Page 20 of The Best Trick

Zeus and Thor and I checked out the tables on our side of the field. A few of the judges were milling around—you could recognize them by their white coats. The cheese industry is big on white coats. We were on the goat cheese end of things, and we tasted a lot of amazing cheeses. That artisanal cheese world was becoming more and more sophisticated—and more and more competitive.

The three of us were just moving from one goat farm table to another when the voice rang out: “Hey! I know you!” My antenna went on alert because the voice seemed familiar, and definitely seemed aimed at me.

Gulp! Had somebody recognized me?

But I knew enough not to look up.

I could feel Zeus’s gaze on me. I could feel Thor straighten.

This was a cheese festival, after all—it was no doubt crawling with Wisconsin people—but who could possibly see through my disguise? What's more, I was presumed dead. I hated that we’d had to fake my death, but it was the only way to protect my sisters.

It was just last year that we’d let Vanessa in on the secret that I was still alive. My sisters had needed our help solving a mystery, and it was unavoidable. But Vanessa never would have told another living soul our secret.

Zeus grabbed my arm and began to walk casually away.

The voice followed us. “Hey, wait!” the voice said. “Sarah! Sarah Newsome!”

I could feel the relief in Zeus’s large frame. Somebody had recognized me from a cheese-making class. Not great, but way better than being recognized as my former self. I spun around, plastering a smile on my chipmunk face.

An attractive, big-boned, middle-aged woman came up to me. She had long black hair with a wild gray streak right down the front.

“Yes?” I said.

“I thought it was you! I'm Babs 123. I took your class online last year? My neighbor recommended it. She's here somewhere. She'll be so excited that you're here.”

“Oh, Babs 123. I remember you!” I said. “How is the quest to make the perfect smoked mozzarella going?”

Babs caught me up on her cheese-making journey. She’d moved on to cheddar and recently tried her hand at gouda. I introduced her to my boyfriend, Theo Talbott, aka Zeus. Thor had disappeared into the crowd, probably monitoring from a distance.

Zeus seemed relaxed, so I relaxed, too. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world to have been recognized as my online cheese-making-teacher persona; in fact, it showed that the alternate identity was working out. My guys were always saying that we wanted our alternate identities to be viable. That’s the word they always used. A viable alternate identity would be crucial if we ever really had to disappear.

Still, it was a little disconcerting.

Babs dragged me over and introduced me to her sister, who was talking to a pair of goat cheese judges. Her sister was just as excited as she was.

One of the judges, a man with white hair and a dark mustache, turned to me. “You teach cheese making?” he asked.

“Not in any big way. It’s just a hobby,” I said.

“It’s not a hobby for Sarah, it’s a passion!” Babs said. “She knows everything about cheeses.”

The other judge had perked up now. She was in her thirties with short blond hair and a serious gaze behind her thick glasses. “Sarah, I don't want to impose,” she said to me, “but one of our judges couldn't make it, and we need a third for the aged goat cheddar competition. We'd love it if you could step in…if at all possible. I’m technical, and Cal is aesthetic; as an educator, you’d do overall.”

“Oh, I don't know,” I said, turning to Zeus. “It’s such an honor, but we have a thing later…”

“It’s a small category,” she said. “You'd only have to be here for around thirty minutes,” she added. “And then another round of thirty minutes sometime later. It could go to three rounds, but you'll probably be done at two.”

“I wouldn't mind,” Zeus said. “We'd still make our thing.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“It's perfect. Who would be a better judge than you?” he said, clearly pleased that my identity was gaining depth. My guys and their spy stuff. So nerdy.

The serious woman, who introduced herself as Mary Ann, taught ag sciences at a nearby college, according to her badge. She lowered her voice and said, “We had a contestant who's being a problem with a two-judge panel when the rules stipulate a three-judge industry panel. You'd be perfect to make up our third. He wouldn’t be able to raise objections with a third who's an educator.”

“And the judges’ gift baskets are mind-blowingly good this year,” the man said. He introduced himself as Cal. “I’m a maker. Bovine.”

I nodded. The cheese world is split into bovine and nonbovine. This entire festival was nonbovine; no doubt there were a lot of small-farm bovine cheese artisans working as judges. Small-farm nonbovine cheesemakers would probably be judging aplenty at his next bovine competition. It's a whole thing.

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