"You looking for the Chadwick?" Estelle butted in. "Well, so are we, and we didn't reckon on a construction site."

He nodded at her. "Yes, the Chadwick Hotel. I've been invited to participate in"-he gave them an embarrassed look-"a cooking contest, and I thought this was the place."

"So did we," Estelle said tartly, "but someone must have gotten the name wrong, because anyone with the sense God gave a goose can see that-"

"This is the right place," Ruby Bee said, a little miffed because this gentleman was a real contestant like herself, and Estelle was forgetting that she was merely along for the ride, so to speak. She came back across the room and held out her hand. "I'm Ruby Bee Hanks, and I'm in the contest, too."

"Ah," he said, his forehead wrinkling while he appraised her as if she'd presented herself as an entry rather than a contestant. "I'm Durmond Pilverman. I'm not quite sure what we ought to do at this point, Mrs. Hanks. I was under the impression that the marketing representative would be here to handle the hotel reservations and such. Unless the gentleman in the cap is he, we may have a problem."

The subject of the remark shook his head. "Naw, but lemme see if I can hunt up Rick. He's what you might call the site supervisor. Maybe he can sort this out."

Estelle stuck out her hand. "I'm Estelle Oppers, Mr. Pilverman. I came along with Ruby Bee so she wouldn't get herself mugged in the airport, or get hopelessly lost before she ever caught sight of the hotel. We're from Maggody, Arkansas." She gave him a moment to respond, but he was now regarding her with the same sharply quizzical look he'd given Ruby Bee-who was not pleased with the remark about getting mugged or lost. "Where're you from?"

"Connecticut," Durmond said with a vague gesture. Estelle opened her mouth, but Ruby Bee wasn't about to listen to any more aspersions. "Why, I used to have a second cousin who lived in Connecticut," she inserted neatly. "Elsbeth Matera was her name, but of course she died way back in 1952, so I don't suppose you'd remember her, even if you knew her. She had palsy something awful during her last few years, bless her soul, and the nurse's aides had to read the little cards and letters I sent her on her birthday and at Christmas. Did you ever happen to…?"

"I'm afraid not," he said. He glanced over her head as a door behind the registration counter opened. "Perhaps we have someone to help us?"

Ruby Bee wasn't real sure the man was the one she would have picked, given her druthers. For one thing, he looked meaner than a rattlesnake, with his squinty eyes, fancy hair swept back in a televangelist's pompador, and snooty sneer. He probably wasn't even thirty years old, but he was regarding them like he owned the hotel and everything else on the block, and they were nothing but those homeless people that Arly had warned her about. Mr. Pilverman's mustache was messy but friendly; this man's was nothing more than a thin black line that could have been drawn with a felt-tipped pen. His lips were thinner than Mrs. Jim Bob's.

She wasn't a bit surprised when he said in a real cold tone, "The hotel is closed for remodeling. Please be about your business elsewhere."

Durmond Pilverman stepped forward, saving both Ruby Bee and Estelle the necessity of what might have been a fine display of indignation. "These ladies and I were told that the Krazy KoKo-Nut cookoff is to be held here, and we have letters to that effect. Are you the manager?"

"In a manner of speaking. May I see this purported letter?" He extended a hand with well-manicured nails and a ring as gaudy as a carnival prize. His cuff fell back to expose a heavy silver bracelet. If that wasn't bad enough, he had several gold chains around his neck like he thought he was one of those egotistical Hollywood movie stars.

Ruby Bee was about to warn Mr. Pilverman not to hand over anything to this fellow with all the jewelry when the door again opened. This time it admitted several folks, all of them looking unhappy in varying degrees. The unhappiest of them all was a pretty young woman in a pale green skirt and jacket, carrying a briefcase in one hand and a clipboard in the other. Her eyes were flashing like the taillights on a taxi.

"Are you Richard Belaire?" she demanded as she strode across the room. She sounded as if even a hint of affirmation would result in bloodshed. "Are you?"

The snooty man behind the counter got snootier. "No, dearie, I'm president of the Junior League, but I must have left my white gloves and pearls at home today."

"You have not returned my last four calls, Mr. Belaire, and it's caused me a great deal of inconvenience. We need to talk. In the office-now." She went down the corridor, and after a pause, Mr. Snooty Pants went through the door from which he'd come earlier. "Goodness gracious," Ruby Bee murmured.

"What on earth is going on here?" gasped a woman in the doorway. She nudged her companion, a teenaged girl, then let her luggage fall to the floor. "What kind of hotel is this? This will not do-not at all!" She spotted them and managed a tight, harried smile. "I'm Frances Vervain, but please call me Frannie. I presume you're here for the contest? Catherine is thrilled to be selected as a finalist, but we were led to believe we would be staying in a decent hotel, and this won't do. Catherine has a terrible time with allergies. At the first hint of dust, her eyes water and she cannot breathe."

Ruby Bee looked at the woman, who seemed pleasant enough despite her inclination to talk faster than a trout goin' after a mosquito. She had blond hair that was a little too brassy, but nobody ever said there was anything wrong with helping Mother Nature every now and then. Maybe a little too much makeup, and maybe dressed more like a teenager than the mother of one.

The hemline was far from flattering, to put it kindly, and the bright pink of the dress called attention to her thick waist and unfortunate hips.

The daughter, Catherine-with-allergies, was slender to the point of resembling a beanpole. She had a cloud of frizzy auburn hair and no makeup to speak of, except a hint of blusher beneath dramatically pronounced cheekbones. Her posture was erect to the point of rigidity, as was pretty much everything about her. She looked awfully humorless for someone her age, what with her sulky expression, but Ruby Bee could understand how a ride from the airport could do that to a body.

"So you're a contestant, too?" she asked the girl, giving her a friendly smile.

The girl turned to her mother. "I hope you're satisfied."

"It's going to be fine," Frannie said coolly. She repeated her name to Durmond Pilverman and Estelle, and after a few minutes of conversation, all the adults were on a first-name basis and feeling better about the immediate future. Catherine stared out the glass doors.

The woman in the green suit reappeared. "I'm Geri Gebhearn, the contest coordinator from Prodding, Polk and Fleecum," she told them. "There's been a small problem concerning communication with the hotel, but let's all hope it's under control-at least for the time being. Mr. Belaire has arranged for rooms on the second floor for you, and of course we'll be using the kitchen when the big moment arrives."

"The sawdust," Frannie said, glancing at Catherine's glacial face. "It's going to make it ever so difficult for Catherine. She's had allergies since she was-"

"The saw will be removed," Miss Gebhearn said firmly. "Mr. Belaire says the remodeling will be confined to the upper floors until the end of the week. This means we'll have to tolerate a certain amount of noise and disruption, but there are union contracts involved that cannot be breached. In any case, there are enough rooms on the second floor to house you, and the lobby and dining room will be cleared and straightened for our use." She flipped to a page on the clipboard and scanned it. "Let's see who we've got, shall we?"