The Bake-Off (20 page)

“At least Mom and Dad have Rhodes now.” Linnie finally cracked a smile. “It's a sorry state of affairs when the overachiever in the family is the dog.”

Amy wriggled around on the bench, trying to get comfortable. “Grammy Syl better spring us in time to make it to the semifinals. What time are we supposed to be there?”

“Noon.”

“Well, I guess we should try to get some sleep. If we lean back against each other, we won't have to get our heads in the mud, à la
Forrest Gump
.”

They arranged themselves back-to-back, the curves of their necks and shoulder blades nestling in against one another. The warmth of their bodies lulled and relaxed them both, and though Linnie had thought sleep would be impossible in such circumstances, she felt herself drifting off.

As her eyes fluttered shut, she murmured, “Your sunny disposition must be rubbing off on me.”

Amy yawned. “How so?”

“I was just thinking, it's a lot warmer here in jail than in our five-star hotel suite.”

“See? There you go. The glass is half full.”

“And no lipstick on the rim.”

Amy reached back and patted her sister's side. “Night, Linnie.”

“Night, Amy.”

“Hey, do you think we're actually going to make it past the semifinals?”

“Bet on it.”

“
U
gh. I could really go for some orange juice and hash browns right about now.” Amy shaded her eyes from the harsh morning sunlight as she and Linnie straggled into the hotel lobby. “You know, if orange juice didn't make me throw up.”

“I've got some vitamin C tablets in my bag upstairs,” Linnie said. “I never travel without them. I'm like a one-woman Linus Pauling fan club.”

“There you are.” Susan spotted them from across the hall at the coffee cart and rushed over. “Amy, Linnie, where have you been? The semifinals start in half an hour.”

Joan was hot on her heels. Her mouth formed a cartoonish O while she took in their state of postparty disarray. “What happened to you girls last night? You look like death warmed over. Is everything okay?”

“Fine, fine. We were just doing a little late-night sightseeing. We wanted to get a taste of the
real
New York.” Amy tossed her head and tried to look as if she weren't blanketed in grime, grease, and germs. “What'd we miss?”

“Lots of media interviews, for one thing,” Joan said. “That nice lady from the Culinary Channel came by to talk to us. She wanted to interview you, too. Here, she left her card so you can call her producers and arrange a time to meet.”

“Gee, thanks. We'll get right on that.” Linnie accepted the card and tossed it into a nearby trash can.

Amy maintained her perky demeanor. “We'd love to stay and chat, but I really should freshen up a bit before we start baking.”

They kept their heads down as they scurried past the check-in counter and concierge desk.

“We are so lucky the cop didn't show to testify at the arraignment this morning,” Amy muttered as they stepped into the elevator. “What the hell were you thinking, insisting on representing yourself?”

“I know what I'm doing.” Linnie inserted her suite key into the access slot. “I've read a few law textbooks. I would have wiped the floor with opposing counsel.”

“The scary thing is, I believe you.” Amy leaned against the brass side panel. “I'm going to die if I don't get some coffee. Let's hurry up and get dressed so we can grab a latte before the competition.”

“Forget coffee. Have you looked in a mirror? We both need a shower, a change of clothes, and probably a professional delousing.”

“I can't face another piecrust without caffeine. I seriously—”

The elevator jerked to a halt.

“No,” Amy breathed.

“No!” Linnie slammed the heel of her hand into the keypad. “No, no, no! Not again!”

“Don't freak out,” Amy said.

Too late. “We'll never break out of here; this isn't like the freight elevator. This one's up to code! We're stuck here. We're going to miss the semifinals and lose a hundred grand because this stupid, worthless piece of—”

Amy backed up a few steps, whirled around like a ninja in three-inch heels, and whipped her forearm against the key plate.

The elevator started up again.

Neither sister uttered a syllable until the doors dinged open on the twenty-sixth floor.

“How did you do that?” Linnie asked.

