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“That’s Dennis Whitlow from Deep South Eats!” Sarah said, lowering her voice and leaning toward Louisa. “That’s big time.” She immediately smoothed down the front of her blouse, tugging the already plunging neckline down as far as she could without danger of arrest.
I leaned over across the counter toward them. “They’re doing a feature on Macy and her restoration of this place. It’s so exciting.”
“That’s wonderful!” Louisa seemed impressed. “We’ll be sure to watch for it in this month’s issue. He must be covering the competition while he’s here. No wonder Lavender was fit to be tied.”
“Yes, she made quite the scene when he walked in. What’s the history with those two?” I asked.
“He writes a lot of food-related reviews for the magazine as well as feature articles.” Sarah explained. “He published a scathing review of her catering business, A Twist of Lavender, in the September issue and I heard that several high-profile weddings have cancelled on her.”
“Yes, I read that review,” Louisa said. “It was pretty rough if I do say so.”
Sarah nodded. “When your business depends on word of mouth in the elite circles of Atlanta aristocracy, something like that could kill you.”
“I hope he doesn’t push her too far. He always does a good job reporting on the bake-off, but I think he just loves to wind her up and watch her red top blow.” Louisa laughed.
“He’d better behave himself. If she makes good on her promises, he may not have a job when he gets back. He does love to stir the pot.” Sarah laughed and slid her gaze over to Dennis. “Maybe we should hang around and say hello. Who knows?” Sarah nudged her elbow into Louisa’s side. “It couldn’t hurt to do a little schmoozing, could it? You never know when those connections can come in handy.”
Louisa rolled her eyes and grinned. “Have at it, girl. I’m just in this for fun. I’m not looking for publicity.”
The ladies never took a seat at a table, so I assumed their orders were to go, but when Sarah took a bite of her pastry it seemed they were going to enjoy their coffee and goodies standing at the counter. “With the rumors going around lately, we thought Lavender might not be entering the contest,” she mumbled through a mouthful of flaky crust.
“Oh, you mean because of the feud between her and Martha Jean Wilson?” I cocked an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize a lot of people knew about that.”
“Oh, that stuff between her and Martha Jean has been going on for years.” Sarah flipped her hand toward me, brushing off the comment. “I wasn’t talking about that. I’m talking about a cookbook deal.”
“Lavender has a cookbook?” I asked.
“No, but we’ve been hearing rumors that someone’s been after her to sell her prized fruitcake recipe.” Louisa blew across the top of her cup and took a sip of coffee. “I assume it must be to include in a cookbook. It can’t legally be published without her consent.” She pinched off a bite of her pastry and popped it in her mouth.
Sarah drank the last sip of her coffee and touched up her lips with the gloss she’d pulled from her purse. “Well, I guess it was just a rumor. You know, she couldn’t enter the competition if she’d already sold the recipe. I guess we couldn’t get that lucky.”
Sarah offered to dispose of their trash and leisurely sashayed past Dennis and Macy on her way to the bin. He raised an eyebrow and followed her sashay all the way out the door.
I handled the steady stream of lunch customers on my own better than I expected. A half hour later, Macy finished up her interview and Dennis took several photos of her and the bakery, then packed up his gear and left. I couldn’t wait to see it all in print.
“Mom, thanks for covering for me during the interview. He asked a lot of interesting questions. I just hope I don’t end up sounding like a dork in print.” She laughed and headed to the back to change into her work clothes.
We spent the next two hours prepping for tomorrow’s specials and restocking the pastry cases. I was wiping down the tables one last time when she came out of the kitchen.
“I need to run next door and ask Tony a question. I’ll be right back.” She walked out the front door and down the sidewalk to the restaurant next door. Macy’s fiancé Tony Castellini had recently opened a wonderful Italian eatery in the storefront next to Macy’s on Main. Tavolo had only been open a few months but was doing very well. They were in the thick of wedding plans and so far, so good.
I had just cleaned the last of the coffee machines and gotten them ready for tomorrow morning when the door jingled and Momma walked in, both arms loaded down with grocery bags. I rushed over as a container of candied fruit went rolling across the floor.
“Momma, let me help you!” I took one of the bags from her, bent down and picked up the lone escapee and placed it all on the counter.
She plopped her bag next to mine and blew out a long breath. “Whew! I didn’t realize how heavy both bags would be until I got halfway across the street.”
“What is all this? Did you make a grocery run for Macy?” I asked.
“My darling granddaughter gave me permission to use her kitchen to practice my fruitcake recipes for the competition. It will be so much easier here than in my tiny kitchen.” She paused and looked around. “Where is Macy?”
“She had to run next door to show Tony something. She’ll be right back. I’ll help you get this stuff into the back.” I picked up one of the bags and followed her through the swinging door into the kitchen.
