Chapter Three

As predicted, the inn's large tavern was packed with dinner guests, and Bev barely had enough to feed everyone. The rosemary bread was gone within minutes, with half the guests not getting any (and complaining loudly). Etheldra Daws was beside herself with fury that she'd missed out, and demanded Bev go into the back and bake her another loaf.

"Sorry, dear," Bev said, holding up her hands, "these things take time."

That wasn't entirely true. There was a fully baked sixth loaf sitting under a tea towel on her kitchen table. Bev could've broken it out and shared it with the angry customers, though there were far too many of them to slice it equitably. But she held her tongue.

After the crowd dissipated, the dishes were cleaned, and the floor swept, Bev retired to her room to dream about herself winning the coveted blue ribbon. When sunrise came, Bev washed up and dressed quickly, intent on sprinting through her morning chores and heading down to the festival first thing. She descended the stairs and found another basket of muffins on the counter—this time pumpkin or perhaps sweet potato.

Bev walked by it, telling herself she would not be eating another one of Allen's muffins today. And yet, she couldn't help herself as she turned and plucked one off the top to munch on while she tended to—

She stopped short.

The kitchen towel was there. But the loaf was gone.

Slowly, she lowered the muffin from her lips, the taste disappearing on her tongue. She had left the bread right here on the clean kitchen table, covered in a tea towel, ready to be delivered…right? She licked her lips and replayed the night before, recalling every one of her guests walking up to their room. Of course, the back door was unlocked so someone could've swept in and taken it…

But for what purpose?

The bread was delicious, of course. Maybe someone had enjoyed a bit too much of Bev's ale and come in looking for a snack. There were a thousand different explanations for what might've happened.

Bev glanced at the clock. It was early still. She had plenty of flour and ingredients left. There was barm starter ready for today's baking. If she got going now, she could get everything together and in the oven and just barely make the entry deadline by five o'clock this afternoon.

To be sure, she searched the entire kitchen for evidence of the bread. But it was truly and totally gone.

"Good thing I spiffed up yesterday," she muttered, grabbing her starter and getting to work.

~

Two hours later, she had another rising loaf near the oven, though it was still chilly, and it would take longer to rise than usual. To speed things along, she went to start a fire, but found the one thing she'd forgotten to refill in her mad dash to get the inn ready was firewood.

"Shoot." Hand to her head, she walked through the inn and peered out the front door. Allen's light was on—bakers did get up early—so she quickly crossed the street and rapped on his back door.

"Bev?" He opened the door wider. "What can I do for you? Was there a problem with the muffins?"

"Oh, heavens, no," she said. "You didn't… You didn't see anything out of the ordinary at the inn when you were dropping them off, did you?"

He frowned. "In what way?"

She explained the missing loaf. "And I'll be darned if I know… It seems so random. Who would steal a loaf of bread?"

"Maybe someone found out you were entering," Allen said with an affable smile. Before Bev could ask, he explained, "Mayor Hendry came by yesterday to ask if I'd enter the bread-making competition. You know bread was never our specialty, so I told her she should be across the street talking with you."

Bev blew air between her lips. "Well, in any case, if I do want to bring glory and prestige to our town, I need to warm up my kitchen and wouldn't you know it? I'm all out of firewood. Would you mind if I—"

"Of course not!" He jumped away from the door and rushed toward his own hearth, which was overflowing with wood. He gathered three or four logs into his arms and brought them over. "Anything for you."

"Thanks, Allen. I suppose I'll have to carve out time to get some more today. Whenever that'll be."

"I should be wrapping up here soon," he said. "I'd be happy to get you some firewood. I hear Dane Sterling has a big pile from a tree he chopped down a few months ago. Real good stuff."

"I think I should be able to manage," she said. "And maybe I can get some more flour from Sonny while I'm over that way. With the way these folks are going through my bread, I'll probably need to quadruple my recipe to make everyone happy."

Allen beamed. "Well, let me know how I can help."

"This is great, Allen. You're a star."

~

Bev got a small fire going in the kitchen and busied herself with other tasks while she waited for the temperature in the room to rise. She checked on the dough a few times and was pleased to see it finally spring to life with the warmer temperature. Then she put up a sign at the front desk promising she'd be back within an hour or so and headed out back to get Sin ready to go.

"Gotta get some supplies, old girl," Bev said, handing the mule a carrot. "If you don't mind."

The mule chomped happily, allowing herself to be hooked onto Bev's cart, and soon they were on their way toward the eastern side of town. Bev couldn't have moved the mule faster for anything, but she still tried coaxing her to a faster pace than usual.

"Not trying to be mean, girl," Bev explained. "But we do have a lot to get done today and not a lot of time to be doing it."

They reached Dane's property, where there was a huge stack of firewood near the side of the road. The farmer was nearby, tending to their goats, and turned to wave at Bev.

"Beautiful morning, eh, Bev? Need some wood?"

"The only thing I forgot," she said with a smile as she hopped off the wagon to help herself. "We've had some nice weather lately, so it must've slipped my mind."

The farmer glanced at the sky. "Might want to double up. I feel there's gonna be a storm coming soon. Weather's changing."

"Let's hope it holds off until the festival's over," Bev said, picking up a few pieces of wood and tossing them in the back of the wagon. "Ida would be devastated if all the hard work we put in to set up those tents went to waste."

He chuckled and hopped the fence to help Bev. "I hear you're thinking about entering the bread-making competition!"

"Boy, news does travel fast in a small town," Bev said, trying to hide her annoyance. "Darnedest thing. I had a loaf ready to submit last night. This morning, it was gone." She shrugged. "Hoping I can make another as good before the cutoff tonight."

