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Authors: Denise Swanson
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there was more chance of me winning America’s Next Top Model than ever owning a vehicle like it again.
After a thorough inspection, I blew out a sigh of relief. The sapphire black paint was still perfectly smooth. My sky-high insurance deductible meant that repairing cosmetic damage was out of the question. And call me superficial, but the idea of driving a dented vehicle made me cringe.
Satisfied that my baby was still in pristine condition, I strolled up the B & B’s sidewalk, admiring the enormous Italianate-style mansion. Back in the mid–eighteen hundreds when this type of Victorian design had been popular, it had belonged to one of the town’s five founding families. Rumor had it that the cupola in the center of the nearly flat roof, the ornamental brackets, and the wraparound porch made the wealthy residents feel as if they were living in a renaissance villa somewhere in Italy.
As I rang the doorbell, it occurred to me that everyone might already have gone over to the cooking school. Maybe I should have headed to Winnie’s instead of coming here. Or at least called to find out the group’s current location.
I was digging my cell phone out of my jeans’ pocket when, like the great Oz, I saw Ronni’s face materialize in the curved window of the double front door. She grinned, and a nanosecond later, she ushered me into the spacious foyer, then pulled me over to the reception area nestled inside the curve of a beautiful wooden staircase.
“Have a seat.” She plopped down behind the desk and tapped a few keys on the laptop.
Once I was off my feet, I asked, “Has the cupcake menagerie all left for Winnie’s?”
“About ten minutes ago.” Ronni gestured to the computer. “I needed to get some work done, and since the cooking school’s so small, I said that I’d skip the tour and catch up with them all at dinner.”
“It was a brilliant idea to ask the various churches to host the meals.” I stretched my legs out and rubbed my sore calves. Standing behind the candy counter for so long without moving was tough on the muscles. “They get to make some money for their organization and the cupcake committee gets a large enough space to feed the contestants, judges, media, and the rest of the crew without having to transport all of them to an out-of-town restaurant.”
“At first I was stumped when I realized that Shadow Bend’s dining options were limited to Little’s Tea Room, the Golden Dragon, the diner by the highway, and the Dairy Queen,” Ronni said, “because none of those could handle the number of people we would need to accommodate.”
“St. Saggy’s is tonight’s location, right?” I was referring to St. Sagar. No one had any idea why Shadow Bend’s Catholic church had been named for a martyred bishop from Turkey and, not surprisingly, the parishioners called it St. Saggy. “And then tomorrow’s lunch is the Baptists, and the Presbyterians are doing the cookout in the square for dinner.”
“Yes. Except for the people staying here, everyone is on their own for breakfast,” Ronni answered, concentrating on the laptop’s screen. “The Methodists won the lottery for the Sunday supper.”
“Right.” I nodded. “All the churches wanted that meal because it’s when the cupcake winner will be announced.”
“That one and the picnic were the most sought-after since they’re the only meals open to the public and thusthe most profitable.” Ronni’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “Which is why we finally just put all the churches into a hat and drew names for the various options.”
“How did today’s lunch go?” I asked. “Did all your helpers show up?”
“Sure.” Ronni finished whatever she’d been working on and closed the laptop’s lid. “Cody and his buddies did a great job. I was glad he was able to come up with enough local college friends of his for me to hire. This is the first time since I bought the B and B that it’s at full capacity, and I
After a thorough inspection, I blew out a sigh of relief. The sapphire black paint was still perfectly smooth. My sky-high insurance deductible meant that repairing cosmetic damage was out of the question. And call me superficial, but the idea of driving a dented vehicle made me cringe.
Satisfied that my baby was still in pristine condition, I strolled up the B & B’s sidewalk, admiring the enormous Italianate-style mansion. Back in the mid–eighteen hundreds when this type of Victorian design had been popular, it had belonged to one of the town’s five founding families. Rumor had it that the cupola in the center of the nearly flat roof, the ornamental brackets, and the wraparound porch made the wealthy residents feel as if they were living in a renaissance villa somewhere in Italy.
As I rang the doorbell, it occurred to me that everyone might already have gone over to the cooking school. Maybe I should have headed to Winnie’s instead of coming here. Or at least called to find out the group’s current location.
I was digging my cell phone out of my jeans’ pocket when, like the great Oz, I saw Ronni’s face materialize in the curved window of the double front door. She grinned, and a nanosecond later, she ushered me into the spacious foyer, then pulled me over to the reception area nestled inside the curve of a beautiful wooden staircase.
“Have a seat.” She plopped down behind the desk and tapped a few keys on the laptop.
Once I was off my feet, I asked, “Has the cupcake menagerie all left for Winnie’s?”
“About ten minutes ago.” Ronni gestured to the computer. “I needed to get some work done, and since the cooking school’s so small, I said that I’d skip the tour and catch up with them all at dinner.”
“It was a brilliant idea to ask the various churches to host the meals.” I stretched my legs out and rubbed my sore calves. Standing behind the candy counter for so long without moving was tough on the muscles. “They get to make some money for their organization and the cupcake committee gets a large enough space to feed the contestants, judges, media, and the rest of the crew without having to transport all of them to an out-of-town restaurant.”
“At first I was stumped when I realized that Shadow Bend’s dining options were limited to Little’s Tea Room, the Golden Dragon, the diner by the highway, and the Dairy Queen,” Ronni said, “because none of those could handle the number of people we would need to accommodate.”
“St. Saggy’s is tonight’s location, right?” I was referring to St. Sagar. No one had any idea why Shadow Bend’s Catholic church had been named for a martyred bishop from Turkey and, not surprisingly, the parishioners called it St. Saggy. “And then tomorrow’s lunch is the Baptists, and the Presbyterians are doing the cookout in the square for dinner.”
“Yes. Except for the people staying here, everyone is on their own for breakfast,” Ronni answered, concentrating on the laptop’s screen. “The Methodists won the lottery for the Sunday supper.”
“Right.” I nodded. “All the churches wanted that meal because it’s when the cupcake winner will be announced.”
“That one and the picnic were the most sought-after since they’re the only meals open to the public and thusthe most profitable.” Ronni’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “Which is why we finally just put all the churches into a hat and drew names for the various options.”
“How did today’s lunch go?” I asked. “Did all your helpers show up?”
“Sure.” Ronni finished whatever she’d been working on and closed the laptop’s lid. “Cody and his buddies did a great job. I was glad he was able to come up with enough local college friends of his for me to hire. This is the first time since I bought the B and B that it’s at full capacity, and I
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