Stiffs and Swine (6 page)

“You know Gillian.” Lucy squeezed lemon into a glass of ice water. “She wants to cleanse our room before she comes down to lunch.”

“I must have been in the bathroom for that announcement.” Lindy rolled her eyes. “Please tell me she’s not using patchouli incense. I hate that smell.”

Shaking her head, Lucy smirked. “I thought I saw a package of Egyptian Kush Musk sticking out of her purse. Who knows? It could smell even worse than patchouli.”

Before either of the men could respond to Lucy’s remark, a heavy man wearing a Hawaiian shirt stepped onto the porch. He cast a complacent glance around and then his bloodshot eyes fell on the figure of Eleanor’s daughter. Strutting over to the attractive young woman, the man shook his head and made bubbling noises with his lips. As he did so, his pink and fleshy cheeks shook and his enormous stomach wobbled beneath his shirt’s pattern of dancing hula girls. Sweat stained the chest area of his shirt and dripped down his puffy face and neck.

“Lord Almighty, girlie!” he bellowed hoarsely as he neared his prey. “You’re hot enough to fry an egg on! Mercy me! I’ve seen napkins that are bigger than that there bikini.” He smiled, displaying a row of yellow teeth. “Allow me to introduce myself.” He bowed as low as he could until the pouch of his belly prevented him from bending over any further. “
I
am the world-famous Jimmy Lang, winner of more first-place bar-b-cue trophies than I can count and the future champion of Hudsonville Hog Fest.” He nudged the young lady in the side with his meaty elbow. “You come on down to my pit anytime, you fine thang! Then you’ll find out why they
really
call me The Pitmaster. I know I’m a bit on the big side—seems I gained a whole ’nother person this year—but I’ve got skills other men just don’t have. These hands like a nice piece of tender meat, and you’re about as tender as they come, girlie.”

Several of the inn’s guests frowned in distaste, but the majority viewed Jimmy with amusement. Eleanor made her way to her daughter’s side at the same moment that Jimmy uttered his lewd invitation. After attempting to shoo her daughter inside the house, she gave Jimmy Lang an icy smile and whispered, “Francesca, please!”

Francesca slowly wound the towel around her waist as she struck a coquettish pose for Jimmy’s benefit. “Do barbecue contestants make a lot of money?” she asked coyly.

Jimmy roared with laughter. “You get right to the marrow of it, don’t ya? You’re my type of gal, missy!” His face puffed up with pride. “We get a nice pile of cash for becomin’ champion, but winnin’ the money’s nothin’ compared to gettin’ a big-time sponsor. This year’s sponsor is Heartland Foods, and they wanna expand their line to include barbecue. I win this one and I’m all but guaranteed my own line of sauces and rubs along with my very own TV show on the Outdoor Livin’ channel.” He rubbed his tummy as he visually devoured Francesca. “Lots of money there, darlin’, and I’d be more than happy to spend some on you. Folks would see you as the gal lucky enough to be with Jimmy Lang, champion pitmaster and the face of barbecue.” He held up his hands as though reading a banner upon which his new title had already been written.

“Uh, thank you, Mr. Lang.” Eleanor stepped in front of her daughter. “Francesca needs to get ready for tonight’s opening ceremonies.” She took a firm hold of her daughter’s arm and smiled at an elderly guest. “She’s the Hudsonville Festival Princess.” Eleanor beamed. “She gets to drive the Queen Sow in the victory parade and her photograph will be in
all
the area papers.”

“Francesca’s or the pig’s?” Jimmy asked and then guffawed.

Eleanor looked irritated. “Why, my daughter’s, of course. She’s won so many local pageants over the last five years that she’s a shoo-in for the top five at the state competition.” She pushed a lock of Francesca’s hair off of her smooth cheek. “You might just be talking to the next Miss Virginia and after that, maybe even Miss America.”

Now it was Francesca’s turn to be annoyed. Breaking away from her mother’s grasp, she sneered. “I’m going to get scholarship money based on my brains, Ma! Not my boobs!” And with that declaration, Francesca stormed into the house.

Jimmy laughed heartily and began to sing “There she is, Miss America” as he kissed the hands of the ladies seated nearby, who giggled and twittered among themselves in response.

