5 Windy City Hunter (8 page)

There were easily three hundred people in attendance, and there were lines on both sides of the hors d'o
euvres tables. I stood in line behind a tall, thin woman with long, bleach-blonde, crimped hair. She turned to smile at us, and I noticed the number on her tag was number seventy-eight. That meant her station was to the left of Darby and directly across from Craig.

We introduced ourselves and found out that she was Delma Snider from Wyoming, and she was baking a Coconut Rum Cake. When she said everyone back home calls her Dee, and we should call her that, too, I started giggling. I was just about to ask her about heavy metal music, but fearing I might start laughing again, Darby moved me to stand behind him and ordered me to talk with Craig while he continued to chat with Dee.

Still giggling, I asked Craig, “What’s with the pink shoelaces?”

“I love shoelaces,” he said. “They give your shoes personality. When I was a kid, one of our teachers took us on a tour of a shoelace factory, and I knew I could never wear white laces again. I’ve been wearing yellow for a while, but I switched to pink this week for good luck in the contest.”

“I love pink laces,” I told him. “I play racquetball, and I almost always wear pink laces in my shoes.”

“I tried racquetball once,” he said. “My opponent hit me with the ball. Wow, was that painful. Then I fell and sprained my ankle, and I was on crutches for a week. I never tried it again.”

I smiled. He wasn’t the only first-time player to give up right away. “Why are pink laces good luck for you this week?” I asked.

“I’m making a Pink Squirrel Cake,” he said. “The pink laces will give me good mojo.”

“Pink Squirrel?” I asked. “Like the old fashioned drink?”

“Yep,” he said smiling. “It has lots of chocolate, almond, and fresh cream. It’s a winner.” He clapped his hands once for emphasis. His enthusiasm was entertaining.

After filling our plates with more savory treats, Dee went her own way, but Craig stayed with me and Darby as we mingled throughout the crowd. I noticed he looked at his watch a few times, and at 9:30 he excused himself.

A short, plump woman approached us, and I liked her even before she spoke. Her face was friendly, her smile was warm, and she had a grandmotherly quality about her. She seemed to be looking for us.

“Hi, I’m Bonnie Montgomery,” she said. Her southern accent wasn’t strong, but it was apparent right away. “My tag doesn’t have my number on it, but I’m number eighty, so I guess you’ll be cookin’ across from me.”

She rounded out our group that would be at the end of our row of cooking stations. Dee would be beside Darby with Craig across from her, and here was Bonnie who would be across from Darby and next to Craig.

We introduced ourselves to her, and Darby asked, “What are you making tomorrow, Bonnie?”

“I’m bakin’ a pie,” she said. “I’m from Tennessee, and I’m makin’ my momma’s famous Tennessee Pecan Pie. What are y’all makin’?”

“I’m giving my grandmother’s coffee cake a whirl,” Darby said.

A woman with a clipboard had come to stand beside Bonnie while she and Darby were talking. When there was an opening, she asked, “Did you find your new spot, Bonnie? Number eighty? All of your things have been moved, and your ingredients will be on your station tomorrow.”

Bonnie nodded her head and said, “Everythin’ is perfect, Irene. Thank you.”

Irene’s nametag identified her as a contest worker. Before walking away, she said, “You’re welcome.”

“Have things changed?” I asked. “You won’t be across from us tomorrow?”

Bonnie appeared somewhat uncomfortable, but she continued smiling and said, “Yes, I will. I asked to be moved from the middle of the room to an outer station, because I struggle with claustrophobia. Irene was lookin’ into the move earlier this evenin’, and it was just now taken care of, so, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Without waiting for a response from either of us, she abruptly ended the conversation by simply walking away.

I turned to Darby and said. “I have to run to the restroom. Will you stay in this general area so I can find you when I get back?”

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll either be right here or over at the horse doers table.”

I started to giggle and punched him lightly on the arm. “Don’t make me laugh. I don’t want to lose control of my laughing or my bladder. I’ll be right back.”

