A Frying Shame

by Linda Reilly

  “Ms. Marby?”

  The roughened voice came from behind Talia. She turned to see a powerfully built man wearing a clay-colored shirt and beaming at her. A FERRINGER button was pinned to the shirt’s collar. Though his eyes were hidden behind aviator sunglasses, his smile was a brilliant flash of white.

  “Mr. Ferringer,” she greeted, forcing a return smile.

  “Please, it’s Bruce,” he said breezily. He extended a beefy arm, displaying muscles taut and bulging from daily workouts. Talia reluctantly took his hand, and he squeezed hers heartily. “First, I’d like to congratulate you on making the top six. Not an easy feat in a town with so many good cooks.”

  “Well, thanks, but the better woman won. I was honored to be a semifinalist.”

  He grinned. “Now, Talia”—he instantly switched to her given name—“from what I hear, you’re being far too modest. Fry Me a Sliver was mentioned yet again as one of the best eateries in the Berkshires.”

  “Really? Where was that?” Had Talia missed a recent news clip about her place?

  Ferringer chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Well, now that you ask, I’m not really sure. But I did see it somewhere. . . .”

  Arthur glanced over at the man with a deep frown.

  “Anyway,” Ferringer went on, “I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I can see you’re enjoying this gorgeous day with your loved ones.” He flashed a smile at Ryan, who was eyeing him warily. “But I do have a favor to ask. One that stands to benefit the both of us.”

  Oh really? she thought dryly.

  He cleared his throat. “My campaign manager and I would like to have a brainstorming luncheon with some of our top supporters. Your restaurant is perfect for it—quiet, cozy, private. If we could schedule a date . . . perhaps the Sunday after Labor Day weekend? We would want the entire restaurant to ourselves, of course.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Fer . . . I mean, Bruce. The restaurant is closed on Sundays, so it really wouldn’t be—”

  “But that’s precisely why a Sunday is perfect,” he insisted. “We’d be your only customers, and believe me, these people are excellent tippers. All told, there’d be about a dozen of us, and—”

  “Bruce, you really will have to excuse me. The softball game’s going to start anytime now. Maybe we can talk later in the week?”

  “Of course!” he boomed, looking a bit nonplussed. “I’ll have my campaign manager give you a call.” He leaned in closer and winked at her. “She’s a woman, you know. Bright little thing. A whiz with numbers.”

  His token female employee, no doubt. Talia resisted the urge to shake her head. Was she supposed to be impressed that he had a woman on his staff?

  Ferringer must have sensed he’d worn out his welcome. “Anyway, right now I have to figure out where my beautiful wife has disappeared to. We’ll chat soon, Talia. Have a good time at the game, all!”

  After he strode off, Arthur said quietly, “That man is a pretender. I will definitely not be voting for him.”

  “Nor will I, Dad,” Ryan said.

  “Me three,” Talia added.

  All she had to figure out now was how to get out of hosting the man’s political luncheon.

  4

  After Ryan and Arthur helped Talia retrieve her supplies from her cooking station and they’d stashed them in her Fiat, they found a prime bench on the bleachers and settled in for the game.

  “Hey, I’ve been looking for you, lady!” Rachel whipped off her zebra-print sunglasses and threw her arms around Talia.

  Talia laughed and returned her friend’s hug.

  Wearing an animal-print tank top that enhanced her curves, Rachel was definitely in jungle mode today. Even her lush brown hair was pulled back and secured with a leopard scrunchie. “Yeah, well, I’ve been looking for you, too,” Talia scolded. “I thought you were going to sit with us?”

  “I was,” she said with a slight edge, “until Derek commandeered my help with the kids. One of his cop buds was supposed to do it until he claimed he hurt his back yesterday.” Then her face softened. “Batting practice was kind of fun, though. The kids love Derek. He’s a good role model for them. Hey, I managed to catch the awards announcements. I’m sorry you didn’t win.”

  “I didn’t mind,” Talia said truthfully. “I only wish Crystal had taken first place instead of second.”

  Rachel greeted the others and then sat on the bench next to Lucas. Lucas stared at her, swallowed, and then mumbled, “Um, hello, Ms. Ostroski.”

