Free Menace in Christmas River (Christmas River 8) by Meg Muldoon Page B

easy thing, since it was already the best damn pecan pie I’ve ever had to begin with.”
    I grinned.  
    “Aw, now you’re just blowing smoke, Marty,” I said. “Trying to win brownie points with the judge, no doubt.”
    I winked.
    “Maybe I am, but it don’t mean that I’m blowing smoke,” he said.
    “I appreciate the compliment, Marty,” I said, letting out a sigh. “Let’s just hope I’m as good at baking pies as I am at judging.”
    “Are you kidding, girl?” he said. “You’re as fair as they come. And frankly, as far as I’m concerned, you’re the one who’s the celebrity chef at this here event. Not that Cliff what’s-his-name.”
    “Copperstone.”
    “Yeah… Copperstone . He don’t hold a flame to you, cupcake. And I’m sure I’m not the only one in this auditorium who feels that way.”
    Marty Higgins was just about the only person who could call me cupcake and get away with it. Mostly because I knew he didn’t mean anything demeaning by it, and I also knew that his heart was in the right place.
    “There you are – blowing smoke again, Marty,” I said wryly.
    He shrugged his big shoulders.
    “I told you, I don’t do that,” he said. “As you dang well know, I quit smoking fifteen years ago.”
    I kept smiling.
    He looked over my shoulder suddenly, then got that look that I’d seen him get when he saw something that needed fixing.
    “Well, Cin, I better get back to work here,” he said, patting his tool belt. “But you knock them dead like you always do, all right, cupcake?”
    “Thanks, Marty.”
    He nodded, giving me another smile before passing by and heading toward the back of the auditorium.
    Even as he left, I was still beaming.
    Marty Higgins just had that kind of effect on people. He could lift your spirits with just a nod. In a lot of regards, he reminded me of a younger version of Warren.
    And for some reason, I suddenly felt a lot better about being here, judging the competition.
    Like maybe some of what he’d said was true.
    Like maybe I really did belong at the judges’ table.  
    Of course, once I saw the time, that good feeling quickly faded.
    The clock on the far wall of the auditorium was ticking to the tune of 12:37, and as I squinted at the stage, I could see Julie, Holly, Cliff, and Councilwoman Tunstall standing up there, waiting impatiently for the third judge to show up.
    I pulled on my vest and weaved my way through the crowded auditorium.
    Maybe I imagined it, but I felt as though Cliff and Julie were glaring at me the entire way.
     

 
    Chapter 17
     
    “This has absolutely no originality at all. A five-year-old with limited motor skills could do a better job than Ms. Babcock did with her sculpture,” he said, leaning back. “Additionally, it’s quite clear that this woman didn’t have the foggiest idea about how to temper chocolate properly.”
    He scoffed.
    “Frankly, I’m amazed that she even had the gall to enter this in the Championship.”
    I bit my lip, feeling a surge of anger rising up in my chest as Cliff Copperstone ripped apart local chef Lucy Babcock’s “Love in the Time of Snow” chocolate sculpture like he was a grizzly bear coming out of hibernation.
    I knew that part of judging was critiquing the work. But Cliff was going past critiquing and into levels of nastiness that were completely uncalled for.
    When I’d finally made it to the stage at 12:38 and had joined Julie, Holly, and the judges, Cliff had given me what could only be described as the cold shoulder. Whether it was out of embarrassment for his actions the night before, or out of indifference, he had barely acknowledged my existence. Instead, he preferred to make mean and cruel comments under his breath about each chocolate sculpture as we made our way around the auditorium.
    “I completely agree, Cliff,” Councilwoman Eleanor Tunstall said quietly, scribbling something on her clipboard’s scoresheet. “It just doesn’t look like Ms. Babcock was able to