The Fatal Funnel Cake (7 page)

When she lifted it from the pan, she heard a murmur of approval from the spectators. She supposed that like any other activity, there were funnel cake aficionados who knew all the ins and outs of the game and recognized good work. She began soaking up the oil from her third and final funnel cake.

Ramón Silva wore a dark scowl now. He had his third cake cooking. Phyllis didn't take a good look at the first two he had cooked until she was finished pouring the maple syrup and sprinkling the pecans over her third cake. Silva's cakes were beautiful; there was no denying that. And she was sure they were light and fluffy inside and would taste wonderful. There would be no shame in losing to an old pro like him.

Phyllis hoped her cakes would at least be competitive. She thought they would taste good. There was no reason they shouldn't.

She stepped back, looked at the three funnel cakes on the counter next to her stove, and heaved a sigh of relief. She was finished, anyway. She had done her best. Now it was up to the judges.

She turned to look at her friends. They all smiled broadly at her, and Sam gave her a thumbs-up. Phyllis returned the gesture, feeling a little foolish as she did so, but Sam's enthusiasm was infectious.

Ramón Silva stepped back, beamed at his cakes with obvious pride, and said, “Those are the winners, right there.” He looked over at Phyllis. “They'll see they never should have opened the contest to amateurs.”

“Oh, I don't know; it adds some excitement to the proceedings, don't you think?” she said.

Silva snorted. “This isn't a game. It isn't about excitement. This is business. If I can claim I make the fair's best funnel cakes, I'll sell more of them.”

Phyllis could understand that, and she didn't have any desire to hurt anyone's business. But she hadn't made the rules, and as far as she could see the contest had been fair for everyone involved, concessionaires and amateurs alike.

The judging got under way. Phyllis glanced at the clock on the wall. Nearly an hour remained until Joye Jameson's broadcast would be over. She hoped that she and the others would be able to see part of the show and meet Joye afterward.

Now that the cooking was finished, the spectators were allowed to mingle with the contestants. Sam, Carolyn, Eve, and Peggy came over to Phyllis and congratulated her.

“It's a little early for that,” she told them. “The judges haven't even tried my cakes yet.”

“Yeah, but you got through it,” Sam said, “and I could tell it was a little nerve-rackin'.”

“Phyllis has always handled pressure without any trouble,” Carolyn said. “When you're a teacher you learn how to do that, or you don't last long in the job.”

“That's certainly true,” Eve agreed. “And she's never broken under the pressure of all those murder investigations, either, even when she got thrown in jail because she was trying to help me.”

The others looked at her in surprise.

“Oh, for goodness' sake,” Eve went on. “Do you think I don't know you've been avoiding talking about anything like that in front of me? I appreciate the consideration for my feelings, but it's time we all moved on, don't you think? From now on, you don't have to watch what you say around me. Just be yourselves.” She smiled at Carolyn. “I know it must have been terribly difficult for you, dear.”

“What does that mean?” Carolyn demanded. “Do you think I'm just naturally tactless or something?”

The arrival of the judges saved Eve from having to answer.

Phyllis introduced herself, showed the judges—two women and a man—the printed recipe she had used, and watched in tense anticipation as each judge sampled one of the funnel cakes, cutting off a couple of bites and chewing them slowly as if savoring everything about the experience.

Then they thanked her and moved on. Phyllis hadn't been able to tell a thing from their expressions about whether or not they had liked her entries.

“Is that it?” Carolyn asked. “Just two bites?”

“I reckon they can't eat the whole thing every time,” Sam said, “or else they'd have such a sugar rush they'd be bouncin' off the walls for the next two days.”

“I couldn't even eat that much,” Peggy said. “My blood sugar would go sky-high if I did.”

The judges were just as expressionless as they sampled Ramón Silva's cakes. He tried to chat familiarly with them, but they didn't seem to pay much attention to what he said.

It was a few minutes past two o'clock when the judges finished sampling all the entries and drew off to the side to confer among themselves. The discussion seemed to take forever, even though it was really only a couple of minutes. Finally, they all nodded as if they had reached a consensus, and when they turned around and approached the contestants again, the male judge had a big blue ribbon in his hand.

His course led him straight toward the stoves where Phyllis and Silva had prepared their funnel cakes. Phyllis couldn't tell which of them was the judge's destination. Silva thought he knew, though. A smug, self-satisfied smile appeared on his face.

Then the judge veered slightly, just enough to take him to Phyllis, who stood there too stunned to move as the man held out the blue ribbon, smiled, and said, “Congratulations, Mrs. Newsom.”

Chapter 9

“N
oooo!”

The shout of anger and disbelief came from Ramón Silva. He lunged toward the judge, getting in the man's face and continuing, “You can't give the blue ribbon to an amateur! You just can't! It's not right!”

