Murder with Honey Ham Biscuits

by A. L. Herbert

  “What’s there to talk about? I’m mean it’s disturbing and very sad for Sherry and her family, but I barely knew her.”

  “But you did know her a little, right?”

  “Of course. We’d spent the day at the museum and the evening at Russell’s restaurant.”

  “But you knew her before that... when she worked for you.”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “The restaurant business is a revolving door, Twyla—you know that. Some of my staff have worked here. Some of your staff have worked at Sweet Tea. They all gossip with each other at the bars after work.”

  “I guess.” Twyla looks antsy, like she can’t get away from the table fast enough. “It was years ago that Sherry worked here.”

  “And years ago that you fired her?”

  “I had to fire her. She was stealing from me.” For the first time since we got here, Twyla’s weird semipermanent smile fades. “Did you come here for lunch or to give me the third degree?”

  “Maybe a little of both,” I reply. “If I may ask, what was she stealing from you? Money? Liquor? Food?”

  Twyla sighs as if she’s annoyed by the question. “I’m not sure it’s any of your business, Halia, but she had a scam going with one of my bartenders, Malcom. She got him to ring in well drink prices when charging customers for top shelf liquor and split the difference with him. Sometimes she got him to leave drink charges off her checks altogether, so her customers might give her a bigger tip. She even worked with him to bring in their own bottles of wine for cash-paying customers—they would give the customer their bottle so none of mine would be missing from inventory and pocket the entire charge, which was usually more than double what they paid at Total Wine or Costco or wherever they got their stash. Malcom kept them hidden behind the bar.”

  “How did you catch her? Did you press charges?”

  “I didn’t catch her. I caught Malcom. The police said I only had enough proof to make a case against him as he was the one I busted for short-ringing drinks and with his own stash of wine. Sherry was careful not to leave any paper trails that pointed to her... at least any that would stand up in court. I fired both of them, but I could only press charges against Malcom.”

  “She made the bartender her fall guy, eh?” Wavonne asks.

  “Yes. He ended up doing time... like four months.”

  “How much did they steal?”

  “I’ll never know. Enough.” Twyla adjusts her weight on her feet as if she’s preparing to turn around again. “What’s it matter? Sherry and Malcom were not the first employees to steal from me, and they won’t be the last. I seriously doubt her exploits with my bartender have anything to do with her murder.”

  “I’m sure not,” I say. “But why didn’t you tell anyone that you knew Sherry when we were at the museum?”

  “What was I supposed to say when Cynthia introduced us to each other? ‘This is the little thief who robbed me blind?’ Sherry pretended to not know me, and I just followed her lead. And I don’t have any actual proof that she stole from me. I suppose she could’ve sued me if my talk of her thieving ways affected her standing on the show.”

  “Did you tell the police that Sherry used to work here?”

  “I haven’t talked with the police. What would they want with me? I wasn’t even at the inn when she was killed.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” I say. “I’m sorry for all the questions. I’m just trying to piece a few things together. The police are looking at Vera as a suspect in Sherry’s death, and she has sworn up and down that she didn’t do it, and I believe her. I was just curious if there are any other leads the police should be following up.”

  Twyla looks at me curiously, as if she’s trying to figure me out. “Well, let me go put those orders in for you.”

  “Okay, but one more question,” I say. “I know you left the inn shortly after we wrapped filming... at about eight thirty.”

  Twyla nods.

  “You didn’t come back later that night, did you?”

  “What? No. Of course not.”

  “You’re sure? You weren’t out by the pool around, say, ten forty-five?”

  “No. Why would I have been by the pool?”

  “I’ve asked myself that same question.” I give her the same curious look she just gave me. “Oh well... no matter . . . Maybe Wavonne and I should just get down to the business of having lunch.” I offer Twyla a smile in hopes of lightening the mood.

  “Yes, that sounds like a good plan,” she replies. “I’ll get the oysters out first.”

  “Perfect.” I turn my head toward Wavonne as Twyla approaches one of the ordering stations. “You believe her?”

