Sherry checked the wall clock. “Thank you, Ethel. We’re all done. We didn’t use the projector after all. We really appreciate your help.”
Smile lines formed as Ethel’s mouth drew up into a bright grin.
Marla lifted the laptop. “I’ll meet you outside. I have to return the laptop. On time.”
Chapter 11
“What did you talk to the firefighter about?” Marla asked when she joined Sherry outside the library.
“She was telling me about the Augustin Marina fire.” Sherry made her way to the car with Marla at her side. Once inside the car, she continued, “Seems Crosby was the prime suspect in the arson investigation.”
“Why would Crosby burn down the marina?”
“His father may have been the cause of his parents’ separation. Speculation was, he had a wandering eye that threatened to break up the family, and Crosby may have wanted to hit his father where it hurt. I gather the evidence couldn’t conclusively prove his guilt, or his mother, Ivy, may have talked her son’s way out of prosecution.”
“Is the latter even possible?”
“Lonnie was the dockmaster. If charges weren’t pressed, or maybe evidence was lost somehow, the case couldn’t move forward. Leads me to believe the fire may have had a lot to do with the family split, Crosby’s relocation, and maybe even his eventual name change, if he and his father were estranged over the incident.”
“Maybe a visit to see Lonnie Currier would enlighten us?” Marla suggested.
“I shouldn’t get any more involved.” Sherry steered the car down her street. “But, for the sake of a former teacher . . . I owe it to him to at least sniff around until this thread goes nowhere. Do we have time to stop at Sunset Village before we go home to finish the recipe?”
“I don’t think it matters whether we have time or not. The tone of your voice says it’s going to happen. Sounds like we’re heading to Sunset Village. What about something to eat first?” Marla asked.
“I’ll buy you a treat on the way. How about we take out from the Soulful Sandwich? I’m in the mood for a New England po’boy. A bit of the north and a bit of the south all in one bite. Now that’s a perfect recipe.”
“Great accompaniment to my breakfast of doughnuts.” Marla grinned broadly.
Parking at Sunset Village was restrictive. So many spots were reserved for the handicapped. Sherry had to circle the lot twice until one of the few undesignated spots became available. Once the car was parked, the sisters followed the brick path up to the sprawling, one-level complex. The landscaping around the building was abundant and varied and led to a welcoming sight. Even the chilled air of late autumn didn’t dim the warmth of the colorful plantings.
Sherry breathed in the earthy, dry-leaf fragrance the trees put off during their last gasp before snow arrived. “Such a pretty garden. That’s another thing I love about Augustin. Attention to detail. Everyone is so proud of their spot on the map. Come to think of it, maintaining this garden might be a nice project for some of the Augustin Community Garden interns to take on if the facility needs help.”
“Is this a glimpse into our future?” Marla asked as she and Sherry navigated past a couple holding hands between their wheelchairs.
The gray-haired woman and the bald man seemed to be sharing a moment of garden appreciation. Not long after, the couple was on the move toward the building.
“Could Grant and I ever make it to that stage?”
“That’s up to you both,” Sherry said in a near whisper. “Sunset Village is a lovely facility. I don’t think any of us are quite ready to move in yet, though. When we do, I hope we’re as happy as those two lovebirds.” She stopped in front of a posted map of the Augustin Meadows Senior Living Community. She pointed to the building on the map with the “You are here” labeled red star. “Sunset Village is the facility that houses seniors without major medical issues, it says. Check-in is this way.”
Sherry and Marla followed the wheelchairs inside and veered to the right to stand in line at the reception desk. When their turn came, they were called forward to sign in and specify their reason for visiting. The woman behind the desk lowered her reading glasses down the bridge of her nose and glared at Sherry.
“We’re here to visit Lonnie Currier. We were in the area and decided to drop in unannounced,” Sherry explained.
“Mr. Currier doesn’t know you’re visiting? He’s in the middle of teaching a class.” The woman checked the clock. “For the next twenty minutes. You’re welcome to attend. He’s a very good cook and you could learn a thing or two from him.”
