Free The Fatal Funnel Cake by Livia J. Washburn Page B

like that in front of me? I appreciate the consideration for my feelings, but it’s time we all moved on, don’t you think? From now on, you don’t have to watch what you say around me. Just be yourselves.” She smiled at Carolyn. “I know it must have been terribly difficult for you, dear.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?” Carolyn demanded. “Do you think I’m just naturally tactless or something?”
    The arrival of the judges saved Eve from having to answer.
    Phyllis introduced herself, showed the judges—two women and a man—the printed recipe she had used, and watched in tense anticipation as each judge sampled one of the funnel cakes, cutting off a couple of bites and chewing them slowly as if savoring everything about the experience.
    Then they thanked her and moved on. Phyllis hadn’t been able to tell a thing from their expressions about whether or not they had liked her entries.
    â€œIs that it?” Carolyn asked. “Just two bites?”
    â€œI reckon they can’t eat the whole thing every time,” Sam said, “or else they’d have such a sugar rush they’d be bouncin’ off the walls for the next two days.”
    â€œI couldn’t even eat that much,” Peggy said. “My blood sugar would go sky-high if I did.”
    The judges were just as expressionless as they sampled Ramón Silva’s cakes. He tried to chat familiarly with them, but they didn’t seem to pay much attention to what he said.
    It was a few minutes past two o’clock when the judges finished sampling all the entries and drew off to the side to confer among themselves. The discussion seemed to take forever, even though it was really only a couple of minutes. Finally, they all nodded as if they had reached a consensus, and when they turned around and approached the contestants again, the male judge had a big blue ribbon in his hand.
    His course led him straight toward the stoves where Phyllis and Silva had prepared their funnel cakes. Phyllis couldn’t tell which of them was the judge’s destination. Silva thought he knew, though. A smug, self-satisfied smile appeared on his face.
    Then the judge veered slightly, just enough to take him to Phyllis, who stood there too stunned to move as the man held out the blue ribbon, smiled, and said, “Congratulations, Mrs. Newsom.”

Chapter 9
    â€œN oooo!”
    The shout of anger and disbelief came from Ramón Silva. He lunged toward the judge, getting in the man’s face and continuing, “You can’t give the blue ribbon to an amateur! You just can’t! It’s not right!”
    â€œPlease, Mr. Silva—” the startled judge began.
    Silva made a grab for the ribbon. “Gimme that!” he demanded. “It’s mine!”
    Phyllis was just as shocked as anyone else at the man’s outburst. She saw one of the female judges saying something into a walkie-talkie and figured the woman was calling security.
    The male judge backed away hurriedly. He was taller than Silva and held the blue ribbon over his head, out of Silva’s reach, but that didn’t stop the outraged concessionaire from trying to get it. Silva jumped and grabbed at the ribbon several times, and Phyllis thought the scene would have been comical if it hadn’t been so sad.
    â€œMr. Silva, you have to stop this,” the judge said. “If you keep it up, you’ll be banned from the fair!”
    â€œIt won’t matter!” Silva said. “When word gets around that a little old lady’s funnel cake beat mine, my business will be ruined!”
    Phyllis thought that had to be an exaggeration, and she didn’t much care for that “little old lady” comment, either.
    Sam moved up beside Silva and said, “You’d better take it easy there, buddy.” He put a hand on Silva’s shoulder.
    Barking a curse, Silva turned and swung a punch at Sam’s head.