Visibly trying to conceal her displeasure, Eleanor asked Jimmy if there was something she could assist him with. Jimmy announced that he wanted to meet the contest judges and the representative for Heartland Foods.

“Word around the campfire is that they’re all staying up here at Fox Hall,” he said, winking at Eleanor. “I’m just gonna help myself to some free lunch and start my campaign for the championship!” Rudely turning his back on Eleanor, Jimmy filled his plate with three sandwiches and six tartlets, singing the Miss America theme song all the while.

Except for Lucy, the supper club members exchanged panicked stares as they realized that the only available seat was at their table. James swallowed his Key lime tartlet in two bites and gestured frantically at Lucy to finish her meal.

“It’s not good to shovel food in,” she said defensively and then took a deliberate bite of watercress salad. However, as soon as Jimmy Lang pulled out the empty chair next to her and asked, “This seat ain’t taken, is it?” Lucy obviously changed her mind and began to eat as though it were her last meal.

As she chewed, Lucy scooted her chair close enough to James for him to be able to smell her almond-scented body lotion. Swallowing hurriedly, she said to Jimmy, “We’re just about done, so if anyone’s planning on joining you …”

“Don’t rush away on my account.” Jimmy shoved half a sandwich into his mouth and continued talking. James noticed that the skin of his face was dry and flaky and that overall, the man appeared swollen, as though his body tissue was retaining large amounts of water. Wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm, Jimmy raised a thick pair of eyebrows and asked, “Y’all judges?”

“Yes. We’re judging the sow contest,” Lindy replied importantly, turning her face away as Jimmy began to noisily lick chicken salad from his fat fingers.

“Aha!” He pointed at Bennett. “Y’all are those crime-solvin’ folks, ain’t ya?” He surveyed the group while pushing an entire tartlet in his mouth. “These things don’t taste like nothin’,” he said, but he ate the dessert anyway. After several chews he declared, “I don’t mean offense, but y’all don’t look like no detectives.”

Wiping her mouth with her napkin, Lindy stared down Jimmy. “Lucy here is the only
trained
member of law enforcement, but the rest of us contribute to crime solving by using our natural gifts and abilities. It’s important to all of us that right triumphs over wrong in our community.” She fluffed her chin-length black hair self-importantly.

Jimmy’s mouth hung open, exposing a partially decimated Key lime tartlet. He closed his lips, which were also flaky with dried skin, and looked at James. “What are you talkin’ about, girl?”

“She’s just saying that we help one another,” James answered, forcing himself to meet Jimmy’s eyes, which seemed to shift between blue and gray depending on the light. Jimmy had crumbs stuck in the sparse hairs of his salt-and-pepper beard, and as he ran his hand over his shaved head, he left behind a trail of Key lime filling.

“I help folks, too. I’m a tow-truck driver by trade.” He wiggled his hairy eyebrows. “But not for long, folks. Whether I get that contract or not, my ship is comin’ into port this weekend. When I get back to Waxahachie—that’s south of Dallas, Texas, for those of y’all that don’t know God’s country well enough—I’m gonna tell my boss he can take that rusty truck and them hours from hell and them whiny customers and shove them all where the sun ain’t never shone.”

Lindy placed her napkin on the table with forceful deliberation and stood up. “I think I’m going to unpack and then go over my clothes with my travel iron. Nice meeting you and good luck with your …
grilling.”

Lucy also jumped to her feet, followed by James and Bennett.

Jimmy slurped his tea and looked at his watch. “Make sure y’all ain’t late for the openin’ of the party. I’m gonna be samplin’ some mouth-waterin’ ’cue, so stop on by my trailer, ya hear?”

“’Cue?” James inquired of Bennett when they were out of Jimmy’s earshot.

“Slang for barbecue,” Bennett answered immediately. “I imagine Jimmy knows every barbecue term known to man. I’m gonna make it a point to try his cooking.”

“You are?” James was astonished.

“Man with that big a belly and that much swagger knows his food,” Bennett reasoned. “And you heard him. He’s won a whole mess of competitions already. He must have figured out some tricks of the grill, simply by eating all his own mistakes. Look, here comes Gillian. She doesn’t know what she missed.” He poked James in the ribs. “Maybe
you
should’ve cleansed our room, James.”

Back in their room, the men finished unpacking and James flipped through Bennett’s trivia books.

