“Kenny Dewitt writes a blog, and we were reading his comments about the cook-off,” added Amber. “He painted a picture of murder and intrigue when describing what went on.”
“Did you say murder?” Diana launched some bacon bits through her teeth.
“Murder.” Sherry winced as the sharp word tumbled off her tongue.
“Murder,” Diana repeated. “Okay, here’s the low-down on Kenny Dewitt.” Diana lowered her voice. “He’s harmless. In case you didn’t notice, he lost a finger. It was a kitchen accident during a screen test for a cooking show. His career began and ended in one day. No one wants a four-fingered cook on camera. Thus, the bitter attitude. Writing the blog is his way of venting. He’s got a great following, and I’m now one of his readers, too, despite his nastiness to me.”
“Explains a lot.” Sherry leaned forward until her shirt sat in her food. “What are your thoughts on Chef Birns’ death? It was quite a bizarre occurrence, to say the least.”
Diana dabbed her lips with a napkin. “I thought it was really sad the man died so young, but now you’re telling me it was murder? How awful!”
Amber put her finger to her lips suggesting lowering the volume.
“That’s what the investigation has revealed. Have you ever been in a contest where he was a judge?” Sherry shifted her rear end back farther on the bench.
“I’ve had both Chef Birns and Chef Baker judge me on separate occasions,” said Diana. “One was the judge at the Big Beef Chow-down, and the other was the Egg-stravaganza Bonanza judge. I won both.”
“I was actually in the Beef Chow-down with you. Do you remember me?” Sherry wiped her mouth with her napkin, hoping to provide Diana with a more representative image.
Diana studied Sherry’s face. “Were you blonde then?”
“Well, as blonde as I am now, if that’s what you mean, so yes, I was blonde then.” Sherry ran her fingers across the knots the ocean wind created in her hair. “I just haven’t had time for a root touch-up. I may also have a few gray hairs now, too.”
“I can’t really recall meeting you. I’m sorry. I thought this contest was the first time we’d competed against one another,” said Diana. “You have to forgive me. There’s always so much to do when I win, like press conferences and photo shoots. It becomes a whirlwind. It doesn’t leave much time for socializing.”
“I guess.” Sherry inspected her fingernails. “The Beef Chow-down was pretty rough. I got a scathing face-to-face critique of my recipe from Chef Baker, and it took me a long time to recover. I thought if I ever saw her again, it would be too soon, but time heals, as they say, and it didn’t even bother me to see her on the judging panel again.”
“Good thing for you it wasn’t Chef Baker who was murdered then or you’d be at the top of the suspect list since you have a bad history with her.” Diana chuckled before she spooned more chopped salad into her mouth.
Sherry coughed up a lettuce leaf. She raised a napkin to her mouth to conceal it.
After she swallowed her mouthful, Diana continued. “Funny thing was, at the Egg-stravaganza, both chefs were there, but only Chef Birns was a judge. Anyway, let’s just say the two chefs were more than acquaintances, even though at least one of them was rumored to be married. I came across them in an elevator before the contest started, and they had their ovens preheated, if you know what I mean. They were cooking up a little spicy fusion.”
“Wow!” Sherry exclaimed, matching Amber’s shocked expression.
“They were very cozy during the entire event,” Diana said. “Fast forward to the OrgaNicks Cook-Off and suddenly I didn’t get the impression they were cozy in the least. As a matter of fact, when I saw them during down times, they appeared to be playing ‘hide and don’t seek me’ to avoid a face-to-face meeting.
“Chef Birns has been trying to establish himself for years as an executive chef, but the story is when he neared success he either had a falling-out with his business partner or, as in the case with Chef Brock Lee’s new restaurant, egos clashed and money divided friends. Chef Birns lost out on being the head chef there, too. Chef Birns was a talent but may not have had his head on straight. He definitely had his issues.”
“Must be such a difficult line of work,” added Sherry. “Where does Olivia Baker work now?”
“Word is she’s in a bit of a career lull at the moment,” said Diana. “Unfortunately, she had a financial stake in Chef Birns’ failed food truck. Maybe also in Chef Lee’s new restaurant, and she has been trying to get herself out of debt ever since. I would think she would have reason to be angry with Chef Birns. Working with him has cost her some cash. This last judging stint was probably mostly about exposure for her and getting back in the game.”
“I bet putting money in a restaurant venture is about as sound an investment as transferring your life savings to the Nigerian prince who e-mails requesting funds in exchange for future earnings,” said Amber.
