Final Roasting Place

by Devon Delaney

  Chapter 6

  “Your house is as gorgeous as ever.” Amber rolled her suitcase through the front hall and parked it at the bottom of the stairs. “Thanks for putting me up tonight. I’m here to help, not to be a burden, so no special treatment required.”

  “You’re doing me such a huge favor. Are you kidding me?” Sherry stepped over Amber’s suitcase and climbed the first step. She paused and collected a strand of Chutney’s white fur wedged in the stair frame.

  Amber laughed. “Still the same Sherry. Please don’t tidy up on my behalf. Your house is the neatest, cleanest house I’ve ever been in.”

  “To me that piece of fur might as well have been the size of a landfill. Ugh, you’re right. I’ll never change. Watch. This is what I’m working on.” Sherry replaced the white follicle on the step and continued upstairs, peering back twice. “I’ll put you in the blue room, same as last time. When you’re ready, come on down and tell me all about moving to Hartford.”

  After Sherry changed her clothes, she crept downstairs. While Sherry was in the midst of tossing Chutney’s stair fur in the garbage, Amber’s footsteps announced her entry into the kitchen. Sherry slammed the garbage can lid shut with such force it sprang back open. She secured it closed with her foot, hoping Amber was none the wiser.

  “That was quick.” Sherry’s words were delivered with an unintended sarcasm that assaulted her own eardrums. She led Amber over to the kitchen table, where a plate of cookies was waiting.

  Amber helped herself to an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie. “Tell me about your next cook-off. We didn’t have much time for chatting earlier, but you mentioned one was on the horizon.”

  Sherry shoved a napkin under Amber’s cookie as a crumb tumbled off. “I made it to the finals of the New England Leaf Peepers recipe contest. It’s in a few weeks. But the way my schedule’s filling up, I don’t know if I’ll have time.” Sherry traced a circle on the table with her finger. “Thursdays I’m committed to selling pickles at the farmer’s market. I have Dad’s store to monitor, with your help, as long as you’re willing, not to mention keeping an eye on Dad’s health. Although, I now realize I’m on the B team for that assignment. I’m not even taking into consideration my daily chores and errands. Why did I ever volunteer for Founder’s Day?”

  “No chance you’re missing that cook-off.” Amber bit off another chunk and chewed. “Can your sister or brother lend a hand?”

  “They’re busy. I’m pretty sure I’ll pull it all off. My hopes and dreams will have to wait.”

  “You’re being heroic, but as a semiretired therapist, I suggest accepting help where you can get it and maybe even asking for some. That’ll ease your stress. You might be surprised who offers. But that’s enough shoptalk. These cookies are too good. Take them away.” Amber pushed the plate closer to Sherry.

  “Let’s concentrate on you. So, you relocated back to Boston before your move to Hartford. What happened to your escape to Maine?”

  “I tried to make my life work up there, but I felt compelled to go back to Boston and tie up loose ends. I decided not to return to my family therapy practice or rather my practice decided not to invite me back. Now I write an online column. Kind of a modern-day Dear Ann Landers, if you’ve ever heard of her. People write in with family and relationship issue questions, and I offer advice. The benefit is the job’s as portable as my laptop. I’m required to submit twice a week, so I have plenty of time to work here as long as you need me.” Amber cleared her throat. “Can I help myself to a glass of water?”

  Sherry leapt out of her chair. “I appreciate your help so much.” She opened a cabinet door and pulled out a bar glass. “Filtered or sparkling?” The logo on the glass depicted a four-leaf clover and a brand of Irish beer.

  “Filtered is great. Love the glass.”

  “Thanks. I collect them from various places I’ve been. Sometimes I need a visual reminder that I leave Augustin every now and again.” Sherry handed Amber a full glass of water. “If a glass catches my eye, I often ask the waiter or bartender if I can buy it. I loved the good luck symbol on this one. I want to mention that I have a taste-testing get-together about once a month, kind of my version of a book group, where I cook up some new recipes and get feedback from the guests. Helps me in future contesting while filling tummies. This month’s get-together has crept up on me fast. Only three days away. Hopefully you’ll still be here. I’m not sure how many dishes I’ll have time to make, but at least two.”

