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?”
Sixteen
Thirty minutes later she was done.
She had tasted eleven stews, then retasted several of them to determine her favorites, pausing between each tasting to nibble on a saltine cracker and drink from a bottle of water to cleanse her palate. She had to admit, as she made her way through the samples spoonful by spoonful, she was impressed by the range of colors, consistencies, textures, and flavors.
About halfway through the tasting she came across a stew that was a little sweeter than the others, and detected a hint of cinnamon. The lobster meat was delectable, and the broth had a chunky consistency, thanks to perfectly sized pieces of potatoes, onions, and even a few carrots. She studied the lobster meat for the longest time, wondering if the brown spice flecks covering it were indeed cinnamon. She thought of Wilma Mae and wished she knew who had made that stew. But there was no way of telling — at least, not for the moment.
She tried a second spoonful and had to admit it was excellent. But by the time she reached the end and had tasted the final stew, she knew there were others she’d enjoyed almost as much.
One stew in particular intrigued her, with its huge chunks of lobster meat and generously cut tomato wedges seasoned with dill and sea salt. It made a wonderful combination, and she truly enjoyed the presentation, with its corn-colored broth accentuated by the red and white lobster meat and fresh green parsley.
Another stew was topped with several slices of lemon and had a wonderful citrusy flavor, while a fourth one consisted of shelled lobster claws swimming in a beautiful milky orange broth seasoned with a trace of cayenne pepper.
There were others that stood out as well, including one with beet red chunks of lobster swimming in a tasty broth sharpened by undertones of red wine, and another with paper-thin slices of green and red peppers immersed in a light broth flavored with a trace of garlic.
She also, she thought, detected Bumpy’s stew. She had to admit, it was very good — perhaps not an award winner, but very good indeed. She’d have to compliment Bumpy on it later.
After much consideration, she narrowed her favorites down to six, and then to five, and finally to three. The most difficult part was ranking her final choices.
Once she puzzled out the order of the top three, she couldn’t help wondering again who had made them. It was an intriguing game to play. She thought one could be Burt Ramsay’s stew, and another seemed to have Melody’s touch. But which one was Wanda’s?
In the end, she felt she’d done her job fairly, choosing the stews she honestly thought were the best, and not based on who might have made them. That was the way it should be. Now, like the rest of the crowd, she’d just have to wait for the names of the winners to be announced.
She looked up. Wanda stood perhaps twenty-five feet away, next to Oliver, who had a tight smile on his face as she chatted with him. She wore a businesslike outfit, with a red jacket and beige slacks, accented by gold jewelry and shiny gold shoes. Her flaming red hair was neatly arranged. Candy had to admit, the woman knew how to stand out in a crowd, and she certainly looked like she knew what she was doing. Maybe that’s why certain people were attracted to her. They admired her confidence. And the woman had that in spades.
Roger leaned close. “I think I’m ready. How about you?”
They compared their lists and discovered some agreement between the two of them. For the next ten minutes, they sorted through their notes, discussing back and forth, trying to reach a consensus. Roger had selected as his top two stews ones that had been on Candy’s narrowed-down list of three, but in a reverse order. Candy’s top pick was farther down his list, which surprised her. As they negotiated, he wouldn’t even consider her top choice, for reasons he had a hard time explaining. “It’s too gimmicky. It just doesn’t work for me,” was all he said.
Finally, with much compromise on Candy’s part and somewhat less on Roger’s, they came to an agreement and handed their final list to Oliver. He studied it as he walked over to one side of the tent, where he checked a sheet on the clipboard held by Robbie to confirm the identity of each contestant. He jotted down several names, hesitating almost imperceptibly as he wrote one or two of them, then walked toward to the podium, waving the sheet of paper high in the air, flashing it for the crowd. “We have our winners!” he announced as he walked, his smile almost genuine.
The crowd applauded enthusiastically as Oliver reached the podium, switched on the microphone, and put on his reading glasses. “May I have your attention please?” He waited a few moments for the crowd to quiet, then said again, “May I have your attention — I’m going to announce the winners of today’s cook-off competition!”
“Who do you think will win?” a voice behind Candy asked.
She turned. Doc, Bumpy, and the boys had come up on the back side of the judges’ table. Bumpy looked nervous, and Finn seemed distracted. Artie was chewing on a fingernail. Only Doc appeared calm.
“I have no idea, Dad.” She rose and joined them at one end of the tent, edging up close to her father and crossing her arms in front of her to watch the proceedings. “I just chose the stews I thought were the best. At this point, anyone could win this thing.”
“I probably didn’t win,” Bumpy said dejectedly.
Finn patted him on the back. “Hang in there, buddy. You ain’t out of this yet.”
“You have as good a shot as anyone,” Artie told him encouragingly.
Candy held her comments until the winners were announced.
“First,” Oliver said, his amplified voice carrying out over the lawn, “I would like to thank all the contestants who participated in today’s event, and congratulate them on their wonderful stews. It’s inspiring to know we have so many excellent cooks in our little coastal community. I’m sure the judges had a very difficult time making their selections.”
“He’s got that right,” Candy said softly to her father.
“I’d also like to thank all of our guests and visitors for coming out today and enjoying this lovely spring weather,” Oliver continued. “Of course, we couldn’t have pulled all this together without the help of our dear friend, Wanda Boyle, her talented assistants, and our top-notch staff here at the Lightkeeper’s Inn. Finally, I’d like to remind all of you that Emerald Isle, a wonderful Celtic band, will start playing shortly. We have some activities planned for the children a little later this afternoon. And I invite all of you to stick around and sample the excellent stews available today. As far as I’m concerned, all of our contestants are award winners. However, there can be only one champion. And now, if the judges would please join me here at the podium, I’ll read the names of the third-, second-, and firstplace winners.”
“I guess that’s my cue,” Candy said, and to a smattering of applause she walked to the podium with Roger.
