Pasta Imperfect - By Maddy Hunter Page 0,84

me to judge your wonderful proposals and ideas. We have some very talented writers in our little group here, and I think you all deserve a round of applause."

Raucous clapping erupted, interspersed with a few abbreviated hoots. Mom quieted them down with the panache of a symphony conductor. "Look at all of you. So anxious to learn the identity of the next rising star in the romance world. Who will it be?" She bobbed her head at the people around her, squinting at their name tags. "Elaine Lewis? Amanda Morning? Fred Arp? Lucille Rassmuson?"

Lucille waved her hand to object. "Yoo-hoo! Margaret! I didn't enter the contest. We're just here to see who wins. But we have eight-thirty dinner reservations, so could you get cracking?"

"You betcha. Sorry." Mom removed a slip of paper from her pocket and snapped it open. "To remind you now, the winner will receive a one-book publishing contract with Hightower Books and an advance of ten thousand dollars." Her words were breathy with excitement. "I'm so nervous! Okay, I don't want to keep you waiting any longer. The winner is --" She squinted at the name tags, building up the drama, then suddenly lowered her paper. "I'm sorry, but before I announce the winner, could I trouble you to arrange yourselves in alphabetical order? I can help if you like. It shouldn't take too long. It's so much more orderly that way. Can I have all the A's in the far left corner, please?"

Groans. Hisses. Oh, Lord.

Nana rounded the corner of the stairwell at that moment, cheeks pink and eyes glowing despite the fact that her hair was even wilder than it had been this morning. I knew this look. I'd lived this look. And I realized it could only mean one thing.

She'd finally "done it," and done it right. Aw, that was so sweet!

George shambled along slowly behind her, head drooping, shoulders sagging -- a black eye patch slanted across his face. Eye patch?

OH, MY GOD! SHE'D POKED HIS EYE OUT!

"Mrs. Andrew doesn't really need you in alphabetical order!" Duncan instructed as he catapulted himself to his feet.

"Yes, I do," she countered.

"Stay where you are," Duncan pleaded. I dashed over to George, peering nose to nose with him.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry! I never should have left the two of you alone together."

George smiled at me with his little gap-toothed grin and slid his arm around Nana's waist. "Ith's nuthin'."

I dried my face with the back of my hand. Nana offered me a tissue.

"George," I reasoned. "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? You only have one eye!"

Nana tugged on the seam of my top and bent her head close to me. "He's got two eyes, dear, but the patch is the surprise I was tellin' you about. The barbarian stuff wasn't workin' out real good, so he thought a some other romantic hero he could be."

I gave him a critical look. "A World War II vet with a lazy eye?"

"A pirate, Emily. And it worked out so good, he's decided to stay in character. He got some real nice bargains on leather eye patches at the open-air market. In seven designer colors."

"All right!" I heard Mom concede from the lobby. "Have it your way! But I still think it would work better if you were in alphabetical order."

"Get on with it, Margaret!" Dick Stolee yelled as he focused his camcorder on her. I herded Nana and George closer to the group. Mom snapped her paper in front of her again.

"Very well then. The winner of the Passion and Pasta romantic book contest is...contestant number twenty-four!"

Heads spun every which way. People looked confused. Befuddled. From her perch on the sofa, Keely popped a bubble and shouted, "No one ever told us what our contestant numbers were. Don't you have a list that matches names with entry numbers?"

Groans. Grumbling. Impatient sighs.

Mom snapped her fingers and looked suddenly enlightened as she slipped her hand into her other pocket and extracted a second piece of paper. "Okay, I have it now. The winner of the Passion and Pasta contest is..."

The crowd leaned forward. Brandy Ann pinched her eyes shut. Amanda crossed her fingers in the air. Keely cracked her gum. Fred clutched the chin straps of his hat. Dick Teig burped.

"...Jackie Thum!"

Chapter 13

A piercing shriek ripped through the lobby as my miniskirted ex-husband leaped to her feet. "I won! Oh, my God! I won! I'm an author! I'm going to be famous! I'm going to be rich!" She