Title Wave by Lorna Barrett

mundane. I mean, look at my shoes.”
    The Dexter twins leaned forward to inspect the footwear Angelicahad brandished for their approval. It was a pretty shoe—red, with snappy straps and a two-inch heel. The sisters turned back to each other and hollered, “Mundane!” and then laughed hysterically.
    â€œYou have definitely been insulted,” Tricia muttered to Angelica.
    Before Angelica had time to reply, a man in a chef’s toque stepped up to the microphone on the riser behind the table of fresh fruits and vegetables. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending the
Celtic Lady
’s fruit and vegetable carving event. You’ll be amazed, you’ll be thrilled, and best of all you can
eat
our sculptures!”
    â€œIsn’t this fun?” Angelica asked, beaming.
    Tricia didn’t answer, thankful she had her library book to entertain her during the next hour.
    Angelica’s attention was trained on the table before them as the first chef stepped forward, pineapple and knife in hand, to attempt the first sculpture.
    Tricia opened her book and began to read, but the words weren’t making much sense. It wasn’t just the Dexter sisters and their comic book comic routine that had discombobulated her, but her thoughts kept circling back to the panel discussion and an unsmiling EM Barstow, who had attended to do . . . what? Ridicule the other authors? Or had she gone to deride the hundreds of readers who didn’t enjoy books filled with graphic depictions of blood and gore? The truth was, Tricia skipped over those often ghastly descriptions in EM’s and other thriller authors’ books. The daily news was filled with far too many accounts of man’s (and woman’s) inhumanity to man (or woman) for her to enjoy reading the same or worse for entertainment purposes. That was why she could better enjoy vintage mysteries. The violence was off the page. Someone was usually murdered, but there was usually a reason the killer chose such an outrageous solution—at least in his or her own mind. Too many thrillers were, well, thrilling. Revoltingly thrilling. Sickeningly thrilling.
    No, thanks
, she thought, feeling just a tad depressed. Real life was filled with too much horror these days. She’d witnessed too much of that in her own life; the murder of her ex-husband topping the list. The fact that she would have to testify before a court of law in the not-too-distant future also filled her with dread. She would do her duty as a citizen, but she feared the experience would tear open the wound of Christopher’s loss that had only just scabbed over.
    â€œVoilà!” the chef at the front of the room cried, and Tricia looked up to see that the man triumphantly held aloft what looked like a monkey holding a lotus flower.
    â€œIsn’t it gorgeous ?” Angelica cried, applauding with enthusiasm.
    Tricia frowned. “That wouldn’t be my first choice of descriptor.”
    â€œOkay, then cute.”
    â€œYou weren’t thinking something like that would go over at Booked for Lunch, let alone the Brookview Inn, were you?”
    â€œProbably not,” Angelica admitted. “But talk about skill with a knife.”
    â€œDo you think they’ll have ice sculpting, too?” Tricia asked.
    â€œI hope so. I wonder if Jake at the Brookview would like to learn to do that.”
    â€œShouldn’t he stick to cooking and leave that to the gardener?”
    Angelica glowered, obviously not amused at Tricia’s attempt at humor.
    While they’d spoken, three of the sous chefs had entered into a contest to carve a 3-D relief on the face of melons. In just under five minutes they’d finished. One had sculpted a sun, another the man in the moon, and the third a face that looked an awful lot like the late Lucille Ball.
    â€œWow—I’m impressed,” Angelica murmured in awe.
    Tricia shook her head and turned her