppose anything can happen,” Julie said. “But it would be very unlikely. There will be traces left from Ron's body in his car. Juries love DNA.”

“I hope baking juries love blueberry muffins,” Anna said, worry creasing her brow.

Julie and Chase looked at each other. That was the subject they were trying to avoid.

“Isn't that courtroom drama on tonight? The one you like so much?” Julie asked.

Anna frowned at her granddaughter. “You're trying to distract me; don't think I can't tell.” She softened her words
and patted Julie's hand. “And I appreciate it. But I don't think anything is going to get my mind off the battle. I won't feel better until tomorrow night when this is all over.”

“I almost forgot to tell you,” Chase said. “It flew out of my mind. Right before I left Bar None to get Julie, Mallory told me that Grace Pilsen was in earlier.”

“She came to our shop
today
? The gall of that woman!” Anna huffed.

“Mallory said she didn't look well. She was flushed and sweating and her eyes were red. She only stayed a moment. As soon as she was in the door, she started having a coughing fit and had to turn around and leave.”

“She's sick again?” Julie said. “Maybe she won't show up to compete.”

“Maybe,” Anna said, trying not to smile. “One can hope.”

Anna made hot cocoa and they sipped it, watching the tense drama unfold. The television show distracted Anna to some extent, Chase thought. She knew Anna wouldn't sleep much, but there was nothing she could do about that.

In the morning, the sun broke through the clouds that had covered the city for days. Chase and Julie, plus Bill and Jay, were all going as spectators. Bill drove Anna and helped carry in her supplies. Chase would have asked Mike, but she knew he was working at his clinic today.

The Minny Batter Battle was being held in the gymnasium at Hammond High School. Chase experienced a shiver of fear when she first entered the vast room. But gone were the long table and punch bowl, the banners declaring Richard Byrd as a candidate for mayor, and the rest of the reunion trappings. In their place were ten workstations, lined up in
a neat row, as they were every year, according to Julie's whispers. From seeing other baking competitions on television, the setting seemed familiar to Chase.

From the bleachers, which had been set up on one side of the gym, Chase saw Bill stashing Anna's ingredients in the cupboard under the counter. Everyone had the same standard equipment: mixer, bowls, utensils, measuring spoons and cups, and baking pans, which were out and ready for use. Each baker was required to bring her own ingredients.
His
own ingredients in the case of the only man competing.

The room sizzled with energy. The stands buzzed with conversation as the crowds found seats, their footsteps drumming with a hollow sound on the aluminum treads of the risers.

Anna was chatting amiably with the woman to her right, appearing completely at ease. Neither one was actually at ease, Chase was sure. She looked for Grace Pilsen, but didn't see her. Eight of the workstations were occupied. The two to Anna's left were empty.

As the contestants got their things stashed, they then sat on the folding chairs provided. Chase knew they would sit there only until the starting buzzer, then would be standing and working for the rest of the time, maybe sitting while their concoctions baked, if they were caught up with all the other prep work.

A man with a handheld microphone introduced the five judges. One was a food columnist for the local paper, two were local restaurant owners. Chase and Julie quit listening and speculated on where Grace Pilsen could be and if she would show up. One of the places to Anna's left was no doubt hers.

A red-faced woman rushed in, her arms full of grocery bags, the coattails of her open coat flying behind her, and quickly settled herself on Anna's left. She peeled off her coat and plopped into the chair, breathing hard. But the station next to hers, the one on the end, remained empty. There were numbers on each station rather than names, but Chase was sure the empty place was Grace's. Where was she? Chase glanced at the wire-caged clock. Five minutes remained before the contest was to start.

A horrid vision rose, unbeckoned, in Chase's mind. She pictured Ron North lying in the parking lot outside at night. Then she pictured Grace in the same position. She had an urge to run outside to check it out, but couldn't leave when the Batter Battle was starting up in—she threw another glance at the clock on the wall—two minutes.