  “I don’t know,” Wavonne says. “Someone who thinks she saw Bigfoot in the woods ain’t exactly the most reliable source for seein’ Twyla outside her door.”

  “True.”

  “So, what now?”

  “I’m thinking we should go back to the inn and poke around . . . see if we can catch up with Russell and Cynthia . . . and maybe Trey. I’d like to ask all of them a few questions.”

  “Can we start with Trey?”

  “I guess. Why?”

  “I want to ask him about the Himalayan salt mask he was wearing.... Boy Wonder is sort of obnoxious, but he’s got nice skin.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes,” Wavonne says. “You have your questions you want to ask and I have mine.”

  Chapter 26

  “You think he’s still here?” Wavonne asks as we walk down the hall toward Trey’s room.

  “I’m not sure. I assume they halted production of the show given recent events. If they didn’t, there’s no one left for Trey to compete against anyway. He may have gone home.”

  I knock on the door and hear someone rummaging around inside before it swings open.

  “Hi,” Trey says. “What are you guys doing here?”

  “We were just wondering if we could chat with you for a minute.”

  “Um... sure.” He opens the door wider and signals for us to come in. “This is about Sherry, I assume?” He motions for us to sit down on the little sofa.

  “Yes.” Wavonne and I take a seat, and I notice his room has the same layout as Sherry’s and the one I shared with Wavonne the other night. “I probably shouldn’t be, but I’m trying to do Vera a favor, and see what I can find out about the night Sherry was killed.”

  “A favor for Vera?”

  “The police find it suspect that she waited so long after Sherry was killed to come out of her room.”

  “I think they wonder if she was in her room at all... at least when Sherry was killed,” Wavonne says.

  “They think Vera killed Sherry?”

  “They are looking at her as a possible suspect. That’s all.”

  “Seems silly. Vera’s not a murderer.”

  “I don’t think so either, but sometimes the cops do things in a hurry and try to get cases closed as fast as possible. I figured it couldn’t hurt for me to follow behind them and see if I can find out anything they may have missed.”

  “I’m not sure I can be of much help. I told the police everything I know.”

  “Which is?”

  “I was on the bed on my laptop when the shots went off.”

  “Did you hear anything unusual before all the noise?”

  “You can’t really hear much between the walls here,” Trey says. “My TV was on, and I was brainstorming for the final competition when I heard the gun. I knew we were filming at the Museum of American History the next day, and I heard Cynthia talking with one of her assistants about the Julia Child kitchen exhibit. I figured the next challenge would likely be related to some of Julia’s recipes or classic French cooking. I had just put on my salt mask and was looking up duck à l’orange recipes when I heard the shots. Like you guys, I immediately ran out of my room to see what was going on.”

  “Probably not the brightest thing to do on any of our parts. Vera had the ri
ght idea about staying in her room until the police got here,” I say, before adding, “So, these walls are pretty soundproof?”

  “I wouldn’t say soundproof. I couldn’t really hear voices, but when Russell made late night visits to Sherry’s room there was definitely some racket over there.”

  “So the rumors are true? Russell and Sherry were having an affair?”

  “I told you,” Wavonne says.

  “Unless they were playing whack-a-mole on Sherry’s headboard, yeah, I’d say that’s a pretty safe bet. I may not have been able to hear voices, but her bed ramming up against the wall... yeah, that came through pretty clear.”

  “Did you tell the police about Russell and Sherry?”

  “Yes. Like I said, I told them everything I know.”

  “As long as we are talking about things you know,” I say. “Do you know if Cynthia was aware of Russell and Sherry’s affair?”

  “No. I don’t know if she knew, and I certainly was not going to be the one to tell her.” Trey sits down on the edge of the bed. “But I suspect that she did, and I think she found out recently. Cynthia’s attitude toward Sherry changed about a week ago... and not in a good way.”

  “How so?”

