No Parm No Foul, page 3
“This bread is fantastic,” Grant said. “There’s only a touch of pumpkin, so it’s not sweet and it doesn’t overpower the cheese. And the pale-gold color is perfect.”
Sara Hardy, the bread baker who supplied all the artisan breads for Carly’s eatery, had created the pumpkin bread recipe especially for her.
“I’m really going to miss my mom,” Carly said with a sigh, glancing at her mom’s cookie cutter as she removed Grant’s homemade dips from the commercial fridge. “Gary’s favorite niece is getting married this afternoon, so it’s not like she can skip the wedding.”
“Lousy timing, but I’m sure they’ll enjoy the wedding. I wonder how Suzanne is doing,” he said, feeding chunks of extra sharp orange cheddar into a shredder. They’d decided to use shredded cheese, not only for ease of preparation but for faster melting. “Is she taking pain medication for her ankle?”
“Only ibuprofen.” Carly set two hollowed-out pumpkins on the worktable in the kitchen. Grant had carved faces in each—one scary and one smiley. He’d prepared a guacamole dip for the scary pumpkin and a spicy marinara for the smiley one. “Her ankle’s not so much painful as it is annoying. She has to wear one of those clunky orthopedic boots.”
“Oh boy. She must hate that.”
“She’s not a happy camper, as they say.”
Over the summer, Suzanne had reunited with her almost ex-husband, and their marriage was on a path to healing. Recently, they’d rented a house that they hoped eventually to buy.
Carly set a glass bowl in each of the pumpkins. “I’m thinking we should keep the reserves of our dipping sauces in our fridge. When we start to get low, one of us can run across the street for more. Gina said she and Zach can act as gofers.”
“Cool. Is she home right now?”
“I haven’t seen her this morning. I think she stayed at Zach’s last night. I meant to ask you, Grant. Did you help Ferris Menard last year when he entered his sub sandwiches in the competition?”
“Yeah.” Grant made a face. “Even though he won, it was a nightmare getting ready for it. That whole week we were prepping for it, he was constantly screaming orders at me and Holly—that’s his daughter. Made us both crazy.”
“Any idea what he’s making this year?”
“He’s doing another version of the dragon bites he did last year. Only this time he’s using wraps instead of sub rolls. And, of course, his famous dressing.” Grant’s words held a touch of sarcasm.
“You don’t think they’ll be good?”
“It’s not that. Mr. Menard’s been acting really weird for the last few weeks. On a good day he’s like a grenade ready to explode, but lately it’s been different. Something’s definitely bugging him. Even his daughter’s been tiptoeing around him.”
Carly wondered if that explained Ferris’s outburst on Thursday. “Do you regret quitting?”
“No way. Don’t even think that, Carly. I’m so glad I’m out of there.”
When the preparations were done, Carly headed into the restroom first to don her costume.
Grant grinned when he saw Lady Dracula emerge. “My gosh, you look so cool, Carly. You even drew bite marks on your neck!”
She’d also brushed baby powder over her face and neck to simulate an “undead” look. On one side of her neck, she’d drawn two “bloody” holes with lip liner, and she’d outlined her lips in black.
“Thanks. I like it too.” She especially loved the spiderweb earrings Ari had bought for her.
When it was Grant’s turn to change, Carly gasped. Atop his short dreads he’d attached a curly black wig that trailed down his back, a la Prince. Over a ruffled white shirt, he wore a long purple coat, with black leather pants and boots completing the look.
“You look amazing,” Carly squealed. “Straight out of Purple Rain!”
By the time they packed up their food and supplies and reached their assigned spot on the town green, Ari had already set up their table. Reliable and efficient, Carly thought. Another checkmark in the plus column.
He’d also set up the large portable griddle they’d be using. When he saw Carly approaching, his eyes danced. “Bless my soul, you are the prettiest vampire I’ve ever seen.” He came over and squeezed her in a firm hug, holding her for a beat longer than usual. Then he planted a featherlight kiss on her powdered cheek.