“Please, Mr. Silva—” the startled judge began.

Silva made a grab for the ribbon. “Gimme that!” he demanded. “It's mine!”

Phyllis was just as shocked as anyone else at the man's outburst. She saw one of the female judges saying something into a walkie-talkie and figured the woman was calling security.

The male judge backed away hurriedly. He was taller than Silva and held the blue ribbon over his head, out of Silva's reach, but that didn't stop the outraged concessionaire from trying to get it. Silva jumped and grabbed at the ribbon several times, and Phyllis thought the scene would have been comical if it hadn't been so sad.

“Mr. Silva, you have to stop this,” the judge said. “If you keep it up, you'll be banned from the fair!”

“It won't matter!” Silva said. “When word gets around that a little old lady's funnel cake beat mine, my business will be ruined!”

Phyllis thought that had to be an exaggeration, and she didn't much care for that “little old lady” comment, either.

Sam moved up beside Silva and said, “You'd better take it easy there, buddy.” He put a hand on Silva's shoulder.

Barking a curse, Silva turned and swung a punch at Sam's head. Phyllis gasped in alarm, thinking that Sam was going to be hurt.

Not seeming to move fast at all, Sam leaned aside so that the blow missed him. Silva lost his balance and stumbled. Before he could right himself and try to attack anyone else, a couple of uniformed security guards pounded up and grabbed him. Silva thrashed back and forth, but since he probably didn't weigh much more than 130 pounds, he was no match for the two guards.

“What's going on here?” one of them asked. Phyllis was a little surprised that she recognized him. After a moment she remembered his name: Chet Murdock. He had been working near the set of Joye Jameson's show the day before.

“Mr. Silva is upset about the results of the funnel cake contest,” the male judge said.

“Didn't win, eh?” Chet stepped back as the other guard pulled both of Silva's arms behind his back and looped a plastic restraint around his wrists. Being bound like that seemed to take all the fight out of Silva. His shoulders slumped.

“I'm sorry, sir,” the judge said to Sam. “If you want to press charges—”

Sam stopped the man by shaking his head. “No need for that. The fella was just shook up. No harm done.”

“You're sure?” The judge seemed quite nervous, and Phyllis had a pretty good idea why. In this day and age, everybody who dealt with the public was scared to death of lawsuits.

“Positive,” Sam said.

Chet Murdock asked the judge, “Do you want us to call the cops, Mr. Thaxter?”

The judge sighed and shook his head. “I suppose not. Mr. Silva has been coming to the fair for a long time. I guess we can give him a break . . . this time.”

“Okay.” Chet nodded to the other guard, who was still hanging on to Silva. “Take him somewhere and let him cool off.”

As the second guard led Silva away, the crowd parted to give them plenty of room. Silva had acted like a crazy man, and nobody wanted to get close to him.

The judge turned back to Phyllis and managed a weak smile. “Well, after all the excitement, this might be a little anticlimactic,” he said, “but congratulations again, Mrs. Newsom.”

He held out the blue ribbon. Phyllis took it and said, “Are you sure this isn't some sort of mistake?”

“No mistake. Your funnel cakes were the best we tasted today. You are definitely our winner.”

“Thank you. I can hardly believe it. I never even made any funnel cakes until recently.”

“You picked it up quickly, then,” the judge told her. “Those were some of the best funnel cakes we've had here.” The two female judges had come closer now that the trouble was over, and they nodded in agreement. “We'll send over a photographer in a few minutes to take your picture with the winning entry, if that's all right.”

Phyllis looked at the clock again. “If it's not too long,” she said. Across the hall, Joye Jameson's broadcast soon would be drawing to a close.

“We'll see to it right away,” the man promised.

Carolyn, Eve, and Peggy gave Phyllis congratulatory hugs, as did Sam. She shook her head as she looked at the blue ribbon and said, “I still can't believe it.”

“I'm not a bit surprised,” Sam said. “I told you all along you were gonna win, didn't I?”

“You're a funnel cake Nostradamus,” Carolyn said dryly.

Sam looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “You know, Funnel Cake Nostradamus would be a good name for a rock band.”

•   •   •

Chet Murdock hung around that side of the hall for a few minutes, until the fair's photographer showed up to take Phyllis's picture. He explained that he'd been covering temporarily for another guard but didn't have to get back to the set of
The Joye of Cooking
right away.

While they were waiting, she told him about meeting Bailey Broderick earlier and how Bailey had invited her and her friends to visit the broadcast set.

“Really?” Chet said. “That's pretty cool. I'll go with you, just to make sure nobody gives you any trouble.” He grinned. “And if I, uh, happen to get a chance to meet Ms. Jameson, too . . .”

