“Oh no, it was Icky Vicky, all right. She was behind my front table.”
“You’re positive. She wasn’t just walking by?”
“Yes. My eyesight is better than it ever was when I was human. She was in my station. Don’t you believe me?”
“Of course I believe you, my love. I just can’t imagine that woman would be so bold.”
“That makes two of us.”
“What’s going on?” Stanhill asked.
Hugh put his hand over the receiver on his cell phone. “Delaney says Vicky Keller was in her station.”
Stanhill’s brows shot up. “I smell trouble.”
“She was in my station,” Delaney repeated.
“I wouldn’t put it past her. She’s not an Ellingham fan.” Hugh sipped his coffee. “What do you think she was up to?”
“I think she was looking for eggs. Mary’s in the bake-off and she forgot hers. Poor kid. I’m going to give her a dozen because I have plenty, but I think her mother was hoping to steal them from me, which would be a double win as far as Vicky’s concerned. Screw me while helping her kid.”
“Are you missing eggs?”
“Not that I can tell. But I’m not really sure how many dozen Stanhill put in the cooler. Can you ask him?”
Hugh looked up from his phone again. “How many dozen eggs did you put in Delaney’s cooler for the bake-off?”
“Four,” Stanhill answered. Then he squinted. “Or five. Captain kept jumping in the cooler when I was loading it and now I can’t remember.”
“Stanhill said he doesn’t remember if he put four or five dozen in because your chubby cat was in the way.”
“I heard what he said and he did not say Captain was in the way. Or chubby.”
Hugh’s smirk changed to a grin. “How many dozen are in there now?”
A few moments went by before Delaney answered. “Four, so that tells me nothing.” She made a disgusted little noise. “Never mind. There’s nothing you can do without proof. And I don’t want to get Mary disqualified. But I’m keeping my eye on her mother.”
“I think that’s wise. If anything else happens, you let me know right away. I won’t have Vicky adding to your stress.”
“Okay. Thanks for listening. Love you.”
“Love you, too.” He hung up.
Stanhill leaned forward. “You think Keller did something? Or intended to?
Hugh shook his head. “I don’t doubt for a moment that Victoria Keller is up to something but what can we do? We have no proof and we weren’t there to witness it.”
Stanhill finished a bite of his pancakes and a sly smile crossed his face. “Corette’s a judge this year. I wasn’t supposed to say anything because that’s all supposed to be secret but it’s the day of the contest and the judges’ list will be announced soon enough.”
“Is that so?” Corette Williams was not only a skilled witch, she was Stanhill’s betrothed. She ran the bridal shop in town and was well liked by everyone. It was no surprise that she’d been chosen as a judge for this year’s bake-off.
Stanhill nodded. “She’s head of the Cake category. I guess they figured with her having the bridal shop, cakes weren’t too far out of her field, even if they weren’t for weddings. You want me to call her? Tell her something’s up?”
Hugh shook his head. “Not yet. Again, without proof Keller did anything, what can we say? But it’s good to know you have Corette on speed dial.” He picked up his coffee. “Just in case.”
* * *
The air horn signaling the start of the bake-off had been blown half an hour ago and Delaney had just put her cake pans in the oven. She wiped her forehead and leaned against her worktable. Somehow, despite having the strength and fortitude of a vampire, she was feeling a little wiped out. It was the stress. She knew that.
She just didn’t know what to do about it.
She turned to her table to start cleaning up and begin the mascarpone frosting that would anchor the raspberries in each layer of her red velvet cake. And saw the coffee Hugh had bought her.
She smiled and picked up the cup. That man was just perfect. The coffee had gone cold, but she popped it in the small microwave the contest had provided and reheated it.
The first sip told her this was just what she needed. The tent was a little chilly, although she knew it would soon heat up as the ovens were being used, but for now, hot coffee—even if it was reheated—was just the thing.
She peeked at the cakes through the oven door. She’d programed the timer to go off about ten minutes early so she could monitor the progress and make a judgment call before they had any chance of being overcooked. The temperature gauge she’d set on the first rack was reading a little high compared to what the temperature was supposed to be, so she lowered the oven by ten degrees.