They had placed second last year, he reminded me, and while second “won’t real shabby considering the competition, this year me and Herman’s got us a secret ingredient.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, ma’am! This year we soaked some oak chips overnight in ginger ale and we sprinkled them on the bottom to get that extra flavor in the smoke.”

But for all his pretense of complacency, he and Herman watched closely as the judges sampled the four finalists and marked their scorecards. Then, after a whispered conference, they each went back for yet another taste of numbers four and seven. I saw Haywood’s big hand clench Herman’s shoulder.

A final huddle with the judges, then the list of winners was handed to the announcer. Honorable mention went to number one, a team of Shriners from Dobbs. To everyone’s surprise (and more than a little chagrin), third place was awarded to number eight, a couple of newcomers from Michigan who’ve really taken to our style of barbecue. Last year’s winners, the men’s Sunday school class of Mt. Olive A.M.E. Zion, started high-fiving each other, confident that they were about to carry home the blue ribbon again.

The announcer milked the suspense for all it was worth, then cried, “The red ribbon goes to number four, and number seven is this year’s blue-ribbon champion! Let’s give ‘em all a big hand, folks.”

Haywood grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and pushed it so fast across the uneven ground toward the announcer that Herman said later he thought he was taking a victory lap at Rockingham rather than accepting first place at a little old barbecue contest. “The way Brother Haywood was taking them curves, I needed me a seat belt.”

The other ribbon winners crowded around to congratulate them.

“What’d you say you soaked your oak chips in?” asked one of the Michiganites.

“Grape Nehi,” Herman answered blandly.

“Now, why’d you go and tell ‘em that?” Haywood scolded when they returned with their ribbon. “That’s liable to taste real good.”

Leaving the big twins to fasten that blue rosette to their cooker and bask in their glory, Seth and Minnie walked into the Ag Hall with me for the Some Yam Thing or Other contest. Seth is five up from me and the brother who’s always cut me the most slack. Minnie is my self-appointed campaign manager and she’s the one who volunteered me to judge today. She believes in keeping me in the public eye. (At least, she believes in keeping me there as long as there are only positive things for the public eye to see.)

Since last night’s murder hadn’t come up in front of her, I could safely assume she hadn’t yet heard of my involvement. I was hoping to keep it that way for the time being.

As I glanced around In hall, I noticed other family members and looked at Minnie suspiciously. “I thought we agreed that none of the kids would enter.”