ELIZA MADE IT a point to be early on the set the next morning. All of the contestants arrived together in the van—minus Grace, who rode with the friend who was staying with her at the condo she’d rented. They all settled into the green room, some studying the recipes they weren’t allowed to take on stage with them, mental rehearsal. Some chatting and having coffee. There were hair stylists and makeup artists there to assist. Kaylee Newcomb, the young blonde who’d auditioned for the show as a way to break into show business, was availing herself of their services. Surprisingly, Jason Wright, the dark-haired young man with a popular fast food stand on the beach in Florida, was waiting in line behind Kaylee. As the most laid-back member of their cast, Jason didn’t seem the type to submit to someone putting goo all over his face.
Eliza was curious about the process, about how she’d look if she let the professionals go to work on her, didn’t want to know badly enough to stick around.
She wanted to check her kitchen. To make certain that everything was in place. Natasha had assured them, after the mushroom disappearance and near-disaster the previous week, that there’d be an extra preshow check of all kitchens for the duration of their competition. She needed this win.
Especially with everything else going on, with Pierce, her son…if she didn’t win this show, if she didn’t prove to herself that she could be the best at something, the life would be squeezed out of her.
It wasn’t like she needed the win to change the circumstances of her life. She loved Rose Harbor. Wouldn’t give it up even if she didn’t need it to make a living. She loved Pierce and wanted no part of a life without him.
Yet the idea of being a winning chef…it changed things inside her. Healed things inside her.
And maybe that was the answer she’d been seeking. She needed this to complete something inside her—not to change her external circumstances. She’d be better for Rose Harbor, better for Pierce and her marriage, if she could come home with a prestigious title she’d won by her own talent, hard work and diligence.
Amid the flurry of preshow techie activity, another one of the local high school drama class interns was mopping the kitchens when Eliza entered the stage. Camille, she thought her name was.
Being the proprietress of a bed-and-breakfast made Eliza conscious of everyone around her. Getting to know them. It made her great with names.
She’d met Camille the first week of taping. The girl had been filling the refrigerator in the green room with drinks. She’d asked if there was any brand in particular that Eliza liked. She could make sure that some would be there each week.
Later, Eliza had heard Camille asking Jason what types of snacks he liked. He’d said that he was fond of a certain kind of trail mix, and both of the previous two weeks it had been there. Eliza assumed she’d done the same for the other six contestants, as well.
Natasha ran a great show. Right down to the smallest details of comfort food in the green room.
And Camille was finished mopping. Ten minutes until call. Fifteen minutes before show time. The timeline was closer than she’d have expected, but Natasha didn’t want her contestants to have to stand around in their kitchens for a long period before go time. It was like she really, truly wanted every one of them to have the best chance to succeed. She seemed really to care about her contestants, not just about the show and the money.
Other than checking supplies, they weren’t allowed to touch a thing until the clock started ticking. Anyone caught getting a head start was automatically disqualified.
In her kitchen, Eliza went down her list, relieved to see that everything was where it should have been. Grace had come on stage right behind her and gave Eliza the thumbs-up, so her ingredients must have been complete, as well. A couple of other contestants trickled in. Luigi. The twins. And then, at call, the rest arrived and took their places.
Eliza wasn’t as concerned about time that week. Their subject was dessert, and her cobbler didn’t require the full fifty minutes they were allotted for preparation. She’d need half an hour, tops, so she took her time. Reveled being in her on-set kitchen. Soaked up the whole television experience. Having a win under her belt helped ease the tension, too, though she still wanted to win this week’s competition. If she took all four wins, she wouldn’t have to make a sixth trip to Palm Desert for the final round. There would be no final round.
She’d be the winning contestant…
Aware that Saturday of the buzz around her as her fellow contestants moved about their kitchens, as measuring spoons, pans, bowls and mixers clattered, as oven doors, and refrigerator doors opened and closed, as faucets were turned on and off, Eliza smiled to herself. Measured apple juice, maple syrup and cherries, mixed them in a glass bowl and set them aside.