Amy shrugged. “You can solve differential equations and represent yourself in a court of law; I can pound on things until they come unstuck. We all have our God-given talents.”

 

“
I
'm starting to get into the Zone,” Amy announced as they arrived back at the lobby after rushing through showers that removed only the first layer of filth, then changing into jeans and sneakers. “How about you?”

“The Zone is my permanent address,” Linnie said.

“And check it out—we still have fifteen minutes to get coffee.”

“You're forgetting about the search-and-seizure security line.”

“Okay, we have five minutes to get coffee.”

Linnie's stomach growled. “I need a snack, too. Doing hard time is hungry work.”

“Good luck finding steel-cut oatmeal and egg whites before game time.”

“I'd eat doughnuts and bacon at this point.”

“Wow, you
are
desperate.”

While Amy queued up at the coffee stand, Linnie darted into the lobby café and purchased a bagful of muffins and croissants. She emerged from the restaurant to find Amy loitering by the cream and sugar, a steaming cup of java forgotten behind her while she chatted up yet another random stranger.

Linnie quickened her step and prepared to roll out her famous “time is money” spiel when she caught sight of Tai. Right behind Amy. Slipping something into her drink.

Linnie raced over and whispered in Amy's ear, “Hey.”

“Hi.” Amy held out a hand to introduce her companion. “This is Denise. She's from—”

Linnie didn't even glance at the new acquaintance before she yanked her sister aside. “Whatever you do, don't drink your coffee.”

Amy picked up her latte and held it protectively to her chest. “Why not?”

“I'll tell you in a minute, but right now, it's imperative that you do exactly as I say. Remember when we first met Tai and Ty and they tried to pull that sandwich maneuver on me?”

“How could I forget?”

“Well, we're turning the tables on them.” Linnie jerked her chin in the direction of Tai, who was sidling around the corner and out of view. “She's our mark; you're the stall; I'm the pick.”

Amy furrowed her brow. “What?”

“Go smack Tai like you smacked the elevator.” Linnie shooed her sister along with her hands.
“Move.”

Amy moved. She grabbed a wad of napkins, chased Tai around the corner, and “accidentally” crashed into her, splashing coffee all over Tai's puffy pink parka in the process.

“I'm so sorry.” Amy brushed at the coat with both hands. “Are you all right? God, I am out of control today! Must be nerves about the semifinals. Do you get nervous at these things?”

Tai threw up both hands in a futile attempt to ward off Amy's onslaught. “Um . . .”

“Here, let me see.” Amy broke out the napkins and started swiping at the down-filled sleeves. “Did I burn you?”

“No, no, I'm fine.” Tai tried to escape, but Amy had her backed up against a large marble fountain. Linnie materialized behind Tai and slipped her fingers into her purse.

“Are you sure?” Amy got even more zealous with her pat-down. “Ever since I heard about that crazy McDonald's lawsuit, I freak out every time I spill coffee.”

“It's fine,” Tai murmured.

Linnie's hand closed around an object that felt like the shape of the vial she'd seen in Tai's hands.

“You'll have to send me the dry-cleaning bill,” Amy said. “I absolutely insist.”

“Aha!” Linnie plucked the small white plastic dropper out of Tai's purse and waved it around like a weapon. “What's this?”

Tai's face drained of color and a small muscle under her eye started twitching. “I . . . I . . .”

“What seems to be the problem here?” Ty suddenly materialized at his wife's side. His demeanor was unflappable, but he was slightly out of breath from his haste.

“The problem,” Linnie spat out, “is that your wife here just tried to poison my sister!” She uncapped the tiny squeeze bottle and sniffed the contents. “She poured this into Amy's latte. I saw the whole thing.”

“I think there's been a mistake.” Ty stepped in between the two women. As usual, he was all decked out in pleated khakis and a raglan sweater. “Those are just eyedrops.”

Linnie raised her fist in triumph. “Exactly!”

