Meredith nods. “Duty calls. Those pumpkin spice bread puddings won’t serve themselves! Come on, ladies, I’ve got a free pumpkin spice latte with each of your names on it.”
“I’m in,” Vivian says.
“I’m right behind you. That’s my favorite beverage.” Autumn winks my way. “And these pumpkin spice waffles need frequent refreshing to stay warm,” Autumn adds, lifting her now-empty tray. “Lovely meeting you all!”
As they disperse, Clarabelle elbows Peggy. “I do believe we still have a waffle war to finish, and I’m two ahead.”
“In your dreams,” Peggy scoffs. “Meet you at the waffle booth in five. I need to reapply my lipstick if I’m going to be seen in public eating like a field hand.”
They hustle off, leaving me alone with my furry companions.
“I should probably track you two down some proper food,” I tell Cricket and Rookie. “One that doesn’t involve begging from strangers.”
But that’s the BEST kind of treats,Rookie barks, his golden eyes wide with canine conviction.
Agreed. Plus, festival food has a certain... je ne sais quoi,Cricket adds, waving her tail like a whip.
I give a little laugh. “And that’s exactly why I’m about to procure us some more of this festival food je ne say whatever.”
I start to scan the crowd for a pet-friendly food stand, but my eyes catch on Vivian and that announcer, Oliver Prescott, engaged in what appears to be a heated discussion near the judges’ table. She’s clutching a pumpkin spice latte in one hand and jabbing a finger into his chest with the other, and though I can’t hear what she’s saying, her body language screams confrontation. Oliver grabs her wrist, then quickly releases it, glancing around as if worried someone might have seen it.
And someonehas—namely me. But before I can do anything, the two of them split ways and I continue on my quest to find something that can feed my furry counterparts and me. Those double-dipped corndogs have been calling my name, so I venture in that direction.
A good while later, after successfully procuring three corndogs—none of us are big on sharing—and fending off Cricket’s suggestion that chocolate-covered bacon counted as appropriate nutrition, a bell rings to summon everyone to the central stage.
“Attention, festival-goers!” Oliver’s voice carries across the grounds. “It’s time to announce our bake-off winner!”
The crowd surges forward. Among the line of bakers eager to hear the results, I spot Meredith fidgeting with her glasses, Autumn smoothing her already-perfect ponytail, and Vivian standing ramrod straight with the confidence of someone who’s never known defeat.
My brother Henry hovers at the edge of the contestants’ area, looking simultaneously hopeful and resigned about his lobster creation’s chances. Although, let’s face it, a new fall favorite has been born. I think Henry has a real hit on his hands no matter what today’s results might be.
Oliver dramatically produces an envelope and waves it through the air, milking the moment for all its worth.
He opens it up and unfurls the letter before smiling to himself. “And the winner of this year’s Pumpkin Palooza Harvest Festival Baking Competition, with a prize of twenty thousand dollars, is...”
The crowd takes a collective breath and then holds it as we await the answer.
“Vivian Maple for her pumpkin spice cheesecake with maple glaze!”
Polite applause ripples through the crowd, though I notice several contestants rolling their eyes at one another. Vivian steps forward with a smile stretched across her face, that pumpkin spice latte still in hand. She doesn’t get more than three steps out before she clutches at her throat momentarily and something seems off.
She reaches for the oversized check the size of a small car that Oliver holds out, then stops abruptly before she can reach it. Her hand flies to her throat once again.
At first, it looks as if she might be getting caught up with emotion, but on a dime her face contorts in genuine distress.
Vivian begins to cough and wheeze so hard that her face looks as if it’s turning blue.
She staggers backward, bumping into Meredith, who jumps away as if she were about to be burned before Vivian spins and staggers, looking disoriented as she stumbles directly into my path.
“Whoa,” I say as she crashes right into me, and for a bizarre moment we perform an awkward dance—me trying to steady her, and her trying to remain upright—before her legs give out completely.
I catch her as she falls, easing her to the ground as gasps and screams ignite around us. Her eyes, those sharp hazel eyes that sized everyone up like potential competition less than an hour ago, lock onto mine with what looks like naked terror.
“P—P—poison,” she gasps as she claws at her neck and thrashes the remnants of the pumpkin spice latte my way. And then with a sigh her arms fall to the ground and all movement ceases.
She said the wordpoison!Cricket yowls my way and I give a subtle nod.
Killion appears as if he materialized from thin air, pushing through the crowd as he drops to his knees beside us. He presses two fingers to Vivian’s neck and his expression goes from serious to grim.
