Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79587 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“Number nine—got it! Thank you.” Mattie took the stickers quickly. They both had a big number 9 printed on them. She slapped one on her own chest and turned to put one on the pocket of Grath’s blue t-shirt. “Come on,” she told him. “We have to get going!”
They joined the knot of bakers—some of the faces were familiar—and were just in time to catch the introduction of the judges.
“…so glad all of you could make it!” a woman with short gray hair and a green and red Christmas sweater was saying as she stood on the stage at the back of the room. “As you all know, this is the annual Christmasville Christmas Cookie Bake-off and we are delighted to have each and every one of you here to participate!”
There was a brief round of applause and then the announcer continued.
“I’d like to introduce you to the judges and they’ll tell you the rules,” she said. “Judges, if you’d please step forward as I call your names? Mr. Carmichael is the head baker at the Goody-Goody Bake Shop on Summerville Road. I’m sure all of you know him—we’re all addicted to his donuts!”
There was a round of applause as a rotund man with a pink, cherubic face stepped forward. He was wearing a dark suit and smiling at everyone. Mattie knew him well—the Goody-Goody Bake Shop was a fixture of Christmasville daily life—their glazed yeast donuts were delicious.
The next judge was a woman named, Judy Owens, the owner and operator of Christmasville Catering. Mattie knew her too—Mrs. Owens and Mr. Carmichael had been judging the Bake-off for as long as she could remember.
“And this year, since Mr. Hutchinson had to retire, we have a new judge,” the gray-haired lady said, smiling widely. “Please welcome Mrs. Amelia Kranst!”
“Oh!” Mattie gasped and tightened her grip on Grath’s hand—which she was still somehow holding.
“What is it, little girl?” he murmured under his breath, leaning down to catch her answer.
“That’s my old Home Economics teacher!” Mattie whispered. “She was always really hard to please! I don’t know if we’re better off of not.”
“You will be victorious,” Grath rumbled, squeezing her hand firmly. “I know you will, Madeline.”
“Well…thank you.” She smiled up at him, feeling reassured. “I’ll certainly do my best.”
“Where is your tormentor though?” Grath asked, frowning as he scanned the little crowd of bakers.
“I don’t know.” Mattie frowned. “I haven’t seen her here yet. Maybe she’s not entering this year since her uncle isn’t a judge anymore.” She certainly hoped that was the case, anyway—the last person she wanted to see was Amanda Hutchinson!
Then a sharp, familiar voice broke her train of thought.
“Here are the Bake-off rules, so listen up!” Mrs. Kranst called out and all the murmuring that had been going on among the contestants stopped immediately.
“Every baker will have an hour and a half to make their cookies,” she said. “At the end of that time, we will open the Bake-off to the public to watch the judging. Now, I shouldn’t have to say this but there will be no stealing of other contestant’s ingredients or tampering with other contestant’s equipment,” she went on sternly. “If I catch anyone doing that, they will be immediately disqualified. Other than that, just do your best. Now let’s have a nice, clean Bake-off!”
There was another polite smattering of applause and then all the contestants hurried off to find their tables.
“The judge who used to be your teacher sounds like she suspects cheating,” Grath remarked as they came to table number nine.
“I don’t think so—she’s just always very strict,” Mattie said distractedly.
She was rapidly going over the inventory of ingredients and equipment her mother had brought for her. Clearly she had been certain that Mattie would give in and join the contest because she had dropped everything off the day before.
“Let’s see,” she muttered to herself. “Butter, flour, pecans, sugar, powdered sugar, vanilla…”
“This seems like a lot of ingredients,” Grath remarked, frowning.
“Not really—pecan sandy snowballs are basically just a kind of shortbread,” Mattie told him. “Only you replace some of the flour with pecan meal—which you grind yourself. The finer you get it, the lighter and fluffier the cookies come out.”
As she spoke, she verified that her mom had, indeed, brought her a mixer and a food processor as well as several large bowls and spoons and some parchment paper and baking pans. There were various other things too, that she probably wouldn’t need—what was she going to do with a rolling pin when these weren’t the cut-out kind of cookies? But her mother always liked to be prepared for every contingency.
“Yup—Mom thought of everything,” she said at last, feeling satisfied.
“I’m glad you’re well equipped,” Grath rumbled. “Do you mind if I find the fresher around here? I don’t think you’re in any danger. Most of the people in her are females and that bastard, Hartsford, is nowhere in sight.”