I woke slowly, an indistinct, uneasy feeling on the edge of my half-conscious thoughts.
A few snoozy minutes later, my alarm went off, and I remembered I had a five-year-long, jam-contest-winning streak to unravel.
Worse, I had to act as a first-tier judge this morning. First round was this morning, next round midday, thankfully early enough for me to come home and get ready for my date with Luke.
But first, judging. The salt before the sweet, so to speak.
Fairmont groaned next to me as if echoing my thoughts.
I rolled out of bed, discounting any thoughts of breakfast. The judges had the choice of two small spoons of jam or a small spoon and a dab of jam on a cracker or mini toast wedge. I was opting for a purist first taste and then toast wedges for the second because jam belonged with toast. I felt more comfortable making a decision after trying the entries both alone and on bread.
That meant no breakfast for me. It didn’t matter how small those wedges were, there’d be plenty of toast considering the number of entries, and I didn’t want to judge food on a full stomach. That seemed innately unfair.
I’d received a call from Hill Country Jam’s representative yesterday afternoon explaining in detail the contest rules. We’d be getting a briefing this morning, but Eric Milson, the rep, didn’t want there to be any confusion, and he’d wanted to speak directly with each judge to express HCJ’s appreciation for being allowed to sponsor the contest this year. He’d sounded nice enough and genuine in his gratitude. He thought the contest would be mutually advantageous to the company, the festival, the town, and the winner of the contest.
I agreed with him—especially if a fair winner was chosen. That thought I kept to myself.
As I let Fairmont outside and made coffee, I reviewed everything Eric had told me about the contest structure.
There were three rounds of judging in total, with the panel judges participating in the first two elimination rounds and Eric, the company rep, making the final determination of the winner. Entries had closed a week ago—before I’d even known there was a contest, let alone that I was one of the judges—with a final count of sixty-one entries.
Each had already been vetted for eligibility. An entrant must reside in Sage County and must use primarily local ingredients. The percentage of local ingredients required and what constituted local were defined in the contest rules.
But that was all handled prior to the contestants arriving with their entries and wasn’t my concern. I just had to pick the flavors I liked best. Which made me roll my eyes because how much more subjective could it be? I had no special training or skill, yet I’d qualified as a judge.
Angela was a professional baker with a successful cupcake shop. She was qualified.
But when I’d expressed concern, Eric had surprised me by explaining that a committee had reviewed the judging applications and that everyone who’d been accepted to the judging panel was considered to be fair, neutral, and possessing sound culinary taste.
Sound culinary taste. He’d used those words. Too funny.
Turned out, the Sage County Chamber of Commerce had done the judge vetting, coming up with the standards and voting on volunteer submissions.
Helen, the sneaky scoundrel, had submitted my name over two weeks ago. The real mystery wasn’t how Mariah had won five years running; it was how Helen had kept my application under her hat for two whole weeks.
I glanced down to find half the coffee in my mug gone. Fairmont was probably starving on the back step.
When I opened the door, I found him patiently sitting, waiting for me to remember that he was outside and hadn’t eaten yet. I didn’t always have the most agile mind in the mornings, and he was used to my pre-coffee levels of absentmindedness. Eventually, he’d let out a quick bark—but only if it was cold, wet, or he was extra, absolutely-starving hungry.
Best dog ever.
Unfortunately, those few minutes weren’t mine to spare this morning. I needed to get a move on. I wanted to catch a quick run with Fairmont since he’d missed going with me yesterday, and I needed to be showered and on the road in less than an hour and a half.
Judging began at nine-thirty, judges were encouraged to arrive by nine but no later than nine-fifteen, and I wanted a quick look around the festival as the vendors set up for the nine o’clock festival start time. That meant leaving here around eight twenty. Which only left me forty-five minutes to get ready if I squeezed in a quick half-hour run.
“Let’s do this, buddy. You and me, jogging, judging, and smelling all the lavender. It’s going to be a good day.”
* * *
I’d cut short my cool down, hustled through a quick shower, and decided to only dry my hair halfway, because it was just too hot to fully blow out. With some hair product and a little luck, I’d look like I had tousled waves and not bedhead when it was fully dry.
But all of that hustle paid off. Fairmont and I arrived with a half-hour to peruse the setup and scout the vendor tents.