  “When we were taping the first few episodes, Cynthia was very cordial with her. I might go as far as saying that Cynthia paid special attention to her. She was always chatting her up and, here and there, she loaned out Russell’s hair and makeup girls to her. We, the contestants, that is, didn’t get hair and makeup. Only Russell and Leon got that. So, some attention from Russell’s stylists was a treat for Sherry. But about a week ago, their relationship seemed to sour. Cynthia started speaking to her only when necessary, and when it came to hair and makeup, Sherry was left to her own devices. There was just a coldness from Cynthia that was not there before.”

  “Seems odd that the police would have a focus on Vera when it seems that Cynthia likely had a motive too,” Wavonne says.

  “Yeah, but Cynthia was in the lounge when Sherry was killed... and word is that not only is she on camera in the lounge, but the bartender or attendant or whatever you call him can vouch for her being in there as well.”

  “Maybe Cynthia didn’t know about the affair, and Sherry threatened to tell her. That would put Russell on the suspect list,” Wavonne says.

  “I was standing next to Russell when he talked to the police,” Trey offers. “He said he was in the restaurant with his contractor when Sherry was killed, so he has an alibi, too.”

  “What was his contractor doing here at eleven thirty at night?”

  “I don’t think Russell making his contractors burn the midnight oil was anything unusual. He’s known for being pretty hard-nosed, and he was anxious to get Sunfish open in a few weeks.”

  “So, we know what Russell and Cynthia were doing when Sherry was killed, and they both have alibis.” I want to add, “But what we don’t know is what you were doing.” Even though Trey told us what he was up to when Sherry died, unlike Russell and Cynthia, he has no witnesses or cameras to prove it—nothing to verify he didn’t dash out of his room, into Sherry’s through the patio door, and shoot her. Then rush back into his room in time to come out into the hallway looking as if he was as surprised as anyone by the gunfire.

  “My guess is Sherry’s death had nothing to do with anyone involved with the show. I don’t think anyone is going to commit murder over a cooking contest.”

  “I hope you’re right, but it certainly was one way to eliminate the competition,” I say, and look for any changes in his facial expression... to see if my words about eliminating the competition unnerve him, but I see nothing unusual or telling.

  “The only competition left on Monday was me.” Trey looks at me like I’m accusing him of something. “I can assure you that, as much as I wanted to win and be named Elite Chef, it is certainly not something I would kill anyone over. Besides, I don’t even know how to shoot a gun.”

  “She was shot at very close range. I don’t think whoever did it had to know much about shooting guns. But that’s neither here nor there. I wasn’t accusing you of anything, Trey. Like I said, I’m just asking questions . . . seeing what I can find out.” I get up from the sofa and Wavonne follows my lead. “We should be going. I appreciate you sharing with us.” As I say this, it occurs to me that Trey seems significantly less obnoxious than he was during our earlier encounters. He hasn’t pronounced anything in a pretentious French accent or mentioned where he went to school... or belittled Sweet Tea the whole time we’ve been here. “It was nice talking to you,” I say, and for the first time I really mean it.

  “You too.” He turns his head and looks me in the eye. “And, listen, I hope you’ll forgive me for making cracks about your restaurant serving... what did I call it, ‘basic type stuff’? I’ve actually known of your restaurant for years and have always wanted to try it. But since I started on the show, I’ve been borrowing from the Omarosa playbook. You can’t just be a great chef to win this thing. You really have to be some sort of entertaining character, someone who brings in viewers, if you want to keep from being sent home. Everyone loves a villain and the more obnoxious I am, the more I find Cynthia sending the cameramen my way. Outside this circus I don’t belittle other chefs or talk in overblown French accents while constantly reminding people of my credentials. I was just playing a role.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “You played it very well.”

  “You sure did,” Wavonne says. “If you played it any better I may have punched your lights out.”

  “Although there was one little nick in your armor,” I say while Trey laughs at Wavonne’s comment. “I knew you weren’t all bad when you let Vera have one of your sweet potatoes, so she’d actually have a chance during the last challenge.”

