That evening…
“I don’t agree with this course of action, Georgina,” I said, my phone pressed to my ear. “It feels like a bad idea. If you’re suspicious of Jessie, you can go to the police. Show them the footage of her creeping around on your property.”
“Let me handle this.”
“I know you can handle it,” I whispered, standing beside Lauren’s car. “That’s not the problem. It’s Belle-Blue that you can’t handle. She drives you crazy and I don’t want you to jeopardize—”
“I’ve got to run, Charlotte. This is important.” And then she hung up.
My grandmother had decided that, while Lauren and I attended the meeting of the local baking competitors at the Hungry Steer, she would take on a reconnaissance mission of her own. At Belle-Blue’s guesthouse. While she was a fantastic spy, I was always concerned when it came to my grandmother’s dealings with Jessie.
“Charlie?” Lauren beckoned from where she waited at the front of the Hungry Steer. “Are you coming? I’m hungry enough to eat a steer.”
We entered the Hungry Steer restaurant, run by the infamously oily tycoon, Grayson Tombs, and found our reserved booth at the back of the dining area. The interior was filled with hay bales, lanterns, and comfy red-backed chairs.
Three people awaited us in the booth.
First, a young woman with mousy brown hair, eyes darting left and right as she studied the others at the table. Kayla Wren. I’d seen her picture on my grandmother’s touchscreen desk in the armory.
Second, the ever-illusive Colton Harrison, tall and weedy, with a weak chin and a wispy blond goatee, sat beside her, scrolling on his phone. He was in his early thirties by my guess.
And finally, a woman I didn’t recognize—several extra chins, bearing a bright smile and wearing all pink. “Well, hello,” she cried, fluffing her bright orange hair. “Nice to meet you both. You must be Lauren, yes? My sister told me about those lovely creations of yours at the Gossip Inn. I’ve been meaning to come by and meet you. Oh, forgive my rudeness. Deidre Hardecki.” She extended a hand and shook Lauren’s then mine. “And who are you? Another competitor?”
“I’m tagging along for moral support,” I said, smiling at her. “Charlotte.”
“Nice to meet you,” Deirdre said. “Scooch down, y’all. Make space for the newcomers.”
Kayla immediately shifted down. Colton took a second, offering us each a distracted glance before moving.
I slid in first so that Lauren could sit on the edge in case she needed to make a quick exit to use the ladies’ room.
“Have you ordered yet?” I asked.
“Not yet. We were waiting for you.” That had come from the soft-spoken Kayla, her eyelashes all aflutter. I didn’t buy the act.
Deirdre waved at a server, and I cleared my throat. “So, you’re entrants in the competition?” I said it, easily, hoping to spark a conversation.
The others merely nodded. Nothing. And I couldn’t ask why Kayla was staying at Jessie’s guesthouse without sparking questions as to how I knew that information.
“That’s cool.”
An awkward silence, broken only by the country music from the speakers, ensued until after the server, overly friendly to make up for the lack of smiles at the table, took our drinks and food orders. I’d gone for a hamburger and fries with a chocolate milkshake.
“I can’t tell y’all how I excited I am for this contest,” Deirdre started. “I just know I’m in with a good chance after hearing what some of the out-of-towners are preparing.”
“Oh yeah?” Colton lifted his head, meeting her gaze. His demeanor was sharp and snappy. Straight to the point. “What did you hear?”
“Why ask me? It’s Kayla who’s found that information out for us.” Deirdre winked at my mousy suspect. “Isn’t that right, Kayla, darlin’?’
The younger woman blushed. “Well, I—it wasn’t intentional. People tend to tell me things, that’s all.” She was barely audible.
“Speak up, honey,” Deirdre blustered. “You’re as quiet as a fart in church.”
Colton grimaced at her. “Do you have to be gross?”
“It’s a saying.” Deirdre waved away his issue. “Get used to it, Colton dear, that’s just how I talk.”
“Like a trucker?”
“Kayla,” I said, before things got too intense, “you were saying something about the contestants? Their entries?”
“What did you find out?” Lauren asked, politely.
“Yeah. Spill it.” Colton glared at the girl. I couldn’t help thinking of her as a girl, though she was surely in her mid-twenties.
Kayla worried her bottom lip. “Just that most of them want to make selections of donuts and lemon meringue pie. And then there are some who want to copy the idea of last year’s winning entry.”
“Bijon’s key lime pie,” Deirdre said, tapping her chin with a long, pink fingernail.
“How did you find this out?” I asked.
“I’m staying at a local guesthouse with some of the other contestants.” She colored at the scrutiny from everyone at the table. “I… yeah.”
“Why aren’t you staying with your daddy?” Lauren asked.
Kayla’s coloring turned a deeper red. “He’s got business to attend to. He—”
“They want to make Bijon’s pie, you said?” Colton talked over her. “What a dumb idea. Who would think that making the same pie two years in a row would work? The judges want something new. Fresh.”
“Ain’t nothing fresh about Bijon’s pie,” Deirdre agreed. “But did you hear about what happened?”
Everyone stared at her, expectantly.
The server arrived with our drinks, and Deirdre smiled at the tension-building interruption. It seemed Miss Hardecki enjoyed attention.
Once the server had withdrawn, she waited a few moments before continuing. “As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted,” Deirdre continued, taking a sip of her drink, “Glendaree Bijon’s recipe book was stolen a few days ago, and I’d bet anything that it was one of those out-of-towners who took it.” She paused for effect. “Took it from Brenda Tippett’s cold, dead body.”
Kayla let out a shuddering gasp.
Colton groaned at the drama.
“Oh come on,” Deirdre said. “You’ve heard the rumors, haven’t you? Brenda was found in her house, stabbed through the heart, with a note written on the walls in her own blood.”
“That’s revolting,” Colton said. “Don’t talk about the deceased like that.”
“Can you think of a worse way to be murdered?” Deirdre blustered on. “Murdered for a recipe book. They say that bad deeds beget bad deeds, and I hate to say it but Brenda had it coming. She took the recipe book from Bijon, hoping to win the contest, and then she got what she deserved.”
“There’s no proof of that,” Kayla murmured. “Of any of that. Why do we have to talk about this at dinner? It’s horrible.”
“Yeah, death isn’t exactly polite conversation.”
“Well, gosh, gee, excuse me for trying to talk about something interesting,” Deirdre replied. “Y’all are as quiet as—”
“Don’t.” Colton raised a hand. “Brenda’s murder and the recipe book have nothing to do with us.”
“Sure. But they have everything to do with the competition. I figure that either it was one of these jealous out-of-towners who got her or it was Bijon herself,” Deirdre continued. “She found out that Brenda took the book and decided to get her revenge. What do you make of that?”
No one answered her.
Deirdre sucked down some pop then rolled her eyes, grumbling under her breath. The conversation went quiet for a while before Lauren picked it up by talking about who would be baking what, and how nervous they all were.
And I was left wondering why I had decided to tag along in the first place. My discoveries didn’t exactly shed light on the case. Kayla had a father who was ill and lived somewhere in town, though she hadn’t given a reason for staying at Jessie’s guesthouse, and Colton was a brash, no-nonsense man.
That was all.
Sheesh, maybe I should’ve gone on the reconnaissance mission with Gamma after all.