“How’s your cache of barbecue trivia?” he asked his friend.

Bennett shrugged. “Pretty poor, my man. I hope to store away a hundred facts or so by the time this festival is done.” He held up a mini recorder. “I’m going to carry this with me wherever we go so I can think of questions to research later on. About all I know now is that barbecue is different ’round the country and that everybody thinks
theirs
is the best.”

“All I’ve had recently is Blue’s, and his
was definitely
not
the best.”

“Poor Blue.” Bennett frowned. “How he’s eked out a livin’ on that dry meat is beyond me. And his weird sauce doesn’t fit into
any
of the popular categories. Texas and the western states like a feisty tomato-based sauce, the Kansas City folks favor sweet over spicy, North Carolina likes a vinegar sauce with lots of black pepper, and I believe South Carolina and parts of Georgia make a white vinegar sauce mixed with sweet mustard. Kentucky adds Worcestershire to theirs.” He paused. “I read that Florida actually makes a white barbecue sauce using mayo in the tomato base.” Bennett shivered in distaste. “Doesn’t sound too appealing if you ask me, but I’ll try it if they’ve got it here at the festival.”

Once again, James was impressed by the random bits of knowledge stored in his friend’s keen brain. “I can’t wait to watch you on
Jeopardy!
”

Bennett, who had gathered his trivia books and sunglasses, hesitated at the door to their room and wiggled his index finger at James. “Don’t go jinxin’ me now. I’m goin’ down by the pool to read. You comin’?”

Grabbing a book on the history of barbecue from his duffel bag, James flopped onto the bed. “I was going to check out the town, but I think I’ll stay in the room for a bit longer. That Jimmy Lang fellow might not have gone back to his RV yet, and I think we’re going to have more than our fill of that guy by the end of this festival.”

Bennett grinned. “Our fill? Nice culinary pun, Professor. I hope you get through that book fast so you can educate the rest of us on regular contest categories before we eat a piece of barbecued possum.”

“You’re kidding, right?” James was alarmed.

“No, man.” Bennett shook his head. “They’ve got a category called ‘Anything Butt.’ And if there’s already categories for chicken, pork, and beef, then what meats do you think are left?”

James rifled through his book until he located the table of contents. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out before I end up with a piece of rattlesnake
’cue
on the end of my fork!”

Inn at Fox Hall’s Warm Chicken Salad

3 cups cooked chicken, cubed

1 cup green seedless grapes, halved

1 cup sliced celery (optional)

1 cup mayonnaise

1⁄2 cup toasted slivered almonds

2 tablespoons lemon juice

2 tablespoons onion, finely chopped

1⁄2 teaspoon salt

1⁄2 cup grated Parmesan cheese

1⁄2 cup bread crumbs

Preheat the oven to 325 degrees and lightly grease a 2-quart baking dish. In a large bowl, mix all of the ingredients except for the grated cheese and the bread crumbs. Spoon mixture into the baking dish. Mix the cheese and bread crumbs together and sprinkle them over the chicken mixture. Bake in the preheated oven until warm and the cheese is melted, approximately 20 minutes. Serve on croissants or toasted buns.

When James and
the rest of the supper club members made their way to the Hudsonville town park, the number of people awaiting the kickoff of Hog Fest astounded them. Swarms of men, women, and children of all ages stood beyond the park entrance, talking animatedly and glancing excitedly at their watches.

The park had been divided into quadrants, the largest of which was further partitioned by the main road. Flanking the road, which led to the recreation center on one end and the tent where the barbecue entries would be judged on the other, were vendors selling fried food. These booths offered up all types of batter-dipped foods from sweet potatoes to fried okra to fried bananas to fried peanut butter cups. Behind their napkin-stacked counters, multiple vats of grease bubbled in anticipation. Perspiring merchants wearing a spectrum of colored aprons and matching visors prepared their booths for the imminent crush of hungry customers.

The Flab Five were allowed to enter the festival grounds early as R. C. Richter, the head judge of Hog Fest and president of the Hudsonville Chamber of Commerce, needed to review the rules of the sow beauty queen contest with them. Strolling down the park’s main road in search of the indoor recreation center, the group gazed wide-eyed at the assortment of merchandise being positioned for sale. The fragrant line of food vendors was separated from the dry goods merchants by an area of picnic tables surrounded by garbage cans. James and his friends walked by booths of plush pigs dressed in jean jackets and straw hats, personalized leather key chains, handmade pottery, carved wooden walking sticks, necklaces made from crystallized grains of rice, water colors of the Blue Ridge Mountains, neon windsocks, Hog Fest T-shirts, and much more.

