The Bake-Off (26 page)

“But we do, because nothing's been the same since then.” Linnie stared at her hands. “You weren't my sister anymore.”

Amy had gone from feeling drained to overwhelmed in a matter of seconds. “It wasn't just that one incident, though. A lot of things had been building up for a long time.”

“I wish I could have gone to Europe with you in college,” Linnie said softly. “I wish I could have been the maid of honor at your wedding. I wish you would have come to see me when I moved to Las Vegas.”

“None of that stuff is because of what you did, Linnie. It's because of who I am.” Amy moved from the stool to the floor, where she rested her back against the cool plaster of the wall and tried to explain. “I just got so tired of always being forced into competition with you and losing. You needed Mom, you needed Dad, you needed my art, and after while, I was done. I couldn't stand to give up one more thing for you.”

Linnie looked so little and lost perched up on her rickety stool. “Well, you can take consolation in the fact that your life turned out a hundred times better than mine.”

“Why would that make me feel better? I never wished bad things for you. You were always so different, even when we were little, and I don't begrudge you that. I just wanted to be special, too.”

Linnie relocated to the dusty tile floor next to Amy, and they sat side by side without speaking for a few moments.

“I've never even met my niece and nephew,” Linnie said.

“You never asked to meet them,” Amy pointed out. “I thought for sure that you would visit when they were born, or fly out to Mom and Dad's house for one of our weekend reunions, but you didn't. You've never sent them a birthday card or a Christmas present.”

“I know. There's no excuse. I let my whole life crash and burn, and then I was so concerned with what everyone else might think that I kept letting it get worse. But I'm trying to be a better person now.”

“You are a good person,” Amy said with the authority only an older sister could invoke. “You may have made some questionable judgment calls over the years, but hey, who hasn't? I mean, do you remember some of the guys I dated back in the day? Making the choice to be with a nice, normal guy like Brandon was probably the smartest thing I ever did.”

Linnie frowned. “So you're saying you settled for him?”

“Not at all.” Amy shook her head. “I didn't
settle
for my life; I strove for it. I made a deliberate decision to stop dating dark, ‘complicated' guys and instead to be happy with a really sweet guy who loves me.” Amy touched her wedding band. “Our marriage is peace, punctuated by passion. If that's your definition of ‘settling,' then that's sad.”

Linnie dusted off her hands as if this clinched everything. “I knew it—you
are
the smart sister.”

They were starting to get to their feet when the studio door opened and a pair of voices, one male and one female, filled the small, echoing alcove.

Amy pushed away from the wall to peek out from behind the screen and announce their presence when Linnie raised her index finger to her lips.

“We're late.” The male spoke softly, but there was no mistaking the cold anger in his tone.

“Only by two minutes.” The female sounded flustered and breathless. “They said ten o'clock and it's—”

“After ten o'clock. This is completely unprofessional, Tai, and it's all your fault.”

L
innie tugged Amy back down to the floor, and the two of them instinctively huddled closer together. The photographer and his assistant had run across the hall to retrieve some more equipment, and Ori had stepped out to make a phone call, so the Tottenhams assumed the room was empty.

For a guy who looked like the mild-mannered, goofy host of a PBS morning kids' show, Ty sure had a surly side. He launched into a cutting little lecture on the importance of punctuality, at the end of which Tai responded meekly, “I'm sorry, honey. I'm just still freaked out about yesterday.”

“You mean the semifinals?”

“No, before that.” There was a rustling sound—they were taking off their coats. “At the coffee stand. We could have killed that woman.”

Ty snorted. “Don't tell me you bought into that hysteria. That insufferable blond know-it-all was just trying to bully you, and apparently she succeeded.”

Linnie went rigid, and Amy clamped a restraining hand down on her shoulder.

“But she said that people have died from that,” Tai said.

“Oh, for God's sake. Saline eyedrops aren't going to hurt anyone. Use your head, Tai—it's salt and water.”

“But she said the active ingredient—”

“‘She said, she said,' ” Ty mimicked, and Linnie could imagine his face twisted into a grimace. “She can't prove anything. But you know what? If you feel so guilty, you should confess. Be my guest.”

“I never said—”

“No, Tai, I mean it. If honesty is so important to you, step right up and tell Mr. Millington to disqualify us. Bring me down with you. Hey, I deserve it, right? According to you, I'm an attempted murderer.”

“Stop it.” Tai sounded exhausted now. She knew how this conversation was going to end, clearly.

“You're the one who put the drops in her drink. You. Not me.”

“I know.”

“And while we're on the subject of integrity,” Ty continued, “let's not kid ourselves about those two sisters: There is something off about them.”

Linnie's ears strained to keep eavesdropping over the thundering rush of her pulse.

“They seem nice.”

“Who cares if they're
nice
?” Linnie winced at the derision in his tone. “A hundred grand is on the line and you're worried about who's nice? Those two are rank amateurs who don't know a croque monsieur from a croquembouche. They stand around all day bickering about oven temperature, but they can't even roll out a piecrust properly. They don't belong in this competition, and I am not the only one who's noticed. We both need to keep a close eye on room twenty-six twenty-eight and find out what they're hiding.”

Amy looked like she was mid–heart attack. Linnie gave her a little shake to get her to start breathing again. She kept waiting for their bodies to betray them with a sneeze, a hiccup, a twitch, but they both maintained total silence, and Ty just kept on yammering.

“So get with the program,” he finished. “I mean it. If we lose again this year, it's on you.”

“Second place is hardly losing,” Tai said.

“Yes, it is. Second place is first loser.” He wasn't yelling, wasn't even raising his voice, but his bitterness came through loud and clear. “Second place might be good enough for you, but not for me. We had it in the bag last year, we had everything lined up and locked down with the judges, and you
still
managed to screw it up. You owe me a hundred thousand dollars, as far as I'm concerned.”

