Читать книгу Key Lime Pie Murder - Joanne Fluke - Страница 10

“Did I say thank you for the cookies?” Pam Baxter, the head of the three-woman judging panel, reached for another cookie.

“You did. About six times.”

“And did I?” Willa Sunquist asked, reaching in right after Pam.

“Seven times, I think.”

“What did you call them again?”

“Pineapple Delights. We got the idea from Lisa’s aunt, Irma Baker. She uses dried apricots too, but Lisa changed it to all pineapple because Herb’s crazy about pineapple.”

“Well it’s a cinch you’ll win the cookie competition!” Willa declared.

“No, I won’t. I run a bakery and coffee shop, and according to the rules, I’m not allowed to enter.”

“That’s a break for the rest of the contestants,” Willa said with a laugh. A nice-looking woman in her late twenties, Willa had just finished the school year as Pam’s classroom aide. The job hadn’t paid much, but Pam and George had given Willa a break by renting their basement apartment to her at a ridiculously low price so that she could finish her teaching degree at Tri-County College.

“Do you have any questions about the rules, Hannah?” Pam asked, closing her slim booklet titled, Guidelines for Judging Baked Goods.

“I don’t think so. The score sheets spell everything out. We just rate each entry on the variables, using a scale from one to ten.”

“And when we’re finished with an entry, Pam collects the score sheets,” Willa said. “At the end of the night, we add up the numbers, enter them on the master score sheet, and Pam authenticates it by signing her name.”

Pam glanced down at the sample score sheet that had come with the booklet. “Do you have any questions about the variables?”

“Just one,” Willa said with a frown. “What’s the difference between presentation and appearance?”

Pam gave her a quick smile. “I asked the same thing! Presentation is how the entry looks when we first see it on the plate or platter. Appearance is what it looks like when it’s sampled.”

“That makes sense,” Hannah said. “The decoration and frosting on a cake would be judged under presentation. We don’t judge appearance until we actually cut the cake and see how it slices and looks inside.”

“How about pies?” Willa asked, still looking a bit confused.

“We rate the top crust or the meringue under the presentation variable. And we don’t rate appearance until we actually dish out a slice and see if the custard slumps, or the berries are too juicy.”

“Got it,” Willa said. “How about breads and coffeecakes? That’s what we’re judging tonight.”

“If it’s been baked in a pan, we judge presentation on how evenly the top crust and the sides are browned. If it’s a coffeecake and it’s frosted or studded with fruit, we rate how that’s done. The same goes for sweet rolls, sticky buns, and doughnuts.”

“Okay.” Willa glanced down at her booklet again. “Muffins and quick breads would be exactly the same, but how do you judge cookies on presentation and appearance? It’s not like you slice them or anything.”

“Hannah?” Pam turned to her.

“It’ll be harder, but it can be done. Some cookies are frosted or decorated with sugar. That would be presentation. Others might be decorated with nuts and dried fruits. And if the cookie isn’t decorated at all, we’ll have to judge the presentation on how expertly the baker browned it in the oven.”

“How about appearance?” Pam asked, looking almost as puzzled as Willa.

“We’ll have to bite into the cookie or break it apart to judge appearance. If it has a filling, we can judge how well that’s placed in the cookie. If it’s chocolate chip, or chopped nuts, we can judge how many there are and whether the cookie might need more, or less. With cookies I think we’ll have to take it on a case-by-case basis.”

“Good thing you’re filling in as a judge,” Willa said. “Judging cookies sounds really tricky.”

“Maybe, but it’ll be fun. What time should we meet tonight?”

Pam glanced down at the schedule. “It has to be after six. That’s the cutoff for the day’s entries.” She turned to Willa. “You’re through at eight, aren’t you, Willa?”

“Yes. I can come right over here after the pageant. Once the curtain closes, the girls are free to go home.”

Hannah’s ears perked up. “Are you talking about the Miss Tri-County Beauty Pageant?”

“Yes, I’m the chaperone.”

“My baby sister’s a contestant,” Hannah told her. “Michelle Swensen?”

“I saw her name on the roster.”

“If you get the chance, say hello from me and tell her I’ll be by to see her at Mother’s when I’m through judging. She came in on the bus early this morning.”

“From college?” Willa guessed.

“Macalester. She’s a theater major. I wonder if she’s got a chance of winning.”

“Everybody’s got a chance. Your sister’s pretty. I saw her picture. But the judging covers a lot more than that.”

“Talent? Personality?” Pam looked puzzled when Willa shook her head.

“We have those, too, but they’re a part of any beauty contest. Just like the rest, we have one night for evening gowns, one for swimsuits, one for the talent showcase, and one for the interviews with the announcer. The fifth night is just for fun, and the girls perform a couple of musical numbers for the audience. And then on Saturday night, we have the pageant parade, and the judges announce the winner and the runners-up, along with the special awards.”

