Town In a Lobster Stew (17 page)

He walked down several steps to the lawn and crossed to a microphone set up on a podium to one side of the judges’ table. He flicked on the mic, tapped it a few times to make sure it was hot, and then said, “Welcome, everyone, to the Twenty-Ninth Annual Cape Willington Lobster Stew Cook-off!”

The crowd gathered around the tent and podium, as well as others across the lawn, responded with a warm round of applause. Oliver put on his reading glasses, looked down at a sheaf of papers in front of him, and launched into his opening remarks.

“As you know, our little event has traditionally served as the kickoff of the summer season here in Cape Willington. We have the good fortune of a beautiful day, and we have eleven very talented contestants who have made some wonderful stews for us to sample today.”

As she was listening to him speak, Candy spotted Roger Sykes, who stood near Oliver, along with Alby, Robbie, and Wanda. He must have sensed her looking at him, for he glanced her way and gave her a warm smile before turning his attention back to Oliver.

Wanda, however, ignored her completely.

“As you might have heard,” Oliver told the crowd, “we’ve had to make some last-minute changes to our lineup of judges this morning. Brant Wisely, who has been a good friend of this event, sent his regrets earlier in the week. Stepping in for him today is a highly qualified individual who owns two award-winning restaurants down in Boston—Harbor Seafood on the waterfront, and the Captain’s Table at Copley Square. Ladies and gentlemen, would you please give a warm welcome to today’s primary judge, Mr. Roger Sykes!”

Roger raised his hand slightly and turned this way and that as the crowd applauded politely. Oliver pulled him toward the podium, and after a few moments, Roger acquiesced and leaned toward the mic.

“First, I’d like to apologize for not being as handsome nor as talented as Brant Wisely,” he said charmingly, drawing a few chuckles from the audience. “I know how much all of you were looking forward to meeting Brant and having him serve as a judge for today’s event. However, I promise you, I’ll do my very best to fill his sizable shoes. I’m looking forward to meeting the contestants today and to tasting all your wonderful stews.”

As the audience applauded again, Oliver referred to his notes before he continued.

“Our next judge,” he said, “needs no introduction. She has been a mainstay of this event almost since its inception and has won it herself six consecutive times. Please welcome back to our event Mrs. Wilma Mae Wendell!”

Candy and Maggie helped Wilma Mae stand as the crowd applauded. The elderly woman did her best to smile. But she seemed preoccupied and quickly sank back down into her seat.

“Are you okay, Wilma Mae?” Candy asked, leaning close to her.

The elderly woman smiled bravely. “I’ll be alright.”

“We’ll get you something to eat in just a few minutes.”

Candy turned back to the podium as Oliver glanced her way. “Finally,” he said, “we have a last-minute fill-in for one of our honorary judges who couldn’t make it today. I’m sure you’ve all read her wonderful columns in the
Cape Crier
newspaper. She has graciously agreed to serve as our third judge today. Ladies and gentlemen, would you please welcome our community correspondent and the co-owner of Holliday’s Blueberry Acres, Ms. Candy Holliday.”

Candy rose briefly, flashed a smile at the crowd, waved, and sat back down, all in the space of three seconds.

Maggie, who was sitting nearby, patted her shoulder. “Well at least no one can accuse you of hogging the spotlight.”

“I’m trying to keep a low profile,” Candy whispered as she noticed several disapproving looks peppered throughout the crowd. Obviously Wanda’s friends.

Speaking of which . . .

“And now,” Oliver said, looking around, “I’d like to turn the microphone over to a woman who has been invaluable to this event. In fact, without her help, we never could have pulled it off. I’d like to invite Wanda Boyle to make a few comments.”

“Oh, great,” Maggie said. “I wonder what she has to say.”

“I’m sure she’ll be delightful,” Candy added with a touch of sarcasm.

“Hmm, this one is very good,” Wilma Mae said.

Candy looked around. “What?”

Wilma Mae had taken a bowl of stew that sat nearby, removed the plastic wrapping covering it, located a spoon, and was dipping into it.

“Wilma Mae! You’re not supposed to eat that yet!”

The elderly woman seemed not to hear her as she shoved a spoonful into her mouth. “But . . . I’m so hungry,” she said apologetically after she swallowed. “And this stew is so—”

She stopped abruptly as her face changed in an instant, first to an expression of shock and then to one of horror.

“Oh my!” she squeaked, and tumbled out of her chair in a dead faint, falling heavily onto the well-manicured lawn of the Lightkeeper’s Inn.

“Oh my God!”

As Candy dropped to one knee beside the unconscious Wilma Mae, several others swarmed around to help, and a small pocket of chaos enveloped them. Maggie jumped up, calling out loudly for a doctor, interrupting the ceremony taking place at the podium.

Wanda stopped in midsentence, her words trailing off as she looked around with a confused expression on her face. Oliver studied the situation for a moment, seemed to quickly grasp what was going on, and snapped his fingers at Robbie, who dashed off to summon an on-call nurse Oliver had hired for the event.

Candy checked Wilma Mae’s pulse, which was faint but steady, and tapped the elderly woman gently on the cheeks. “Wilma Mae! Wilma Mae! Can you hear me?”

Wilma Mae let out several quick breaths as her eyelids fluttered.

Alby Alcott arrived and knelt on the other side of Wilma Mae. “Here, let me have a look at her.”

