Final Roasting Place

by Devon Delaney

  Sherry brought her fingertips up to her hair. “Thanks. Do you think this is the image I should portray at my age?”

  “Last I checked, you were young, so go for it.”

  “For the record, my so-called new life hasn’t really gotten under way. I’m still deep in the life chosen for me, not by me.”

  “You need a kick start. Have faith.” Amber studied the four-legged floor cleaner. “Chutney didn’t bark at me when I came in. Is that a good sign or a bad sign?”

  “Funny, he seems to know that people coming into the store means potential business. Here, he’s more of a greeter than a defender. At home, don’t mess with him because he’s the one who’s all business.”

  “I remember my first encounter with him. I got a good gander at his protective side.” Amber pointed out the hook by the door. “Is this a good place to hang my sweater?”

  “Perfect place.” Sherry tossed her hand in the general direction of an empty hook.

  “That hat seems awfully familiar.” Amber moved closer to the well-worn beige brain warmer and ran her finger across the brim.

  Sherry reached across Amber, picked up the hat, and banged it on her thigh to remove any extraneous dust before rehanging it.

  “Yep, Detective Ray Bease is back, investigating the murder that took place after the Channel Twelve cook-off I was just in. It’s a long story I didn’t want to bore you with when I reached out to you, but the short version is, the detective stopped by to ask Dad and me a few questions to see what we might or might not have witnessed. He had the audacity to suggest Dad was on the suspect list. That’s when Dad fell ill. In the rush to get him to a doctor, the detective left his hat. I’ll call him and arrange a pickup. Not sure he can function well with an exposed head.” Sherry squared a small piece of paper up with the edge of the cash register and wrote: Call Ray Bease.

  Amber hugged her arms tight across her midsection. “Cook-off, murder, suspects. Why am I getting a sudden sense of déjà vu?”

  “Probably because the last time we were together all of those things happened, but, thanks in part to your help, the cook-off judge’s murderer was caught and convicted.”

  “It was due to your sleuthing, my friend, and don’t you forget it. Sounds like you’re going to be called into action again, if your dad is a suspect.”

  “The investigation is in the capable hands of Detective Bease, who I have full faith in. He just needs to keep things moving in the right direction so Dad can relax. Come on. Let’s get started.” Sherry placed her hand on Amber’s shoulder and steered her away from the register.

  Amber shadowed Sherry for the next hour, moving from the stockroom to the register and on to the product demonstration area, where Amber got to try her hand at hooking a small section of a rug.

  “Amazing.” Amber chose a ball of yarn, the color of an orange Creamsicle, to thread through the hooking tool before attempting to pierce the canvas tacked to a frame. After a few minutes she put the tool down. “This may not be my forte. I think I’ll stick to refining my cooking skills as my primary hobby for now, but this must be fun for someone who is artistically inclined. Luckily I don’t have to be good at making a rug to be good at selling it.” Amber picked up the punch tool and thrust it through the canvas. “I can see this has uses for people with anger issues.”

  Sherry patted her new coworker on the back as the doorbell sounded. Two women dressed in identical floral day dresses, with the exception of their color schemes, entered the store carrying on an animated conversation.

  “I would never have believed she’s capable of that if I hadn’t double-checked with her neighbors. Needless to say, they’re not friends anymore. Frances, what do I always tell you?” The taller woman wagged her finger at her petite companion.

  “This is what you say, Ruth. ‘You can’t burn both sides of an open drawbridge with only one match.’ That’s what you always say.”

  Sherry presented the women with a broad smile. “Mrs. Gadabee, that sounds like one of my father’s wise adages.” And just as hard to decipher.

  “That’s why he and I get along so well.” Ruth Gadabee primped her short, graying hair with her manicured fingers. “We’ve got a favor to ask of you, dear.” She presented Sherry with a foil-covered casserole dish. “And who do we have here?”

  “Ruth Gadabee, Frances Dumont, I’d like you to meet Amber Sherman. She’ll be working here while my father recuperates from a health scare.” Sherry carried the casserole over to the counter and set it down. She peeked under the foil.

