Chapter Twelve
Standing with Grace in front of the Southwind booth, Sarah couldn’t believe the shambles it was in. It was a direct contrast to the back room where Marcus had held his meeting and to the two rows of booths in the exhibition hall that sat behind the Southwind row. In those areas, almost everyone had gone home for the night.
Sarah stepped back to get a better view of the three companies sharing the first row. People still were working in the single stalls housing the Vino Shoppe and Kathy’s Cookies, which adjoined either side of Southwind’s three-section booth. Both booths appeared well on the way to being ready in time for the opening of the Expo.
The same thing couldn’t be said about the space under the Southwind banner. A good dent had been made in cleaning and setting up the two outer sections, but the center area was a disaster. Torn crime-scene tape flapped and a mound of obviously soiled tablecloths had been dumped on the booth’s center table.
“This is Emily’s part of the booth.” Grace pointed toward the untouched middle. “Between being gone today and concentrating on the Holt dinner, she didn’t get much done. And when she was here, I don’t think she was eager to be in this room.”
“I can understand why,” Sarah said. “Doesn’t it creep you out to be standing near the place Emily tried to resuscitate Bill?”
Grace shook her head and started toward the end of the row. Staying put, Sarah shuddered and averted her gaze from what she imagined was a stain on the carpet. Instead, she focused on the long tables used to divide the Southwind booth into three distinct stations.
The back of each of the three squared-off sections was set up with a microwave, large convection toaster oven, mini-refrigerator, and two-burner cooktop. Although she thought the tables made three separate squares, she realized, as she followed Grace through an entrance at the far end of the booth, that a slight opening had been left between the appliances and ends of the side tables so one could easily get from section to section of the booth without having to leave Southwind’s designated area.
Sarah stopped in the middle of Emily’s tables and surveyed the situation. Emily or someone apparently had wiped most of the fingerprint powder off her microwave, large convection toaster oven, and two-burner mini-stove, but the rest of Emily’s area made Sarah want to turn and run. She looked at Grace. “Where do we start?”
“Right here.” Grace pulled a box from under one of Emily’s side tables. Grace opened the box and removed a stack of clean tablecloths. She handed them to Sarah. “After I wipe the tables, you can put these on them.”
Her hands emptied, Grace scooped up the pile of dirty linens and tossed them on the floor outside the booth. She threw the other trash cluttering Emily’s tables into a nearby garbage can and reached under one of the tables for a roll of paper towels she used to wipe the tables off. Once she finished, she nodded toward the tables. “They’re ready for you.”
Sarah immediately unfolded and placed the clean tablecloths on Emily’s three tables. She smoothed the creases out of the cloths. “What else do we need to do?”
“Stockpile the serving areas and put the extra stuff out of sight under Emily’s tables.” When Sarah froze in place, Grace added, “Things like extra plastic cups and utensils. Once people start taking samples, you’ll be amazed how fast everything you put on the front table disappears.”
Sarah nodded. She’d been to enough of Emily’s food fair tables to know how people devoured free samples.
“How many forks and cups do I need to put out?”
“Cover the entire front table with those mini plastic cups. Emily plans to fill each one with a taste of crisp or spinach pie, assembly-line style, just before the guests arrive. That way, her food will taste fresh.”
“That makes sense, but what if she doesn’t get back in time? I’m not sure what to do.”
“Don’t worry. Harlan will get her back.”
“You sound like you know Harlan fairly well?”
“Well enough to trust him to spring Emily with time to spare before the Expo, but if he doesn’t, Emily and I started making her spinach pies and rhubarb crisps yesterday afternoon. We have enough spinach pies to start with, but the rest we’ll have to make from scratch. I have Emily’s recipes, but I’m going to need your help.”
“But I’m not a cook.”
“No, but you have two hands. In a kitchen, that can be important. While I’m running around doing my other duties as assigned, you can help me heat and serve. I promise, if we have to, we’ll pull it off.”
Grace was ahead of her. She’d already thought through the scenario of Emily not being back for the Expo. Apparently, she wasn’t as confident about Emily’s immediate release as she seemed. Either her earlier bravado was an act for Sarah’s benefit or to ease both of their fears. Grace’s physical appearance might have been off-putting at first, but now Sarah found she liked this woman.
“Grace,” Sarah said, “I was wondering, is there something going on between Chef Marcus and Jane? She certainly seemed willing to do anything for him.”
“We all are. He’s a good guy.”
“He seemed pretty upset this afternoon.”
“Chef Marcus had a right to be. He’s worked hard to make Southwind a great restaurant.”
“Well, they seemed pretty friendly.”
Grace shot Sarah a look she interpreted as either quizzical or a message to back off. “I don’t know what you’re getting at. Chef Marcus is super-friendly, a real charmer and something of a flirt, but he never got between Jane and Mr. Blair.”
Sarah concentrated on smoothing a wrinkle out of the tablecloth. “Oh, I didn’t mean that. I just wondered, seeing them together earlier, if they are good friends like Emily and you seem to be.”
“I guess.” Grace picked up an empty box marked NAPKINS.
Before Grace could move away from her, Sarah hurried to ask another question. “What about Richard and Jacob? Do you think either one of them might have cut the cord on the refrigerator?”
Grace leaned closer to Sarah and dropped her voice. “I can’t think of why they would. Jacob is too goody-goody and it wouldn’t be in Richard’s best interest, but it might have been one of Richard’s friends.”
Sarah waited, hoping Grace would continue.
“Richard got in with a rough crowd in high school. After a few of them were arrested, he settled down and ended up in culinary school. He’s willing to work, but I can’t say that for all of his friends.”
Her interest piqued, Sarah started to follow up with her line of questioning, but Grace cut her off with a wave of her hand. “Speaking of working, why don’t you clean the fingerprint powder off the display holder and set it up on the corner between the front and side tables while I go get the samples of Emily’s rhubarb crisp and spinach pie I was able to save last night.”
Sarah followed the direction of Grace’s finger to where a dusty fixture with shelves lay partially hidden under a table. “What? I thought the police took all of Emily’s rhubarb crisps. Did you hide some?”
Grace laughed. “They took the real rhubarb crisps. That’s why either she or the two of us are going to have to remake them for the Expo. What I’m talking about is a plastic mock-up Emily made and painted. It looks real but, believe me, if Mr. Blair got a mouthful of it, he might have puked, but it wouldn’t have killed him. Don’t worry. By the time you finish helping Emily or me, you’ll be a kitchen pro.”
Sarah doubted that, but as she dutifully set up the display while Grace went to get the mock-ups, she stared at the sign’s printed words promising spinach pie and rhubarb crisp. She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. Instead, she prayed for Emily to be back soon.