“Thank you, Ari,” she said, hoping the flush in her cheeks wouldn’t bleed through the baby powder. She took a step back and stared at him. “And you—you switched costumes! How did you find a vampire getup so fast?”
“It’s actually only a cape with a turned-up collar. The black pants are mine. I called three costume places until I finally lucked out. One of them still had a few vampire capes in stock.” He grinned, and his brown-eyed gaze burned into hers. “Now you and I are an authentic undead couple.”
Something in his tone made Carly’s insides go all squiggly. She was impressed that he’d taken time from his busy schedule to hunt down a costume that would complement hers.
That “plus” column just keeps growing…
By 11:00, the town green was bustling with goblins, ghosts, princesses, and wizards. Thirteen local restaurant owners were participating in the competition. The tables were set up in neat rows on the green. A large placard attached to the front of each one advertised the name of the eatery, along with its assigned number. Carly’s number was 12—the month of her mom’s birthday. She hoped it would bring her good luck.
Gina showed up with Zach shortly after 11:00. Dressed as plain M&M’s and peanut M&M’s, they bustled around Carly and Grant’s table, taking turns with Ari at cleaning up used plates, emptying trash, and replenishing supplies.
“These things are like, ridiculous,” Gina gushed, rescuing a blob of gooey orange cheddar from her cheesy, pumpkin-shaped sandwich. “I’d better not eat any more or you’ll run out.”
Carly smiled at her friend and slid another grilled cheese onto an orange paper plate. The line at her table ebbed and flowed, but she and Grant managed to keep up with the demand without any serious backups.
“This is so much more fun than last year,” Grant said, piling shredded cheese onto a row of cutouts.
He was so focused on his task that he didn’t notice the young, full-figured woman with blond sausage curls waving at him from a few feet away. Over a frilly, long-sleeved white blouse, she wore a flouncy blue jumper. Her feet were clad in black leather patents so shiny they gleamed in the sunlight. She sidled in closer to Carly’s table. “Hey, Grant.”
Grant looked up. “Oh, hi, Holly,” he said with a polite smile.
Holly. So this was Ferris’s daughter.
Avoiding eye contact with Carly, the young woman stared hungrily at the offerings on their table.
A tiny hobgoblin of suspicion slithered into Carly’s brain. Was the woman spying for her dad? Or did she genuinely come over only to say hello to Grant?
Seeing Holly’s glum expression, Carly instantly felt bad. “Would you like to try one?” She slid a cheesy sandwich onto a paper plate.
With a nod, Holly accepted the treat, then snagged a condiment cup filled with “guts” dip—aka guacamole—from a tray. Carly had set out the cups so that people wouldn’t be tempted to dip their sandwiches into the condiment-filled pumpkins.
Holly’s blue eyes widened after the first bite. “This is awesome.” She swallowed another huge bite, then turned and shot a quick, worried look behind her. “Grant, I have to go. If you want to come back, Dad says all is forgiven, okay?”
Grant looked pained. “Holly, I can’t.” He turned his attention back to the grill. “I-I have to work now. Sorry.”
Holly’s face fell. Clutching the meager remains of her cheesy pumpkin, she dashed off into the throng.
So that was her mission, Carly thought with annoyance. To lure Grant back into the fold.
They continued grilling and serving, and Carly was pleased to see a few of her regulars stroll over to her table. Evelyn Fitch came by and introduced her daughter, Lydia, an attractive brunette who was a younger version of her mom. Both women sported cat ears, and they each taste-tested a cheesy grilled pumpkin. “The best so far!” Evelyn pronounced, with a resounding thumbs-up.
Carly leaned toward Evelyn and said quietly, “Thank you for the note you left. I loved it.”
Evelyn beamed and ambled off with her arm looped through her daughter’s. Moments later, Stan Henderson, dressed as a roguish pirate, waved at Carly as he approached her table. “Whoa. I knew you’d have the best treats!” His eager smile faltered a bit when Ari came up behind Carly. “Hey, Ari, how’s it going?”
“Great, Stan. Enjoying the festivities?”
“Aw, you bet. This is one of my favorite days of the year. Can I cheat and have two?”
