Liz Marvin - Betty Crawford 03 - Too Long at the Fair (5 page)

They sat together in silence until Thelma Johnson burst in, yelling “Help! Help! Oh my heavens above it’s terrible!  Terrible!”

Bill jumped to his feet so quickly Betty barely had time to land on her own feet.  “What happened?”

“No time! Just come quickly!  Now!”

Thelma led the way and everyone followed.

7. Chapter 6

A large angry crowd was milling around the tent with the large BBQ sign above it.  The barbecue tent was situated right beside the cooking competition tent.  Bill recognized many in the crowd as pick-pocket victims including the haughty lady with a dark pink dress and oversized hat.  Betty saw that the cooking competition tent was askew.   They were holding hands, running toward the crowd, unconscious of what they were doing but let go as they neared the scene. 

Wes was at the front of the crowd, his hands up, trying to calm things down. “All right folks the barbecue pit has run out of food but there’s more coming so just be patient for a few more minutes.”  Bill joined him.  “We’ve sent someone next door to check on supplies right now!”

Betty paused at the tent’s entrance long enough to shoot him an incredulous look.  Bill, grim faced, just nodded.  Betty nodded back and stepped inside followed by Addie and Clarise

They were met with chaos. 

The back of the tent was shredded with three large gashes that ran from the roof line to the ground.  The tables were surrounded by contestants and their families.  Men were either yelling for the police or someone, anyone in authority or milling about silently but clearly just as angry with their fists stuffed deep into their pockets.  Women and children were crying and everywhere food displays were damaged or destroyed.

“What happened?” Clarise asked, awestruck by the carnage.

“I’d say somebody snuck in and vandalized the place.”
 

“But why?  And why wasn’t anyone here?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.  Where’s Thelma?” Betty asked

“That’s what we all want to know!” An angry man stood beside an oversized steel serving tray filled to overflowing with barbecue meat.  “And where have you been?  Look at this!  Just look at it!”

Betty obliged. It looked delicious.  She dipped her finger in and tasted. It was good.  “So?  What seems to be the problem?”

This just infuriated the man even more.  “Problem! It’s been ruined!  Somebody mixed up all the barbecues together!  There’s fifty pounds of beef ruined!”

A slow smile spread over Betty’s face. “Maybe, maybe not.  Would you and the other competitors donate this to help the fair?”

“Why?  It’s slop!”

“Now wait a minute!  I’m a judge in this competition and I happen to know that everybody competing here is a good cook and my neighbor and I won’t stand by and let you disparage them or their cooking by calling it slop. Win or lose I’d break bread with all of them and I hope you feel the same!”

The man took a step back. “I wasn’t saying they’re not good cooks at all I was just saying that our recipes don’t necessarily mix together right.  Honest.”

“Well I say they do!” Betty raised her voice “I know you’ve all been violated and you’re all disappointed but there’s a group of people, strangers, that have come to our fair and been robbed.  They’ve been violated and they’re disappointed too but they’re alone and far from home with nowhere to turn.   We can’t fix that but we can let them know we care and they aren’t alone. Will you do that?”

A reluctant and somewhat halfhearted cheer rose from the crowd.  Betty accepted it as an assent. 

“Then I need two hundred pieces of corn bread and two hundred slices of pie or cake and I don’t care how you patch them together and -” she pointed to the kettle of barbecue “two hundred servings of barbecue!”  Let’s go!  Start plating meals! 

“Sheesh.  Winning that pie eating contest has sure gone to her head!”

“More like her big behind!”

“Hush!”

Betty ignored them all but was pleased to see almost everyone forming themselves into groups and carrying out her instructions with only a modicum of grousing.  The man she had first confronted sidled up to her.  “They don’t mean nothing. Just grumbling.”

“I know.  Thanks for pitching in.”

“Mind you, I’d be griping too if you weren’t so gol danged right.”  He said it with a smile and a hug and a pat on the back.  He went to work and in no time had the barbecue portion of the plating process running like clockwork. 

