Read Online Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry by Denise Swanson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Denise Swanson
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ingredients had been messed with. Vince would grin and make the best of it, and Butch seemed like a laid-back guy, but Charlie would rampage through the warehouse like an angry hippo, chomping anyone who got in his way.
While Skye hesitated, another voice shouted, “My casserole is ruined. Who screwed with my timer?”
Within the next few minutes several other contestants added their complaints to the general din, including Monika Bradley, who had discovered that wheat flour had been substituted for her white rice flour. As she explained toGrandma Sal, in her case the switch would not only ruin her recipe, but also had the potential to kill her.
Whoever was sabotaging the finalists’ recipes had moved from mere mischief to possible manslaughter. The question was—why?
It had taken hours for Grandma Sal’s employees to straighten out the chaos. Those whose stations had been messed with had to be soothed, and new ingredients had to be obtained for everyone.
About half of the contestants were still trying to finish their recipes at six o’clock, when Grandma Sal made an announcement. “Due to the dinner being held here at seven this evening, we are asking you all to go home now so we can get the tables set up in time. Because of the technical problems we ran into this afternoon, you will all be allowed in early tomorrow morning to practice your recipe again. Your areas will be available to you from six until nine a.m. At that point the kitchens will be cleaned and restocked, and the contest will start at ten, as previously planned.”
There was a smattering of applause, a few grumbles of complaint, and a couple of murmured conversations.
As Skye was putting away the ingredients she had taken out, her mother hurried up to her.
“Aren’t you ready yet?” she asked. “I need to get home right away. I just talked your brother into doing my hair for tonight.”
Briefly Skye wondered what Vince would do with May’s short, wavy hair. Both its length and degree of natural curl precluded any new style Skye could envision, but she knew better than to ask. Hair was a touchy subject with her mother, and for once she pitied her brother, who was May’s golden boy 99 percent of the time, but not when her coiffure was concerned.
Careful not to become involved, Skye said, “Go ahead without me. I need to clean up here.”
“Can’t your runner do that?” May’s brows drew together. “Who is she, by the way? I got the middle school Home Ec teacher; isn’t that great?”
“Great.” Skye was not about to share with her mother that Bunny Reid was her runner. May had taken an unreasonable dislike to Bunny from the moment the redhead had arrived in Scumble River. “Mine’s looking for a broom.” Skye fervently hoped that Bunny would stay away until May left. May’s favorite nickname for Bunny was the Trollop, and that was one of the nicer things she called her. “I’m sure she’ll be back to help soon. You go ahead.”
“How will you get home if I leave you?”
“Someone will give me a ride.” Skye spotted her godfather chatting with someone she couldn’t see. She pointed to him. “Uncle Charlie can drive me.”
May’s gaze followed Skye’s finger and she nodded. “Okay. I’ll tell him not to leave without you.” May kissed Skye on the cheek. “Don’t take too long here. You have to get dressed for the dinner, too.”
“I won’t. See you tonight, Mom.”
“Do you want Dad and me to pick you up?”
“No, Wally’s taking me.”
May walked away shaking her head.
Bunny returned just as Skye finished cleaning up. They’d gathered their belongings and were approaching the warehouse door when two teenagers rushed through it. The boy was well over six feet tall, skinny, and wore horn-rimmed glasses. The girl was nearly his complete opposite—six inches shorter, well rounded, with long, wavy brown hair.
Skye’s stomach tightened in concern. What were Justin Boward and Frannie Ryan doing here,
While Skye hesitated, another voice shouted, “My casserole is ruined. Who screwed with my timer?”
Within the next few minutes several other contestants added their complaints to the general din, including Monika Bradley, who had discovered that wheat flour had been substituted for her white rice flour. As she explained toGrandma Sal, in her case the switch would not only ruin her recipe, but also had the potential to kill her.
Whoever was sabotaging the finalists’ recipes had moved from mere mischief to possible manslaughter. The question was—why?
It had taken hours for Grandma Sal’s employees to straighten out the chaos. Those whose stations had been messed with had to be soothed, and new ingredients had to be obtained for everyone.
About half of the contestants were still trying to finish their recipes at six o’clock, when Grandma Sal made an announcement. “Due to the dinner being held here at seven this evening, we are asking you all to go home now so we can get the tables set up in time. Because of the technical problems we ran into this afternoon, you will all be allowed in early tomorrow morning to practice your recipe again. Your areas will be available to you from six until nine a.m. At that point the kitchens will be cleaned and restocked, and the contest will start at ten, as previously planned.”
There was a smattering of applause, a few grumbles of complaint, and a couple of murmured conversations.
As Skye was putting away the ingredients she had taken out, her mother hurried up to her.
“Aren’t you ready yet?” she asked. “I need to get home right away. I just talked your brother into doing my hair for tonight.”
Briefly Skye wondered what Vince would do with May’s short, wavy hair. Both its length and degree of natural curl precluded any new style Skye could envision, but she knew better than to ask. Hair was a touchy subject with her mother, and for once she pitied her brother, who was May’s golden boy 99 percent of the time, but not when her coiffure was concerned.
Careful not to become involved, Skye said, “Go ahead without me. I need to clean up here.”
“Can’t your runner do that?” May’s brows drew together. “Who is she, by the way? I got the middle school Home Ec teacher; isn’t that great?”
“Great.” Skye was not about to share with her mother that Bunny Reid was her runner. May had taken an unreasonable dislike to Bunny from the moment the redhead had arrived in Scumble River. “Mine’s looking for a broom.” Skye fervently hoped that Bunny would stay away until May left. May’s favorite nickname for Bunny was the Trollop, and that was one of the nicer things she called her. “I’m sure she’ll be back to help soon. You go ahead.”
“How will you get home if I leave you?”
“Someone will give me a ride.” Skye spotted her godfather chatting with someone she couldn’t see. She pointed to him. “Uncle Charlie can drive me.”
May’s gaze followed Skye’s finger and she nodded. “Okay. I’ll tell him not to leave without you.” May kissed Skye on the cheek. “Don’t take too long here. You have to get dressed for the dinner, too.”
“I won’t. See you tonight, Mom.”
“Do you want Dad and me to pick you up?”
“No, Wally’s taking me.”
May walked away shaking her head.
Bunny returned just as Skye finished cleaning up. They’d gathered their belongings and were approaching the warehouse door when two teenagers rushed through it. The boy was well over six feet tall, skinny, and wore horn-rimmed glasses. The girl was nearly his complete opposite—six inches shorter, well rounded, with long, wavy brown hair.
Skye’s stomach tightened in concern. What were Justin Boward and Frannie Ryan doing here,
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