Sherry side-eyed her sister. “Perfect. I could use some cooking tips. We’d love to attend.”
The woman behind the desk stood with the help of a cane she retrieved from under her desk. She pointed to a set of double doors at the end of the wide hallway. “The kitchen is through those doors. Please shut the door behind you to keep out the lobby noise. You’ll find chairs in the back of the room. Feel free to move them forward to get a good view of Lonnie’s demonstration.” She sat back down. “Bon appétit.”
The hallway was littered with wheelchairs, both occupied and empty, an ominous gurney, and a cart bulging with medicine bottles. The smell of rubbing alcohol, elderly human existence, and cafeteria food permeated Sherry’s nose, and she quickened her pace toward the kitchen to shorten the amount of time she had to endure it all as her stomach began to feel queasy. When she yanked open the double doors, the doorjamb screeched across the linoleum, announcing their arrival.
Heads rotated in Sherry’s direction. The man at the front of the room, in a white chef’s coat, was huddled over a baking pan. He straightened up and stopped talking in midsentence. He made a point of glaring at the clock on the side wall. “You two ladies have missed half the class.” His tone was less than welcoming.
“Sorry.” Sherry located an empty chair, dragged it forward, and sat, as did Marla.
“Good afternoon to you, too. Geesh, what a grouch,” Marla hissed.
A silver-haired woman, seated beside Sherry, lifted her cupped hand to her mouth and directed a comment the sisters’ way. “His recipes are worth tolerating his crankiness for. Beware of asking questions. He might bite your head off. Consider yourself warned.” The woman did a double take when she finished her warning. “Lord have mercy. You’re Sherry Oliveri. What in tarnation are you doing at a cooking class? You should be the teacher. By the way, my good friend, Eileen Weisberger, is over the moon she was chosen the winner of the Story For Glory Cookie Bake-off. She said she wasn’t your first choice as the winner. Luckily, the other judges had the good sense to choose her Pawprints.
“I was in the audience with my daughter. Next year we’ll definitely enter. She makes the yummiest Butterscotch Lace Cookies. She has to work on her backstory, though. She leads such a boring life.”
“Thank you.” Sherry wasn’t interested in another scolding by Lonnie. She did her best to redirect the woman’s attention back to the demonstration by staring straight ahead.
Marla elbowed Sherry. “What kind of cookie is that?” She made a subtle gesture toward the pan of bar cookies by the oven.
“Those are definitely the cookies Crosby baked for Saturday’s contest. Tropical Dream Bars,” Sherry replied.
“The same cookies? Are you sure? Why would . . .”
“Something you two would like to share with the rest of the class? You’ve been chatting the entire time you’ve been here. Not only have you missed the first half of the recipe, you’re on your way to missing the second.” The man’s level of exasperation made Sherry wince. He placed his hand on his hip and stared down Marla before shifting his attention to Sherry.
The woman next to Sherry leaned in closer. “He has no idea who you are.”
“I can call you Lonnie? Or Chef Lonnie?” Sherry pointed to the name tag on the chef’s coat.
He nodded and raised his glasses above his eyes. “Lonnie is fine. Do I know you?”
“I was a
judge in the Story For Glory Cookie Bake-off last Saturday and had the pleasure of tasting the best cookies Augustin has to offer. My name is Sherry Oliveri.”
Lonnie gripped a spatula in his hand. His knuckles grew white. “Ah, yes. Sherry Oliveri. I didn’t recognize you with my reading glasses on. Pressure’s on to impress you. You’ve obviously tasted the cookies I’m preparing because my son entered them in the bake-off. As I recall, you liked them very much. I saw your look of satisfaction up there on the judging panel.”
“They were better than Eileen’s?” the woman next to Sherry whispered.
“No,” Sherry whispered back.
“His cookies didn’t win because I believe he made a technical error in their preparation. He left out a crucial ingredient.” Lonnie cracked a grin. “Please enjoy the class. Questions are welcome, but not encouraged.” Lonnie produced a gruff laugh.
“You made him laugh,” the woman beside Sherry whispered. “That’s a first.”