Betty looked around and spotted Clarise and Addie in the far corner.  Clarise was comforting the young girl.  Something more than the pie was gone but she didn’t have time to stick around and find out what it was.  She was certain Clarise could handle it anyway.

~

The plates of food were being passed out as fast as they were being delivered by the time Betty reached Bill.  He and Wes had the crowd organized into a line and they were making sure no one tried anything funny like cutting to the front or snatching a purse. 

The people were pleased with the food and she heard nothing but raves from everyone.

“Amazing what a good meal can do for an angry crowd’s mood.” Bill quipped.  He was alert as ever but he was smiling and relaxed for the first time all day.  Betty hated to ruin his mood.

“We have another problem.  Someone vandalized the cooking competition tent and destroyed all the food.  On the plus side that’s what they’re eating.  On the down side, there goes the evidence and the cooking competition.”

“Lofton is indeed blessed with a bountiful supply of good cooks” He squeezed her hand.

Betty sighed.  For her that was as much a curse as a blessing.  “I sure as heck don’t know what we’re going to do about the cooking competition.”

“That makes two of us but on the bright side I’m not worried a bit.”  He grinned as he leaned over and kissed her on her forehead.  “Because I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Betty wanted to punch him but she adored him and anyway he was way over her weight class.

“Oh Betty! What have you done?!”

Thelma was back with Marlee May in tow. Marlee May’s right hand was heavily bandaged and Thelma was looking positively theatrical in her distress.

Betty’s face darkened enough for Bill to step between her and Thelma but a battle royal was averted or at least postponed by chef Achmed O’Rielly popping out from the front of the cooking competition tent and proclaiming “Don’t worry I have everything under control!”

~

Achmed wisely sat between Betty and Thelma.  Thelma took down each contestant’s name, the recipe they would be making and assigned them a number.  Achmed kept the list of ingredients each would need and Betty assigned a work station and time. 

Somehow Achmed had arranged for restaurant equipment suppliers to loan equipment and food suppliers to donate food.  The deliveries would happen late in the afternoon and he promised the tent would be set up for cooking by morning.

“This will be the best cooking competition the Lofton Fair has ever had!  I’ll be talking to radio stations later and I’m sure we’ll have a live broadcast here and a lot of reporters.”

Betty was impressed not only by his energy and organizational skills but by his unflagging good humor and generosity.  How did he do it?  And he never seemed to acknowledge anything as a problem and never lost his temper.    She decided then and there that she could be jealous of him or she could try and learn from him and she would choose the latter.

Clarise and Addie approached the table together.  Addie spoke so softly that Betty couldn’t hear her talking to Thelma but Thelma leaned back and sat bolt upright. “Absolutely not!”

Achmed and Betty stopped what they were doing.  The contestants they were helping stopped talking too. 

“What seems to be the problem?” Achmed asked in his most bored, amused voice.

“This woman wants to make two recipes.”

“But it’s not really - “Clarise interjected.

“Let her speak for herself!” demanded Thelma.

“All right that’s enough.  Clarise what is going on?”  Betty was standing, leaning on the table glaring at Thelma.

“Addie has a recipe for berry topped cornbread.”

“It’s corn bread and jelly!” Thelma nearly exploded. 

Achmed leaned back in his chair.  “You made that exquisite pie?”

Addie was practically hiding behind Clarise.  She peeked out and nodded. 

“Don’t worry.  I’m not going to bite although I make no promises for these two.”

That brought smiles from Clarise, Addie and the other two contestants at the table.  Betty’s cheeks were turning red again and she quickly sat down.

“Why don’t you make another pie?”

“I don’t have enough berries.”

“I’ll buy more.”

“Oh no sir. You can’t buy these berries. No one can.  You have to pick them and you can’t just grab any berry neither.  You got to go careful and slow and, well, I just can’t have the time.”