“Why would I put eyedrops in somebody's drink?” Tai finally regained the power of speech, though her whole body was visibly trembling.

“Don't play innocent with me. Everybody knows the rumor about saline eyedrops and digestion.”

“I don't,” Amy piped up.

“It's supposed to give you cramps and diarrhea,” Linnie said. “Incapacitate you for the next few hours so we crash and burn in the semifinals.”

“Huh.” Amy nodded. “I never heard that.”

“But there's a problem with that little rumor—namely, it's a load of crap. The active ingredient in these eyedrops is tetrahydrozoline hydrochloride, which, yes, can cause nausea and abdominal cramps. However, it can also cause plummeting blood pressure, seizures, tremors, and neurological disruptions resulting in coma or death.” Linnie ticked off these complications on her fingers.
“Death.”

“I—I had no idea.” Tai's purse handles slid off her shoulders and down to her elbow as her trembling intensified. She glanced at her husband, whose jovial demeanor had soured.

“You went through my wife's purse without her permission and now you're accusing her of trying to harm a fellow contestant?” Ty asked.

Linnie nodded. “Damn straight.”

He took off his glasses and started cleaning the lenses with a handkerchief. “I have to say, I'm disappointed and more than a little hurt.”

He tucked his glasses into his sweater pocket. “I understand this is your first major competition. I understand you may be buckling a little under the pressure. But this—this kind of slanderous, unfounded accusation—is going too far. My wife has eyedrops in her purse because we've been on a plane and are staying in a hotel with very dry air. Her eyes are irritated. That's it. So let's not be looking for drama, shall we, ladies?”

If there was one thing Linnie couldn't stand, it was being patronized.
She
would do the patronizing around here, thank you very much. “Don't you take that tone with me. I know all about you and your reputation. You're just lucky she didn't drink that. She could be passed out on the floor right now, spasming and coughing up blood and gasping for breath.”

“That's right,” Amy threw in. “You got
told
.”

Ty threw her a look that was half pity and half disgust. “May I please have my wife's eyedrops back?”

“Not a chance.” Linnie crammed the vial into her back pocket. “I'm saving it for evidence.”

“I see. Well, if that's the way you're going to be . . .” Ty's frown lines deepened. “You'll be in our thoughts and prayers.” The Tottenhams hustled off, Tai risking one last worried look back over her shoulder.

Linnie watched their retreat with narrowed eyes. “I'm telling.”

Amy looked dubious. “Telling who?”

“The contest administrators. The media. Grammy Syl.”

“But we can't prove anything. It's going to be their word against ours.”

“We have proof! Where's your coffee?”

“All over Tai's parka. And I don't think she's going to hand that over without a court order.”

“So they're just going to get away with this?” Linnie fumed. “That's not fair!”

“News flash: Life isn't fair.”

“She could have killed you!”

“But she didn't. She wasn't trying to off me; she was just trying to give me the runs. And she failed so miserably that I'm kind of embarrassed for her.”

“You and your bleeding heart. The question we should be asking ourselves is: Why us? Is it because we're new? Is it because we're popular? Is it because they've heard something about how incredible Grammy Syl's—I mean,
our
recipe is and they know we're the team to beat?”

Amy shrugged. “What is the sound of one hand clapping? If eyedrops are deadly, why do they sell them over the counter? Life's full of questions. But there's only one that really matters right now: Are you ready to make the best piecrust of your life?”

“
R
elax.” Amy had to raise her voice so that her sister could hear her over the roar of food processors and the metallic clatter of whisks against bowls. Thirty minutes into the semifinals, the air in the ballroom was thick with powdered sugar and adrenaline. Although the physical environment was exactly the same as in the practice round, the ambience had changed entirely. Green-blazered officials roamed up and down the aisles, and there was an almost palpable current of anticipation flowing between the prep stations. “Making crust is supposed to be Zen, remember?”