CHAPTER FIVE: THE REHEARSAL
The Golden Oven hall occupied the renovated freight depot at the center of Amberbrook.
It had exposed beams, high windows, and enough polished wood to make every visitor feel as if they had entered a carefully maintained memory.
By the time Ethan and Nina returned from West Ridge, the parking lot was filled with delivery vans.
A giant banner stretched across the front entrance.
MAGNOLIA HEARTH PRESENTS FIFTY YEARS OF FLAVOR.
Ethan stared at it and counted the years in his head.
The contest was celebrating its forty-eighth anniversary, not its fiftieth.
“They rounded up,” Nina said.
“Apparently history works like grocery prices now.”
At the entrance, a young coordinator named Priya checked their registration badges.
She glanced at Ethan’s wet shoes and asked whether he needed a moment before going onstage.
“I had an unusual morning,” Ethan said.
“You and everybody else.”
Priya pointed toward the rear doors.
“One of the refrigeration trucks failed inspection and a decorator glued the sponsor banners over the emergency exit signs.”
“Did anybody fix them?”
“The signs, yes.”
“And the refrigerator?”
“They’re bringing a replacement.”
The hall smelled of citrus peel, hot butter, and stage paint.
Six stainless steel preparation stations faced a low platform with three chairs for the judges.
At the center stood the ceremonial oven, a large brass structure with an arched door and decorative handles.
It looked less like a working appliance than a monument to the idea of cooking.
A removable display tray sat behind a narrow window.
Ethan caught sight of a carved edge beneath the glass.
Before he could approach,
Vincent stepped out from behind a curtain.
“Ethan, you’re here.”
He shook Ethan’s hand and held it a second too long.
“I heard you had an accident at home.”
“It is being repaired.”
“Excellent.”
Vincent glanced down at the pocket where Ethan had placed the token.
“We were worried the disruption might interfere with the final.”
“My entry is ready.”
“We are delighted.”
Vincent gestured toward the nearest sponsor banner.
“This year has a special theme, and we would love every finalist to tell a story about the people who inspired them.”
“That is already part of my presentation.”
“Wonderful.”
Vincent leaned closer.
“Just remember that a televised event leaves little room for surprise.”
Ethan smiled back.
“Then I hope you leave some room for the food.”
Vincent’s mouth tightened for an instant.
He walked away toward the sponsor table.
Nina watched him go.
“He knows you have it.”
“He suspects.”
“He came to your house with a bakery box at six in the morning.”
“That is suspiciously good customer service.”
Nina did not laugh.
Across the hall, a woman in an emerald apron waved at Ethan.
She was Becca Lin, another finalist, known for intricate sugar flowers that looked startlingly alive.
“Are you using peaches?” Becca asked.
“I am.”
“Thank goodness.”
Ethan frowned.
“Why?”
“Because somebody told me you were changing to canned pears.”
“Who told you that?”
Becca pointed to an assistant carrying a clipboard.
“One of Vincent’s people.”
“I haven’t changed anything.”
“Then somebody is trying to make us look foolish.”
Becca explained that her prepared sugar sculptures had been moved from the cold room into a warm corridor without her approval.
The petals had softened and several stems had broken.
She was angry enough to leave, but her apprentice had convinced her to remake what she could.
“Have you told the coordinator?” Ethan asked.
“She filed a report.”
“And the judges?”
“Nobody wants to bother the judges before the final.”
Ethan studied the hall and recognized the pattern.
Vincent controlled most of the deliveries, the stage schedule, and the announcements.
Anybody who complained was told to be patient because the event was complicated.
That gave a man with a polished smile a lot of power over small disasters.
Near the ceremonial oven, a maintenance worker lowered a screwdriver into a pocket and glanced around.
Ethan walked toward him.
“Is there a problem with the display?”
The worker startled.
“I was instructed to make sure the door opens smoothly.”
“Who instructed you?”
“My supervisor.”
He straightened.
“The panel sticks sometimes.”
“Could you show me?”
The worker hesitated, then opened the outer decorative latch.
The inner tray remained behind glass.
Ethan noticed scratches around the rim of the small scalloped opening.
Somebody had tried to fit an ordinary tool into it.
“What goes in there?” he asked.
The worker shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
Ethan took a step back.
“Then don’t force it.”
The worker looked relieved and closed the outer latch.
Before rehearsal began, Priya gathered the finalists around the judging table.
She reminded them about the time limit and asked each person to present their recipe story in fewer than three minutes.
When Ethan explained that his sister had helped refine his pie, a production assistant interrupted.
“Could you keep the story focused on yourself?”
Nina raised her eyebrows.
“He said I helped.”
“The public likes a clear protagonist,” the assistant replied.
Becca snorted.
“The public also likes believable people.”
Priya stepped between them.
“Contestants can credit anyone they choose.”
The assistant wrote something on his clipboard and walked away.
Ethan realized that the contest’s greatest problem was not a missing medal.
It was the quiet expectation that everybody would accept whatever made the broadcast easiest.
He looked again at the brass oven.
Somewhere behind the window, two names waited to be seen.
