Expiration Date

by Devon Delaney

  “But those creeps are just rule breakers. They aren’t murderers.” Detective Bease’s tone was brittle. “Being denied a blue ribbon isn’t a motive for murder.”

  “I hope not.” Sherry gazed at the ceiling before looking the detective in the eyes. “See what I mean? I just don’t think I can be of any help.”

  “Wow, and I thought soccer parents were badly behaved.” Marla shook her head. “Put people in a competition with a prize and watch as all hell breaks loose.”

  “Why do you all keep entering these contests?” Detective Bease lowered his eyes to his notepad.

  Sherry squinted as she considered her reply. “For one thing, I’ve been doing this for a good seven years. It really has become a big part of my life. I’ve met so many nice people from all walks of life and all areas of the country that I may never have had the chance to cross paths with if it weren’t for this hobby of mine.”

  Without warning, Detective Bease rose from the table and snapped his notepad shut. He hunted in his pocket and pulled out his sunglasses. “Ladies, I have taken up enough of your time. Thank you so much for all the valuable information.”

  The younger detective scrambled to finish his typing as his elder partner moved toward the door. Diamond slammed his laptop shut and jumped out of his chair.

  “I’ll let you get back to your business.” Detective Bease tipped his hat with one finger. “One more question. What was your experience with the contestant by the name of Jamie Sox? From all accounts, he was exhibiting extremely nervous behavior before and during the contest. I’d think some nerves are the norm, but statement after statement from those at the scene pinpointed his behavior as borderline bizarre. Would you agree?”

  “If nerves equaled guilt, you better handcuff my sister right now.” Marla gave her sister a gentle punch on the back of her arm.

  Detective Bease raised the aviator sunglasses to get a better look at the sisters. Detective Diamond elbowed his partner.

  “You did not just say that, Marla.” Sherry rubbed her smarting arm. “Yes, Jamie Sox was extremely nervous, flustered, and out of his element for sure. I’m not surprised. While we were waiting around to be questioned after the cook-off, he told me he was an actuary by profession. Those people don’t like to leave anything up to chance. Unfortunately, there are so many unknowns in recipe contests you can’t even begin to plan for.”

  “Like the oven today. It was definitely running hot, so what should have taken twenty minutes to cook took sixteen,” said Marla. “With a big variable, if you’re not checking your food often, you’re definitely pulling charred nuggets out of the oven when the timer goes off.

  “And the medium-size shrimp I specified in my ingredients list must have been fed steroids because they were jumbo, for sure. Kind of screwed up my timing,” added Amber.

  “Talk about risk management.” Sherry pointed her index finger skyward. “Normally, you pay guys like Jamie to reduce risk to a minimum. His career was all about what a cooking competition is not. Uncertainty can freak a person out, but I’m not saying he’s guilty of any crime. I’m just saying in my case I was nervous because I always anticipate things going wrong, whereas he was probably nervous because his orderly world became unhinged.”

  “Unhinged?” Detective Bease reopened his notepad and pulled out his pen.

  “He caught my eye in the first place because I was getting worked up about being interviewed by Patti Mellit, the reporter, or Brynne Stark, the cook-off hostess. I’ve done interviews before, and you really have to watch what you say because when your words leave your mouth, you’ve signed off on them. It’s fair game to reprint them a million times.” Sherry stretched out her arms while trying to remember the original question. “So, anyway, when I had a free second, I watched the other contestants take their turns. When it was his turn to speak, unfortunately, things immediately went from bad to worse. I was on my way to the refrigerator when I was caught up in the interview melee. The first thing I noticed was Jamie’s hand was as unsteady as tomato aspic in an earthquake. I think he was cooking sausages, and their splattered grease got on everything. The spatula he held kept slipping out of his grip, forcing him repeatedly to risk touching the sides of the sizzling pan in order to retrieve it. Did I mention his hand was jitterier than a turkey on the day before Thanksgiving? That’s when Brynne went in for the interview. I remember thinking, ‘this isn’t going to end well.’ Like driving past a wreck on the highway, I didn’t want to look but couldn’t look away.” Sherry paused.