“I’ve got to be honest with you.” Diana leaned in toward Sherry. “I know which recipe was the last Chef Birns ate before he got sick. I always keep track of the plates the judges are sampling, if I can, because I think the order in which the judges taste the recipes makes a difference in their ultimate choice. Last dish tasted is often the winner, in my opinion.” Diana garnished her comment with a wink. “In this case, I’m not sure how beneficial it was for you. I bet you’re hoping that nugget of info doesn’t go public, especially now, since the death’s been labeled ‘murder.’”
Sherry’s heart skipped a beat.
Diana tapped her plastic fork on her empty lunch container. She excused herself, butt-shimmied across the bench, and proceeded to the ladies’ room.
“I think I’m having a panic attack.” Sherry clutched the front of her shirt. She put her head down and sulked in silence until Diana returned.
“Okay, ladies, I’ve got to be hitting the road,” Diana proclaimed. She collected her empty container and utensils and turned toward the garbage can and its neighboring recycling can.
Diana tossed her earth-destroying container in the garbage. “I’m on my way to visit my Uncle Grayson upstate. He’s in a nursing home, and I haven’t seen him in about five years. I hear he’s the life of the party up there.”
“Nice talking to you,” said Amber. “I hope we meet up soon.”
Sherry nodded and waved to Diana.
“Maybe.” Diana turned and left.
Sherry watched the woman walk away. “That was incredible. Diana knew so much about the judges. She knew Chef Olivia Baker wasn’t getting along with Chef Birns after what seemed to once be a romantic relationship. And that Chef Lee had to fire Chef Birns from his restaurant. She’s yet another person who knew my pork dish was the last thing the chef ate. That list is growing rapidly. For someone hard of hearing, she seems like a pretty good listener. Well, we’ve learned Chef Birns had misfortunes in business and love, but he had his most unfortunate day of all as a contest judge.”
Chapter 10
“Am I blind?” Sherry surveyed the sugary sand in all directions. “Amber, do you see my beach towel?”
“I only see this one.” Amber held up the solid blue towel on her chair. “I specifically remember you had the other towel in your hands before we went to lunch. I was going to ask how you got Chutney’s image imprinted on it. What a clever idea! You didn’t leave it at the lunch place, did you?”
“I definitely didn’t have it at lunch. I’m positive I folded it and left it on my chair here.”
Losing things was one of Sherry’s pet peeves. “A place for everything and everything in its place” was more of a mantra than a mere suggestion for her.
“I’d hate to think it was stolen, but my luck is in the crapper right now, so it probably was.” With so few people around, it took no time for Sherry to take a complete inventory of the surroundings. Nothing resembling her favorite towel was evident on her short trip around the beach. She returned, empty arms dangling.
A chec
k of the lost and found at the lifeguard station revealed a summer season of lost towels, but not Sherry’s. “I’m so sad.”
The picturesque ride home took Sherry’s mind off her missing towel until they arrived at her driveway. As she pulled her car around the side of the house, she caught a glimpse of a multicolored pile on her front porch. The ladies emptied the car of their beach items and approached the front door, arms full. Sherry was stunned at what lay before her. It was her towel laid out so Chutney’s image was facing them. Sherry set down her cargo and picked up the towel for inspection.
She immediately dropped it in disgust. “What is that smell?”
When the towel hit the porch, a decaying fish carcass tumbled from it and broke into dozens of putrid bits. Sherry retched at the smell and recoiled at the sight.
“Amber, can you grab the key ring right there and let yourself in? If you wouldn’t mind, just toss me a garbage bag from the kitchen. I’ll take care of this disaster. I need to figure out how I can possibly clean my favorite towel. I hope I don’t have to toss it out.”
Sherry used a hose to spray the fish bits off the porch and down to ground level.
“Here’s the garbage bag.” Amber handed the plastic sack to Sherry.
When she was done cleaning up the porch, Sherry left the towel stuffed in the garbage bag on the side of the house.
Sherry secured the front door behind her after she entered. “How in the world did whomever it was who brought it here know where I live? Kind of scary.”
“People in the neighborhood see you walking Chutney all the time, right? Maybe the towel caught a gust of wind and blew down the beach. Then, whoever found it knew you and wanted to return it. Does any of that sound somewhat plausible?”
“Amber, that doesn’t explain the bonus sushi wrapped inside.”
Before Sherry had time to give it more thought, there was a knock at the door. She peered out the sidelights and recognized the two men holding up their identification. Sherry opened the door as Amber joined her.
“Hello, Ms. Frazzelle, Ms. Sherman.” Detective Bease fingered the rippled brim of his hat. “You remember Detective Diamond?”