  “Nice to meet you, dear.” Before Amber could stand, Ruth reached down and shook her hand, as did Frances.

  “The same Mrs. Dumont who inspired Sherry to become a pickle vendor at the farmer’s market?” Amber asked.

  Frances flashed a warm grin. “The opposite is true. This lady inspired me to retire because I knew I had found the right person to represent the best pickle in all the land. It took a bit of convincing to get her fully on board. You know, our girl Sherry can get herself worked up into quite an anxious state when presented with too many options, but she succumbed to my pressure.”

  When Sherry gave Amber a sideways glance, Sherry picked up on her friend’s sly smile.

  “Here, Chutney. Come here, boy.” Ruth squatted down and greeted the panting pup after he jettisoned from his favorite sample rug. “Congratulations on your latest cook-off win, Sherry.” With a hoist from Frances, Ruth rose to her feet and hugged Sherry with such vigor her arms were pinned to her sides. “Augustin is the luckiest town on Earth having such a homegrown talent as yourself. And the daughter of the town’s, and possibly the county’s, oldest business establishment owner, no less. Such an honor for both you and your dad.” Ruth released Sherry, who caught herself before melting to the floor. “Speaking of the cook-off, you were still at the TV station when poor Carmell Gordy met her fate. Must have been awfully frightening.”

  “Dad and I were trying to leave. I was waiting for him to return from the men’s room. A tremendous storm rolled in, and the building lost power. I hunkered down until the power was restored. When the lights came back on, the poor woman was slumped over at her desk. Shocking, to say the least.” Sherry tucked her hair behind her ears. “I didn’t witness the act, but I was in the same room. Hard to say where Dad was at that point.”

  “Speaking of your dad, he was as pale as white asparagus today. Has he had anxiety attacks in the past?” Frances asked.

  “How did you know he had a panic attack? Wait, you saw him today?” Sherry’s eyebrows did a jig. “He wouldn’t even let me stop over this morning on my way here.”

  Amber stood and backed away from the conversation. She headed toward the supply room.

  A stone-faced Ruth Gadabee adjusted her pearl necklace. “Frances and I stopped by as soon as he called.” Ruth cocked her head at a slight angle. “Friends supporting friends.” She straightened her head and winked.

  An involuntary “huh” escaped from Sherry’s throat.

  “Before I forget, we brought over a casserole we’d like your expert opinion on. The ingredients are orzo, lemon, capers, shallots, and chicken, but we think the balance is off. Don’t we, Frances?” Ruth paused until her friend nodded in agreement. “Would you mind trying a forkful?”

  Sherry had been in this situation many times. Friends, neighbors, and even total strangers asking her opinion on topics ranging from recipe suggestions to cooking methods and anything in between that pertained to the culinary world. It entered tricky territory when the inquirers were relatives, close associates, or frequent customers. Sherry hesitated before taking the fork presented by Ruth.

  “It’s not as hot as it should be, dear, but you must be used to that from your various cook-offs. I mean, how in the world can the food stay at the perfect temperature after it leaves your hands and goes to the judges’ mouths?” Ruth asked.

  “Ruth, if you don’t stop gabbing, the casserole will be ice-cold.” Frances reached over and pushed Sher
ry’s hand closer to the food. “Go ahead, dear.”

  Sherry shoveled the silver ware’s prongs into the creamy mound dotted with greens and browns and took a bite. Sherry swept her lips with her tongue. “Delicious. I think it’s perfect the way it is.”

  “That’s great news.” Ruth clapped her hands. “We didn’t invent the recipe, but we tried to follow the instructions to a T, except for the fact that chopped spinach was called for, which I didn’t have. Erno isn’t partial to spinach anyway, so if you don’t miss it, I’m satisfied he won’t either.”

  “This is for my dad? He’ll be thrilled. I was going to drop a meal by his townhouse later, but I wasn’t sure when I’d find the time to prepare it.” Sherry set the fork down and replaced the foil on top of the dish, tucking the corners in as neat as on a tamale. “I didn’t even know he wasn’t a spinach lover, how did . . .”