  “Of course. Sounds like a lot of fun.”

  “Great.” Sherry got up, found her purse, and fished out her phone. “I’m giving Dad a call. If you want to relax in the living room, please, go right ahead. I shouldn’t be too long.”

  “I’m jumping right on my laptop to find a weekly rental apartment.” Amber left the room.

  “Remember, you’re welcome here for as long as you want,” Sherry called out.

  “Thanks, I appreciate it,” Amber replied.

  “Hi, Sherry. So happy you’re checking in. I just finished a wonderful casserole I heard received your blessing this afternoon.”

  “Hi, Dad.” Sherry left the kitchen and walked over to the stairs. She took a seat on the second step so she could pet Chutney while she talked. “Yes. Your lady friends seemed excited to be taking care of you while you took some time off. You’re a lucky guy.”

  “I’m lucky to have you too, sweetie.”

  “Thanks, Dad. I wasn’t sure you needed me since you have so many others watching out for you. I admit I feel responsible for your being at my cook-off in the first place, and I want to make sure you make a full recovery. Speaking of recovery, Amber did a great job today, so no need to rush back to work. She’s noting her hours, so we need to set that money aside to pay her. She says she can stay as long as you need to be out, so that’s a relief. No worries.” The word “worries” stuck on her tongue like a spoonful of peanut butter. Chutney shook his head, flinging Sherry’s hand off his fur.

  “I’m a little worried.” Erno cleared his throat. “When Ruth and Frances were here today, Frances mentioned her grandson had been complaining about mismanagement at Channel Twelve. He’s a good kid, fresh out of college. Not making any money, but the experience should pad his résumé.” Erno’s voice was weak.

  “Well, that information should take some heat off of you, wouldn’t you think?” Sherry fixed her gaze on her relaxed dog. “Once the investigation focuses on the station’s volatile work environment, you’ll be off the suspect list faster than a slow-cooked short rib falls off the bone. When you say you’re worried, what specifically are you worried about?”

  “Once they start heavy-duty snooping around, someone’s going to find out I’m not completely innocent, Sherry. Do you think you can help?” Erno emitted a soft rumble. “I have to go. I’m so tired.”

  “Dad, you shouldn’t say things like that. I mean about not being innocent. Are you there?” Sherry studied her phone, but saw no sign the call was live. Erno wasn’t himself. He hadn’t served up even one paternal passage of perception.

  “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” Amber hovered over Sherry’s slumped shoulders.

  “I think I feel a headache coming on. Maybe an early glass of wine will help. Are you in?”

  * * *

  The next morning, Sherry, Amber, and Chutney got to the store an hour before opening. They used the extra time to sort through and familiarize themselves with the month’s orders. Sherry unlocked the front door to customers at 10:00 a.m.

  “Tomorrow you’re on your own because it’s farmer’s market day. We’ll use today to think of any questions you might have, so tomorrow isn’t trial by fire. You can rearrange the rugs, put out your favorites, whatever makes you happy. Oh, I almost forgot to mention, no dogs are permitted at the farmer’s market, so you can either keep Chutney here for company or I can leave him at home and have my neighbor Eileen walk him once or twice. Your choice. No pressure.”

  Amber turne
d her head toward Chutney, who had settled down in a prime spot by the front window to sunbathe in the light streaming in. “He stays with me.”

  “Great. There’s a patch of grass in the back parking area where he can do his business. Just put the ‘Back in Five Minutes’ sign on the front door. Regular customers know exactly where I am when that sign goes up. I’ll drop the dog off when I unlock the place for you. I haven’t had a chance to get a spare key made, so opening and closing are on me. Are you sure you don’t want to spend one more night at my house?”

  “Not necessary. The rental starts today. Isn’t the Internet the best? Seek and ye shall find. It’s furnished and move-in ready.”

  “I’m kind of sad you won’t be staying with me longer. That had to have been the world’s shortest apartment search.”

  “Internet, e-mail, your scanner for the contract printing and signing. That’s all that was required to secure a weekly rental.”

  “Darn technology. Sometimes it’s too speedy for its own good.” Sherry smiled.

