Death of a Crabby Cook (25 page)

I held up the remainder of the cream puff. “This is to die for,” I managed to say.

“You like it?”

“You've outdone yourself.”

“Great,” he said, grinning again. “Because I just signed up for the Chocolate Festival competition, and that's what I'm entering.”

I felt my smile droop. Oh no! Jake was entering the competition? With that killer cream puff? Suddenly my news about Aunt Abby's entry didn't sound so exciting.

“Are you okay?” Jake said, obviously noticing my reaction to his announcement.

“Oh, yes . . . of course!” I said, mustering up some enthusiasm. “That's . . . great! I'm sure you'll do well. . . .”

“Hope so. I don't care about being on the TV program, but I can always use the money.”

“No—yes—sure! It's definitely a winner.” I pointed to
Aunt Abby's bus. “Uh, I . . . gotta go. I'm going to be late. You know what a tyrant my aunt can be. See you tonight?”

He smiled.

I turned and hustled on toward my aunt's school bus before I blurted the news. It wasn't that I didn't want Jake to win. I just wanted us to win more. Now how was I going to tell him about Aunt Abby?

As I reached the bus, something else Jake had said bothered me. It wasn't the contest or the fact that we hadn't seen each other much lately. He'd mentioned the reason he'd been busy was that he'd been dealing with something.

Something important enough to keep him from spending time with me?

Or some
one
?

•   •   •

Before I started plotting his imaginary girlfriend's demise, I stepped into the bus, wondering how I would break the news to Aunt Abby about Jake's entry into the competition. Not only would she be competing against some of the best chocolate chefs in the world, but now she'd be going up against her friend Jake Miller.

But instead of busily preparing today's menu selection, my aunt was on her cell phone. She was blinking rapidly and had her hand on her chest as if she might be having a heart attack.

“Aunt Abby!” I rushed over to give her some support. “Are you all right? You look like you're about to collapse.”

Lowering the hand that held her phone, Aunt Abby
did collapse—onto a nearby stool. She set down the phone and stared blankly at it.

“What is it, Aunt Abby? Are you ill? Do you want me to call a doctor?”

She shook her head. “I'm fine,” she said breathlessly.

“Did something happen?”

Still staring at the phone, she said, “That was Reina Patel. . . .”

I shrugged, not recognizing the name.

“She's the Chocolate Festival coordinator. The one who decides who's eligible to compete, the one who selects the judges, the one who's in charge of the whole event.”

“Did something happen? Are you disqualified from competing for some reason? Because if she says you can't participate, well, I'll just go down there and—”

“No, no,” Aunt Abby said, cutting me off. “I'm still in the competition—”

“Good,” I said, cutting
her
off, “because I've got some news—”

She held up her hand to stop me. “Reina called to tell me they've had a little glitch in the competition. That's what she called it—a little
glitch
.”

“What kind of glitch?”

Aunt Abby sighed. Her shoulders sank. “Apparently they're looking for a new judge to replace George Brown.”

“Why? Did he quit?” I asked, still anxious about telling her that Jake had joined the competition.

“No,” she said. “George Brown is
dead.”