  Talia smiled to herself. Lucas never failed to get tongue-tied in Rachel’s presence. He sometimes forgot that while she looked like royalty, she was as sweet and down-to-earth as anyone could be.

  The game started, and in the first inning the police department squeezed two hits out of the first three batters. Then Derek was up. He smashed a line drive into deep right field, sending half the crowd into an uproar and the other half into groans. Rachel jumped up and gave out a “Woot, woot!”

  The wind had picked up since earlier in the afternoon, and clouds began moving in. Molly rubbed her bare arms and gave a slight shiver. “Mom told me to bring a sweater, but I didn’t listen to her.” She giggled. “Not that I ever listen to her.”

  “Molly!” Talia chided.

  “I know, I know,” Molly moaned. “It’s just that . . . well, lately she’s been so uptight! Like, weirdsville, you know? Loopy-land.”

  “I have a sweater in my car,” Lucas said, with an adoring look at Molly. “Be back in a flash!”

  Before Molly could protest, Lucas leaped off the bleachers, nearly tripping over his own sneaker.

  “He’s so sweet,” Molly said. She looked a tad guilty. “I don’t want to lead him on, though. He’s a bit, you know, young for me.”

  In a way, Talia had to agree. Molly was mature beyond her years. And while she hated to see Lucas get his heart broken, it wasn’t her place to interfere.

  By the time the third inning rolled around, the police were leading by seven to three. Talia glanced at her watch. “I wonder what’s taking Lucas so long,” she said to Molly.

  “I was thinking the same thing. Not that I’m desperate for the sweater, but it’s not like him, is it?”

  Talia told herself to chill. Lucas probably bumped into a friend and got waylaid talking. Or something. She turned her attention back to the game. Derek was on deck, taking practice swings. All at once she saw a familiar form rush out onto the field and straight over to Derek. The expression on the woman’s dark-skinned face was grim.

  It was Detective Patti Prescott of the Wrensdale Police. Talia knew her fairly well, both from the detective being a regular at the eatery and from their mutual involvement last December in catching a killer.

  Prescott spoke urgently to Derek for only a moment. Then he tossed his bat to the ground. Derek summoned his fellow officers to follow him, and every player on the field sprinted off toward the area where the cooking stations were set up.

  Murmurs of confusion rose from the crowd. “Hey, what happened to the game?” someone brayed.

  “What’s going on?” Molly said.

  Talia wasn’t sure, but Prescott’s presence made it clear that whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

  Prescott narrowed her eyes and searched the bleachers. When she spotted Talia, she stopped and made direct eye contact. The detective’s face was unreadable, but Talia was sure she saw a flicker of sorrow in those nutmeg-colored eyes.

  Talia felt her stomach sink to her knees. Something bad was going down.

  In the next moment, Prescott pulled her gaze away and jogged off the field toward the cooking stations.

  • • •

  “Well, Ms. Marby, we meet yet again. It seems wherever you go, murder follows.”

  Sergeant Liam O’Donnell of the Massachusetts State Police, Homicide Division, crossed his arms over his broad chest. They were seated together at one end of a now empty bleacher bench, O’Donnell wearing a look of sheer exasperation.

  A
fter two ambulances and five police cars had screeched into the parking lot, the bleachers had emptied quickly. No one was allowed to leave before giving their names and contact info to the police—a process that took well over an hour. Ryan had provided his name and numbers, along with Arthur’s, but Talia had been detained. She’d promised to call Ryan later with an update, once the police got through with her.

  Now both ambulances were long gone. One of them had screeched out of the parking lot with the siren wailing.

  “That’s not true,” Talia said, responding to O’Donnell’s implication that murder seemed to imprint itself on her. “And it’s definitely not fair.”

  Actually, it was kind of true, she reflected. But it certainly wasn’t fair. Was it her fault that she’d stumbled into murder twice since she’d returned to Wrensdale? She rubbed her arms against the chill in the air. The wind had picked up considerably, sending bits of debris from the earlier festival skating across the field.