“So what makes Miss Tri-County different?” Hannah wanted to know.

“We also assess a girl’s character. Just take a look at my grid,” she said, pulling a clipboard out of her backpack and handing it over so that Hannah and Pam could see. “The girls are expected to get here by noon and check in with me at the auditorium. They have to make themselves available at various venues, hold interviews with the press and the beauty contest judges in the afternoon, and take part in the formal pageant in front of the audience every night from seven to eight. That’s a lot more than just looking good in a bathing suit.”

“It’s an eight-hour day,” Hannah agreed.

“It’s meant to be. The pageant organizer retired to Arizona, but I talked to her by phone. She told me that the activities planned for the contestants are a test of their maturity and reliability. They’re judged on those categories, too, and that’s why I have the grid.”

Hannah glanced down at the grid again. “I see the names of the contestants. They’re written here in the left margin. But what are the numbers in the columns at the top?”

“Each number represents an attribute. They’re coded so if someone sneaks a look at my clipboard, it won’t show how any individual contestant is doing. They’ll see checkmarks, but they won’t know what they represent.”

“I know you can’t tell us the code,” Pam said, “but could you give us an idea of the categories?”

“Sure. One number stands for complaints. Every time a girl complains about going to a venue, or talking to the press, or how she’s sick to death of smiling and she wishes she hadn’t entered the contest in the first place, I put a checkmark in the complaint category.”

“That makes sense,” Hannah said. “Nobody likes a whiner. What are some of the other categories?”

“Another number stands for being tardy. If a girl is late to any scheduled activity, I put a checkmark in that column. There’s another code for breaking the rules.”

“For instance?” Pam asked.

“Like swearing. The girls aren’t allowed to swear while they’re wearing their contestant ID badges. That’s because younger girls look up to them and we don’t want our contestants to set a bad example. If they forget and get five checkmarks in the swearing category, I have to disqualify them.”

“So some checkmarks are weighted more than others?” Hannah asked.

“Definitely. If a girl does something illegal, she’s immediately disqualified. That one’s a no-brainer. But she gets more than one chance with things that aren’t so serious, like being late and not showing up for a planned event.”

“Sounds complicated,” Pam said.

“Not really. It’s just like life. The consequences for some things are worse than the consequences for others.”

“So you think it’s fairer than other beauty contests?” Hannah asked, reading between the lines.

“I think so. As a rule, I don’t like beauty contests, but this one’s the best I’ve seen. Each girl gets marked in exactly the same way. If her total adds up to the wrong number, she’s gone.”

“Do you have to tell a contestant when she’s disqualified?” Hannah asked.

“Yes.”

“That must be tough.”

“It must be, but I agreed to do it when I took the job. I’m hoping that I won’t have to disqualify anybody. I’m giving every girl a copy of the rules, so it’s not like they won’t know. And I’m planning to tell them that I’ll be keeping track of their behavior on my clipboard. I’m even going to warn them when they’re one checkmark away from disqualification. I don’t think it can be any fairer than that.”

“I have to stop by the Cookie Nook booth and see if they need more supplies,” Hannah said as they walked out of the Creative Arts Building.

“Is that Mayor Bascomb’s booth?” Willa asked.

“Technically it’s the Lake Eden Chamber of Commerce booth, but Mayor Bascomb’s the one who’s running it.”

“Must be an election year,” Pam said, grinning.

“It is,” Hannah confirmed, “but he’s running again, unopposed.”

“Do you think anyone will ever challenge him?” Willa asked.

Both Hannah and Pam shook their heads.

“Never?” Willa persisted.

“I doubt it,” Hannah answered. “Everybody agrees that he’s doing a fine job running Lake Eden.”

“And nobody else seems to want the job,” Pam pointed out.

“I can understand that!” Hannah gave a little laugh. “If something goes wrong, the first person people call is Mayor Bascomb.”

“You’re right,” Willa said. “Remember when the power went out in our classroom and I went to report it to Mr. Purvis? The first thing he did was to ask Charlotte to call Mayor…”

Willa stopped in her tracks. She gave a strangled gasp and her face turned so pale, Hannah reached out to grab her arm. “What’s wrong?”

“I…I…”

“Are you in pain?” Pam asked, grabbing Willa’s other arm.

“No! I just…have to sit down.”

“Help her around the corner to the food court,” Hannah said, taking charge. “I’ll get her some water.”

Hannah rushed up to the nearest booth and got a cup of water. On her way back, she looked to see if she could spot anything that might have startled Willa. The only thing happening was a roping demonstration on one of the outdoor stages. Several cowboys from the rodeo were doing rope tricks and teaching them to the 4-H kids.

“Thanks, Hannah,” Willa said when Hannah got to the table and handed her the cup of water. “I’m not sure what happened. I just felt a little faint there for a second.”