“Not a problem,” Carly said, handing him a plate.
Accepting his double order, Stan looked like a kid who’d just been given carte blanche to plunder a candy store. He swallowed a huge bite, his eyes closed in apparent bliss. When he opened them again his smile was wide, his hazel-eyed gaze locked on Carly. “These are going to win, Carly. Hands down.”
“I hope so, Stan. Keep your fingers crossed for me.”
Moments after Stan walked away, Carly spotted Don Frasco. Don was the sole owner of the Balsam Dell Weekly, a free paper that published more ads than news. He’d earned some recognition early in the summer for his role in putting away a local crime ring. He sported an auburn goatee that matched his eyes and an old-style fedora with a large “Press Pass” pinned to it.
“Hey,” he said, snapping a photo of her and Grant. “Nice spread. Too bad I hate cheese.”
Too bad indeed, Carly thought dryly as he moved on. One thing about Don, he was blunt with his opinions.
Carly was pleased when Suzanne’s husband and son came by to sample her offerings. She greeted them warmly and handed each a sandwich.
“Mom is like, so bummed that she couldn’t make it here,” Josh mumbled over a mouthful of melted cheese.
“How’s she doing today?” Carly asked them.
“Better, but she’s cursing herself for being a klutz. Her words, not mine,” he added quickly. “She’s worried about how you guys’ll be able to handle the restaurant without her.”
“Not that we won’t miss her, but we’ll be fine,” Carly assured him. “Tell her to stop worrying and stay off her ankle. ”
In truth, it was going to be a challenge for her and Grant to do everything without Suzanne. Carly was half tempted to contact a temp agency to see if they could send in a ringer for a few days.
By 2:30, things had quieted down. The noise level had dropped from a jumbled cacophony to a low drone. Either everyone had eaten their fill, or the chilly air was sending them inside to warm up. Carly noticed a short line at the ballot box, where participants were dropping in their votes.
Like most of the other restaurateurs who participated in the competition, Carly had closed her eatery for the entire day. Once the winner was announced, they’d pack up their table and return any perishables to the restaurant, after which everyone could go home. She and Ari had a quiet evening planned—Chinese food at her apartment, followed by a classic horror movie. And, with any luck, they’d be popping open the bottle of champagne she’d stashed in the fridge to celebrate her eatery’s win.
Grant had packed up the remaining supplies—they’d brought more than they needed—and he and Ari began lugging them back to the eatery. Carly was getting antsy for the judges to tally the votes and announce this year’s winner. Each person who paid for a ticket was entitled to one vote. Votes were deposited in a tamper-proof box and would be counted promptly at 3:00 p.m.
Carly was also itching to know how Ferris Menard’s dragon bites looked and tasted. For obvious reasons, she didn’t dare go within twenty feet of his table. And he no doubt knew that Gina and Carly were best buds.
Hmmm…
Gina came over and whispered to Carly, “I’m taking a quick bathroom break. Need anything before I go?”
“No, but is Zach up for a little spying? I want to see what Menard is giving out.”
Gina grinned. “Say no more.”
Ten minutes later, a triumphant Zach strolled casually back to Carly’s table carrying a greasy white paper plate. “Got one.” Taking her and Gina aside, he lifted a napkin off his plate. “Way too oily, and wraps don’t really slay me. But the cold cuts are good, sliced thin the way I like them, and this one’s packed with mozzarella. The edible eyeballs”—he shrugged—“nothing special. Anyone can hollow out an olive to make an eyeball.”
Without tasting it, Carly had to agree. The visual was nothing to write home about, and in her mind, a greasy plate was far from appetizing. “What about the salad dressing?” she pressed.
“Again, it’s good, but I wouldn’t give it a ringing endorsement.”
“Which is interesting,” Gina pointed out. “Because I heard that Menard’s soon-to-be-ex-wife started bottling the stuff and selling it under her own brand. Supposedly, she tweaked the formula to make it spicier. And…get this. She made a deal to sell the modified recipe to a boutique spice company. For some pretty serious bucks too.”