  “And I told you, Sergeant,” she went on, her patience wearing thin, “I never met Norma Ferguson before today. I certainly have no idea who’d have wanted to kill her.”

  Unless it was Wes Thurman.

  Norma Ferguson, Talia learned, had been found dead in her cooking station. O’Donnell was being evasive about who’d found Norma’s body, saying only that it was a local teenager.

  Lucas, no doubt. That was probably what had detained him. The poor kid had probably heard her scream or something and dashed into her cooking station to help her. Talia could picture him right now, being interrogated by the police.

  O’Donnell had refused to reveal the manner of death, leaving Talia to imagine the worst.

  That poor woman, Talia thought. She’d looked miserable from the moment she’d first stepped onto the staging area. Wes Thurman had added to her angst, with his hateful glare and his bad attitude.

  “I hope you’re going to question Wesley Thurman,” Talia said. She related everything she’d witnessed, including the way Thurman had shoved the prize money at Norma as if he’d wanted to push her off the stage.

  “Mmmm.” O’Donnell chewed his lip.

  “I notice you’re not writing any of this down, Sergeant.” Talia didn’t want to sound snappish, but he was annoying the beans out of her.

  “Believe me, Ms. Marby, your words are engraved in my head. Tell me what you know about Crystal Galardi. I understand she sat at your table during the festivities.”

  Talia’s heartbeat sped up a degree. “What do you want to know, Sergeant? Crystal is a friend and a fellow shop owner on the arcade. Why do you ask?”

  It struck her right then, of course—Crystal was a suspect. But why?

  They went on like this for another twenty minutes or so. For some reason, O’Donnell seemed fixated on Crystal. Finally, he slapped his hands on his knees and rose. “You’ll need to give us a written statement at some point,” he said tersely. “In the meantime, Detective Prescott needs to speak to you.”

  The Wrensdale police detective had been so quiet that Talia hadn’t noticed her padding softly toward them from the adjacent bench. Avoiding eye contact with Talia, O’Donnell trotted down the bleacher steps and hurried off in the direction of the parking lot.

  Prescott’s lovely eyes were clouded. Her dark close-cropped curls looked askew, as if she’d been running her fingers through them repeatedly. She lowered herself onto the bench. “Talia, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  “It’s about Lucas, isn’t it?” Talia blurted. “He must be the so-called teenager who found Norma. He’s not really a teenager, you know. He—”

  Prescott shook her head. “No, a kid who worked for Wrensdale Appliances found the victim. He’d been packing up the appliances to get them ready for transport when he found Norma on the floor. Poor kid tossed his lunch, but at least he waited till he was outside.”

  “Then what is it?” Talia prodded. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “We’re not totally sure what happened, but we think Lucas might have confronted the killer in the parking lot.”

  Bile rose in Talia’s throat. “Oh God . . .”

  “He was struck from behind with a hard object—we’re not sure what yet. He sustained extensive bleeding and was rushed to the hospital. They have a level-three trauma unit there, and he’s getting the best care possible.”

  Talia choked out an anguished cry. “You make it sound like . . . like he’s not going to make it. Do his folks know?”

  “They’re with him now, but we don’t want anyone contacting them. This wasn’t just a life-threatening injury, Talia. This was a vicious crime against an innocent young man.”

  Talia couldn’t hold it in any longer. She burst into tears, her shoulders heaving so hard she thought her ribs would crack.

  Prescott dug into her back pocket and pulled out a pack of tissues. “Here,” she said kindly.

  Talia blotted her eyes with three of the tissues. If only she had something to absorb the pain in her heart. “Can . . . can I go visit him?” she said shakily.

  “Absolutely not. Aside from certain medical personnel, only his parents and selected police officials will be allowed in his room. We’re not taking any chances.”

  Talia sniffled. “I understand.”

  Prescott gripped Talia’s arm. “Listen to me, Talia. Don’t go getting any dippy ideas about finding Lucas’s attacker. Whoever hurt him is desperate and will stop at nothing to silence him. If you start poking into other people’s business, you’ll be putting yourself and everyone around you in danger.”

  Talia jerked her arm away. “Who said I was going to do anything?”

