Fete Worse Than Death (9781101595138) (29 page)

The weather outside the tent was glorious. A bronze and beneficent sun shone on the grounds of Peterson Park. The aspens were in full gold glory. The maple trees glowed like crimson fire. It was the first day of the fete, and the week before, a stream of craftsmen and artisans had come from all over the northeast to set up their booths. Potters displayed clay dishes, pots, urns, jugs, and coffee cups in an astonishing array of vivid glazes. Quilters sat amid hangings of unique and marvelous colors. Exquisite wood carvings, handmade furniture, woven wool, hand-blown glass, and a dizzying variety of pictures in pastels, acrylics,
oils, and charcoal were displayed in booths spread all over the velvety acres of the park.

The fete was thronged with tourists moving happily from the cheese tent to the wine-tasting tent and all of the booths beyond. The Home-Cooked Foods tent was thronged, too, mostly with the contestants and their supporters in the Homemade Pies, berry and fruit division. The Furry Friends pet show tent was immediately adjacent and the sound of bored puppies, cranky kittens, and irritable birds mingled with the chatter and gossip of the crowd around the display of pies.

Quill recognized a welcome face in the crowd and waved. “Mr. Swenson! How nice to see you!”

Jeeter raised his cane in response, made his way across the floor, and sat in the empty chair beside her. “It’s my hostess with the most-ess,” he said happily. “How come you’re sitting all by your lonesome? I thought you knew most of the people here.”

Marge Schmidt glanced at them and hastily away again. Adela Henry and Dolly Jean Attenborough cruised up and down the long, cloth-covered table that held a delicious-looking array of fruit and berry pies. Carol Ann Spinoza walked behind them, examining each pie entry with a big magnifying glass. Adela and Dolly Jean stopped every few feet, whispered furiously together, then glared back at Carol Ann, who reacted with superb indifference.

“I’m the judge,” Quill said glumly. “Nobody’s allowed to talk to the judge until the competition’s over and the results are turned in to the awards committee. You may think that I’m on the awards committee because I’m on every other committee for this darned fete, but I’m not.”

“You mean you get to pick the best out of all those pies?”

“I do. And then I’m dying my hair blond and moving to Detroit.”

Jeeter laughed so hard he started to fall over. Quill righted him and resettled his cane firmly in his grasp. “Getting the hell out of Dodge, eh? Can’t say as I blame you. ’Course, I’m gettin’ out of Dodge, too. I expect you heard about that.”

“I did.” Quill put her hand over his. “You’re moving to that nice adult community near Rochester.”

“Sunwood,” Jeeter said. “Yep. I am. You heard that I got a damn good offer for my cottage on the lake.”

“Did you? That’s wonderful!”

“Yeah, well, I thought the better of it. Don’t need the money as much as I need peace in the family. I turned it over to Portly in return for his guarantee in writing, of course, to pay my way at Sunwood until I croak.” He snickered. “Figure if I make it to one hundred and seventeen, like I intend to, I got the best part of that deal. I’ll tell you, that place ain’t too bad. Might just make it, with them takin’ care of me.”

“People have made it to one hundred and seventeen before. I’ll bet you do it, too.”

“Damn straight.”

“Mr. Swenson. There’s something I’ve been wondering about, since the events two weeks ago.”

“Those murders.”

“Those murders. Did you remember anything about that note? The one that told you to go out to the gorge the night you fell?”

“Sure. Came back to me a couple of days after I got concussed. Doc Bishop said that happens sometimes after a bump on the noggin. It said: ‘Meet me at the gorge at one o’clock if you want the truth about the Seneca Lake Monster. Tell no one.’ Something like that.”

“Do you remember who you met?”

“Didn’t know her. It was the one that got killed, or so she said.”

“Linda Connelly?”

“That’s the one. Except she wasn’t any Linda. She was a Russian agent, right?”

“Apparently.”

“I figure that’s going to get me some attention at Sunwood. That I almost got taken out by a Russian agent. Pretty damn slick, isn’t it? I guess she thought I was going to go public about the monster. That’d poke a pretty big spoke in her wheel.”

Quill tightened her grasp on his hand. “I’m very glad she didn’t take you out, Mr. Swenson.” Then, as what she’d actually heard sank in, she asked. “Who said? Someone told you Linda Connelly tried to kill you?”

“That whacking tall pretty girl. The one with the bright blue eyes.”

“Sophie Kilcannon?”

Jeeter shrugged. “Might have told me her name. If she did, I forgot. Came to visit me at the hospital. Said she was sorry I’d been in harm’s way, but not to worry about Linda Connelly again. Did you know her name wasn’t Linda Connelly at all? She was a Russian agent.”

“Yes,” Quill said.

“Anyway. She went away and didn’t come back after that. That Sophie. I’d sure like to see her again.”

“So would I,” Quill said crossly. “She was supposed to judge this darn pie contest, not me.”

Elmer bustled into the tent. He greeted Adela with an affectionate peck on the cheek, waved at Quill, tapped his wristwatch with an officious air, and prepared to bustle out again.

Quill got to her feet with a sigh.

“You stop right there, Elmer Henry!” Carol Ann said in a sweet, piercing, poisonous voice. “The piecrust in this entry is store-bought.”

“So what?”

“This is the
Homemade
Pies division, that’s so what.”

