Val Foster managed to make it through the communal dinner that night by sheer willpower—fueled by two strong gin and tonics and three surreptitious smoke breaks.
She hadn’t seen her star since he’d left the lodge sometime after lunch. She’d gotten back from the beach—as if you could call it a real beach; there were no daiquiri bars on this godforsaken island, no lounge chairs, and certainly no cabana boys—and found that Tate was AWOL. She’d tried repeatedly to raise him on the two-way radio, with no luck.
At dinner, Barry Adelman had quizzed her closely about Tate’s whereabouts.
“Oh,” she said, trying to sound unconcerned, “he’s getting himself in the zone for the Food Fight. He always does this the night before we tape. He goes off into the wilderness and gets his chakra in harmony with the universe.”
“Chakra?” Barry looked to Zeke for translation.
“I’m Presbyterian,” Zeke said apologetically. “We don’t have chakras.”
“Just a technical question,” Scott said, leaning forward to catch Barry’s attention. “If Moody’s not back by morning, we win the Food Fight by default—right?”
“He’ll be back,” Val said. “We came to play. And win.”
“Glad to hear it,” Barry said. “Our judges are flying into Savannah tonight, and they’ll be over on the first ferry in the morning.” He turned to Zeke for confirmation. “Right?”
“As far as we know,” Zeke agreed. “The last e-mail I had from Deidre said that we should pick them up at the ferry dock tomorrow at eight.”
“Deidre?” Scott pounced on the name. “Do you mean Deidre Delaney?”
“Oops,” Barry said, rising to his feet. “You didn’t hear that from me.” He turned and gave Gina an abbreviated bow. “You folks have a nice evening. I’m expecting a call from Wendy, and then I’ve got a conference call with the coast.”
“Uh, Barry…” Zeke said, shaking his head sorrowfully.
“What? Still no phone reception?” Barry’s face darkened. “That’s absurd.”
“Here, Barry,” Scott said, thrusting his BlackBerry at Adelman. “Try mine. It’s the beta version. My electronics guy in Taiwan says you can get reception on Mars. But I did have to go out to the end of the ferry dock earlier today to get a call through.”
“You got through?” Barry said, snatching up the phone. “Great! I’ll bring it back when I’m done.”
“No problem,” Scott said, throwing a triumphant glance Val’s way.
“Shall I drive you down there on the golf cart?” Zeke asked, pushing his chair away from the table.
“No, no,” Adelman said quickly. “I feel like taking a spin by myself, before it gets dark.”
As the dishes were being cleared by two high-school-age girls, Sis came into the dining room with a tray holding a silver pitcher and half a dozen tall ice-filled glasses.
“It’s a tradition at the lodge to have Arnold Palmers out on the porch after dinner,” she announced. “Or, if you’d like something stronger, we can manage that too.”
“Have you got any Natty Lite?” Lisa asked.
Sis nodded.
“Make it two,” Zeke added, following Lisa out the front door.
“An Arnold Palmer sounds great,” Gina said, getting up from the table and stretching.
“What’s an Arnold Palmer?” Val asked.
“Iced tea and lemonade,” Sis told her.
“Great,” Val said. “I’ll have an Arnold Palmer and gin.”
On the porch, Val staked out a rocker on one side of the front door, and Scott and Gina took rockers at the opposite end. Lisa and Zeke had already claimed the wicker swing, and Gina could hear her sister’s laugh from where she sat.
Dusk was settling over the island. The last remnants of a peach-hued sunset filtered through the canopy of oaks and pines, and already Gina could see the tiny sparks of fireflies in the shrubbery at the edge of the porch. In the distance, she heard the soft hooting of an owl.
“I wonder what Moody’s up to,” Scott said, rocking animatedly.
“Who cares?” Gina said. “Right now, I just want to look at the sky and relax. I’ll worry about him tomorrow.”
“I’ll worry about him right now,” Scott said. “He’s up to something, I guarantee.”
“Scott?” Gina asked. “Who’s Deidre Delaney?”
His rocker abruptly stopped creaking. “You really never heard of her?” her producer asked incredulously.
“Nope. Should I have?”
“She’s the Deidre of Deidre’s on South Beach,” Scott said. “She’s just the hottest celebrity chef in Miami. Hell, the country, just about.”
“Oh,” Gina said, feeling slightly out of touch. “If she’s from Miami, what’s she know about southern food? Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing here?”
“She’s a top-gun foodie,” Scott said. “A tastemaker. Her presence as a judge ups the ante that much more. It means Barry’s really going all out for this Food Fight.”