“I want to try out some new recipes this year. I’ve really been thinking I need to kick it up a notch. You know, put my own twist on the traditional fruitcake. After I play around awhile with the recipe, then I’ll decide which one is the best choice to enter into the competition. I really want to make a good showing this year since I’m the area president and we’re hosting right here in Sweetwater Springs.”
“Momma, you make Granny’s recipe, don’t you? It’s really good just like it is. Why do you want to mess with it?”
“Glory, basic just isn’t good enough anymore. It’s got to have that it factor. Something that makes it stand out from the rest.”
Continuing to empty the bags, we pulled out the plastic containers of assorted fruits, stacking them on the stainless prep table. I noticed that along with the usual, there were some items that were definitely not Momma’s typical fare. Things like coconut, dried mango slices, and dried figs. This was going to be interesting.
I heard the jingle out front and glanced through the window in the pass-through door. I just got my face out of the way when the door flew open and Macy stomped into the kitchen.
“What on earth’s got you moving like your hair’s on fire, girl?” Momma asked.
She slammed a notebook down on the table and slouched down on a prep stool. “Ugh! He makes me so mad sometimes!”
“Tony? What happened?” Tony and Macy didn’t argue much, but when they did, it was usually a doozy.
“Wedding planning is for the birds. I think we should just elope.” She propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “We can’t seem to agree on anything.”
“I thought you decided that you would divide and conquer with him taking care of the bulk of the reception and you’d be in charge of the ceremony?” I knew Tony probably didn’t have any preferences about the wedding ceremony, but unfortunately, they both had very specific opinions about reception food.
“We did, but I was thinking he would just find a caterer. Now he’s wanting to do all the food himself. I mean, I know it will be cheaper that way, but I’m afraid he’ll get so busy, we won’t be able to enjoy the whole ceremony. He gets such tunnel-vision when he plans big events.” She sighed. “I just don’t want to lose him to the cooking.”
“I understand. He does seem to get a little consumed when he’s creating.” I placed my hand on her back and gave her a comforting rub. “I’m sure you’ll work it out. There’s still plenty of time for decisions.”
Macy and Tony had set a date in the spring for the wedding, deciding on a small outdoor ceremony at an old, country church near the lake. The little one-room church building was on the historic register. Its weathered, clapboard siding and picturesque setting would be a perfect backdrop for the ceremony.
“I was just about to start cleaning up the kitchen. Looks like it’s a good thing I didn’t waste my energy.” I tossed my head toward Momma who was engrossed in studying what looked to be a new recipe book. “I think she’s about to turn this into a test kitchen.”
Momma looked up from her book. “Dang skippy, I am. I’ve got two new twists on your Granny’s old recipe to try. Who wants to help me?” She smiled at us expectantly.
Macy looked over at me and shrugged. “Sure, Nana. Trying new recipes always helps me clear my head. Maybe it’ll get my mind off wedding planning.”
“I’ll help too. I’ve never made a fruitcake but I’m willing to give it a shot.” I walked into the front of the bakery and locked the front door, turning the sign to CLOSED. I glanced out the front window and noticed Martha Jean Wilson across the street pacing back and forth on the sidewalk in front of Bobbie Clark’s law office. She was talking on her cell phone in what looked to be a very animated conversation, her arm waving frantically in the air. She stopped talking, tucked the phone in her purse, and walked into the law office.
“Momma, I just saw Martha Jean walk into Bobbie’s office. I thought maybe all that hullabaloo had settled down by now.”
“Lordymercy, no. She’s still madder than a hornet and threatening to make good on her promise to sue Lavender for libel.”
“Just what exactly has Lavender said about Martha Jean that has her so infuriated?”
“Martha Jean and Lavender have been at it for years. Their cakes have come in first and second place for the last seven competitions. One year, Lavender and the next, Martha Jean. Well, the last three years in a row, Lavender has taken the overall title. In her blog, Lavender flat out accused Martha Jean of attempting to bribe one of this years’ judges for the upcoming contest, guaranteeing her a win this time.”
“I know Martha Jean can be a pill, but I just can’t see her as a cheater. Have both of them officially entered the competition?”
“You bet they have. Theirs were the first entries when the online registration opened. There are only ten spots available and it filled up in just a couple of hours. We even have a waiting list.”
“The contest is Friday. That’s just two days away. Hadn’t you better make a decision on what recipe to use?”
She nodded. “Contestants have until midnight tomorrow night to submit their cake description, so I can play around with my recipe as long as I decide by then.”
“A couple of bakers were in here today saying they heard that Lavender wasn’t entering this year. They heard she was selling her recipe for a cookbook.”
Momma shook her head. “That’s just wishful thinking on their part. She’ll go to her grave with that recipe in her pocket.” She tied on an apron.