“Will it taste as good as your pie smelled?”

Addie looked down and shyly proclaimed “Awww it won’t be as good as grandma’s and she said hers didn’t hold a candle to my – to my - “

And she burst into tears, burying her face into Clarise’s willing shoulder.  Clarise fished a note from her pocket and thrust it in front of Betty’s nose.  The note was a request for the latest cook time possible and a kettle for boiling water which she would need all day along with basic ingredients for cornbread.  Betty nodded once and the two women waited.

“I say we vote on… “Thelma let her demand trail off under the combined glare of everyone else at the table. 

“Addie if you absolutely cannot remake your magnificent pie then we must make do with your berry topped cornbread and I for one am looking forward to it. It’s settled so let’s finish up.  We all have a lot to do to get ready and Thelma.”  Achmed leaned over and whispered into Thelma’s ear.  He never stopped smiling but when he stopped talking she was as white as a ghost.

“I really wish I knew how he does that” Betty whispered to Clarise who choked back a laugh. 

“The very thought of you having that much power sends chills down my spine.”

“You can tell me over a glass of red wine tonight.”

“Wine?  You? All right who are you and what have you done with my friend?”

“I fed her four whole apple pies and my new best medical friend says now she has to drink a glass of red wine before bed.”

“I heard it was six but I do love your new doctor.”

“Nurse but who cares?

Clarise took Addie’s arm “Come on.  We’ll get some kettle corn and eat it all up ourselves.”

Betty watched them go, only a little envious.

8. Chapter 7

Clarise kept Addie close as they wove their way through the crowd. She was looking for Wes and was having the devil’s own time finding him but eventually she tracked him down to the front gate.  He was checking everyone through and they had to wait twenty minutes until he had a break.

“Whew!” He removed his sergeant’s cap and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “What a day but you make it brighter.”

Clarise was nervous.  She had never asked Wes for a favor – a professional favor anyway. “Wes this is Addie and she’s been robbed.”

A glance at Addie’s puffy red eyes and Clarise’ solemn face was enough to set Wes on the right path.  He knelt before Addie and took out his notepad and pen.  “What did they take, Addie?”

“Oh it’s just an old picture of my great great grandmother Adeline Beurey.”

“I bet you’re named after her.  Say didn’t your great grandma win the cooking competition seven years in a row?”

“Now how did you know that?”  Clarise demanded. Wes grinned.

“Yes she did.  I entered her prize winning pie recipe but the pies all gone now.  And they took her picture and it’s the only one in the whole world.”

Addie was likely to start crying again. Clarise slipped her arm around her shoulder.  Wes straightened up, Clarise looked at him: do something!  Wes shrugged helplessly.  Clarise spun the girl around and looked her in the eye.

“What’s your last name?” Clarise demanded.

“Beurey!”

That information perplexed Clarise but she couldn’t stop to consider it.  “Now you listen, Adeline Beurey.  I saw that picture of you great grandma and if you’re not her spitting image it’s age and bad photography to blame.  You’ve got her looks, you have her hands and her cooking skill and now it’s time you prove you’ve got her grit too.  I feel awful you lost that photograph but there’s more of her in you than in any old picture and that’s gotta be enough.  You have a cooking contest to win and you won’t do it feeling sorry for yourself.”

Addie calmed down, dried her eyes and straightened up.  “I’ve been a baby about this but I’m through now.  I have to go get ready for tomorrow.  Thank you both for your kindness and thank you, Clarise, for the kettle corn and – and for setting me straight.”

She shook both their hands and headed for the gate, walking steady, head up and with a purpose.  Once outside the gate she broke into an easy run. 

Wes turned to Clarise, his mouth hanging open in wonder.

“Close that. You’ll draw flies.”

“Where in the heck did you come up with that?”

Clarise laughed “I coach a girls’ basketball team and I direct plays. That was nothing.  How did you know her great grandma -?”