“You haven't met her yet?” Carolyn asked.

“No. She's not exactly standoffish, but she doesn't really mingle with the staff, if you know what I mean. Hollywood types, they sort of stick together, even the nice ones.”

Phyllis thought about asking him whether he had noticed any odd behavior on the part of Bailey and the cameraman Hank, but she stopped herself. That really would be sticking her nose in where it didn't belong. She didn't want to take behavior that was probably totally innocent and make something suspicious out of it.

Besides, that might just get the others talking about her being a detective again, and she could do without that.

The photographer arrived and took several pictures of Phyllis and the fourth funnel cake she had made for the photo after winning the blue ribbon, then moved on to photograph the second- and third-place finishers. Phyllis and her friends, accompanied by Chet Murdock, headed across the hall toward the broadcast area. Today's show would just be coming to an end.

The audience was leaving the bleachers when they got there. Phyllis's eyes scanned the kitchen set, and she felt a little disappointed when she didn't see Joye Jameson anywhere. But then she spotted Bailey Broderick standing in the open door at the rear of the set, talking to someone on the other side of it. Bailey glanced around, perhaps feeling Phyllis's gaze on her, and smiled in recognition. She raised a hand and motioned for Phyllis to join her.

Phyllis gestured toward her companions. Bailey nodded and waved for all of them to come on.

“You come along, too, Mr. Murdock,” Phyllis told Chet. “That way we'll have an escort.”

He chuckled. “Don't think I don't know what you're doing . . . but thanks.”

Phyllis took the lead, stepping up onto the kitchen set and crossing it. The bulky cameras were still sitting in their positions around the outside of the set, although their operators were nowhere in sight, and the boom microphones were still in place, too. Phyllis felt a little like an intruder, as if she shouldn't be here. But Bailey was waiting for her and still smiling.

The others followed her, so at least Phyllis wasn't as nervous as she would have been if she had been alone. Just having them around made her feel better.

Bailey said, “Hello, Mrs. Newsom. I'm glad you could make it. I was a little worried when I didn't see you in the audience.”

“I was busy with something else,” Phyllis explained. She had put the blue ribbon in her purse and thought about taking it out, but that seemed too much like showing off. “But we hurried over here as soon as it was finished.”

Bailey leaned her head sideways. “Come on. I'll show you backstage. I warn you, though, it's not all that impressive.”

She stepped through the door, and Phyllis followed her. Phyllis halfway expected to see Joye Jameson standing there, since Bailey had been talking to someone, but there was no sign of the star. Instead, Reed Hayes, the show's producer, stood a few feet away behind the set's rear wall, talking to someone on a cell phone. Phyllis supposed Bailey had been talking to him.

“As you can see, not all that fancy,” Bailey went on. Indeed, there was a lot of bare wood, equipment that Phyllis didn't recognize, and electrical cables. Off to one side was an area partitioned off with temporary walls that didn't reach all the way to the hall's tall ceiling. Phyllis wondered if that was Joye's dressing room. That seemed likely, as she didn't see any other place a star might go after the show.

“So tell me who your friends are,” Bailey said. Phyllis introduced everyone, including Chet.

“It's a real honor to meet you, ma'am,” the security guard said. “I've seen you on the show many times.”

“And I've seen you around the hall here, Mr. Murdock,” she said. “The fair seems to have good security. That's always reassuring.”

“We do our best,” Chet said. “A few minutes ago we had to answer a call about a disturbance on the other side of the hall.” He nodded toward Phyllis. “Mrs. Newsom was involved in that.”

“Oh, no,” Bailey said. “Was there some sort of trouble? I thought I heard a commotion from over there, but I wasn't sure.”

“It was nothing to worry about,” Phyllis replied with a shake of her head. “One of the contestants in the funnel cake competition was a little upset that he didn't win; that's all.”

“You were at the funnel cake competition?” Bailey asked, suddenly seeming even more interested.

Peggy said, “She wasn't just at it. She was in it.”

“And she won,” Carolyn added, obviously proud of her friend. “That's why that troublemaker was so upset. He tried to steal Phyllis's blue ribbon.”

“You have the blue ribbon?” Bailey said.

Phyllis hadn't wanted to boast, but since Bailey had asked her . . . She opened her purse and took out the ribbon. “Yes, it's right here.”

A new voice said, “You won the prize for the best funnel cake?”

Phyllis turned and looked to see who had spoken, and a shock of recognition went through her as she saw Joye Jameson standing only a couple of feet away. For a second she couldn't find her voice, but then she held up the blue ribbon and said, “Yes, I did.”

“Then, lady, have I got a deal for you!”

And with that, Joye threw her arms around Phyllis in a big hug.