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  A Taste of Fame

  The Potluck Catering Club #2

  A Taste of Fame

  A Novel

  Linda Evans Shepherd

  and Eva Marie Everson

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  Grand Rapids, Michigan

  © 2009 by Linda Evans Shepherd and Eva Marie Everson

  Published by Revell

  a division of Baker Publishing Group

  P.O. Box 6287, Grand Rapids, MI 49516-6287

  www.revellbooks.com

  Printed in the United States of America

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Shepherd, Linda E., 1957–

  A taste of fame: a novel / Linda Evans Shepherd and Eva Marie Everson.

  p. cm. — (The potluck catering club #2)

  ISBN 978-0-8007-3209-7 (pbk.)

  1. Caterers and catering—Fiction. 2. Reality television programs—Fiction.

  3. Women—Societies and clubs—Fiction. 4. Women cooks—Fiction. 5. Female friendship—Fiction. I. Everson, Eva Marie. II. Title.

  PS3619.H456T37 2009

  813′.6—dc22 2009023305

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Contents

  1. Lisa Leann—Hot News

  2. Vonnie—TV Dinner

  3. Donna—Catered Comedy

  4. Evangeline—Party Plans

  5. Lizzie—Taste of Fame

  6. Vonnie—Animal Crackers

  7. Goldie—Warming Worry

  8. Donna—High-Altitude Cooks

  9. Evangeline—Happy Trail Mix

  10. Lisa Leann—Subway Sandwich

  11. Donna—Back at the Ranch

  12. Evangeline—Mixed Up in Manhattan

  13. Goldie—Home Cooking

  14. Lisa Leann—Taste of New York

  15. Evangeline—Chinese Jam

  16. Lizzie—Seasoned Traveler

  17. Donna Tea Time

  18. Vonnie—Anniversary Dinner

  19. Lisa Leann—Stewed Pair

  20. Lizzie—Consuming Couple

  21. Goldie—Fishy Business

  22. Evangeline—Chilling Note

  23. Lizzie—Tasting Trouble

  24. Lisa Leann—Marriage Melts

  25. Donna—Cajun Cooking

  26. Vonnie—Knock-Out Punch

  27. Goldie—Going Bananas

  28. Lizzie—Heart Beats

  29. Donna—Locked in a Low Boil

  30. Lisa Leann—Half-Baked Accusations

  31. Lizzie—Soup Kitchen

  32. Evangeline—Bubbling Betrayal

  33. Vonnie—Team Brunch

  34. Donna—Taste of Deception

  35. Lisa Leann—Instant Prayer

  36. Donna—Final Feast

  The Potluck Catering Club Recipes

  Meet the Women of the Potluck Catering Club

  Lisa Leann

  1

  Hot News

  “Excuse me?”

  Kat Sebastian’s voice crackled through the phone line from her New York City studio. “Team Potluck will be featured tomorrow evening on our new reality show, The Great Party Showdown. It was a last-minute decision.”

  I stood up and squealed into the phone as if I were a June bug who’d landed on a robin’s wing. “You’re kidding me!”

  “I never kid. It’s too late to back out. We have your signature, and it is binding.”

  My head spun and I aimed my derriere for the nearest office chair and sat. “Wait a minute, wait. I’m not sure the girls even remember signing your release, and now you’re saying we have to fly to New York? When? Tonight?”

  Kat’s voice was clipped. “No, no. We’re airing an edited version of the submission tape your son shot of your team catering the Byrd-Dolton wedding. Then it will be up to America to decide if your team will continue in the competition.”

  I ran my free hand through my hair, disregarding the havoc to my appearance. “Meaning?”

  “If you make it through this round, a film crew from Stirring Productions will be in Summit View, Colorado, next week to tape your catering company in the next challenge. I’m faxing you the information you’ll need, including all the stats on the accommodations and the grand prize. That’s a carrot that should refresh your team’s memory.”

  My fax machine started to purr as Kat said, “Call me if you have any more questions.”

  I opened my mouth, but before I could find my voice, the dial tone hummed in my ear. I hung up and walked to my fax machine, which was perched on a nearby marble-topped table. I caught the first of several pages gliding toward me. I stared at the document. Kat was right, it all looked legal. Though “binding” was how she’d put it. I closed my eyes.

  Who would have thought my son’s class project would lead to this?

  During his spring break from college, Nelson had flown up from Austin, presumably for a bit of skiing. But instead of hitting the slopes, he’d joined my girlfriends and me and filmed our little Potluck Catering Company working the wedding of Becky Byrd and Allen Dolton, a young couple from church. At the time, Nelson had told us the footage was for a class project in his advanced marketing class at the University of Texas. Then he revealed he was also sending his tape to a TV reality show looking for contestants. Sure, we’d all signed off on the paperwork he’d handed out, but we were only playing along because he seemed so excited. No one wanted to squash his dreams. Besides, we figured reality would do that for us.