The class continued without interruption and, in the final minutes, Lonnie beckoned the students forward for a sample cookie. Oohhs and aahs filled the room.
“See you all next week, when we’ll make curried butternut squash soup,” Lonnie announced when the front-desk receptionist appeared inside the double doors.
She tapped her cane on the floor. “Time’s up, people. Thank you, Chef Lonnie. Water yoga starts in fifteen minutes.”
The crowd dispersed with the exception of one man, who joined Lonnie. Sherry assumed he was there to help clean up, but it wasn’t long before she was proven incorrect.
“That recipe’s getting long in the tooth, don’t you think?” The man with a thick tuft of salt-and-pepper hair held a cookie in the air.
“You don’t seem to have much trouble wolfing them down. Maybe it’s you who’s long in the tooth.” Lonnie’s quick retort prompted a humph from the recipient.
Lonnie turned his attention to Sherry. “It’s Sherry’s opinion that holds weight. What did you think of the cookie? I followed the recipe to a T, unlike Crosby.”
Sherry felt all eyes on her. “Very good.”
“Why are you here? Certainly not for the master class in baking.”
The other man backed away from the table. “I’ll see you at dinner.” He turned and left the room.
Lonnie acknowledged the comment with a grumble. “Sick of sitting in the mess hall with the same old geezers.”
“The reason we’re here is that we’d like to talk to you about Crosby if that’s okay. We’d also like to help you clean up.” Sherry tore some sheets of paper towel from a roll sitting on the counter. She began corralling the cookie crumbs that were scattered across the counter. She tossed a loaded paper towel in the garbage and ripped off another sheet.
“You’re a cook-off judge and a detective? A full ré-sumé.” Lonnie collected his bowls and utensils and walked them to the expansive stainless-steel sink.
Sherry edged closer to the sink. “One and done for the first label, never have been or want to be for the second. I like cooking in cook-offs much more than I like judging other cooks.”
Marla cleared her throat. “We had dinner with Crosby the night before the bake-off. He taught both of us a class in high school. Such a nice man. Not much older than Sherry, too.”
“Crosby had his attributes, along with his vices.”
Sherry considered the delicacy of her next question. Had she won Lonnie’s trust in the very limited time she’d known him? More to the point, had she lost any chance of gaining his trust somehow?
“Crosby’s wife, Rachel, introduced herself to me at the bake-off. I was surprised to learn she was actually his ex-wife. He told us she was out of town. I was quite surprised when she introduced herself to me. Seems she wasn’t out of town after all.”
Lonnie lay the cookie pan down in the sink, producing a metal-to-metal clang. He turned slowly to face Sherry. The sternness of his expression chilled the skin on her arms.
“I never could understand why the boy said the things he did. Listen closely to me. Rachel didn’t do it. I had many more reasons to want Crosby to disappear than her. He’s been a thorn in my side his entire adult life. I’m not perfect, but I was a darn good role model. Gave him everything he needed to be a successful adult and he flopped. Couldn’t even come up with an original cookie recipe for the bake-off. Had to take his mother’s recipe and call it his own. The detective who asked me questions was concerned about Rachel’s relationship with Crosby. She’s a good girl. She visits me often and makes sure I don’t feel too neglected.”
“Rachel told me she brought you to the bake-off. You must have gone to cheer your son on, even if you didn’t approve of his recipe.” Her statement was more of a question than a comment. She paused.
Lonnie stayed silent for a moment. “I’m sure the cookie was a nod to his late mother. When Rachel told me he had entered the recipe in the contest, I had to see for myself.”
Sherry forced a smile in hopes of thawing Lonnie’s icy glare. “Were you and Crosby’s mother divorced?”
“Young lady, you must take me for a fool if you think I don’t realize you know the answer to that question.” He held an unwavering glare on Sherry. “I didn’t cheat on my wife as is widely rumored. Crosby may have even been the perpetrator of that rumor. He had his reasons for seeing me take a fall. To answer your question, no, we never divorced.”
Sherry peered over at Marla, who returned the look with a subtle nod.