W
hen thirty seconds remained until starting time, with all nine bakers perched on the edges of their chairs, ready to spring up and swing into action, in rushed Grace Pilsen. The white streak in her coal black hair waved as she sprinted across the room and skidded to a stop at her station. She shoved her materials into the cupboard, shrugged off her coat onto the floor, and, as her bottom touched her seat, the buzzer sounded.

All the bakers leapt up and extracted their bags and bins, clattering the equipment, intense concentration on each face, hands flying to put their concoctions together as quickly and flawlessly as possible. Judges strolled up and down the row, taking notes on electronic pads, their faces giving away nothing.

All the bakers except Grace. She pushed herself up and proceeded slowly, her hands limp and her face haggard.

“So she came. Even though she's obviously still sick,” Julie said.

“I think you're right,” Chase said. “I've never seen her look that bad.”

“At least she's not next to Anna,” Bill said. “But that poor woman beside her might catch whatever it is that she has.”

As he finished his sentence, Grace reached into her apron pocket and stuck a wrinkled tissue to her face, letting out a mighty sneeze.

That caught the attention of the judge nearest her, a woman in an old-fashioned pantsuit. Chase wondered if it was polyester. The woman turned and stalked to the end of the row.

“That's Mrs. Prebbles, isn't it?” Julie said.

Realization dawned and Chase nodded. Mrs. Prebbles had been their home economics teacher in junior high school.

“She might be wearing one of the same pantsuits she wore to our classes,” Julie whispered.

Chase tried not to giggle.

The other judges swiveled their heads toward Mrs. Prebbles and Grace Pilsen and watched.

Mrs. Prebbles reached Grace and began talking softly to her.

Grace shook her head and threw out her hand. Unfortunately, that was the hand that held her used tissue. The tissue flew to the floor at the feet of Mrs. Prebbles, who grimaced and stepped back.

A conference ensued, with all five judges and the announcer huddled a safe distance away from Grace. While
they talked, Grace appeared to be stifling more sneezes, a forefinger placed delicately to her nostrils, and groping in her purse with the other hand for more tissues.

Meanwhile, Anna had gotten all her ingredients into her bowl and started the mixer. She scraped the sides of the bowl as it turned and took quick glances to her left.

The judges still huddled, some gesturing, others shaking their heads.

Grace fumbled with her bin of flour, trying to scoop some into her bowl but slopping a lot of it onto the floor. Even from where Chase sat, her trembling hands were obvious.

Chase looked down the line at the other contestants. Grace would be easy to beat today, even if she wasn't disqualified when the judges came to their decision. But were any of the others a threat?

The woman who had come late, right before Grace, was rattled. Not as badly as Grace, but she had managed to drop two of the three lemons she was attempting to squeeze. Julie whispered to Chase that if something hit the floor, you weren't allowed to use it. Anyway, Chase thought, that would be gross, even if it wasn't a rule.

The others worked competently, concentrating on their own projects, some of them apparently unaware of the drama at the end of the row. The lone man, at the other end of the row, looked the most professional—after Anna.

“Who is that?” Chase asked Julie, nodding toward the male baker.

Julie shrugged.

“That's Andy Pluck,” Bill said. “He has an all-night diner a block from my pet shop.”

“Are his baked things good?” Julie asked.

“I wouldn't compare them to anything at Bar None. He does a lot of cookies and pies.”

“I've eaten there,” Jay said. “His cookies are good, all very sweet, but his pie crusts are kind of thick and hard. Good fillings, though.”

Chase surveyed the others. Maybe she was biased, but Anna was definitely the most professional. She got her dessert bars into the oven before anyone else. The contest was timed, so working quickly got them points for efficiency. Surely Anna had won that part.

The huddle finally broke up and the man who had held the microphone, now carrying a clipboard and pen, approached Grace.

Grace had managed to get flour, sugar, and eggs into her bowl and was starting to mix them together. The man motioned for her to stop. She looked up and frowned at him, the lines in her face making her seem even more haggard and much older than she was.