My plan was to scout ahead for the best vendors to hit later this afternoon. Luke was patient, but he wasn’t a natural born shopper. Minimizing the window shopping and maximizing the food and beer stands ensured we’d both have a very nice time.
Then again, Luke swore that any time with me was time well spent.
Warmth filled my chest, and it wasn’t from the Texas heat. I loved that Luke made me feel appreciated.
Whatever anyone might say, one’s history didn’t simply fade away into the past. It peeked into the future without warning or invitation, and my history included marriage to a man who’d spent the last twenty of our twenty-nine years together taking me very much for granted.
I parked behind Catie’s Cupcakes in one of the two reserved spots. Angie, the owner, had sent me a text yesterday offering up the spot since parking around downtown and Main Street would be dicey for the duration of the festival.
While most of White Sage’s thriving businesses were located on Main Street or directly off it, White Sage did have a town square. Main Street ran along one side of it, but it wasn’t the hub of commerce that many small-town squares were. White Sage’s version had a park in the middle of the square, which was not only great for hosting a lavender festival, it had also been deemed a desirable place to live. As a result, the square was a mix of commercial and residential. It was unusual and charming and not terribly convenient from a parking standpoint. The residences didn’t have commercial parking, and the businesses on the square had limited spaces.
Catie’s Cupcakes was located about a block and a half from the square, so it was the perfect solution. I could have parked closer this morning and just used the spot in the afternoon when parking was scarcer, but I also wanted a decent store-bought iced coffee.
I popped into Catie’s, grabbed a delicious iced coffee with oat milk, retrieved Fairmont from the car, and headed to the square.
Fairmont knew something was up because his nose was tipped up, scenting the faint breeze. The festival was upwind from us, so I’m sure he was getting all sorts of great smells: people, food, crushed grass.
His enthusiasm was contagious. By the time we’d arrived, the two of us were walking at a good clip.
The wind had shifted, sending all the exciting scents in another direction, but that didn’t matter. Not to a dog who’d already recognized an opportunity in his near future to beg (politely) for treats and pets.
There were retail vendor tents lined along all four sides of the park with the food vendors and some tables in the center. The side of the square opposite Main Street also held a decent-sized stage for the live music scheduled to start around ten. Since the food was in the middle and much of the square was residential, vendors were choosing to set up facing the interior of the square.
That said, only about a third of the vendors appeared to be manning their tents. It was early, just eight-thirty, but I’d still expected retailers to be prepped, ready, and waiting for patrons in advance of the official nine o’clock start this morning. That was probably a sign that things didn’t get into full swing until the music began.
Regardless, signage was attached to all of the tents, even the unmanned ones. They’d been left up overnight since the festival had begun the previous afternoon.
Some vendors had taken everything home—tables, displays, products—others had left everything but their goods in place.
As we started to make our way around the perimeter, Fairmont lifted his head, nose in the air, and scented the faint breeze.
He’d been doing it since we arrived. No surprise, since there were already a few food vendors operating. The Drip, my favorite coffee shop, even had a booth. I hadn’t known they’d planned to attend.
Like any small-town Texas festival, ours wouldn’t be complete without several barbeque tents, funnel cakes, baked goods of every variety, and locally produced products like goat cheese and beer. But most of those would be opening closer to eleven.
Still, there were plentiful scents for an inquisitive German shorthaired pointer to savor, including the wafting aroma of lavender that was detectable even to my less sensitive nose.
But…
I paused.
Fairmont did the same when he reached the end of his leash.
There was something about the tension in his body. The intensity of his interest.
Something worrisome.
It had to be the food. And the people. The vendors who had arrived early and were milling around.
That had to be it.
Fairmont strained against his leash, his entire body canted forward, nose in the air.
A sinking sensation in my stomach made my hand tighten on the leash at the same time that my feet moved forward.
He wasn’t daydreaming about donuts and coffee cake from the Drip’s food stand. He wasn’t looking for scratches from strangers. And he certainly was getting intensely, purposefully interested in the floral odor of lavender.
He’d locked in on one significant scent among hundreds, like the trained dog he was.
If there was something, someone, he’d scented—and I hoped with all my heart there wasn’t, but if there was—I needed to find them.
His body language was telling me that he was all business, and his business was blood and death.
My chest tightened, and my breathing became shallow, but I ignored it and followed behind his eager spotted body. As I broke into a jog, I sent a silent prayer out into the world that I’d completely misinterpreted the situation.