“Great great grandmother”

“Great.  Great. Grand. Mother. Won the cooking competition?”

Wes grinned and kissed her nose. “I’m a detective that happened to grow up in Lofton and I happen to know where I might find another copy of her great grandmother’s picture.”

Clarise pushed him away playfully “You’re a sergeant but you’re the prettiest sergeant in any police department in all North Carolina.  She pulled him close and kissed him full on the lips her arms clamped around his neck, knocking his hat to the ground.  Wes was surprised but pleasantly so.  He’d have gladly stayed for the rest of the day but over her shoulder he saw a crowd was heading for the gate and he had to go back to work.  Reluctantly they parted and he headed back to the gate. 

Clarise watched him go but had no time alone.  A booming voice from the past was calling her; “Clarise!  Clarise Birdsong as I live and breathe!”  An aging television sitcom actor by the name of Walter Payone was coming through the fairgrounds gate followed closely by Henry Whitt who appeared to be carrying Walter’s suitcase along with a notepad and pen.

Walter was a former television sitcom actor turned local community theater star and his shadow, Henry, had been his understudy in a stage play at the Lofton Theater last year.  The production had proved a huge success after the worst per-production ever.  The theater had been robbed of thousands of dollars in antiques and the stage hand and an actress had been murdered and Clarise had been accused of the crimes but miraculously the show had gone on.

In the end, even though her adopted hometown had been rocked by two murders it had come together to form an even stronger community.  Not to mention the budding romances between Wes and Clarise and Bill and Betty but the biggest surprise of all had been Henry.  Henry was a clerk in his father’s office supply store in town.  He had worked there all through high school and no one had ever heard him once complain.  Now, as a young adult he had been instrumental in getting his father to offer new goods and services so they wouldn’t compete directly with the new Staples office supply store.

  His efforts had worked, too.  He saved his family business and young women who wouldn’t have looked twice at him in high school were suddenly seeing him in a new light.  The gossiping grannies had a field day keeping up with stories of single young women who suddenly had business at Witt’s Office Service & Supply.  Henry didn’t seem to notice.  His sole passions were his job and now, acting.  In a matter of months he had become a valued addition to the community theater.  He was a natural actor and shy and deferential as he was offstage he blossomed once he was in the spotlight.

His only blind spot was that he seemed to idolize Walter Payone who in turn treated his biggest fan like little more than a servant.

Clarise stopped, fixed a smile to her face and turned to greet him with open arms.  A feather light hug and even lighter cheek kisses passed for a warm greeting.  After that, suffice to say that Walter treated every conversation like a performance.

“Clarise I am so delighted I got to see you before the big announcement!”

“What big announcement?”

“I can’t tell you but I can promise you will be thrilled and we will get to work together!  Henry did you notify the press?”

“Yes sir but they want us to make the announcement at cooking tent.”

“Wouldn’t a stadium be better?  Did they say why?”

“I can explain that” Clarise interjected “local television stations are already committed to covering the cooking competition final day.”

Walter slipped his arm through Clarise’s and strolled into the fair with the air of someone who expected to be recognized.  Beyond the glances any older man strutting about with a young woman on his arm might garner nobody paid much attention.

“Whatever.  I just wish I could tell you know but we’re sworn to secrecy isn’t that right Henry but I can, however, give you a hint.  Are there any – what do you call them?  War Between the States civilian actors?   Henry!  Keep up.”

“Yessir” Henry replied, out of breath and scribbling furiously.  “The re-enactors.  Do you want me to work in something about cooking into your speech?”

“Do you mean Civil War re-enactors?” Clarise asked.

“Precisely!  Good idea. Henry do it.” He turned to Clarise “I have heard you have both blue and gray brands.”

“Oh lord.”

“Those are the only to flavors, right?  Are they here?

Clarise could only shake her head as she tugged him toward the re-enactor’s campgrounds.  “This way.  Henry can I take something for you?”

Henry shook his head no without looking up from his pad and pen. 

