5 Mischief in Christmas River Read Online Free PDF

and perhaps more than that, there were reputations to be made and upheld by the annual contest. It was the fiercest of its kind, and folks from all over the Northwest came to compete in it. Everybody from high-end pastry chefs to weekend bakers entered the Junction. I had thought that because of the top prize being less this year, maybe not as many folks would bother entering. But judging by the full parking lot, this year’s cash prize was equally as tempting as two plane tickets to Maui.
    I glanced one more time over the registration form, feeling a slight tug on my heart at seeing only one name under the “All Competitors” section.
    I was going to miss having Kara as my Gingerbread Junction partner this year. She always brought such style and elegance to our projects, not to mention entertaining banter.  But she had enough on her plate as it was. And I would just have to suck it up and do my best without her.
    I got out of the car, walking carefully across the parking lot, trying to avoid any slick spots that the winter storm from the week before might have left.
    I took a deep breath before walking into the building.
    It felt good to be back here again.
    I had missed this competition.
     

 
    Chapter 9
     
    “And you’re competing by yourself, is that right?”
    I nodded as Morgan Brenneke, a retired history teacher with rhinestone-studded, thick-rimmed glasses smacked her gum and looked over my forms from behind a fold-out table.
    I stepped closer to her, as I could feel the person behind me breathing down my neck and inching up impatiently. I glanced back. The line was practically out the door of the auditorium, despite the fact that there were nine volunteers helping folks get registered.
    I hadn’t ever seen so many people on registration day before. 
    Morgan looked up at me and then stamped the application, shuffling it over into a stack of papers.
    “All entries must be here by 11 a.m. on the day of the competition. If your entry is not here at that time, then you will be disqualified,” she rattled on in automation. “You may not receive any help from anyone else on your gingerbread house other than the people listed on your application. Which in your case, means you cannot get help from anybody else. That is grounds for disqualification. You must also attach an entry card to the front of the gingerbread house display on the day of the competition so that the judges can clearly see your name and the title of your work. If you fail to do this, than it may be grounds for—”
    “ Disqualification ,” I said, finishing her lengthy speech for her.
    She moved her head back like a chicken and raised an eyebrow at me, and I suddenly felt like I was one of her students about to get scolded for speaking out of turn.
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “I guess I’m just… excited about being back in the compet—”
    I stopped mid-sentence as I overheard something at the table a few feet over.
    The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up as I recognized the voice.
    “Yes, sorry. I filled the application out so hastily, my handwriting is practically unreadable. That reads ‘Pepper Posey,’ and I’m competing by myself.”
    My stomach plunged about fifteen stories.
    Oh no.
    I slowly turned my head, catching sight of that bright fiery red hair of hers.
    I swallowed hard, and I felt my right eye start to twitch.
    She was entering in this year’s competition?
    Not only did she set up a pie shop right across the street from mine, but now she was entering in my competition? Trying to steal what was going to be my title?
    Trying to—
    “Oh, hi!” she said, noticing me staring at her. “I’m so glad to see you here. Are you entering too?”
    I felt my right eye twitch again. The single word came out slow and labored.
    “Yes.”
    She half-smiled, but I knew what she was thinking.  
    She must have thought I was a downright weirdo. First that strange stop I’d made at her shop the day before when I