James’s vision began to blur by the time they reached the end row of the tradesmen, but his eyes were assailed by a fresh variety of primary colors as they viewed the area where caricaturists, clowns selling pig-shaped balloons, temporary-tattoo artists, and face painters were tucking dollar bills into aprons or stirring paint as they occasionally checked the time. In less than thirty minutes, the festival would open. The feeling of anticipation among the vendors was palpable.

Inside the recreation center, a modern building made of glass and steel, men and women bustled about with determined strides, holding clipboards and walkie-talkies. A slim man in a blue button-down shirt waved at James and his friends as they approached a reception desk stacked with park maps, contest times and locations, and schedules for the entertainment events.

“Welcome!” The man shook hands all around. “I’m R. C. Richter, president of the Hudsonville Chamber of Commerce and head judge here at Hog Fest. Thank you kindly for agreeing to be our celebrity judges this weekend.” He smiled at them, though it was clear that he wanted to dispense with the formalities and get down to business. “I trust you’re finding the Inn at Fox Hall satisfactory? Eleanor Fiennes works very hard to please all of her guests.”

“It’s simply divine!” Gillian gushed. “Why, I saw so many species of birds on the nature walk I took after lunch that I felt as though I were truly in a
sanctuary
.”

As Gillian took a breath in order to describe Fox Hall’s flora and fauna in complete detail, James put a hand on his friend’s shoulder to distract her. In answer to R. C.’s question, James replied, “The inn is great, thank you. But I’m sure you’re very busy and would like to give us the lay of the land before the festival begins.”

R. C. nodded gratefully. “Yes. Please follow me, folks. I’ve got name badges for you to wear this weekend. Kindly display them in a visible location on your person at all times. These are how you’ll gain entry to restricted areas around the festival. They will also grant you discounts at the majority of the vendor booths. Of course, any entertainment venues you’d be interested in attending are free of charge. Just show the ticket takers your name badges and they’ll let you right in.”

“Wow. We
are
getting the red-carpet treatment. I’d better look over which singers are performing. Maybe some of my favorite country bands are here.” Lindy grabbed several schedules from the reception desk and glanced at them as the group hastened down a long hall to a conference room.

R. C. directed them to each take a seat in one of the maroon leather chairs. “Please make yourselves comfortable. The Hog Queen Contest will take place later this evening after a series of opening ceremony events. At eight p.m., the contestants will be paraded down a length of purple carpet. The name and weight of each contestant will be announced and your duty will be to judge each female on her size, personality, grace, and costume.” He grinned. “Unlike most beauty contests, the more a contestant weighs, the higher her score. But it’s not always the biggest sow that wins. Some of their owners can get quite creative with their costumes.”

Lucy cleared her throat. “So we have four categories?”

“And each category should be given a score of one to ten?” James sought clarification as he didn’t want to make any errors on his scorecard.

R. C. gave an affirmative nod to both questions. “Yes. And I must emphasize an important point. The owners, regardless of their appearance
or
behavior, are not to be considered in your judgment of the contestants. I’m sorry to say that some have even tried to bribe judges in the past. I know that you five will remain unfazed by such attempts, but I thought I should warn you all the same.”

“Do some of the owners dress up like their pigs?” Bennett peered at R. C. in disbelief.

“Indeed, Mr. Marshall.” R. C. reddened slightly. “And some of them barely dress at all.” He coughed slightly in embarrassment. “Allow me to show you a slide from last year’s contest.”

R. C. reached over to the wall to turn off the lights and James noticed that the armpits of his shirt were stained with sweat.

I wouldn’t want to be the one to run this show
, James thought, but he decided to pay close attention to the popular venues at the festival in case he could replicate any of them for the library’s next Spring Fling.

As the room fell dark, an image appeared on the white screen at the end of the room. It showed an enormous and rather hairy-looking black sow wearing a pink tutu. A pink ribbon had been tied around its ear. The photo had been taken directly in front of the judges’ table and the owner, a rather large woman stuffed into a matching tutu, was caught in time making an awkward attempt at a plié. The impression she achieved, however, was of possessing a severe case of constipation.