She had to tend to the base, which would be baked. Flour and sugar went in the sifter. Next, baking soda, water and egg would be put in a bowl for whisking. Most people put the baking soda in with the dry ingredients. Eliza’s grandma had taught her to put it in with the wet. Said it gave the finished result a better texture.
The lights were bright. Maybe her tapered white blouse had not been the best choice since it might start to show sweat stains. She just loved how it looked with her dark hair. Thought the contrast drew attention to her eyes. Which, in her opinion, were her best feature.
Wiping her hand along the side of her navy pants—before she thought about the flour mark that would leave—she measured baking soda and tipped it into the bowl with a silent admonishment to stop being so vain. Was Kaylee’s whole star-struck mentality getting to her? Eliza didn’t even want to be a television star. She wanted to be respected for the talent she loved—cooking.
Bottled water in hand—the kind she always used at home—she measured the tablespoons needed and with her other hand started to whisk the soda briskly so that when the water hit, it didn’t form globs. The egg would go in last, cracked on the side of the bowl with one hand while she continued to whisk—just as her grandmother had taught her.
But first, whisk. Pour water and…
It wasn’t so much that the mixture in her bowl did anything alarming. It just grew when it wasn’t supposed to.
“What…” Eliza’s half-formed utterance drew the attention of the other chefs in her pod. The camera happened to be on her as well, so she caught Natasha’s attention.
“Cut!” Eliza wasn’t sure who called the command. Natasha and other show workers gathered around Eliza’s kitchen.
She was busy smelling the mixture in her bowl. She’d recognized the visual surprise seconds after it had happened. From a high school science class.
Natasha and a security guard gathered on either side of Eliza. Her entire body flashed hot. And then cold.
How could she have made such an incredibly stupid mistake? On national television?
“It doesn’t really smell strong enough, but I think I put vinegar in with the baking soda,” she said, shaking her head. What idiot couldn’t tell the difference between a bottle of vinegar and bottled water? She’d been so sure. Floating on confidence and thinking about her looks.
Well, didn’t she just look great now?
No real harm had been done. The mixture in her bowl looked normal enough. An instruction went out over the microphone for all other contestants to continue cooking.
Natasha reached around Eliza for the bottle of vinegar she’d mistaken for water.
“Something’s been added to this water,” she said, her voice harsher than Eliza had ever heard. Grandma Grace came over, saying that her pie was in the oven, and looked at the bottle. Jason glanced up from the dough he was rolling.
“Why would someone add something to her water?” Grace asked, frowning.
“I apologize, Mrs. Westin,” Natasha said. “We will get to the bottom of this. First, though, will you be able to complete your recipe on time?”
She’d have to start over, of course, with the wet ingredient bowl, but she’d only just started with it.
She’d be disqualified if she couldn’t. It was in the contract they’d all been required to sign. If for any reason a contestant couldn’t complete a menu item, whether it be a fault of her own or for any other cause, the contestant would be automatically disqualified from that day’s competition and could not hold Family Secrets, Natasha Stevens or any of the show’s personnel liable.
“I can finish,” she said, still unsure what had just happened. She’d thought the mistake had been hers.
And it hadn’t been?
She smelled her bottle of water as Natasha had done. The smell of vinegar was slight. There couldn’t have been much of the liquid in there at all. But vinegar didn’t belong in her recipe…
And she knew it would give it just enough of an off flavor to cause a loss.
Still, she’d had extra time, and it would only take a few seconds to start this part over.
Cameras were told to roll. They were back on air. With Natasha still in Eliza’s kitchen. The host explained the mishap as a mistake. Didn’t say whose mistake, nor did she explain further. She talked for a moment about kitchen safety. And then, on air, asked Eliza if she thought she could continue the day’s competition.
With a smile on her face that was completely forced, Eliza assured her that she absolutely could. And then words just kept coming out of her mouth. “Thanks to my grandmother,” she said, her smile becoming more genuine as Natasha’s camera stayed on her. “One of the first cooking secrets I learned from her was always to prepare items in parts. That way, if something goes wrong, only one part is wasted…”
Natasha moved to other kitchens, spoke with other contestants, asking them questions about what they were preparing. About their techniques. Asking for hints and secrets that their viewers could use at home.
