Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry by Denise Swanson Page B

flaps, and stacked the boxesinto cartons. There was another section of the factory in the far rear of the building that Brandon explained was called the Boneyard because it contained the out-of-date equipment and broken machinery that Grandma Sal couldn’t bear to throw out.
    As the tour group was led away, Skye noted that none of the workers was under fifty years old, and she bet that many of them had been doing that same job since they had graduated or dropped out of high school. What would they do if the company were sold to some big conglomerate that moved the factory away or modernized it or otherwise eliminated their jobs?
    From the packaging area they were escorted back to the front of the factory, past a row of offices, then through a narrow corridor that led to an outside exit on the left side of the passage and a door leading into the warehouse straight ahead, where all the cooking would be done.
    Four sets of six stoves had been arranged in two rows. Next to each stove were four feet of counters, a minifridge, a cupboard, and two drawers. Brandon explained that they’d run two miles of cable to provide the electricity needed for the setup. He also warned them that the room would be at sixty-five degrees to start with, but would warm up quickly once the cooking started and the spotlights were turned on.
    The judges and the media were placed behind the kitchen stations. On the right the judges were shielded from sight by several folding screens, but on the left the media had an unobstructed view of the contestants.
    In front of the cooking spaces, chairs for the audience had been positioned in rows with a central aisle. Skye was impressed by the professional arrangements and amazed at how efficiently the contest space had been designed. Before returning to Scumble River she had lived in apartments with less well appointed kitchens.
    Contestants were grouped by their food category, which meant that Skye, Charlie, and Vince were all on their own. There was no way May could subtly help any of them with their recipes.
    Because Skye and May were in the last tour, the other finalists had already begun to cook. Skye cringed when she heard her mother’s voice.
    “Brandon.”
    “Yes, ma’am?”
    “Do you really think this is fair?” May gestured to the contestants busy at their stoves. “They’ve all had a head start.”
    “But, ma’am, this is just a trial run to make sure you have everything you need for tomorrow.” Brandon glanced at the media area, a frown creasing his forehead. “It isn’t timed or judged.”
    Skye followed his gaze and was relieved to see that the reporters’ attention was focused elsewhere. She felt sorry for Brandon. First Cherry and her secret ingredient, now May and her sense of injustice. Skye bet this wasn’t how this privileged young man usually spent his days.
    “We’re still at a disadvantage.” May crossed her arms. “We all should have started at the same time.”
    “I’ll mention that to Grandma Sal.” Brandon backed away. “I’m sure she’ll come talk to you about it.”
    May harrumphed, but allowed herself to be led to her cooking area.
    Skye found her own stove, located between that of Butch the firefighter, and Janelle the prison cook. She nodded to them both as she stepped into her space, then let out a startled yelp.
    The woman standing in front of the stove whirled around. Long fake red curls cascaded down her back to the lowriding waist of her skintight jeans. Lime Skechers matched the baseball cap worn backward on her head. She casually reached into her orange-and-green-striped tank top and adjusted a black satin bra strap, then shot Skye a wide grin.
    Skye stood frozen. What in the world was Bunny Reid doing at Grandma Sal’s Soup-to-Nuts Cooking Challenge? Bunny was many things—Skye’s ex-boyfriend’s mother, a retired Las Vegas showgirl, and the manager of the town bowling alley—but she wasn’t a cook. The only recipes sheknew were the ones that