  “Continue, please,” Detective Bease said.

  “Brynne greeted him and asked him a question, but I got the impression she either couldn’t hear his reply or she wasn’t happy with it because the next minute she plunged the microphone toward Jamie’s mouth. That must have blocked his line of vision to his volcanic skillet. Next thing I knew he was screaming, ‘Medic, medic.’ A young man carrying a medical kit rushed to Jamie’s side, muscling Brynne and Mac out of the way in the process.”

  “Interesting.” Detective Bease closed his notepad. “Too bad you powered your device down too early, Diamond. I’ll show you what you missed when we get back to the office. I see you all got to bring home a hefty sampling of OrgaNicks products.” Bease pointed to the gift baskets on the counter.

  “The sponsors usually share their products at these contests, which is a really nice perk and makes for good public relations.” Sherry stood to walk the men out. “And we’re always happy to receive free stuff!”

  Detective Bease’s pants pocket began buzzing. “Excuse me while I take this call.”

  The detective broke away from Sherry and headed to the front door. Diamond and Chutney shadowed Detective Bease. A short time later, the detectives returned, sideswiping the small dog with one of their feet. Chutney whimpered.

  “Well, the lab reports are in. Cause of Death was a lethal irritant in the victim’s throat. The speed with which the test results were returned speaks to the victim’s high level of intolerance to whatever it was.”

  “An allergic reaction to an ingredient?” Sherry shrugged.

  “Not exactly. The substance was something not found in the traditional food pyramid. Another fact was just brought to my attention. The last dish the deceased victim consumed was”—Detective Bease glanced at his scribbled notes—“Chutney Glazed and Farro Stuffed Pork Tenderloin.”

  Sherry gasped. She shook out her hands, which had suddenly grown ice cold. “Mine?”

  “Wasn’t the decision to hold off mentioning that?” Detective Diamond hissed at his partner.

  Overhearing the comment, Sherry shuddered. Her sister shook her head and put her index finger up to her lips.

  “Mr. Andime and the other two judges all gave statements to the police at the scene corroborating the fact Ms. Frazzelle’s food was the last thing Chef Birns, now deceased, was seen consuming.”

  Both men kept their eyes on Sherry. She rolled up her sleeves as high as they would go to soothe her prickling skin. Before Sherry could open her mouth to respond, her sister stepped forward.

  “Well, it’s ridiculous to even consider my sister had anything to do with the chef’s death, Detective Bease, so sniff around somewhere else because you’re on the wrong track here. Did you not hear her say she was the one who ran up onstage and performed CPR on the chef before the EMTs arrived?”

  “I commend you, Ms. Frazzelle, but the investigation has a ways to go, and it’s going to take an experienced veteran, such as myself, to sift through and interpret the facts leading to a conviction. I wouldn’t recommend leaving town, Ms. Frazzelle, until the investigation is complete.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.” Sherry studied her feet. “How could anyone even think I could intentionally cause someone else harm? I’ve spent my whole life safeguarding others’ well-being.”

  “Let me stress, your cooperation would be appreciated, ma’am.” Detective Diamond pulled a business card from his pocket. “And because you may have cooked the
food that may have taken a life, any details you may have overlooked because you thought they weren’t relevant are of utmost importance. Please record them and contact me immediately.”

  Sherry took the small card and clutched it in her hand. She watched with a blank stare as the detectives left her house.

  “This can’t be real. I mean, what just happened here? First the detectives were asking some questions, and next thing I know they drop a bombshell on me. They stopped short of calling me a suspect, but it’s on their minds, definitely.” Sherry’s bottom lip began to quiver, and she wiped away a tear.

  As the women walked back to the kitchen, Marla put her arm around her sister, while Amber rubbed Sherry’s back in a circular motion. Marla inhaled slowly and blew out noisily. Sherry took the cue to do the same. The breathing regulation exercise relaxed her, as the meditation manuals she had studied promised. In her experience, the relief was as temporary as the euphoria she felt when she took a bite of chocolate cake.

  “I can’t think of anything I saw today that would help me.” Sherry tapped her temple with her fist. “What am I going to do? All the food I cooked today was fine, except maybe the amount of salt I used. They’re wrong. They have to be wrong.”