“Did you eat breakfast?” Pam asked.

“No, but I had lots of Hannah’s cookies and I’m not a bit hungry. I think it was the sun. It was beating down on the top of my head, and I started feeling a little woozy.”

“That could do it,” Pam said, nodding quickly. “We’ll just sit here for another couple of minutes, and then I’m taking you to the booth that sells hats.”

“But really, Pam. I don’t need…”

“Yes, you do,” Pam interrupted her. “And I’m going to buy it for you. No way do I want one of my judges quitting because of sunstroke!”

“So we all got hats.” Hannah wound up her story and handed Lisa a bag. “I got one for you, too. They’re cute and they were really cheap and they had a two-fer going. The second one was only a dollar.”

“Thanks, Hannah,” Lisa said, and she looked absolutely delighted as she opened the bag and pulled out the white straw hat with red flowers around the brim. “It’s just great.”

Hannah smiled. Once she’d left the hat booth, she’d checked in with Mayor Bascomb and agreed to deliver ten dozen more Pineapple Delights. Then she’d driven straight back to The Cookie Jar to help Lisa handle the afternoon rush.

“So where is everybody?” Lisa asked, lifting her coffee mug to take another sip of the strong coffee their customers called Swedish Plasma. “Not that I’m complaining, of course.”

“Me neither,” Hannah said, lapsing into a colloquialism she seldom used. They were sitting at their favorite table in the back of the coffee shop, enjoying the fact everyone in town seemed to think that it was too early for a lunch cookie and too late for a breakfast cookie.

“So do you want to stay out here to wait for customers while I mix up more Pineapple Delights? Or would you rather do it yourself and make me sit on the edge of my chair out here?”

“Huh?” Hannah blinked hard as she stared at her petite partner. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, and she was having trouble keeping her eyes open. Lisa was wearing one of their serving aprons with their logo printed on the bib, the ties wrapped twice around her waist. Hannah blinked again. The cookie in their logo, the one with the bite missing, was shimmering like a mirage.

“You’d better stay here, Hannah. Put your head down on the table and take a snooze. Everybody’s out at the fair anyway, and if friends come in, they’ll help themselves to coffee and leave the money on the counter.”

Hannah knew that Lisa was right. She hadn’t slept well last night because she was worried about Moishe. Her feline roommate usually came to bed with her, snuggled for a second or two, and then moved down to his favorite place at the foot of the bed. But last night Moishe hadn’t come to bed. He’d stayed out in the living room all night, and Hannah had gotten up several times to check on him. Since she’d found him staring out the window and he hadn’t seemed to be in any distress, she’d gone back to bed and slept fitfully for the rest of the night.

“Deal,” Hannah said, giving her partner a grateful smile. “Have I told you lately that you’re a gem?”

“Only last week, and I hope I’m a sapphire.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s my gemstone. I just love the blue ones. They’re so pretty.”

And with that, Lisa headed off to the kitchen, leaving Hannah to gratefully comply with the urge to rest her head on her folded arms. It was exactly what she’d done in her eight o’clock geography class during her first semester at college. The professor had used slides of maps to illustrate his lectures. He’d dimmed the lights and Hannah had immediately nodded off. She’d slept through every lecture, and it was only by the kind intervention and last minute cramming from a classmate who liked the cookies she brought for their study sessions, that she’d managed to pass the course.

PINEAPPLE DELIGHTS

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F., rack in the middle position.

2 cups butter (4 sticks, one pound—melted)

2 cups brown sugar

2 cups white (granulated) sugar

4 eggs—beaten (just beat them up in a glass with a fork)

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons pineapple extract (if you can’t find it, you can use vanilla)

4 cups flour

2 ½ cups chopped sweetened dried pineapple (measure AFTER chopping—if you can’t find pineapple, you can substitute any dried fruit chopped in chocolate chip sized pieces)

½ cup chopped coconut flakes (measure AFTER chopping)

3 cups rolled oats (uncooked oatmeal—I used Quaker Oats Quick 1-Minute in the round paper can that you save, but you don’t know why)

Melt the butter in a large microwave-safe bowl. (About 3 minutes on HIGH.) Add the sugars and let it cool a bit. Then add the beaten eggs, baking powder, baking soda, salt, and pineapple extract. Mix in the flour. Then add the chopped pineapple, chopped coconut, and rolled oats, mixing them in thoroughly. The dough will be quite stiff.

Drop by teaspoon onto a greased cookie sheet, 12 to a sheet. (I roll mine in a ball so the cookies turn out nice and round.)

Bake at 350 degrees F. for 12 to 15 minutes. Cool on the cookie sheet for 2 minutes and then remove them to a wire rack to cool completely.

These freeze really well if you roll them in foil and put them in a freezer bag.