  The fact was, reality had just given me a wake-up call. How would I ever tell the girls we were about to be on national TV?

  I stopped to rub the beginnings of a headache in the center of my forehead. The real question was, how would I tell my husband? Henry would never go along with this.

  I walked down the spiral staircase of my wedding boutique to my dessert bar by my front register and poured myself a cup of coffee. I took a sip then walked to the front window to watch the cars drive down Main Street. It was a beautiful July afternoon. The edges of the blue sky were embroidered with the silhouettes of jagged peaks that surrounded our mountain valley. Across the street I could see Clay Whitefield’s jeep parked in front of the Higher Grounds Café. As usual, Clay, our local reporter, was there looking for a story. But despite the fact that we’re practically colleagues, with the local paper carrying my advice column and all, I wasn’t about to give Clay the scoop, at least not yet.

  I took another sip of my coffee and drifted back to my worries. My biggest problem was Henry. Things had been tense between us, and we’d made zero progress in our weekly counseling sessions with Pastor Kevin. News like this could … well … I shuddered.

  I turned and walked through the shop’s plush sitting room to the kitchen in the back. I pushed open the swinging door and rinsed out my china cup in the stainless steel sink.

  After I placed it in the drying rack, I looked at my gold Chico’s watch and saw it was already past five.

  A few minutes later, I pushed the accelerator of my Lincoln Continental a few miles over the speed limit, keeping a sharp lookout for Deputy Donna and her speeding tickets. It was dangerous to speed when she was on duty, but I had a lot to do if I was going to prepare for an emergency meeting of our Potluck Catering Company. I felt my forehead knit. Who sho
uld I call first? Evangeline Benson Vesey?

  I shook a “no” to myself. Poor Evie. She still saw herself as president of what was left of the old prayer club. Never mind that once I’d arrived to town, the club had morphed into a catering company. Sure, we still had our famous potluck meetings, complete with prayer and gossip. I mean, that was a bonus. Plus, it was always a treat to see the dishes my friends cooked up. Which reminded me, I’d have to remember to pull one of my emergency leek quiches out of the deep freeze.

  I was afraid that, as good as it was, my quiche wouldn’t be enough to buffer news like this. This was enough to put the team into a fullblown panic. Sure, they’d been supportive of me during my recent marriage crisis, but just how far would their sympathies go?

  I turned into the driveway of our luxury retirement condo overlooking Golden Lake. Sure enough, Henry’s truck was missing from the garage, which meant he was off fishing in the Blue River. I’d have to deal with him later. I checked my Crock-Pot steaming with a summer squash soup, added a dash of pepper, then hurried to the phone next to the kitchen table. I hesitated, then picked up the handset to dial Vonnie, knowing full well that my news would soon change our lives, for better or for worse.

  Vonnie

  2

  TV Dinner

  I’d been taking a little nap in my favorite recliner with my dog Chucky, a king kong bichon, when the phone rang.

  I reached for the portable handset I kept within arm’s length and said, “Hello?”

  A Texas-accented voice rang out, “Thank goodness I caught you!”

  I kicked the chair out of its reclining position and sat upright, shooing Chucky to the floor. His little white face peered up at me and his brown eyes filled with reproach. “Lisa Leann? You sound like you’re in a panic. Is everything all right?”

  “I’m calling an emergency meeting of the Potluck Catering Club, tomorrow night at six.”

  I slowly stood, stretching the kinks out of my back. “Oh dear. Is this about Henry? He hasn’t left you, has he?”

  “No … Well, not yet.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.” I walked from my darkened living room to where rainbows of light glinted through my baby doll sun catchers in my window above my kitchen sink. I held the phone between my ear and shoulder and poured water into my teakettle. I was so looking forward to a quiet cup of tea, a luxury I’d only recently been able to enjoy since Mother moved back home with Dad to their condo in the neighboring town of Frisco. Thank goodness that ankle of hers had finally healed.

  “Is there anything you need me to do?” I asked.

  “Well, I need a favor. Could we have the meeting at your house?”

  I set the kettle on the stove and turned the heat on high, sighing as I thought of the chore of tidying up and dusting around my ever-expanding doll collection, which lined the shelves of my living room and filled every cranny of my home. “Why here?”

  “Well, you and Fred just got one of those new flat screen TVs, right?”

  “Yes, but …”

  “And you’re on satellite?”

  “Yes …”

  “Do you think Fred will mind if we girls watch a show together at seven?”

  “Luckily, it’s Fred’s bowling night, but why can’t we watch the show at your place?”

  Lisa Leann sighed loudly. “That would never do. Henry. You know?”

  I didn’t know, but I pretended I did. “Oh, right. Okay.”

  “And, ah, one more thing. How about if you were to make your famous Mississippi mud cake?”