Tai mumbled something in response but Linnie couldn't make out the words. She was too busy replaying Ty's invective in her head.

Second place is first loser.
In those five angry words, he had summed up Linnie's lifetime motto, the subliminal message that had been running through her brain on a continuous loop for the last twenty years. There was first place, and then there was failure. No middle ground. When her internal voice said this, it sounded reasonable, even noble. But to hear someone else say it aloud . . . well, he sounded like a draconian, abusive asshole.

“Just hold it together for twenty-four more hours,” Ty said. “I've told you a million times, I've got this all figured out. I ran a statistical model on the winning dishes for the past twenty years, and the judges gravitate to chocolate and caramel. Stop arguing and start working with me, and we'll be fine.”

“But—”

“What did I
just say
?” He sighed as if showing superhuman patience and restraint. “We're a good team, but you need to trust me. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” Tai's voice had flattened into a monotone.

“Good.” There was a quick smacking sound as they exchanged a kiss. “Now let's get this photo shoot over with.”

The second their footsteps retreated into the adjacent room, Amy and Linnie grabbed their clothes and bags and escaped out the studio door. Linnie purposely let the door slam behind them.

“Why did you do that?” Amy asked as they changed into their street clothes in a restroom in the bookstore on the building's ground floor. “Now they're going to know somebody heard them.”

“Good. I want them to know. Let them wonder who heard what. Let them lose a little sleep over it.”

Amy collected the outfits they'd worn for the shoot and folded them neatly. “We have to return these to Ori, you know.”

“I can't believe that half-wit ran the stats to find commonalities in all the winning recipes.” Linnie was a little peeved she hadn't thought of it herself. “Who would've guessed he could operate a calculator, let alone a computer program?”

“Those two are so weird. At first I thought they were Ozzie and Harriet, then I thought they were Bonnie and Clyde, and now it's like they're, uh . . .” Amy groped for an appropriate cultural reference. “Heidi and Spencer?”

“Who?”

“Never mind.”

 

W
hen they got back to the hotel suite, Grammy was perched on the sofa in her customary cashmere and pearls, flipping through the latest issue of
Food & Wine
magazine. “How was the photo shoot? My goodness, you two look lovely.”

She picked up the mug of herbal tea resting on a coaster on the end table. “Linnie, I just got off the phone with Cam. He'd like you to call him back at your earliest convenience.”

“What is up with everybody intercepting all my phone calls?” Linnie demanded, working herself up into an indignant lather. “I have a right to privacy, you know.”

“He seems like a very well-mannered young man,” Grammy Syl said. “So hospitable and attentive.”

“He's handsome, too,” Amy added helpfully. “Plus, he's loaded and apparently quite a good kisser.”

“I approve,” Grammy announced.

“Gee, I'm so glad. Now, can you both please leave me alone?”

“Hey.” Amy unwrapped her scarf and peeled off her jacket. “It's not freezing cold in here anymore.”

Linnie flexed her fingers, waiting for the icy tingling to set in. But nothing happened. In fact, standing here in her sweater and coat, she was actually a little too warm.

“Oh yes, there was a tiny glitch with the air-conditioning, but I got it fixed.” Grammy picked up the room service menu and started perusing the brunch specials.

“How did you do that?” Linnie asked. “Did you have to call in an exorcist? A meteorologist?”

“Don't be silly, lamb. I just asked your boyfriend to send up another maintenance crew, and when they had trouble, I called Hal from the senior center. Hal used to work for NASA—he can fix anything. Or, at least, he could before the arthritis set in. Anyway, I put Hal on the phone with the repairmen and he talked them through it. They had it fixed in a trice. Cam offered to hire him as a consultant.”

“You're a superhero,” Amy said. “Admit it. As soon as we leave, you bust out your cape and a unitard and fight for justice and the American way.”

“Don't be ridiculous, darling.” Grammy winked. “I wouldn't be caught dead in a unitard.”

“Hang on.” Linnie's attention had been snagged earlier in the conversation. “How long were you and Cam on the phone, anyway?”

“Oh, just a few minutes.”

“Uh-huh. And by the way, he's not my boyfriend.”

“I know.” Grammy crossed her ankles. “That's how you young girls do things today, always playing the field. Though, if I may offer a word of advice—”

“You may not.”

“Mind your tongue, Vasylina. There's no need to get snippy.”

“Yeah, lay off Grammy Syl,” Amy chimed in. “She's had a long day fighting crime.”

“Now, then.” Grammy picked up the phone again. “Who wants pancakes?”

“I do, I do.” Amy bounced on the sofa cushion. “Make mine blueberry, please!”

“I'll just have oatmeal,” Linnie said.

“Nonsense.” Grammy started dialing. “You'll have Belgian waffles and you'll enjoy them. And please don't forget to return Cam's call. I gave him my word.”

Linnie surrendered and slipped into the bedroom. She flipped open her phone, then realized she didn't have Cam's cell number. So she stuck her head back into the sitting room, where Amy was recounting her triumphant foray into food styling.

“Hey, Grammy? Did Mr. Manners happen to leave his personal contact information?”

“You know, dearest, I don't believe he did. Just call down to the front desk, and they'll connect you.”

“They're not going to put some random guest through to the owner of the hotel chain.”

“Call them,” Grammy commanded.

Linnie closed the door and did as she was told. “Hi. This is Linnie Bialek in room twenty-six twenty-eight. Is there any way you could get me in touch with Mr. McMillan?” She waited for the operator to explain that Cam was in a meeting or to “accidentally” drop the call.

“Your name again, please?”

“Linnie Bialek.”

The operator's inflection never changed. “One moment, please.”

Thirty seconds later, Cam's voice came on the line. “Linnie. Good morning.”