The Chicken Sisters(86)

And finally there was Andy, shaking his head. “I tasted the chicken. I know it’s the same. But Amanda— No, I’d never have believed it if you’d told me. I still can’t—” He looked away from the camera. “Look, I’m pretty upset about this. Just go away. It’s a game to you, but it’s not a game to me.”

Amanda hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she let it out in one long exhale. Her first thought—They all know?—was slowly replaced by a little warmth growing inside her.

“I could not find one person in this entire town who believed you’d steal that recipe,” Sabrina said. “I couldn’t even find anyone who believed you’d get a parking ticket, basically, unless your meter expired while you were rescuing a kitten from a tree. Not one, not even our hero, the hunky chef, or anyone else at Team Mimi’s. So. I’ll send it to you. You can watch it whenever you feel like shit.”

Amanda handed the phone back to Sabrina. Her relief was like a balloon. She felt as if it could lift her right off this little trail and up into the sky. Sabrina might have believed Amanda was a thief—who knew if she believed anything? The chefs maybe. But nobody else. Or almost nobody. “Mae believes it,” she said.

“Yep. And I’m still going to have to do something about it,” Sabrina said. “Can’t just leave it hanging out there. Simon and Cary both agreed with Andy—they were pretty embarrassed they hadn’t spotted it, actually—and of course it’s not like Mae’s going to let it go.”

It wasn’t over, then. Amanda’s relief evaporated as Nancy, who’d been listening to them both as if waiting for the conversation to make sense, finally spoke. “Wait. What recipe?”

“The chicken recipe,” said Sabrina. “I don’t know how, but you season your fried chicken exactly the way Mimi’s does. Somewhere along the line, somebody ripped off the recipe, and Amanda’s suspect number one, thanks to her little dalliance with Andy the other night. But nobody really thinks she’d do a thing like that. So”—she shrugged—“you be the judge.”

Nancy knew that, though— No. Amanda could tell from Nancy’s face that she hadn’t known, and that didn’t make any sense at all. But what really didn’t make sense was that Nancy didn’t look one bit surprised.

Instead, she laughed. “The seasoning? Seriously? That’s what’s going on here?” Nancy leaned forward and grabbed Amanda’s hand.

“Come with me,” she said, and spun them both toward Mimi’s and Barbara’s house. “I can clear this up.”

Sabrina put her phone away and turned to them, an interested look on her face. Amanda would have sworn that her ears perked up.

“Not you,” Nancy said. “I meant what I said about you. You’ve been pushing buttons all along, Sabrina, and you don’t get to push this one.”

Sabrina looked at her. “I could hold you to your contract, you know. You have to let me film if I want to, or we can void the whole thing.”

“Your contract also says we don’t have to reveal trade secrets,” Nancy said.

Sabrina appeared a little taken aback, and Nancy laughed again. She almost seemed to be enjoying this, and now Amanda was even more confused.

“What, did you think I didn’t read it?” Nancy said. “I’ve had enough of you, Sabrina. I think we’ve all had about enough. You’re in too far with us, anyway. You won’t leave. You’ll find out soon enough, but you’re not coming now.” She gave Amanda’s hand a little tug, then let go. “Come on. The city slicker can find her way out, I’m sure. And don’t look like that. I can’t help whatever else is going on with you, with Mae and Andy and all the rest, but this recipe-stealing business? That I can fix.”



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Amanda raced after Nancy and flung herself into the passenger seat of her mother-in-law’s little hatchback. Nancy threw the car into reverse, turned it, and spun out of the Mimi’s parking lot, driving fast, a determined expression on her face. Amanda, though, needed to slow down. She had had enough of feeling like she was on a Tilt-A-Whirl gone mad, and wherever they were going could wait. Had to wait. As they left Main Street behind, she reached out and put a hand on Nancy’s arm. “Could you stop for a second?”

“I know you didn’t steal the recipe,” Nancy said. “I can prove it.”

“But that’s not the only thing that’s wrong,” Amanda said. “If you didn’t know about this last night—why were you so angry? Where are we going? And—Andy—I need to explain.”

Nancy pulled off, a little too suddenly, at a spot on the road where the shoulder widened a little, a pull-off for balers and hay wagons to head into the fields that lined either side of the road. She answered the easiest question first. “We’re going to Frannie’s,” she said to Amanda. “And I was angry about your mother, of course. Still am. I can’t believe you’d hang her out to dry like that, no matter how she’s treated you.”

“Mae said I stole the recipe for the seasoning on the chicken,” Amanda said. “On camera. In front of everyone. Andy said”—she hated even saying his name—“Andy said he tasted it yesterday, and now Frannie’s chicken is exactly the same as Mimi’s—and he says it wasn’t like that before. I didn’t plan to tell them about Mom. I was just so angry.” Amanda prepared herself for the next question: But how would they think you got the recipe out of Mimi’s? She would have to admit it, that she had been in there, with Andy. Dallying, as Sabrina put it.