He was obviously asking her to leave. That must have been hard for him to do, since she had been such a big part of this event from its beginning. It was probably why the conference had taken so long. Some of them, if not all of them, must have been in favor of letting Grace compete.

When it came down to it, though, the judges would have to sample what each person made. Those who sampled Grace's products would be exposing themselves to whatever bug she was carrying. For Chase, disqualifying her would have been an easy decision, but she hadn't worked with Grace on the Minny Batter Battle like those people had.

Grace stood there stunned for a few moments, her eyes staring and her mouth hanging open. Then she furiously flung her things together. Her shoulders shook and Chase was sure she could see tears on Grace's hard face. The woman held her head high and her shoulders back as she marched out. Chase felt so sorry for her, she almost forgot that this was Grace Pilsen, a woman she couldn't stand.

At the end of the Batter Battle, when Anna was proclaimed the first-place winner, it was almost anticlimactic. The drama had been over when Grace left. Chase hoped that both Anna and Grace would compete next year to find out who was the true champion.

Anna felt the same way, she said, as they all walked together to the parking lot.

“I don't feel like I really won when my main competition wasn't there. I almost wish the whole thing would have been postponed for a week, until Grace was better. That would have been a real battle.”

“You're too good for your own good,” Bill said, squeezing her shoulders somehow, in spite of the fact that he was carrying three bags of her things.

Julie held the tray of the Blueberry Muffin Bars that the judges hadn't eaten. They had big plans for those, back at the Bar None kitchen.

•   •   •

On Sunday, at
about ten in the evening, Eddie called Chase. She debated answering it long enough that her phone quit ringing. When it immediately started again, she picked up and told Eddie, “Hi.”

“Hey, I got a great surprise for you. You gotta come by my store tomorrow morning.”

“Eddie, it's my day off and I'm going to be terribly busy picking things up for the wedding.” She wished! The bridesmaid dresses still weren't in.

“You won't be sorry. It won't take long, I promise. You'll love it. Come by around nine.”

He hung up before she could protest further. It might be easier, she told herself, to go there. Maybe she could think of a way to tell him she couldn't see him anymore. She was so happy that Mike had shown up to help them celebrate on Saturday. When he'd walked into the Bar None through the rear door and gave her a peck on the lips, she knew that all the tension between them was gone and they were on solid footing now. She had laughed with Mike, and with Julie, Jay, Anna, and Bill, late into the night.

She'd been pleased when Mike told her that his cousin, Patrice, had decided to go to work for the police department, teaching them how to detect and foil pickpockets and thieves. They were paying her for giving the classes and even suggested that other police departments might want to hire her, if the initial session went well.

Before Mike left, he'd come upstairs to give her a proper good-night kiss after a few pets for Quincy, and she'd gone to bed in a haze of happiness and love. She was determined not to mess things up between them again.

On Monday, she drove to Eddie's Health Bar and arrived angry that she was there. Why hadn't she called Eddie back and told him she couldn't make it? She had a million things to do today.

His shop wasn't open yet, but he let her in as soon as he saw her at the door.

“Here's what I want to do for a wedding gift to Anna and Bill,” he said.

With dismay, she saw he'd laid out a complete buffet on his sales counter. There were at least a dozen plates full of finger food.

“Go ahead, taste a few of my creations. I'm volunteering to cater the reception.” He was grinning, waiting for her to tell him how wonderful he was.

“Eddie.” She summoned up a reserve of patience. “The reception has been arranged for a long time. Someone else is doing it.”

“The more, the merrier, right? Go on, taste something.”

Everything on the counter was green or brown. There was no way.

“Eddie. I have to be honest. We can't use your food. And—”

“I'm not charging anything. You can just add this—”

“—and I can't see you anymore. I'm committed to Mike Ramos. I'm seeing him.”

“Ramos? The vet?”

“Please don't call anymore. I can't see you. I've realized we don't have a thing in common. We need to quit seeing each other.” She hurried out before he could say anything else. Starting up her car, she saw him coming out the door. She clicked her locks and sped away.

There. She had done it. Why had it taken her so long?