Free The Fatal Funnel Cake by Livia J. Washburn

ring, giving them the strength required for them to hold together.
    It seemed like the rest of the world had gone away, receding from around her until the only things she was aware of were the funnel, the batter, and the pan. She had to rely on instinct to know when the cake was ready to be turned over, and she hadn’t had long to develop that instinct. Phyllis had always prided herself on being a quick learner, though, all the way back to the days when she was a student. She set the funnel inside a small bowl to keep the drips contained, and when she felt like the time was right, she picked up the tongs she had sitting there close at hand, ready for action, and used them to first remove the metal ring, setting it aside, and then take hold of the cake. A deft flick of the wrist, and the funnel cake came up and over and settled back down into the oil. The side that was now turned up was a rich golden brown. Despite hoping that she would do a good job, Phyllis was a little surprised at just how perfect it looked.
    A few minutes later she used the tongs again, this time to remove the cake from the pan and place it on a plate with a paper towel on it. As soon as she thought the cake had drained enough, she moved it to another plate and picked up the high-quality maple syrup and the pecans she had chopped in Peggy’s kitchen the night before. She drizzled the syrup on the hot funnel cake, being careful not to use too much or too little. Just like Goldilocks, she thought. She wanted it to be
just
right.
    As she set the syrup down and sprinkled the pecans on top, she reminded herself that she wasn’t finished. She had to make two more cakes, three in all for the judges, and there was no time to waste. It was a delicate balance, keeping the oil at just the right temperature.
    Even though she knew better than to check on the competition, Phyllis flicked a glance over at Ramón Silva. He was just taking his first cake out of the pan. His design was a lot more elaborate than hers, so it had taken longer.
    Of course, this wasn’t a race, Phyllis thought. The contestants would be allowed all the time they needed, within reason. If they weren’t satisfied with the way a cake turned out, they could discard it and start over, as long as they didn’t go over that time limit.
    She began working on her second one, trying to make it exactly the same as the first one. Uniformity was important, as was appearance, but the cakes were judged primarily on taste.
    â€œLooks good,” Silva said. “Not as spectacular as mine, of course, but not bad for a newbie.”
    â€œThank you,” Phyllis said without taking her eyes off what she was doing. She wasn’t going to allow him to distract her as she began to pour again, and she certainly wasn’t going to engage in trash talk with him.
    â€œBetter be careful. You know how easy that batter breaks.”
    She started to get angry, knowing that he was trying to get her goat. But that was exactly the response he wanted to provoke, she told herself, so she called on the almost Zen-like calm that every good teacher developed in order to stay sane in the classroom. She was even able to summon up a tranquil smile.
    That ought to infuriate Ramón Silva, she thought.
    Her second cake looked just as good as the first. When she took it out of the skillet, Silva was just flipping his second cake. It was totally irrational to feel that way since speed didn’t matter, but Phyllis was pleased that she was pulling ahead of him.
    Silva wasn’t happy about it, though. She could tell that from the hooded glances he kept shooting in her direction. Phyllis did her best to ignore the man and concentrate on her own efforts.
    â€œNo funnel cake can match up to mine,” Silva muttered. Phyllis heard him but pretended that she hadn’t.
    Her movements weren’t quite as smooth as she poured the third cake. Tension was taking its toll on her muscles, she supposed.