Killer Crust by Chris Cavender Page A

us in suspense,” David said. “What exactly happened?”
    “Our dough wasn’t even golden around the edges, let alone brown, and the veggies on top of the pie had to still be crisp and a little raw,” I said. “It wasn’t entirely our fault, though. Someone unplugged our oven on our second attempt, and we didn’t have enough time to bake our pizza properly. The first pizza disaster was entirely on us, but the second was inedible. Honestly, we would have been better off submitting the first pie cold, mistakes and all, and yet we ended up taking second place in the judging.”
    “Could you two just be hypercritical of your own work?” David asked.
    I considered it, but quickly dismissed the idea. “Sure, most of the time I’d agree that was a possibility, but we saw what we saw. There’s no way we deserved second place, and anyone with a sense of taste would have put it in last place. Jeff and Sandy made a pizza pretty enough for a magazine shoot, and I’m willing to bet that it was as tasty as it looked.”
    “How is that possible, though? They came in last,” David said.
    “I’m guessing that Luigi’s got his own agenda about this contest. We got second place because he was punishing the other two for something else they must have done. We know for a fact that none of the competitors here like Luigi at all.”
    “Then why did the Charlotte team beat you?” Bob asked.
    A diner from another table nearby leaned in and said, “You’re kidding, right? The fix is in. I thought everyone knew that Luigi has a stake in their restaurant.”
    “How do you know that?” I asked as I studied the woman in her thirties with frosted tips and a waistline thin enough to defy all logic.
    “I’m the food reporter for the Charlotte Touch, ” she said as she handed Maddy her business card. Her name was Tina Lance, and if her card was any indication, someone had a very high opinion of her work to fork out for those cards.
    “I’ve never heard of it,” Maddy said flatly as she handed the card to me.
    She shrugged. “We’re new, but we’re feisty. That’s why I’m here. I’m going to expose Luigi for the fraud that he is.”
    “What do you mean?” I asked.
    “First of all, his name’s not Luigi at all. It’s George Vincent, and he’s using this contest to advance his own agenda. I’m sorry, but you never stood a chance.”
    “We already knew his real name,” I said.
    That seemed to take a bit of the wind out of her sails.
    “If it’s true that he’s partnered with one of the pizzerias, why haven’t you reported him to the authorities?” Bob asked.
    “All in good time,” she answered as her check came. “I probably shouldn’t have said anything to you, but I didn’t want you to get your hopes up. Like I said, there’s no way you can win. The whole thing is fixed.”
    After she was gone, I asked Maddy, “Do you believe her?”
    “After seeing how he judged the competition before, I find it hard to believe that it’s not the most reasonable explanation of what happened. I keep asking myself why she would lie to us, too,” my sister said. “What does she have to gain by stirring things up like that?”
    David broke in and asked, “You’re kidding, right? She’s a reporter. It’s been my experience that they thrive on conflict. If she didn’t see anything in this afternoon’s contest, I wouldn’t put it past her to try to make something happen so she could report it in the rag she works for.”
    Our food was delivered just then, and our conversation wove in and out of the critic’s accusations as we ate. By the time we were finished with our excellent meals, I said, “I’m sorry to say that I didn’t do that food justice. I tried my best to ignore what the food reporter told us, but I can’t help wondering if what Tina Lance said was true.”
    Maddy grinned at me. “Let’s assume for one second that it was all fact. In a way, she did us a favor. If we were destined not to win, it