  “How could I say no to Vera? She’s such a nice lady. I can’t believe the police would think of her as a killer, even for a second.” He gets up from the bed. “So, we’re good?”

  “All is forgiven,” I reply, and Trey follows Wavonne and me to the door. And it’s only now, when I’m walking back toward the hallway, that I see something—a door along the wall shared with Sherry’s room—a door that, when unlocked and opened on both sides, would connect Sherry’s room to Trey’s.

  Chapter 27

  “I’m assuming you saw the door,” I say to Wavonne as we walk down the hall toward the hotel lobby.

  “What door?”

  “The one that connects Trey’s room to Sherry’s.”

  “There was a door to Sherry’s room?”

  “How did you not see it? It was to the right as we were walking out of his room.”

  “I was asking Trey about his mask when we were walking out of the room. I wasn’t paying attention to doors,” Wavonne says. “He said it’s just coconut oil, pink Himalayan salt, and a little grapefruit oil. Do you think they sell all that at Wegmans?”

  “I don’t know... probably... but I can’t say I’m terribly interested in Trey’s beauty mask at the moment.”

  “I don’t know, Halia. I’m looking these masks up online now.” Wavonne is swiping on her phone as we walk. “Says here it hydrates, soothes, and detoxifies. Maybe we can pick up the stuff tonight and whip up one for me... and maybe one for you, so you look nice and fresh when you meet Aunt Celia’s pharmacist.”

  “Momma’s pharmacist is the least of my concerns at the moment,” I say as we step into the lobby. “That connecting door to Sherry’s room really bothers me. Trey could have maneuvered between his room and Sherry’s much faster via that door than if he had to go via the patio. I mean he could—” I stop talking and almost lose my breath. For a quick second I think I see Sherry, back from the dead, at the front desk talking with Mitchell. I begin to wonder if Vera is not the only one seeing strange sights... until we get closer to the lobby, and I realize it’s only someone who looks an awful lot like her.

  “You must be related to Sherry,” I say to the young woman after we approach the counter, a
nd there is a break in her conversation with Mitchell. “You look so much like her.”

  “I’m Angela, Sherry’s sister. I’m here making some . . . some arrangements.”

  “It’s nice to meet you. I’m so sorry about Sherry. Such a lovely girl. We got to spend a little time with her shortly before her... her... the incident.”

  “Thank you.” You can tell Angela has been crying but seems to be keeping it together at the moment. “Let me guess,” she says. “You’re Halia.” She shifts her head in Wavonne’s direction. “And you’re Wavonne.”

  “How did you know?”

  “I talked to Sherry shortly before she... you know . . . and she mentioned both of you. Said you helped her come up with an amazing biscuit recipe....” Angela starts getting teary eyed. “I’m sorry. She was just in such a good place when she told me about you guys. And that was the last time I talked to her... the last time I’ll ever talk...” Her teary eyes morph into full-fledged crying.

  “Please don’t apologize. It’s okay.” I put my arm on her shoulder. “Cry all you want.”

  “I just can’t believe it.” Angela wipes her eyes and tries to collect herself. “She sounded tired when I talked to her, but she was so happy to be part of the finals and was looking forward to me coming to visit to see the final taping. I had just gone to bed when I got the call that she’d been... that she’d been killed.”

  “Why don’t we go have a seat.” I keep my arm on her shoulder and lead her to a sofa by the fireplace. “I’m sure this is an incredibly difficult time. And there’s always so much to do after someone passes.”

  “She didn’t pass. She was murdered.”

  “Yes,” I say quietly. “And it’s horrendous. You didn’t come to town by yourself, did you?”

  “I did. Our parents were too distraught to travel. Someone needed to come and arrange to transfer her body and collect her things, and I already had a ticket booked.”

  “That’s a lot to handle all by yourself. Are you managing okay?”

  “As good as can be expected, I guess. I spent the morning talking with the police, and then I had to go to a local funeral home, so they can help arrange her transfer back home once the county releases her body. At least it’s kept me distracted.”