“That is my blueberry pie and I made that piecrust with my own two hands!” Dolly Jean shouted. “How dare you accuse me of a cheap trick like that?”

“Did you hear that, Quill?” Carol Ann said. “I thought so. Mayor, these are supposed to be blind entries, aren’t they? So the judge can’t give the blue ribbon to her friends? Well, the judge just heard that this pie was made by Dolly Jean, and you have to disqualify her.”

Quill stepped out of the tent, and into the mainstream of foot traffic. Parts of the squabble inside drifted out; the gist of it appeared to be that Dolly Jean was going to swap entry numbers with another blueberry pie entry and Quill didn’t want to hear any more than that.

Suddenly, a slim, blue-eyed blonde a head taller than anyone else in the crowd appeared at the edge of the Furry Friends tent.

“Hey!” Quill shouted. “Sophie Kilcannon! Is that you?”

The figure turned and waved. It was Sophie. She was eating a corn dog. Quill raced toward her and grabbed her by the arm. “Hey!”

“Hey, Quill. How’s it going?” Sophie wore tan cargo pants and a blue work shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A small knapsack was slung over her back. She looked tanned, healthy, and totally carefree. She gently disengaged Quill’s hand from her arm and took a bite of her corn dog.

“You’re back. Thank God. And you’re back just in time.”

“Raleigh Brewster had to take a couple of days off to get one of her kids settled in college. Clare asked me to come back for a few days to help out.”

“You mean you’ve been here all along and you didn’t tell us?” Quill wanted to strangle her.

“Not all along. Just since Tuesday.”

“Good,” Quill said grimly. “I’m supposed to be judging that bloody pie contest right this minute. Except that
you’re
supposed to judge this contest, so come on and start judging.”

“Who’s in there?”

“Marge,” Quill said reluctantly. “Adela. Dolly Jean.”

“Carol Ann?”

“Carol Ann.”

Sophie shook her head. “I’m not doin’ it.”

“Please, Sophie. I’ll…” Quill tried to think of a suitable bribe, and couldn’t. Sophie didn’t care about money, didn’t seem to care about clothes, and in general, had a take-it-or-leave-it attitude toward practically everything
except her career as a chef, and Quill wasn’t about to offer her a job. “I’ll be in your debt forever. I’d do anything rather than judge those pies.”

Sophie glanced over Quill’s left shoulder and broke into a brilliant smile. Quill turned to see whoever it was that could get that sunny look; maybe he could talk Sophie into judging.

There wasn’t anyone there—just the stream of tourists.

Quill turned back, a question half formed.

Sophie was gone.

Quill went back into the tent. The contestants were massed into a far corner, with a bellicose Carol Ann right in front.

She picked up her clipboard with a sigh. There was a shout behind her. Then a sharp, piercing whistle. A half-eaten corn dog rolled past her feet and came to rest under the table bearing the pies.

A puppy dashed after the corn dog. A mass of puppies followed the first one and they were followed by Nadine’s poodle, Harvey Bozzel’s schnauzer, and the rest of the uncaged occupants of the Furry Friends pet show.

~

“There were pies
everywhere
,” Quill said to Myles’s image on the computer screen. “It was an unholy mess. By the time Dr. McKenzie had rounded up the dogs, half of them were sick to their stomachs from gulping all that pastry down and the other half decided to roll in the pies that hadn’t been eaten. Jeeter Swenson was laughing so hard I thought I was going to have to take him back to the hospital.”

“So you were spared the judging.” Myles shook his head with the first real smile Quill had seen from him all week. “I’m glad for your sake, dear heart.”

“A lot of hard work went into those poor puppies’ stomachs. Those poor ladies. It was awful. I have to admit it, though I never thought I’d say this. I’m truly grateful to Sophie Kilcannon, even if she is the daughter of spies.”

Myles looked at his watch. “I have to go, Quill.”

“Stay well. Keep safe.”

She told him she loved him. She didn’t tell him she missed him.

They’d agreed that they wouldn’t do that.

Every year, the Finger Lakes Autumn Fete provides the cooks, bakers, and amateur chefs of Hemlock Falls a wonderful venue to showcase their recipes. Recipes that featured local foods and produce were highly regarded by the judges.

Readers will be glad to know that despite the murderous activity leading up to this year’s fete, the event itself was a splendid success. Well, except for the pies, fruit division, which ended in a free-for-all when Carol Ann Spinoza accused Adela Henry of using store-bought piecrust. In the ensuing melee, the pie table was turned over and the Furry Friends (puppy division) ate the entries. No ribbons were awarded in that division.

Division, Breads, Quick

TIED FOR FIRST PLACE:

~Cambridge Gingerbread~

Melt butter in water, add molasses, egg, well beaten, and dry ingredients, mixed and sifted. Bake in an eight-by-eight buttered shallow pan at 350 for forty-five to fifty-five minutes. Serve with whipped cream. Serves four.

~Rebecca’s Fruit Crumble~

Add cinnamon and raw sugar to fruit and set aside. Melt the butter. Mix butter and sugar together. Add flour and baking powder. Stir until smooth. Add milk and stir until well blended. Spoon into ungreased eight-by-eight baking pan. Spoon fruit mixture over top. Bake for forty-five to fifty-five minutes in a 375-degree oven. Serve with heavy cream. Serves four.

Division, Breads, Yeast

~Beer Rye Bread~