She opened the door to the great hall, which was in truth the only hall on our festival ground, great or not. Built of brick and shingled with cedar, it was plenty big enough for the exhibits that couldn’t stand the mercurial moods of coastal weather.
Quilts started at the right and lined two walls, all of them having something to do with rhubarb. The art was on that side of the building too, hung on pegboard stands that created aisles.
Food things such as canning, dried herbs, smoked meats, and drinks took up the left side of the building. The middle space carried an odd variety of art, from chainsaw statues and dream catchers to a ten-foot beast welded out of spare parts and gears that looked like a caveman in a porcupine hat carrying a battle-axe and a Colt .45.
“That’s…”
“Rhu-ban the Barb-barian,” Myra said with a straight face.
I laughed. “You are kidding me.”
“Nope.”
“Who made that big hunk of metal pun?”
“Ben and Jame, and the rest of the fire department.”
“I want to see it.” I started toward the thing, but before I got more than six steps a hand landed on my arm, sharp fingers squeezing.
“Delaney,” Bertie chirped happily. “I am so pleased you’ve made it. Come with me.”
There was no arguing with a valkyrie when she had it in her mind to get a person somewhere. So I let her pull me along, and took in the rest of the show as best I could.
A lot of entries this year. Maybe almost double from last year. The outreach of adding in more judging categories had really helped boost participation.
About halfway across the building I realized there were a lot more people at this end of the room than needed to be there for judging.
A crowd of about sixty people milled around the metal chairs set in straight rows in front of a long table with white table cloth and a skirt of blue. The long table was for the judges, twelve empty chairs behind it so that the judges were facing the audience.
“Why are there so many people here?” I asked Bertie. “The rally hasn’t even started.”
“People like to watch judges when they’re eating.”
“Watch judges?” I repeated. “Watch us eat?” I bit back a groan. I was going to have to clench my teeth in my best courtroom smile to keep from sticking my tongue out and gagging in front of these people.
“Maybe I should be an art judge. I could judge art.” I tried to keep the panic out of my voice. “I’m good at art. Just ask Mrs. Heather.”
“Your first-grade teacher?”
“Best thumbprint turkey artist of the class right here.” I lifted the thumb on my free hand.
“Nonsense,” Bertie said. “All these people are here before the rally even begins because ofyourschedule, Delaney. I knew you’d be working crowd control and being very busy over the next three days with your police work, so I decided to move up the judging date of the edibles. Luckily, everyone was able to modify their schedules to be here. I do love a town that pulls together in times of crisis.”
“Crisis? How many edibles?” I was totally panicking. “Which categories am I judging? How many categories?”
“Two. Drinks, dear. And savories.”
“No pies?”
“Not the sweet pies.”
I didn’t know why that made me feel better, but taking on a wet pink mess of pies eye to eye without a convenient dog under the table to feed it to seemed like the highest level of insanity.
“I need a dog.”
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.” I squared my shoulders and tugged my hand, but she was not letting go. Valkyries were also smart. “How bad can it be?”
