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considering the things Chet Murdock had said about her demanding job.
    She was about to wave Phyllis and the others into the bleachers with the clipboard in her hand, when loud, angry voices suddenly cut through the hubbub of conversation in the big hall. Bailey glanced in the direction of the commotion, muttered, “Oh, no, not her!” and hurried off, leaving Phyllis and her companions unsure what to do next.
    The man who was working with Bailey stood at the other end of the bleachers. He called, “Keep moving down there!” and made a curt gesture with his clipboard. Phyllis could tell he was talking to her, so she started climbing the steps that led to the top rows. Sam and the others followed.
    â€œLooks like there’s some sort of trouble,” Carolyn said. “Why am I not surprised?”
    Phyllis wanted to tell her not to start that. Carolyn’s implication was that trouble followed her, and that just wasn’t true. A few months earlier they had all gone to the annual Peach Festival in Weatherford, and nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Certainly no murders.
    But as they reached the top row, where the only empty seats were located, Phyllis turned and looked down at the kitchen set. Several people stood there, stiff with anger and tension, and Phyllis couldn’t help but wonder what was going on.

Chapter 5
    D own on the set, Reed Hayes was apparently being lectured by an attractive, well-dressed woman with sleek blond hair. A few feet behind her stood a man carrying a handheld video camera. He wore jeans and an open flannel shirt over a T-shirt, and with his shaggy dark hair and short beard he bore a strong resemblance to Maynard G. Krebs, the beatnik character from the old
Dobie Gillis
TV show, Phyllis thought, only he was stocky while Maynard had been slender. At the moment the camera the young man carried was pointed toward the floor.
    Hayes tried to interrupt the blonde, but she wasn’t having any of it. She kept up her finger-waving tirade. Bailey Broderick stood over to one side, looking like she wanted to intervene but wasn’t sure what to do.
    The spectators in the bleachers had begun to notice the confrontation, and more and more of them fell silent as they tried to see and hear what was going on. Phyllis could hear the blond woman talking, but she couldn’t make out the words.
    Peggy said, “Hey, I know her. That’s Gloria Kimball.”
    Peggy was right, Phyllis thought. She knew the blonde looked familiar, but she hadn’t recognized her until Peggy’s comment. Gloria Kimball, the former host of
Gloria’s Kitchen
, was now a feature reporter on a local Dallas TV station. It made sense that she would be here for Joye Jameson’s show, thought Phyllis. In the cooking, home, and lifestyle areas, Joye was a star, and her visit to the State Fair of Texas was certainly newsworthy. The fact that Gloria’s formerly nationally syndicated program had been transformed into the even more successful
Joye of Cooking
just added to the story.
    Carolyn commented, “Gloria doesn’t appear to have aged much.”
    â€œCelebrities never do,” Sam said. “It’s probably all that plastic surgery.”
    Eve said, “Either that or they have portraits of themselves in the attic.”
    Peggy smiled, clenched her fists, and moved them around a little in front of her. “Maybe Joye Jameson will come out and they’ll have a fistfight.” She nudged Sam with an elbow. “Bet you’d like that.”
    Sam just cleared his throat and didn’t say anything. He was saved from having to respond to Peggy’s gibe by a sudden eruption of applause from the audience. They had spotted a familiar figure coming through a door at the back of the set.
    Joye Jameson wore tan slacks and a bright green blouse and looked beautiful and wholesomely sexy, as always. As she approached the group at the front of the set, the bearded