  “Dear, can we talk a moment about your father’s situation? He mentioned a Detective Grease made him feel like he was under suspicion for that TV woman’s murder.” Ruth smoothed a wrinkle in the foil before taking a step closer to Frances.

  Frances clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “No. Erno said the man’s name rhymes with grease. His name was Breeze, I think.”

  “It’s Bease, Detective Bease. Mrs. Gadabee, I would prefer not to discuss the investigation. It’s early yet. Any information offered up by people who weren’t at the scene is speculation or judgment, neither of which is helpful toward gathering the facts.”

  “I understand.” Ruth eyed her casserole. “I was hoping that, if there’s any way you could find out who the murderer was, it would be helpful. Your dad needs this weight off his shoulders. He’s sprouted hundreds of gray hairs overnight. I’m so worried about him.”

  “Wait, how often do you see him?” Sherry’s hands popped up from her sides. She waited for a reply with as much intensity as a baker waits for the oven timer to ring.

  “We enjoy each other’s company, dear.” Ruth’s tone was nonnegotiable. “I’m sure you understand even folks in the winter of their lives have need for companionship and whatnot. Let’s put it this way: if my life is a five-course meal, I’m in the dessert portion, so I want the dish served sweet.”

  Sherry let out a melodic sigh. “I’ll do my best, Mrs. Gadabee. I promised my father I would try to sort out the facts, but I’ve got so much on my plate. Now, what else can I help you with?”

  Amber emerged from the back room with arms crossed. She shuffled over to Sherry’s side. Ruth and her friend exchanged glances.

  “There’s another reason we came in,” Frances said. “We are on the Augustin Founder’s Day talent search committee, as you may be aware. Had we known about the can of worms that was about to be opened when we volunteered, we would never have signed up. I could’ve organized the day in my sleep, but turns out every detail, down to the font choice on the brochure, has to pass through a myriad of groups, which takes forever. The biggest roadblock of all may undermine the celebration entirely.”

  Amber flipped the ends of her shoulder-length hair with the back of her hand. “Sounds like a fun day. What’s the roadblock?”

  Ruth waved her index finger. “There’s a claim being made of a second founder.”

  “How exciting.”

  Ruth extended one arm forward, palm facing the heavens. “More ridiculous than exciting. You see, on one hand, you have the Swedish explorer Andre August Dahlback. The notion’s been widely accepted that he founded our idyllic town bordered to the south by the Long Island Sound and to the north and east by the meandering and aptly named Silty Pretzel River. The man’s onions built fortunes for the small town and its citizens.” Ruth raised her other palm as if catching a downpour of liquid gold. “On the other hand, there has recently been a grassroots movement by a prominent family, who doesn’t even live in Augustin, may I add, to have their ancestor recognized as Augustin’s founder. If these people could be easily ignored, they would be, but that’s proving to be an impossible task. I’m afraid they’re dampening the spirits of the participants. My job is to showcase the local talent that gives Augustin such appeal, and that’s hard to do if the roots of the celebration are embedded in sand. Maybe even quicksand, one might say.”

  “But, we’re not going to let that happen.” Frances pumped her fists before clutching her bicep. “Ouch, I’m getting so creaky.”

  “I’m sure the dust will settle and the day will go off without a hitch. I’m happy to do my small part on the organization committee, despite any so-called controversy.” Sherry peeked at the clock on the wall. “Ladies, I’m going to give Amber a hand with pricing the yarn. Give a shout if you need me.”

  “I never got to my point.” Ruth took a step toward Sherry.

  “You really must speak less and say more, Ruth,” Frances chided.

  “Point taken. Before you go, Sherry, Larson Anderson, has sent me here to persuade you to make an appearance on the podium during the ceremony? I have a letter from him to you outlining the ceremony he’s hoping you’ll take part in.” Frances handed Sherry an envelope. “We will have a few of our most esteemed citizens onstage, including your father, when I ask him, that is. You’ll be in great company. We have a local published author whose book, The Watersport Workout, has reached the Hillsboro County best-sellers list. We also have an octogenarian Olympic athlete who competed in the tandem bicycle event. It’s a discontinued event, but to have an Olympic athlete who chose our town to retire in is so exciting. If you would bring some of your apron collection, people would enjoy that.”