I made my way into the hallway, but I wasn’t sure which way to go. I walked to my left and around a corner. Not too far down were signs for restrooms. When I opened the door to the ladies room, I was relieved to find it unoccupied.

After washing my hands, brushing my hair, and freshening my makeup, I grabbed the door handle, but loud voices stopped me from opening it. I recognized one of the voices. I opened the door a crack and peeked out. Craig was arguing with someone.

“I delivered the painting, and I want the rest of my money,” Craig said.

“You’ll get it when the painting is sold,” the other man said. “Not another penny before.”

“That wasn’t our deal,” Craig argued.

“It’s out of my hands,” said the other man. “We should have a buyer lined up in a day or two, so cool your jets.”

“I don’t trust you not to stiff me on this, George. Something doesn’t feel right,” Craig said as he took a step back and looked down at his shoes and pink laces.

The man stepped forward and shoved his finger under Craig’s chin. I had to hold back a gasp. It was the man from outside Check Casher. He must have given Craig the first half of the money when I saw them at the gas station.

“Listen, Craig,” he said with a snarl. “Don’t call me again. I’m not coming downtown any more. I’ll call you when I have the money, and we’ll meet at Check Casher again. I thought you had something else for me tonight. Have you decided to do the painting yet?”

“No,” Craig said shaking his head. “I’ll make a decision after I get my thousand dollars.”

“Don’t call me again,” said the man, pushing Craig against the wall. He turned and walked away.

I held my breath. I was afraid if I breathed, Craig would hear me, and I didn’t dare let the door close for fear it would make a noise. I felt paralyzed while I waited for him to move, and every muscle in my body started to ache.

Finally, after an eternity, he stepped away from the wall, and started walking down the hallway. I waited until I thought enough time had passed for him to turn the corner before I slowly opened the door. He was gone, and no one was around. I scurried to the end of the hallway.

I peeked around the corner. Craig was nowhere in sight, but I saw Wes come out of a door leading to the darkened end of the convention hall where the cooking stations were set up. What was Wes doing here?

He didn’t see me, and I didn’t step out. He was walking away from me. I watched until he turned a corner leading to the hotel’s main lobby. I stepped out into the hallway and quickly made my way to the door for the reception.

I entered the room and saw Craig chatting and laughing with a group of people. Wes was obviously not following Craig. Was he still following the man in the suit?

There were too many characters in this puzzle, and I didn’t know how they fit together. Was it possible Craig knew about the murder? Did he know Mrs. Fisher? I couldn’t wrap my mind around all of this tonight, and I couldn’t tell Darby about any of it. Not only did I not want him yelling at me again, I didn’t want to upset him on the eve of the contest.

I looked over to where I had left Darby. He was still there, but now he was surrounded by four attractive, young women. I had met all but one earlier, and they were all contestants.

Little did they know, but Darby wouldn’t be taking any of them home with him tonight. He’d be back at the condo talking on the phone with Nate. Nate had wanted to come with us, but the Holiday Inn in Carbide City was booked solid, and with parties scheduled every night, employees couldn’t be spared. I was looking forward to getting back home to hear Nate’s stories of guest antics in the hotel. He could tell a tale like no one else, and I found him hugely entertaining. I loved having Darby and Nate living across the hall from me and Mick. It would be so nice having the uncles close by after the baby was born. Uncle Darby and Uncle Nate. I giggled. Their names sounded perfect every time I thought of them.

Darby spotted me, and I gave him a little wave and pointed to the hors d'oeuvres tables so he would know where I was going. He gave me a smile and a quick nod of his head. Darby could have the pretty girls. The baby and I were going to have several more crab-stuffed mushrooms.

Each dish must be made three times – one for the judges, one for photos, and one for sampling. The dishes may be submitted in any order within the four hour period of time. Each dish will be judged on taste, appearance, creativity, and appeal.