  The doorbell’s fervor stole their attention. In strolled Ruth and Frances, in near-matching pastel sweaters and beige ankle pants, arms linked. Sherry deferred to Amber for the greeting.

  “Mrs. Gadabee, Mrs. Dumont, how nice to see you again. What can I do for you this morning?” Amber set down the bottle of environmentally friendly spray cleaner Sherry had supplied her with and tucked the cleaning cloth in her pants pocket.

  “You have the most beautiful hair, Amber,” Frances Dumont cooed. “If strawberries and honey had a baby, the result would be that warm color.

  “What a nice compliment. Thank you.” Amber bowed her head.

  “She’s right, dear.” Ruth presented a travel coffee mug embellished with an elaborate logo. “This is Erno’s mug. We, I mean he, acquired it in his travels. We have this routine most mornings. Frances drives me to get coffee, and we drop it off here in one mug, and I bring the other one home to clean for the next day. The system works like a well-oiled machine. I know you, Sherry, don’t usually come in until early afternoon, so we like to make sure he’s caffeinated.” Both women giggled until they had to pull out tissues from their purses to dab their weeping noses.

  Sherry took the mug and clutched it with both hands. She eyeballed the hotel logo before rotating the mug with a quick gyration away from her line of sight. She walked the mug over to the register and set the cup down.

  “We’re here for another reason.” Frances followed Sherry. “We think there’s some information concerning the murder at Channel Twelve you ought to know.”

  “Mrs. Dumont, I told my father I would do some sniffing around, but I’m hesitant to go all in. Detective Bease is the lead investigator, and I’m sure he could make better use of your information than I can.”

  “Don’t be silly, dear. That detective will move at a snail’s pace. Why should he care how much your father’s suffering? We need to get this done quickly, and you’re the one for the job. It’s not a secret you’ve solved a murder in the past.” Frances put her hand under Sherry’s chin and lifted until their gazes met. “Hear me out.”

  The doorbell sweetened the air with a melodic note. In walked a man and a woman. They stood inside the door, taking in the surroundings.

  “I’ll get this.” Amber, sporting a welcoming smile, made her way over to the couple.

  “Your father needs help; we all agree.” Frances offered. “There are two tidbits of information you need to know. My grandson Steele feels the owner of Channel Twelve, a man named Damien Castle, has mismanaged funds that were to be used to keep the small station on the air and serving the community. Granted, a fair bit of that money was his initial investment after buying the station, but it’s becoming a bleak scenario over there. Steele said paychecks are often late, with the exception of Carmell Gordy’s, who made a show of getting hers on time. Steele guesses there was a clause in her contract about always getting paid on time or”—Frances paused—“or there would be some sort of consequence. Pretty clever of her.”

  “I did meet Damien Castle the morning of the cook-off. He seemed like a nice man.” Sherry shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She rubbed her palms together. They were as clammy as New England’s signature chowder. “I hate to ask, but how would an unpaid intern be so privy to all this inside payroll information?”

  Ruth nudged her friend. “You knew you’d have to tell her.”

  Frances continued, “Steele and Ms. Gordy were an item, as the young folks say. She was quite forthcoming with him, airing the station’s dirty laundry.”

  Sherry’s knees softened. She tensed her thighs to compensate. “I’m so sorry for his loss. I had no idea.”

  “It was a relatively brief affair, as these things go, that ended a few months ago,” Frances said. “But she still saw him as an ally, so to speak. Certainly sounds as if she needed one. Steele told me the relationship put him in quite a tight squeeze, balancing loyalty to both sides, pro-Carmell and anti-Carmell.”

  “I’ve lost count. Have you told me both items you wanted to share?”

  “I’ll take it from here,” Ruth said. “You also should know that Brett Paladin is my stepson. I was married to his father for many years after his mother passed away. My late husband, George Gadabee, Brett’s father, died in a horrendous car crash.”

  “Yesterday, Amber and I were sorting through Dad’s customer cards, and on your card was noted ‘see Brett Paladin.’ We followed the trail to your stepson’s card, though we didn’t know he was your stepson at the time. Of course, we were curious what the connection between you two was. Now it’s beginning to make sense, kind of. Seems he was an active customer for a time.”