  “Sher, calm down.” Marla lowered her head. “They just reported what they know, nothing more.”

  Chapter 6

  “Sherry, do you have a favorite cookbook?”

  Sherry sat across the living room from Amber in what had been her husband’s favorite marshmallow-soft leather recliner. The warm rays of the late-afternoon sun gleamed through the picture window behind her. But even nature’s warmth wasn’t enough to take the chill out of Sherry’s somber mindset.

  “Good question. Let me think.” Sherry could only visualize the bars of a prison cell, not the cover of a recipe book.

  “The phase my life is in, one hundred percent, defines my recipe choices,” said Amber. “For a long time, up until last year, I was all about Fondue to Stew—For Two. My ex-husband and I had all our favorites dog-eared. Some pages were barely legible because they were so glopped with splatters. Tickle Me Tacos and Racy Romance Risotto were two of our favorite recipes. Now it’s Only One Plate? Go On, Create! A gift from my lawyer.”

  “I love From the Range to the Range, Grazing to Braising and Round-Up to Ground-Up—Ranch Cooking Basics.” Marla plumped the pillow behind her and raised her feet on the ottoman. “Although, I’m still not used to seeing tomorrow’s dinner roaming around the pastures without a care in the world. But you can’t beat my dinners for freshness.”

  Sherry puffed out her cheeks. “I guess for me it’s my new Empty-Nest Entrees—No More Kidding Around.”

  “Last I checked, you’re not an empty nester,” said Marla.

  “Kind of the same premise being single after cooking for two or more for years. Only my empty nest went from two adult birdies to one birdbrain. Doesn’t Dad say, ‘If you feather your nest with tar, you’ll be paving your way to a dead end?’”

  “I think I see what he means.” Amber changed her position on the sofa, sitting up straighter. “Kind of.”

  “Well, it’s something to that effect. You know, like . . . be careful what you wish for.” Sherry raised her arms and stretched her stiffening muscles.

  Marla lifted herself off the warm sofa and made her way across the room. She wedged her body next to her older sister’s.

  “Listen to me. Don’t let those detectives put you in a funk. First of all, you gave marriage your best shot. Stuff happens. And second, you’re a great cook. Your dish didn’t kill anyone. There’s more to the chef’s death than anyone knows right now, so don’t take their speculations personally.”

  “Listen to your little sis. She’s wise beyond her years. You know the ingredients you used today were fine. You probably tasted them all as you were using them, and you don’t look dead to me.”

  “It’s just been a tough day.” Sherry stretched her arms overhead. “Things seem pretty out of control, and I’m feeling kind of useless.”

  A cell phone ringing interrupted the conversation. Sherry, Marla, and Amber all scrambled for their devices.

  “Mine?” Marla checked her phone. “Nope, not mine.”

  “My ringtone.” Amber looked at her phone. “Nope, not either.”

  “Surprise, surprise, it’s mine.” Sherry answered on the fourth ring. After the caller with the “blocked” number identified herself, Sherry mouthed the name “Brynne Stark” to the other ladies.

  Marla whispered to Sherry, “Brynne Stark? From the cook-off?”

  Sherry nodded.

  A frantic gesture from Marla caught Sherry’s eye. She was miming toward Sherry to put the phone on speaker mode. Sherry shook her head. Marla nodded yes. Sherry acquiesced, hit the speaker button, then put her finger to her lips to silence the room.

  “She’s there. See you later,” were the first words Brynne uttered.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you. Were you talking to me?” A thunderous wham on Brynne’s end of the phone startled Sherry and her hand wavered. “Did you drop the phone?”

  “No, no. Sorry, someone here was just leaving. Not sure why he had to close the door so hard. Anyway, I was told by Mr. Andime to reach out to you. You left your contest apron in the kitchen this morning. In all the post-cook-off hoopla, you neglected to take it home with you. Nick,” Brynne paused, “excuse me, I mean Mr. Andime, was concerned all the aprons were left behind, and I’m contacting the participants to verify their preferred mailing address. Assuming all the other contestants are in transit returning to their hometowns, I called you first. I know you live the shortest distance away.”