  “I know you, Talia. You’re too darn nosy for your own good, so I’ll warn you once more. If you start pulling one of your Nancy Drew routines, I’ll have your butt in the pokey so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

  “On some trumped-up charge?”

  “Oh, it won’t be trumped up. Obstruction of justice is a serious matter, as is interfering with a police investigation. Think about it. You won’t be eating any of your delicious fried goodies in jail. Only stale bread and lukewarm tap water—get it?” Prescott’s eyes twinkled with a touch of humor, but she got her point across.

  “Okay, I get it.” Talia swiped at a stray tear. “Could you at least get the bread from Peggy’s Bakery? And add some ham and cheese and mustard to it?”

  Prescott leveled her gaze at Talia. “Funny girl, huh?”

  “Wrong. There’s nothing funny about any of this.”

  The detective lowered her voice. “Look, Talia, you got lucky twice. But take my word for it when I say the third time won’t be the charm. So I’d better not hear about you sticking your nose into things, okay?”

  “I promise, Detective Prescott, that you will not hear of me sticking my nose into things. But you have to promise me something, too.” Talia’s voice cracked. “You have to promise that you’ll find the person who hurt Lucas. And who killed Norma.”

  Prescott nodded. “You have my word on that. There are a few more things I need to tell you, but first I have to run them by Sergeant O’Donnell. I’ll stop by to see you tomorrow at Fry Me. Maybe at the end of the day?”

  Talia nodded, feeling fresh tears beginning to sprout.

  “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car. It’s mass confusion in the parking lot.”

  When they reached the lot, they had to weave their way among the clutter of cars, most of which were police vehicles. A crime scene van was parked crookedly behind the cooking stations. Bands of yellow tape had been strung around the perimeter of the scene. So many people had been in the parking lot during the day, Talia wondered how the police would filter through everything for any real evidence.

  They were thirty or so feet from Talia’s turquoise Fiat when a noisy, blubbering sound caught their attention. Bruce Ferringer stood next to a metallic gray Avalon, the rear bumper of which boasted two GO FAR WITH FERRINGER! stickers. One brawny arm was draped over the shoulder of his wif
e, who was crying bitterly into a knot of pink tissues.

  Ferringer acknowledged them with a brief nod, then went back to comforting his wife. Jodie Ferringer’s stylish hat now sat cockeyed on her head. Her eyes looked swollen and her face blotchy.

  In spite of Jodie being a complete stranger, Talia felt an overwhelming urge to rush over and console her. The woman looked positively devastated. For whatever reason, Jodie had bonded with Norma Ferguson. Talia wondered if Jodie had been Norma’s only friend.

  Talia started toward the woman when she felt a firm hand encircle her arm. “Do not discuss anything with anyone,” Prescott hissed in her ear.

  Talia nodded and went over to Jodie. Feeling her throat clog, she said, “Mrs. Ferringer, I am so, so sorry about Norma.”

  Jodie sucked in a horrendously noisy breath. “Th-thank you,” she gurgled out. “She was such a dear woman. Not to mention a dedicated volunteer. In the short time we knew each other, we really bonded, you know? I swear, we were almost like mother and daughter.” A choked giggle escaped her. “Plus, she truly understood my husband’s platform, and cheered him on in every way. I’m going to miss her so much.”

  Bruce Ferringer looked pained. “We both will, honey,” he soothed. “But I have every faith the police will find the killer, and very soon.” He looked at Prescott. “Detective, will you be assisting the state police on this one?”

  “I will,” Prescott said. “And I can assure you, the authorities will be working around the clock.”

  Ferringer squeezed his wife’s shoulder. “Come on, dear, let’s go home and let the police do their job. That’s the best thing we can do for Norma right now.” He nodded and escorted his wife into the Avalon’s front seat. Even with all the windows up, Talia could hear the poor woman wailing.

  Talia was grateful when Prescott finally left her alone, mostly because she needed to cry again. Inside her Fiat, she started the engine and cranked the AC. She sobbed until her chest hurt, then finally headed home.

  The sight of her darling bungalow, once her nana’s home, normally made her smile. But today all she could think of was Lucas fighting for his life in a trauma unit.