Eliza whisked water and baking soda. Added egg. She poured the fruit and syrup mixture and baked her cobbler.
All the while wondering who among them was trying to sabotage her.
And why.
* * *
THE MOST LIKELY culprit was one of the other contestants. Pierce had the thought as soon as he heard about what had happened. Eliza had called him as soon as the taping was done. As she had the week before.
He’d be seeing it on television later, and she didn’t want him to be caught off guard.
“Are you okay?” was the first thing he asked her.
“I’m fine. Really, I think I did okay. Everyone including Natasha says I made a great recovery…”
She didn’t sound okay. She was excited. But a bit…off, too.
“Was anyone else affected?” He had his cop hat on. It was the best way to keep himself in line.
“No.”
“That’s two weeks of competitions, and twice that your kitchen has been tampered with.”
“I know.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I don’t, either.”
“What are they doing about it?”
“Natasha had the security guard take the bottle before cameras rolled again to see if they can get any prints. They turned it over to police. They’re going to check what’s in the bottle just to be sure it’s nothing serious or harmful, but I’m sure it’s vinegar. And if it is and they don’t get any identifiable prints from it, they aren’t going to open an investigation. She doesn’t want the negative publicity for the show and it’s not like any of this is dangerous, or putting lives at risk. Still, she seems really determined to get to the bottom of it. It’s cheating and whoever it is will be disqualified. She’s calling in an extra security detail.”
He didn’t disagree with the assessment. Or the action taken. He still didn’t like it.
“Do you think I should pull out of the competition?”
Here was his chance. If he told her she was in danger, would she come home for good? “I do not think you should pull out of the competition.” He needed to focus on finding out who was trying to hurt her chances in the competition. “The only threat has been to your chances of winning. Not to you personally.”
Before she left to get on the shuttle back to the hotel, he asked her more about her fellow contestants. And that night, instead of sitting alone in his room to watch the show, he watched it from his precinct in Charleston with a computer on his lap, doing official database searches during commercial breaks.
He was back home when Eliza called to tell him that she was in her room for the night. By then he knew everything police could know about every one of the seven contestants who’d shared the stage with his wife that day.
“Jason Wright has two priors,” he told her as soon as he’d picked up. “One for possession and one for assault. He got off light on the possession. It was a first offense. And charges were eventually dropped on the assault case. He made restitution, though. One thousand dollars.”
The twenty-eight-year-old had the kitchen right next to Eliza. Pierce liked him best for having done this.
“The twins aren’t in any criminal database. I did find, though, that they were put in the foster system when they were twelve.”
“Do you know why?”
“Not a clue. The only other person who came up, believe it or not, is Grace Hargraves.”
“Grace?” Eliza’s shock made it all the way home from California.
“Her daughter took out a harassment order on her forty years ago.”
“Her daughter? I didn’t know she had a daughter. Does it say what happened?”
“The complaint read that Grace had written to the daughter at home, asking for contact. There were some other things, times she’d tried to see her or left a note on her car, over a series of a couple of years, but that was the basis of it.”
“You can get a harassment order for that?”
“Depends on the circumstances, but generally, the served party appears and gives her side, and the judge then decides if the order was warranted.”
“But you can’t see that part?”
“Grace didn’t ever appear in court. She just let it ride.”
“I’m guessing she couldn’t bear to face her daughter in a court of law. What mother would put her child through taking her own parent to court over something like that? No matter who was right or wrong, and what was to be gained. It sounds like Grace just wanted to see her daughter. But if the woman didn’t want to be seen so badly that she’d file against her own mother, then no matter whether there was an order or not, Grace wasn’t going to get to see her. Who knows? Maybe Grace was harassing her. Parents need to see their kids, you know?”
They were back to the kid thing. It kept coming back to the kid thing. It wasn’t going to go away.