  Amber gave Sherry a wide smile and a nudge.

  Sherry removed the letter from the envelope and scanned the short paragraph. “Yes, sure.” Sherry dropped her head as she stuffed the letter and envelope in her pocket. “But only if Dad participates.”

  “I’ll ask him when I deliver this casserole.” Ruth collected the dish of food. “He never says no to me.”

  Frances poked Ruth with her elbow. “Ruth, behave in front of the youngsters.”

  Sherry squeezed her eyes shut to block any unwanted images from entering her brain. She wasn’t successful. “And can you tell him to call me, please. I think he may have forgotten where his charger is because my calls jump to voice mail as if his phone was powered down. On second thought, he seems to be accepting frequent visitors, so maybe I’ll stop by.”

  Her sarcasm didn’t appear lost on Ruth, who drew up one side of her mouth and let loose a nasal “humph.” Ruth handed the casserole dish to Frances and linked arms with her. “Of course, dear. And, nice meeting you, Amber.”

  The two women let themselves out, accompanied musically by the doorbell’s song.

  “What just happened? Those two ladies know more about my father than I do, especially Ruth Gadabee. I’m suspicious Dad sent them here to check up on me, too. He’s so transparent. That casserole was a pawn in their game, I fear.”

  Amber linked arms with Sherry as their recent visitors had done. “I don’t know those ladies from a hole in the wall, but I gather, from the brief time we spent together, one of them may be more than friends with Erno.”

  “I think you might be right. No wonder he doesn’t need me.”

  “Oh, I think he needs you more now than he ever has in his life. Maybe not as a caretaker, but who better than you to help him out of the tough spot he’s in. You’re pretty good as an amateur detective, need I remind you.”

  “I guess. Enough of the pity party. Let’s get back to work.” Sherry pulled her arm away from Amber’s.

  “By the way, are either of those ladies hooked-rug hobbyists or do they buy completed rugs? Don’t answer that; I’m going to check their customer history the way you taught me.” Amber walked over to the register and spun the Rolodex filled with index cards. “Ever going to computerize this info? And I’m not necessarily volunteering.”

  “It wasn’t too long ago Dad began taking credit cards. Do you think he’s ready to make the leap to computers?”


  “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Amber flipped the cards over. “I’m having trouble finding Gadabee. The card should be right here between Gabriel and Gamble.”

  Sherry peered over Amber’s shoulder. “Gadabee should be there. Dad’s meticulous about noting each purchase and any customer preferences and particularities.”

  Amber lifted a card high. “Right here. It’s such a clean card it was stuck to the ink that bled through the ‘Gabriel’ card in front. She has one purchase, and it was a botanical fireplace rug eight years ago. For preferences, your father listed: roast duck and Merlot. The O in Merlot is a heart. Aw, that’s sweet.”

  Sherry clutched her head in her hands and groaned. She raised her head and pitched it to the side. “I could have sworn she used to hook rugs as a hobby. I wonder why her card is so empty. Oh well, thank goodness we have other customers who spend a little more money here.”

  Amber continued to study the card. “The bottom of the card has a notation in red saying ‘see Paladin, Brett.’”

  “Really?” Sherry pulled the card out of Amber’s hand and scrutinized it. She gave the card back to Amber and shouldered her way closer to the Rolodex. With a spin of the handle, she found the Ps. She wriggled a card free. “Brett Paladin, well, what do you know? Now that’s a full card. The first purchase was recorded years ago. Lots of supplies and even a rectangular rug depicting the family Labrador retriever.”

  “Who’s Brett Paladin?” Amber asked.

  “He’s our local TV channel’s morning anchor. He co-anchored with Carmell Gordy, the woman murdered after my cook-off. But why is his card cross-referenced with Ruth Gadabee’s card?” Sherry tapped Brett’s frayed card on her forearm until fragments began to flake off. “Oops. This is fragile. Well, anyway, that’s curious.” Sherry replaced both cards and closed the Rolodex cover. She checked the clock on the wall. “It’s almost four. What do you say we tidy up and call it a day?”