“The highest mountain in Colorado. Gosh, Goldie, with you being from a travel magazine and all, I thought you’d know that.”
The visitor took a beat, thinking fast, then replied. “17,448 inches.”
“What?”
“The height of the Empire State Buildin’ in New York. I know that because I wrote about it once. I haven’t written about Mount Elbert yet.”
The statement wasn’t true. She remembered the number of inches from a trivia site she’d seen online. But it sounded good.
Clara smiled. “Uh, okay. How can I help?”
“I don’t know anything about gingerbread houses. The only thing I’ve ever baked is a potato. But the mayor wants me to judge the gingerbread house competition tomorrow night, and I want to be fair to the people who’ve worked hard on their creations. So, I was hopin’ you could give me some tips. Things to look for.”
“Be glad to. There are four big things to consider right off the top of my head. First, there is the complexity of design. A house with a couple of turrets and a porch is more complex than a design with just four walls and a roof.”
“Sure,” Goldie agreed. “Makes sense.”
“Then, there’s the application of the frosting. It’s got to be neat. Even.”
“Okay.”
“Third, would be originality. Houses and churches are pretty common. But what if it’s a whole main street of buildings? Or maybe a house set in the mountains surrounded by trees?”
“Do they get that ornate?”
“They can… then there are the little details that make a difference. Like smoke coming out of a chimney. That can be stiff cotton. Or little frosting birds sitting on a fence. Or putting the house on a frame with a small light so it can be lit from the inside.”
“It all sounds as complex as the wood model of the town over at the historical society,” Goldie observed.
“Precisely,” Clara agreed. “Same idea. Only you’re working with gingerbread, frosting, candy, and gumdrops. Plus, unlike the historical society, you don’t have to deal with the—” she suddenly stopped. Realizing she was talking to a journalist.
“Plus, you don’t have to deal with the what?” Goldie asked.
“Uh, er, you know,” Clara said, trying to hide thoughts she almost revealed. “The wood, paint, a-all the stuff that went into the model over at the historical society.”
“You weregoin’to say somethin’ else, weren’t you?” Goldie asked, knowingly.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were.”
“Uh-uh,” the store owner denied.
“You said: ‘Plus, you don’t have to deal with the’—you wereaboutto say ‘the mayor’—right?”
“No, I wasn’t,” Clara defended.
Goldie looked at the older woman sincerely. “Totally off the record, Clara, was it the mayor?”
Clara paused, then relented in a quiet voice. “Every place has people that some people don’t get along with.”
Goldie’s green eyes widened. “So—itisthe mayor!”
Clara looked around nervously, then took Goldie by the arm and stepped to the rear of the store so the two women could have more privacy.
“People in this town work really hard to make it the tourist attraction it is,” she practically whispered. “I’ve poured my life’s blood into this store. Sparkledove is a good place! Filled with good people! Your article will be a real help, especially with a war going on. So, I can’t drag any of that down because I don’t happen to like one individual. You understand?”
“Of course,” Goldie said, empathetically. “Clara, of course! I’d never hurt the town because Banyan happens to be a dick.”