  “All right.”

  Before the kettle could whistle, Lisa Leann said, “See you tomorrow,” and with that she was gone.

  Later that evening, my balding Fred and I were sitting in our matching blue recliners, watching Fred’s favorite monster truck show. When I stood to take our dinner plates back to the kitchen, a commercial came on about a new reality show called Great Party Showdown something or other. A sexy female voice said, “Ten catering teams from around the country compete to take home our extreme award, a million dollars and a catering kitchen makeover.”

  Fred’s voice rose an octave. “Isn’t that you and the girls?”

  I turned just in time to see a clip of what looked like Donna Vesey and me giggling as we iced a giant cake. I blinked, but the TV image changed to a group of men dressed in baseball uniforms, singing as they stirred a huge pot of chili.

  My heart pounded, but I shook my head. “How could that be?”

  Fred laughed. “I think you’d know if you were going to be on a reality TV show. Right?”

  I nodded, feeling too nervous to mention that the woman who looked like me had been wearing my favorite butterfly monogrammed sweatshirt.

  I’d fretted about it for an hour and probably should have called Lisa Leann, but the idea seemed so far-fetched I made myself believe it was all a coincidence. Just because those gals looked and dressed like us did not mean they were us.

  I chuckled to myself the next morning as I attacked the dust bunnies that sometimes hide in the corners of my hearth behind my vintage Raggedy Ann and her china doll friends. I couldn’t help but imagine the girls and me on a TV reality program. The idea was simply outrageous.

  But as I thought about the clip of the two women icing that cake, I suddenly remembered Lisa Leann’s son Nelson taping us girls catering Becky and Allen’s wedding last March. Oh, dear. I switched on the television, hoping to catch the commercial again. But every time I heard it start to play, I was either out of the room or saw a clip different from the one that aired the night before.

  I would have called Evie to tell her of my concerns, but I remembered this was Vernon’s day off. I hated to disturb the newlyweds with my silly fears.

  Just before six, David, my handsome biological son, dropped by to take Fred to the bowling alley. It was so good to see the two of them together—a young man who’d never had a dad, and Fred, who’d never had a son. But now they both had me in common, and that seemed to make us family. It had been rocky when my husband first discovered that I, his wife of over three decades, had been a widow before I’d married him, much less had a son who’d been given up for adoption. But my reunion with my son had been a happy one, and now God was answering my prayers as I watched the growing friendship between the two men in my life.

  As Chucky danced around us, I once again noticed how much David looked like his father, Private Joseph Jewell, who was killed in Vietnam. David gave me a squeeze. “Donna told me the girls are heading your way tonight.”

  I smiled at the thought that our club’s youngest member, Donna Vesey, was getting closer to David. I wasn’t sure if they were going out, but I hoped so. Donna was like a daughter to me, and to think of her and David making a match? Well, the idea warmed my heart.

  “What did Donna say?” I asked.

  “Only that Lisa Leann was absolutely frantic. What’s up?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  As soon as the boys drove out of sight, Lisa Leann’s Lincoln Continental pulled up in front of the house. I’d just had time to put Chucky on the back porch before running to hold the door for her, allowing the cool of the summer evening to freshen my home. I glanced at the sky, which was just beginning to turn a golden teal as the setting sun started its descent.

  Lisa Leann, a petite redhead in her late forties, was dressed in a gorgeous button-down teal sweater over a lacy T-shirt and designer jeans. She rushed through the expanding shadows, up my front steps, and into my living room. I took her warm quiche, buffered between pink pot-holders, to my kitchen table before returning to see her tug off her sweater.

  She opened the front closet door and reached for a coat hanger. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Why don’t you pour the tea in the glasses?”

  She disappeared as the front door swung open again. “Lizzie!” I said.

  My librarian friend bent down to give me a hug, then pulled off her black windbreaker, revealing a crisp red s
hirt that brightened her usual pale complexion. Her blue eyes sparked beneath a splash of salt and pepper bangs. “How are Michelle and Adam?” I asked.

  “Still on their honeymoon. Do you know what this crisis is all about?” she asked.

  “I’d hate to speculate,” I said as she handed me her salad.

  Lisa Leann called from the kitchen, “Lizzie, how’s that little bride?”

  “Michelle? I got a text message this morning that said, and I quote, ‘Love Adam and Niagara Falls.’ ”

  “Young love.” I sighed, thinking how beautiful Lizzie’s daughter had been on her wedding day last week.

  I put Lizzie’s salad on the table, then ducked back to the front door just in time to greet Goldie, a good-looking strawberry blonde in her late forties. She looked so polished in her matching camelcolored top and business jacket. “You look like you came straight from work,” I said.

  “I did.” She walked toward the kitchen with a package of rolls. “Is the oven warm? It’ll just take a second to heat these.”