"Oh, I doubt you'll have any problem with that," he said. "But that is fascinating. Maybe someone's out to sabotage you?"

Bev would've dismissed him, laughing it off as ridiculous, but the Harvest Festival brought out the worst in people, especially those who put great stock in the number of ribbons they won. "Don't know any of the other competitors, really. All I know is they're all from out of town. That's why I'm entering. Mayor Hendry…uh…" Bev laughed, unsure if she should say. "Well, let's just say she asked me to try to keep the prize local this year."

"I say, good for her. We all know that bread of yours is award-winning. Might as well get the ribbon for it."

Bev smiled as she put another piece in. "That should last me a bit, I hope. This is some good-looking wood." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a silver. "Thanks—"

"Oh, it's on me, I insist." He held up his hands. "If it's going toward that bread, it's a worthy cause."

"Well, thanks, Dane," Bev said, climbing back up onto the cart. "Have a good one."

"I'll see you in town a bit later!" He hopped the fence back into his property. "Planning on spending a few hours looking at all the sights."

"See you then!"

~

Bev met up with the miller, Sonny Gray, who loaded her up with another half-dozen ten-pound bags of flour. It was, perhaps, overkill, but Bev wasn't taking any more chances. It had been hard enough to get away today, and as the festival went on, things would get much busier at the inn.

She didn't stay long to chitchat, heading right back toward town as the sun rose higher in the sky. It was probably about nine o'clock, and her dough should've risen enough that she could continue the bread-making process.

"'Lo, Bev."

Trent Scrawl stood at the corner of his lot, a rake in hand as he watched Bev and Sin roll down the road. Bev put on a bright smile for him, even though he was scowling at her. She couldn't blame him. She'd caught him draining the Pigsend creek to water his pumpkin entries, and for a moment, accused him of being the cause of the sinkholes in town. They hadn't been on friendly terms since, though Bev was ready to let bygones be bygones.

"Morning, Trent. Excited to see what you present at the festival in a couple days," Bev said. She peered behind him to glance at the pumpkins. "My, my. They've gotten even bigger since the last time I saw them."

"Haven't been doing anything underhanded, if that's what you're thinking," he said, twisting his hands around his rake. "And I seem to remember you promising you wouldn't—"

"And I won't tell a soul," she said, putting her hand to her heart. "Besides that, once those soldiers left town and all the, uh…well, everything returned to normal, all the other farmers in town seem to have their crops back to full strength. So I don't think we have to worry about you getting an unfair advantage."

"Except they have an unfair advantage with that whatever you called it, magical river, running under their land." He scowled. "I've half a mind to tell the judges about that."

Bev couldn't argue with him. She'd read in an agricultural book that farmers were encouraged to find magical rivers as they chose a plot to grow their gardens. But that book was banned, magic was a taboo subject, and Hendry's warning about the queen's representative was still fresh in Bev's mind.

"I think between the two of you, enough tomfoolery has gone on for the year, eh?" Bev said. "So maybe let things lie for the moment? Next year, feel free to complain as much as you want."

"Harrumph."

Bev didn't care to talk more with him, so she waved and goaded Sin forward, eager to get back to the inn as quickly as possible.

~

Back home, Bev put Sin back in her stall and unloaded all the bags into the kitchen. It was a little warmer inside than Bev would've liked, but when she checked the risen dough, it was a fine height and smelled great.

"Ah, here you are." Petula Banks stepped out into the kitchen with her usual look of annoyance. "I do hope those muffins on the counter weren't an indication of your baking skills. They left a lot to be desired."

Bev's brows rose in surprise. "The ones out on the counter? They were made by the baker across the street."

"Well, good thing he's not entering the contest." She snorted. "Needs far more work in my eyes. And I've tasted my fair share of muffins from across this great country. My palate is exquisite. The queen herself has said so."

"I see," Bev said, suddenly regretting her decision to enter at all. Something told her nothing would be good enough for Petula's exquisite palate. "What can I do for you this morning, Ms. Banks? I'm about to get my hands dirty with some more rosemary bread, but if you need something, I can tend to it later."

"Just to see if the rumors were true," she said. "You will be submitting something to the contest?"

Bev wore a tight smile. "If I can get it done in time."

"Surprised you didn't make an extra loaf last night."

Wim's voice was loud in her mind, reminding her to be polite, even in the face of rudeness. "You know, next time I may do that."

Petula looked around the kitchen, almost as if she were looking for something. "I've heard great things about this bread, you know. For such a small town, it's quite well-regarded. As part of the competition, there will be a requirement to list all ingredients used."

"Flour, barm from my own beer, water, salt, and rosemary from my garden," Bev said. "And a little bit of love, of course."

"I see." Petula walked the length of the room, lifting the lids on Bev's stores of other spices and the ingredients on her shelf. "You've got quite the collection here."

"Should be harvesting the garden for the winter soon," Bev said. "Usually after the festival's over. But the rosemary is year-round, so I use it as I need it."

Petula picked up one of the jars and sniffed it before putting it back.

"Is there something you're looking for?" Bev asked, after a moment. "I'd be happy to show you where it is."

The other woman made a sound of annoyance as she turned on her heel to face Bev. "Well, it's about time for the festival to begin. Lots to look at today." She nodded at the dough still untouched on Bev's table. "Hopefully, I'll be seeing you before five this evening. That's the deadline for submission, you know. Must be fair to all the competitors. It's in the handbook."

"Of course, of course," Bev said. "Well, if that'll be all, I'll get back to baking."

Petula eyed her as if annoyed to be dismissed and not the one doing the dismissing, but turned and left Bev in the kitchen.