“Any talent?”  Walter went on.

Clarise thought for a moment, considering her earlier encounter before she spoke.  “Their costumes are not wholly authentic and their acting skills are not to your level.”

“Well that’s to be expected” Walter patted Clarise’s hand “and really all they’ll have to do is fall down.”

They arrived at the camps which, while side by side were separated by picket line, a long rope with knots tied in it and guards dressed in blue and gray on either side.  Both guards carried replica rifles and looked serious about standing watch even though there was scarcely ten feet between them. 

The Confederate camp consisted of a half dozen large canvas tents with guns stacked like teepees in front of each.  It was neatly laid out with a stone ringed fire pit and an authentic replica cook pot suspended over it.  The Union camp consisted of one large tent and a half dozen pup tents.  There were several stone ringed campfires and a flagpole with a brand new period American flag hanging limply from it. 

The Confederates were practicing marching drills while the Union members sat around a makeshift table playing cards or stood nearby watching the rebs preform.  The Union members had a banjo, jaw harp and harmonica band with a crack tenor singing “The Nameless Grave”.

All around tourists snapped pictures and shot video.  Henry fished out his phone and began taking pictures too.

Walter was impressed.  “This is perfect! Of course the camps are too close together but that’s due to the fair I’m sure.”  Puzzled, he turned to Clarise. “They seem very authentic to me.  The Yanks playing music while the Rebs are drilling is a very nice touch.  I wonder if we could work that into the script?”

“The banjo was a southern instrument until after the war which is fine because that song wasn’t written until eighteen sixty five.”

“Your point?”  Walter was still puzzled.  Clarise just shook her head.  Again.

~

The sun was setting by the time Achmed and Betty finished setting up the cooking competition tent.  Her stomach was grumbling and she had a pounding headache.  She had eaten too much but lost most of it and now she was famished but she also knew that her blood sugar was most likely through the roof.  She dare not eat anything unhealthy today but every so often the mouthwatering aromas of the barbecue tent next door would waft in.

“Are you all right?”  Achmed sat down beside her.

“Oh I’m fine.  Just a head-ache.”

“Getting off your usual schedule can do that and you’ve had a pretty tough day.”

“What about you?  How do you manage to stay so cool and composed?”

Achmed looked down.  “I don’t.  I learned a long time ago to hide my true feelings and I hide them very well.  Mostly.”

Betty massaged her forehead.  “I don’t hide mine at all. Mostly.  What did you say to Thelma?  Whatever it was she deserved it and more but I’d give anything to learn the trick for shutting her up.”

“You’ll have to find your own way I’m afraid.  How about everything else?”

She summoned her phoniest smile and answered “I’m constantly hungry, my muscles are always sore and I feel guilty whenever I eat something I shouldn’t and tomorrow I will spend all day tasting foods I shouldn’t eat.”

Achmed put his arm around her. “I have been judging cooking competitions all over the world and they are all the same.  Tell you what; I will teach you how to be a good – no, a great food judge, make friends and influence good eating habits and not get fat!”

“That sounds like a terrible book title.”

“More like a late night television infomercial.  But it isn’t that hard.  First, and you will find this easy but counterintuitive, come to the contest with a full stomach.   That way you won’t be tasting while you are hungry.  Everything will taste the way it tastes and you will be judging the food for what it is and not trying to satisfy yourself.

Second and this is just as important, before the tasting we will meet the cooks.  Remember above all else to smile at the contestants and look them in the eye.  When we tour the tables you must ask who they are and where they are from.  Ask what they cooked and more important ask how and why they chose the recipe. If the other judges ask these questions then listen to the answers and observe something that connects you to them.  Then find something nice to say.  Maybe tell them how you connect to their dish or compliment the look or smell of the food.  Or both.  If you’re alone take notes but tomorrow we’ll have reporters following us around and I’ve arranged to get copies of their notes so we all can review them and discuss the foods before the tasting.”