Now she felt queasy. “Miami? What if she doesn’t like my kind of food? I mean, here on Eutaw, I won’t have access to papayas or mahimahi or cilantro or anything trendy like that.”
Scott reached over and laid his hand on top of hers. “Neither will Moody,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “Unless…”
Gina stared pointedly at his hand. “I don’t like Tate Moody. But I don’t think he’s the type to cheat.”
“And I am, is that what you’re saying?” he asked, his voice low and full of heat. “What’s it gonna take to convince you how sorry I am, Gina? You want me to crawl on my belly? Write an apology in my own blood?”
“Forget it,” she said. “Let’s change the subject. Keep things on a professional level, all right?”
“All right,” he said. “Let’s talk about your plan for tomorrow, then. I’m assuming you have one?”
“I do,” she said simply. “And I think it’s a really good one. You remember those cute little ladies who served us lunch? Iris and Inez? Well, I gave Iris a ride home in the golf cart today. Can you believe it? They’re seventy-two! And they’ve lived on Eutaw their whole lives.”
“Fascinating,” Scott said, yawning.
“I think Iris was jealous of all the attention Tate Moody was giving Inez,” Gina said, giggling. “Iris knows everything about Eutaw. After she showed me her adorable little cottage—she still cooks with a woodstove, do you believe that?—she took me on a tour of the island. And she showed me her favorite spot for shrimping. With any luck, if the tide’s right tomorrow, I can wade out and cast for shrimp. And then we rode over to the ferry dock. Those pilings around the ferry dock should be loaded with blue crabs. The ladies on Eutaw are famous for their deviled crabs. Iris says her mama used to make grocery money selling deviled crabs to tourists who came over on the ferry.”
“Shrimp, deviled crab,” Scott repeated. “Sounds good, but I wonder, isn’t that what the judges will find predictable?”
“Not the way I’ll fix it,” Gina promised. “Besides, I’m not done. Iris showed me her favorite blackberry patch. It’s right around the corner from her cottage, and the berries are the fattest, prettiest things you’ve ever seen. They’ll be perfect for a cobbler. That’s something the judges won’t be expecting.”
“Maybe not,” Scott said.
“Hey, Geen?” Lisa stood at the edge of the porch steps. “Is it okay if we take your golf cart out for a ride around the island? I haven’t really gotten to see it yet, and Zeke says the beach is awesome at night. Did you know there are wild ponies?”
“I saw some of the ponies today,” Gina said. “You’d have seen them too, if you weren’t passed out on the bed.”
Lisa stuck her tongue out at her sister. “Cut me some slack, okay?”
“All right,” Gina said, relenting. “But don’t stay out late again. We’ve got an early call in the morning.”
“We?”
“You’re my assistant, remember?”
As Lisa and Zeke were zipping away from the lodge, another golf cart rolled slowly past and up to the porch.
Tate Moody sat in the cart, motionless, for a moment.
“Tate!” Val called, hurrying over to him. “Where in the name of God have you been? I’ve been trying to raise you on the radio.”
“Battery’s dead,” he said wearily, slowly easing out of the cart.
“Jesus!” she said, getting a good look at him.
He smiled ruefully. “Not so pretty, huh?”
Tate Moody looked like he’d done battle and lost. He had a cut over his right eye and a huge bruise on his left cheekbone. His face and arms were scratched and bleeding, and his jeans and shirt were torn and bloodstained.
He took a step toward the porch, staggering slightly.
Gina saw her rival’s condition and was shocked. “Are you all right?” she asked, hurrying over.
“Fine,” Tate said, giving her a wide, if somewhat weary grin. “Just superficial wounds. I accidentally did a little off-roading in the golf cart. Got stuck in some mud and had a hell of a time getting out.”
“Here,” Val said, taking his arm and putting it around her shoulder. “Lean on me. Let’s get you into the house and get you doctored up. You look like crap.”
“Like I got shot at and missed, and shit at and hit,” he agreed, complying with her commands. “You think there’s any supper left? I’m starved.”
“We’ll find something,” Val promised.
Scott and Gina watched as Tate limped slowly into the lodge.
“I don’t care what you think,” Scott said. “He’s up to something. He’s all beat to hell, but did you see the look on his face? If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was drunk.”
“Not drunk,” Gina said slowly. “Happy. Like a pig in slop.”
All right,” Val said as soon as they were inside and out of earshot of the competition. “Cut the crap. I know you, Tate Moody. What have you been up to all day and all night?”
“Oh, nothing,” he said innocently. “I just locked up the contest, that’s all. We can stick a fork in Little Miss Sunshine. She’s done.”