  “Brett was extremely helpful in the period after his father’s death. I suffered a minor breakdown and couldn’t leave the house, so he picked up my rug-hooking supplies for me. Thank goodness for the hobby that got me through a dark phase. Couldn’t have been much fun for a young single man to take care of his stepmother, but he was a good sport about it. When I began to feel better and was able to leave the house, Brett was kind enough to bring me to the store because I’d lost my nerve to drive. In time, it became more about the shared love of a hobby with Erno. Not as much about the actual rug hooking. When I felt strong enough Brett moved out and we grew apart. We weren’t blood relatives so the connection between us grew weaker over time. When Brett pursued his career in broadcasting he took his late mother’s maiden name because Gadabee didn’t roll off the tongue like Paladin, he said. Personally, I think people give too much credit to names and how they represent the person, but to each his own.” Ruth leaned in to Frances’s hand that had landed on her shoulder. “Frances is now my chauffeur, and, sadly, I can’t remember the last time I spoke to Brett.”

  “Seems like Brett was very helpful when you needed him most. That can’t be said of all stepsons.” Sherry’s head bobbed forward and back with acknowledgment.

  “I’m telling you all this because Brett might be able to provide some insight in your investigation,” Ruth added.

  “It’s not my investigation. I may do some, well, for lack of a better phrase, independent investigating, but I haven’t figured out where to begin.” Sherry’s words came out with a little more heft than she intended. “Also, I don’t know when I’ll ever get a chance to talk to Brett.” Sherry paused and tapped her fingernails on the counter. “I do have to stop by the station and pick up my engraved trophy at some point. I haven’t gotten the call that it’s ready yet.”

  “I’ve got the perfect excuse for you to ask for a moment with him when you pick up your trophy.” Ruth reached in her pocket. She pulled out a suede pouch. She loosened the drawstring on the pouch and, with two fingers, fished out a gold piece of jewelry. “This is his father’s money clip that he loved so much. I want Brett to have it. Right here are his father’s initials, GAG, George Alexander Gadabee. Would you mind bringing it to Brett when you go? That should hopefully gain you entry into a conversation
with him.” Ruth dropped the clip inside the pouch and handed the bundle to Sherry.

  “I can do that for you.” Sherry walked the pouch to her purse and secured it in a side pocket. When she lifted her head, Amber waved to get her attention. “Pardon me for a moment; I need to go give Amber a hand.”

  “Of course. We’re going to browse in the meantime. We’ll be on our way soon.” Frances gathered Ruth by the elbow. “We haven’t said hi to Chutney yet.” With Ruth in tow, Frances led the way to the lattice-frame display.

  “If you see anything you like, let us know.” Sherry knew the words were an empty formality. The real object of their interest was resting himself at his townhouse.

  Sherry made her way over to Amber, who was ringing up a purchase.

  “I have a couple here who would like to be introduced to you.” Amber fluttered her open hand toward Sherry as if she were introducing a game show contestant to his or her prize options.

  “Hi, I’m Sherry Oliveri.” Sherry extended her hand to the couple before swapping bug eyes with Amber.

  “We’re the Bornsteads. We saw you on TV in our hotel room. You won a cook-off. How exciting.” The woman clapped her hands. “We’re doing a driving tour of New England, and this store was recommended as a must-see.” She rummaged around in her purse. “Have you seen this? It was in our hotel lobby. Oh, it’s not in my purse. Do you have that flyer, dear?”

  The man yanked a small paper from his rear pants pocket. He proceeded to unfold it before handing the sheet to Sherry.

  “This is a flyer about your town’s upcoming Founder’s Day, and there’s a spotlight on you and your father. Isn’t that fantastic?” The woman poked her finger at the paper.

  Sherry scrutinized the flyer and laughed before returning it to the woman. “Either this flyer was printed overnight, or I was asked to take part in a ceremony I had already been unknowingly part of. I don’t deserve any recognition, but I’m flattered. I like recipe contests and have had some success in them.” Sherry handed the flyer back. “But thank you for showing me. I hope you have a nice trip.”