“She just fainted dead away,” Candy said. “She was eating the stew—”

Even as the words left her mouth something clicked inside her brain.

She twisted toward the table, where the cup of stew still sat, barely touched, growing cooler.

“She’s coming around,” Alby said. “Could everyone just back away, please? Give us some air.”

Candy felt a wave of relief going through her as she turned back toward the elderly woman. “Wilma Mae, what happened?” she asked breathlessly.

The elderly woman looked up at her with blinking, unfocused eyes. “Oh . . . oh . . . Candy dear.” She put a hand to her forehead, looking dazed. “Where am I?”

“I think she just needs a few minutes to recover,” Alby said reassuringly. “I’ll go see where the nurse is, though.” He rose and dashed off.

Wilma Mae’s gaze shifted through the faces around her, then settled back on Candy’s. “Why is everyone looking at me so strangely?”

“You fainted,” Candy told her. “You gave us quite a scare.”

“Oh, oh.” Wilma Mae’s mouth worked a little, and the tip of her tongue flicked out, tasting her lips. Suddenly her gaze sharpened. “It was the stew!” she said in a harsh whisper.

Candy leaned closer. “The stew? Was something wrong with it?”

“Oh no, no. It was . . . delicious.”

“Delicious?”

Wilma Mae’s gray eyes stared deep into her. Reaching up with an unsteady hand, she took Candy by the shoulder and pulled her closer. “It was made with
Mr. Sedley’s recipe
!”

“What?” Candy’s head popped up again. She turned back toward the table, searching for the cup of stew Wilma Mae had eaten from. But someone had already whisked it away. “Where’d it go?” she asked no one in particular.

She never got an answer. Oliver was back at the microphone. “There’s nothing to worry about, folks. We’ve just had a small interruption. Mrs. Wendell fainted, but it appears she’s going to be okay. Just give us a couple of minutes to attend to her and we’ll begin again. The judging will commence shortly.”

The nurse arrived and quickly took control of the situation. “Let’s get her inside,” she said. “She can rest in there, out of this crowd, and I’ll give her a quick checkup.”

With the nurse’s help, Candy and Maggie were able to get Wilma Mae on her feet. They escorted the dazed woman into the inn, to a quiet side lounge, where they placed her on a sofa. While Candy and the nurse helped Wilma Mae lie down, propping pillows around her to make her comfortable, Maggie ran off to find more water and a cool cloth.

“I’m so embarrassed,” Wilma Mae said weakly, holding on to Candy’s hand. “I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble, but that stew just took me by surprise.”

As the nurse busied herself taking off Wilma Mae’s shoes, Candy leaned close. “Are you sure it was Mr. Sedley’s recipe?” she whispered. “Maybe you were mistaken, or maybe it just tasted similar.”

“Oh no, that was definitely his recipe,” Wilma Mae whispered back. “There’s no mistaking it. It’s the secret ingredient, you know.” She glanced at the nurse, then said softly into Candy’s ear, “It’s a pinch of cinnamon, though it has to be added in a special way. It adds a subtle sweetness to the flavor. Mr. Sedley always said someone sprinkled cinnamon on me the day I was born, so that’s why he put it in the stew.”

At the mention of her longtime friend, she paused and her eyes began to water. “I
do
hope he’s all right. I just don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Candy patted her hand. “We’re going to find out where he is. Don’t you worry about that. You just need to stay here for a while and rest. I’ll be right back.” She rose and started toward the door.

“Where’re you going?” Maggie asked, coming back into the room.

“To look for something. Keep an eye on Wilma Mae for me, will you?”

“Sure.” Maggie studied her. “Is everything all right?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Need any help?”

“If I do, I know where to look.”

“I’ve always got your back, you know.”

Candy nodded. “I know.”

Outside, Oliver had quickly put the day’s events back on track. The old cups of stew for the judges had been cleared away, and Alby, Robbie, and a few other staff members were bringing in newer, warmer cups, which they were again placing in front of placards with large black numerals. Roger Sykes was leaning over the table, checking out the samples with a studious eye, while Wanda Boyle was just concluding her remarks.

Standing nearby, Alby saw Candy and motioned. “We’re ready for the judges,” he said, crossing quickly to her. In a lower voice, he asked, “How’s Wilma Mae? Is she going to be able to participate?”

Candy shook her head. “I don’t think so. She’s a little shaken up.”

“Is she going to be all right?”

“She’ll be okay. The nurse is with her.”

Alby thought for a moment. “Well, we’ll have to move on without her. Hopefully you and Roger will be able to agree on a winner. If you wouldn’t mind, would you please take the chair next to his? He’s taking his seat now.”

“Okay, sure.”

Alby headed off in a different direction, and as she moved toward the table, Robbie walked past. She grabbed his arm. “What happened to the cups of stew that were just here?”

Robbie looked at her, uncertain at first. Then he seemed to understand what she was asking. “Oh, you mean the old cups? They got jostled around when that old woman fainted, and we weren’t sure who they belonged to, so Mr. LaForce had us clear them off and get new cups from all the contestants.”

“Where’d you take the old cups?”

Robbie shrugged. “To the kitchen. We dumped them in the trash.”

Candy groaned. “Are there any left?”

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Why?”

She sighed in resignation. “Nothing.”

Robbie looked uncomfortable. “I gotta go.”

As he hurried off, Candy crossed to the judges’ table, pulled out a chair, and sat down next to Roger. “Okay, what do I have to do?”