“The detective said if Rachel can’t provide a verifiable alibi, he is going to have to arrest her.” Lonnie dropped his voice to a near whisper. “I wasn’t with her the entire time at the bake-off. I was having some stomach problems. You won’t want me to get too graphic, but I made multiple trips to the men’s room.”
With the impression she had softened Lonnie, Sherry sucked in a deep breath and plunged in. “You can’t deny you had a contentious relationship with your son. You said as much right here. What would make me believe you weren’t somehow involved in his murder if Rachel wasn’t?”
Marla dropped the handful of forks she was holding, and they scattered across the floor. “Oops.”
“You’re right. That detective fellow’s making a mistake not putting me at the top of the suspect list. I’ll tell you a secret. If I was going to kill Crosby, I would have done it long ago, when he deserved it. He wasn’t very nice to his mother and me on occasion. You’ll have to take me at my word; I couldn’t be bothered doing time for the deed these days. Not worth the effort. I’ve moved on.”
Sherry glared at Marla in hopes her sister would enter the conversation. Marla was busy corralling the scattered forks. Sherry was at a loss as to which direction to proceed.
When she added the final fork to her collection, Marla took a step closer to Lonnie. “The other night, Sherry and I were waiting to be picked up for a boat ride, and I read an article about your career as dockmaster for the Augustin Yacht Club.”
Lonnie’s eyes brightened. “If it’s the framed article on the wall of the sad excuse for the current Marina headquarters, you got an idea of how prestigious the position was in those days when you read it. The yachts—and I mean yachts, not boats—had to check in with me, attain my permission to dock, and radio me to get passengers ferried to shore. I ran a tight ship. Nonmembers constantly approached me with interesting requests. I could have gotten rich from the bribes I refused to accept. Not that I wasn’t tempted, mind you. I was offered so much money for the preferred slip and the longest dock time allowance, I couldn’t even tally the amount. Sadly, the place is now a shell of its former self. I feel bad for Vitis Costa. He stepped into a minefield when he took over my role. In more ways than one. But, yes, I loved my career.”
“How did the fire start?”
“Crosby. He wanted to punish me for separating from his mother. Taking away my livelihood was his idea of hitting me where it hurt the most. And he was right.”
“But why wasn’t he ever convicted
of arson? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“His mother. She made sure the case never went to trial and he got off scot-free.” Lonnie shook his head. “I let it go. That was a battle I wasn’t willing to undertake. Even if it meant ending my career.”
“And he moved away after that?” Marla asked.
“That’s right. Not long after the fire, there was a very damaging article in the local paper by a vindictive writer that strongly suggested Crosby was guilty of setting the fire. The article spelled the end of his short-lived Augustin High teaching career. Worked out okay for him. He moved to Long Island. He eventually returned and met Rachel.”
“Do you have any idea who may have taken your son’s life?” Sherry asked.
“I just know who didn’t take his life. Let me ask you something. Would you be able to prove my daughter-in-law innocent by finding the killer? It’s no secret you’re a pretty good sleuth. I have a sneaking suspicion that’s why you’re here today. To get to the bottom of his murder.”
“I’m here out of respect for your son. He did something nice for me when I was in high school, and it had some continued significance in my life. I wanted to meet you and tell you that.”
“I appreciate that. Crosby and I had issues, as I told the detective. It probably put me on the suspect list right behind Rachel. Can’t turn back time and undo what’s been done.” Lonnie shrugged his shoulders. “What do you say? Will you have a look around and find Crosby’s killer so his long-suffering wife can have some peace?”
Sherry lifted her head. “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, thank you for letting us sit in on your cooking class.” Sherry’s sweet tone may have come on strong, but she wanted to leave Lonnie on an upbeat note.
Chapter 12
The next morning, when she opened her eyes, Sherry’s phone glowed in her peripheral vision. Who would be texting so early?
She reached over to her bedside table and grabbed the phone. Not a text. A voice mail. Probably Dad. Hope he’s okay. Before she could listen to the message, something crashed to the floor below her bedroom. She hauled herself out of bed.
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