  “I didn’t realize I had left it. It doesn’t seem very important now, considering the events of the day.” Sherry made a sad face to the others. “Last I saw my apron, it was in pretty rough shape. Someone will need to put on a HAZMAT suit before they touch it.”

  “Hazards of the trade, right? You should be receiving it in the mail very shortly.”

  “Thank you, I think.”

  “You betcha.” The twang in Brynne’s voice reminded Sherry of her first taste of lemon curd. Notes of sweet and sour simultaneously.

  “Sorry about the way the cook-off ended,” Sherry added. “Mr. Andime must be pretty upset. And you must be, too, of course, and the entire cook-off team.”

  “I haven’t spoken to him in depth, but you’re right. It was tragic and untimely, don’tcha know. Poor chef was so talented, with so much living yet to do.”

  Sherry ran her fingers around the phone’s protective casing. “When I talked to the police during questioning, Mr. Andime joined in our conversation. He told the police, in no uncertain terms, his company’s products would never make anyone sick. Anyway, I’ve already had a visit from two detectives here at home, hoping to dig up more information about what went on at the cook-off. While they were here, one of them got a call confirming the chef’s death as a homicide. Homicide. Wait until Mr. Andime hears that.”

  There was extended dead air on Brynne’s end of the phone.

  “Hello? Brynne? Are you still there?” Sherry studied the face of the phone to check whether the call had dropped.

  “I’m here,” said Brynne. “I know. I just hung up a call from a detective named Bease who’s working on the case. I’m just in shock. Unbelievable. Who would take the chef’s life?”

  Sherry was silent while she considered what to say next. Marla scribbled a blurb on a scrap of paper and handed it over. Sherry read the message and bit her lip. “I feel bad asking, but was there any talk of announcing a winner in the future?”

  “Good question. I know one thing for sure, it certainly won’t be the dish that made Chef Birns sick. Hope they identify the person soon. He or she has a lot to explain, right?”

  Sherry’s throat constricted, and tiny bright spots danced across her vision. She rubbed her eyes to clear them. “I’m sure it wasn’t any of the food the contestants prepared.” />
  “I’d like to believe that,” Brynne replied. “I hope they find out soon what really happened.”

  “Even with everything that went on this morning, I think you did a great job. Must have been tough to maintain your composure.”

  “Luckily, I’ve had years of training.” The country flavor of Brynne’s accent disappeared. “I grew up performing in school plays in Minnesota, taking singing lessons, doing summer theater. At sixteen, I had a booth at the Upper Peninsula State Fair, where, for one dollar, I performed a three-minute improv if you gave me a story line. I’m not sure if you and the other contestants were able to hear me tell the cook-off audience, but I did some TV spots recently. I guess you could say I’m doing whatever it takes to get my name out there to see where it gets me.

  “Not to say I don’t enjoy the smaller venues, like hosting the cook-off, but I’m sure you can imagine I do aspire to greater heights in my career. Mr. Andime was very kind to hire me, and I’m always appreciative of any job. It just takes being at the right place at the right time to hit the big time.”

  “Did you know Nick, I mean Mr. Andime, before he hired you?” Sherry’s question was prompted by Marla’s wild hand gestures in the background. “Ignore me if I’m prying.” Sherry used her free hand to signal Marla to stop her distracting gestures.

  “Well, it’s no secret we dated briefly, but the age difference was challenging. Now his new job is very time-consuming, and I just want to focus on my work. It’s easy to see things wouldn’t have lasted long anyway. Frankly, I was surprised when he called to see if I was available to host the cook-off. He even hinted there was a good chance I might be tapped for a commercial featuring his products. I have very photogenic hands, and he says he likes the way I handle his packages.”

  “Wow.” Sherry coughed when something caught in her throat. “Well, that’s all very exciting, Brynne. I hope all your hard work pays off. Thanks for calling, and I’ll keep a lookout for the apron. And again, sorry about the tragic end to the cook-off. Give our regards to Mr. Nick, uh, I mean Mr. Andime, when you talk to him next.”