“Really?” Carly marveled at friend’s never-ending supply of local intel. “Gina, where do you hear this stuff?”
“Same place as usual. My aunt Lil at the Happy Clipper.”
Carly smiled as she mulled over this latest bit of news. A hair washer at the local beauty salon, Gina’s elderly, lavender-haired aunt collected more tidbits of information than an FBI bugging device. “I can’t imagine that Ferris is too thrilled about that development.”
“According to Portia, he’s furious over it. Portia’s his almost-ex,” Gina explained. “I think—uh oh.” She swallowed. “Speak of the devil. And I do mean that literally.”
A man wearing red devil’s horns came barreling in Carly’s direction. Ferris Menard’s face, nearly the same shade of scarlet as his long, flowing cape, was contorted with anger.
“Why you little witch,” he said ferociously. “Sending your minion”—he aimed a thumb at Zach—“to steal my food so you could analyze it? You are the lowest of the low, you know that?” He used a few expletives that sent Carly reeling.
Zach moved in closer to Menard. “First of all,” he said, his voice deceivingly soft, “no one stole your food. I sampled your dragon bites as part of the competition. I paid for my ticket and I’m entitled to one vote, which means I get to taste the entries. And second, you can keep your foul language to yourself. Got it?”
Carly stared at Zach. When had the mild-mannered account manager grown fangs?
“It’s all right, Zach,” Carly said evenly, refusing to be baited. “He knows full well he sent his daughter over to spy on me too.”
“The reason my daughter came over here,” he sniped, “was to say hi to Grant. That’s it. And she only ate one of those leaky pumpkin things to be polite.”
Leaky pumpkin things? Like the one she practically inhaled?
In the next instant, Ari and Grant came up behind the women. Ari’s dark brown eyes blazed, and his smile was anything but cordial. “I see you’re overstepping your bounds again, Ferris. Do you need an escort back to your table?”
Menard glared at Ari but didn’t respond.
Carly took a step closer to her nemesis. Flashing him the sincerest smile she could muster, she said, “The votes will be counted soon, Ferris. If you win, I will personally come over and congratulate you. If I happen to win, I’d like you to do the same for me. Deal?” She held out one hand as a gesture of goodwill.
He glared at her proffered hand as if it were a dead rat. Then he told her to go to a hot place, turned on his heel, and stomped back over to his table.
***
By 3:10, the crowd was buzzing with anticipation. Gina frowned up at the makeshift podium where the town’s recreation director, Teresa Gray, was deep in conversation with a bespectacled young man. “I wonder what’s taking so long,” Gina groused to Carly. “By now they’ve usually announced the winner.”
“Patience,” Carly teased her friend.
The mic squeaked. Everyone’s eyes went to the podium. Ms. Gray, her expression oddly blank, spoke in an even tone. “Good afternoon, everyone. I would first like to extend a huge thank you to everyone who participated in this year’s Halloween competition—not only the chefs but those of you who purchased tickets and voted. We saw some wonderful offerings and tasted some mighty delicious treats this year, didn’t we?” She paused for a brief clapping of hands and a handful of cheers. “Best of all, we raised over one thousand dollars, five hundred of which will be awarded to the winner. The remainder will be gifted to local food banks. As for this year’s winner—”
Grant grinned over at Carly with crossed fingers.
“We have counted the votes. Twice,” Ms. Gray emphasized. “Unfortunately, due to a mix-up, we are not yet ready to announce the winner.”
“What?” Gina blurted.
A nervous hum went through the crowd. “Whaddya mean, mix-up?” someone squawked.
Carly caught Ari’s worried look and said, “Has this ever happened before?”
“Not since I’ve been attending.”
Ms. Gray fingered the mic nervously. “We hope to have an announcement by later this evening. Please check our Facebook event page for updates. Thank you.” She turned and scurried away as if she’d spotted a mouse.
Grumbles and moans rose from all the people who’d gathered to hear the winner’s name. Carly didn’t know how to process what had just happened. Her first year entering the competition and they’d encountered a glitch.