“My, my,” Gillian uttered.

“Is this last year’s winner?” Lucy asked, her blue eyes crinkling with amusement.

R. C. turned the lights back on. “No. I believe this contestant was one of the larger entries, but she didn’t win. I just wanted you to get a sense of what you’ll be seeing tonight. Of course, there’s no way to illustrate an individual’s personality on screen.”

“What kind of personality can a pig have?” Bennett muttered, but R. C. overheard.

“You’d be surprised, Mr. Marshall. Some of these ladies will trot as proudly up the carpet as a thoroughbred racehorse. Some will give you flirty snorts or roll their eyes at you. There’s plenty of ways the contestants can stand out from the field.”

“I appreciate the
respectful
manner in which you refer to these contestants,” Gillian said, beaming at R. C. “I was initially afraid that this contest might belittle these lovely and intelligent animals, but I can see that you truly approach this pageant with a high degree of dignity. I applaud you!” Gillian clapped her hands as R. C. blushed.

Luckily, his walkie-talkie began to crackle and he excused himself to answer what sounded like an urgent stream of babble. As the supper club members watched, the veil of sweat on his forehead began to drip down his temple. He dug a red bandana from his pocket and dabbed at his face. “Are you sure?” he tersely asked the person on the other end and then hurriedly added, “Over.”

“I’m sure, boss.”

R. C. replaced the walkie-talkie into its case on his belt. “It seems as though I may need to beg a favor. Four of our judges, who happen to be family members, have contracted pinkeye. Due to the fact that they are contagious over the next twenty-four hours until their antibiotics take effect, they have withdrawn from judging the Brisket category. Could I count on four of you to temporarily step into their shoes?”

Gillian put her hand to her breast. “I simply cannot come face-to-face with that much meat. I’m sorry, but I
must
refuse.”

James exchanged glances with the rest of his friends. They issued him subtle nods. “We four would be glad to help,” he offered.

R. C. exhaled in relief. “I do thank you. We’ll be reviewing the judging policies for the food contests in the morning.” He distributed schedules and a baggie filled with red tickets to all of them. “These tickets are for the food vendors around the festival. Each ticket is good for a single item. Should you need any more, just show the receptionist your name badge and she’ll refill your baggie. We have a small token of our appreciation for each of you as well, which we will present tonight at the Hog Queen contest.”

The head judge led them back to the main doors of the recreation center and then marched off to solve a dispute between two barbecue contestants who were both claiming the same parking spot for their campers.

“That guy’s gonna need a stiff drink before this day is done,” Bennett commented.

“I’m kind of parched myself,” Lucy said, shaking her bag of red tickets. “Let’s go spend some of these!”

“This is so much fun!” Lindy squealed as they approached the food vendors. “I feel like a kid who’s just gotten birthday money from rich grandparents.”

Suddenly, a deep voice boomed over a loudspeaker, welcoming all visitors to the town of Hudsonville and the commencement of the sixteenth Hudsonville Hog Fest, sponsored by the Hudsonville Chamber of Commerce and Richter’s RV Sales & Rentals.

“As soon as the mayor cuts the pink ribbon at the entrance gates,” the male voice pronounced, “Hog Fest will officially be under way! Don’t forget to visit Richter’s RVs for the best motor homes this side of the Appalachians!”

James and his friends ceased paying attention as the announcer listed locations for maps, ticket sales, and restrooms and then began to warn visitors about which items were prohibited around the festival grounds.

“I’m getting some hot sausages with onions and peppers before the mob gets in,” Bennett said, pointing at a booth selling Italian sausages and all-beef hot dogs.

“Me too,” Lindy agreed. “But without the peppers and onions.”

Gillian twisted a strand of orange hair on her finger. “What am I going to eat at this place? I’m either going to have survive on a diet of greasy fries or starve!”

“Come on.” James steered her toward a nearby vendor. “It’s not all pig or fried foods. Just smell the aroma of roast corn on the cob.” James held out two tickets to a woman wearing a green apron. “Your corn smells delicious.”

“Thanks, hon. It’s roasted with enough butter to stop your heart from beatin’.”

James smiled at her. “Perfect. We’ll take two.”