Darby was in the shower while I was drinking raspberry tea at the dining room table. I was perusing the information for the cooking competition to be sure I understood the rules and regulations. I hadn’t read them before, and I didn’t want to do anything during the day that would disqualify him.

When I had come out of Uncle Jack’s bedroom this morning, Darby was standing in front of the windows in the living room. It was snowing lightly, and at first, I thought he was enjoying the view, but then I heard him speak and realized he was on his phone and leaving a message.

“Uncle Jack, it’s urgent that I talk to you,” he said. “Please call me as soon as you get this.” His voice sounded desperate.

“Good morning,” I said. “Is everything ok?”

He swung around to face me, and I could see he was disturbed. His normally cheerful appearance had been replaced by one of distress. He smiled, but I noticed dark circles under his eyes, and wondered if he hadn’t slept well.

“I’ve been trying to call my uncle, so I could tell him about Mrs. Fisher,” he said. “They were close, and I think he should know about her death as soon as possible, but everything’s ok, and I’m ready for the day. Are you?”

“I am,” I said. “I had a great night’s sleep, and I have a good feeling about this. I think you’re going to win today, Darby.”

He laughed and said, “Let’s not count our chickens before they hatch. Go ahead and use the bathroom, I’ll make us some breakfast. Do you want a Reuben sandwich? Uncle Jack bought everything we need to make them.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” I asked. I smiled and said, “That actually sounds fantastic. Thanks.”

I left the room to go get ready for the day. Darby wasn’t the superstitious type, but I wondered if having the Reuben sandwiches for breakfast was for good luck, like Craig with his shoelaces. It didn’t matter to me one way or the other, a Reuben sounded like a good way to start the day.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was a beautiful day. The sun wasn’t shining, but snow was still falling lightly, and you could feel Christmas in the air. I was excited for what the day would bring.

Darby dropped me off at the front entrance of the Wilder Hotel. I was carrying my Crate & Barrel bag and one of Darby’s mystery boxes. He went to look for a parking spot.

I walked into the lobby and smiled at the scene which greeted me. Overnight, Christmas decorations had been put up. Four Christmas trees had been symmetrically positioned, pine garland with red bows had been strung across the front desk, and gorgeous wreaths had been hung on the walls. It was elegant and lovely. I
almost squealed with delight, and I could feel it in my bones. This was going to be one of the best days ever.

I made my way to the hall where the contest would be held. This room, too, had been decorated with Christmas trees and wall wreaths. Savory food smells were abundant the minute I opened the door. It reminded me of Christmas dinners at home when Mom would cook oodles of wonderful food and all of the smells mingled.

The cooking times had been staggered throughout the morning. I assumed it was to keep the judges from being overwhelmed with everything at once. The dessert makers and bakers were the last group to cook at 1:00.

I walked over to Darby’s station. Bonnie from Tennessee came in shortly after me and took her place directly across from us. She appeared happier and more grandmotherly than she did last night, and she looked like she would be a natural in the kitchen. I set my bag and Darby’s box on the counter.

“Good morning, Bonnie,” I said cheerfully. “How are you today?”

“I’m wonderful,” she said with a big smile. “I’ve participated in contests before, but this is the biggest one I’ve ever been in. What about you?”

“I’ve never done anything like this,” I said. “Darby and I cook together at home all the time, but neither of us has ever been in a cooking competition.”

“What do you guys do for a livin’?” she asked.

“Darby does web marketing and writing from home. I work for Slimmer’s Weight Loss,” I said.

“Ooh, Slimmer’s Weight Loss,” she said with approval. “I lost thirty-four pounds usin’ their program. I tell all my friends to go there, ‘cause it works.”

I gave her a big smile and said, “You’ll have to let me take a picture of you cooking today. I’ll add it to my book of success stories.” She seemed pleased, and I said, “Excuse me, Bonnie. I want to hang up my coat and run to the restroom. If Darby comes in, tell him I’ll be right back.”