The young detective, dressed in slim-fit khakis and a tailored dress shirt, acknowledged the women with a nod.
Detective Bease stepped in front of his statuesque partner. He flipped open his notepad and turned to a dog-eared page.
“You really should consider a tablet or laptop instead of paper and pen,” Amber said.
“And an iron,” Sherry added, under her breath, as she inspected the same crinkled suit pants he wore the day before.
“No, I’m all set with these.” Detective Bease held up his note-taking implements. “My way of doing things works just fine for now.”
“Boss says he has until the end of the summer to make the switch to digital.” Detective Diamond avoided his partner’s disapproving glare. “But I suspect they may have to pry the pen and paper out of his hands when time’s up.”
“Thank you for meeting us. I just wanted to relay some new information.” Detective Bease adjusted his hat, which was as well-worn as Sherry’s favorite oven mitt, and no less grimy. “We only have ten minutes.”
“Would you prefer to come inside the house? The sun is getting pretty strong out here,” Sherry offered.
“Do you smell something?” Detective Bease surveyed the front porch. “Like death warmed over.”
“Did you say something?” Sherry scanned behind the detective and spotted a chunk of fish she must have missed.
“Nothing,” said Detective Bease.
“Come in. We can sit in the kitchen.” Sherry led the way to the kitchen. “Have a seat. I’m sorry, is he bothering you?” Sherry reached down to find Chutney’s collar so she could relocate him away from Detective Bease’s legs.
“No. I’m a dog person. I prefer them to humans, for the most part.”
Sherry glanced at Amber with raised eyebrows.
“The reason we stopped by is to inform you the crime lab’s report on Chef Birns’ cause of death has been made official.” Detective Bease gave a head bob in Detective Diamond’s direction. Diamond set down his computer and handed Bease a stapled group of papers.
“‘Anthony Scarpato Birns, Caucasian, male, age thirty-four, died of asphyxiation, the result of multiple needle-shaped calcium oxalate crystals, also known as raphides, embedded in the throat tissue.’ His body’s reaction to the foreign substance was severe, and the rapid swelling that occurred ended his ability to breathe. These crystals are found in the leaves of plants people decorate their houses with.”
Sherry nodded. “I know what those are.”
Detective Diamond typed as if the keys his fingers landed on were blazing hot.
“I’ll continue.” Detective Bease fidgeted in his chair.
“These crystals commonly cause a temporary burning sensation and erythema to those who regrettably swallow them. As you say you already know, Ms. Frazzelle, the crystals are basically lots of tiny razor-sharp needles. Plant leaves with these crystals naturally repel predators.”
“Sorry, but erythema? Not sure what that is,” said Amber.
“It’s a technical term for redness and inflammation.” Detective Diamond stood and walked to the small kitchen bookshelf. He ran his index fingers across a row of titles. “With all these gardening books, I’m not surprised you’re familiar with plants capable of causing harm.” He pulled a book out and held it up. “This book in particular, Happy, Healthy Houseplants, must be very useful for growing the perfect plant.”
Amber leaned in tight to Sherry’s ear. “Remember, their job is to collect information. Your job is to listen, stay positive, and give them the truth and not a word more.”
“Well, I can assure you those raphides weren’t in my recipe.”
“Who mentioned anything about them being in your recipe?” Diamond asked.
Detective Bease turned the page of his notepad and continued writing. “But, Ms. Frazzelle, you do study plants, judging by your book collection.”
Detective Diamond peered out the window over the kitchen sink. “Sure is a nice garden out back. Must be a lot of work.”
“Thank you. It keeps me out of trouble.”
A throat was cleared. Amber bumped Sherry’s leg with her foot. Sherry couldn’t take the words back if she tried. Diamond returned to the table.
“We just had lunch with another contestant we ran into, Diana Stroyer,” said Amber. “Have you talked to her?”
Detective Bease flipped his notepad back a few pages. He ran his finger down the page.
“‘D. Stroyer, Caucasian, female, age sixty-two, resides in Helena, Montana.’”
“Her name says it all,” said Amber.
“‘Never married, adopted daughter, retired gym teacher. ’” Detective Diamond read from his screen.
“We did get statements from her and others involved with the cook-off, but any additional information you can share, by all means, go right ahead,” said Detective Bease.
“We discussed the cook-off, and she had some interesting things to say about it,” said Sherry. “She’s been in previous contests, one with Chef Tony Birns and another with Chef Olivia Baker, both of which she won, may I add. She couldn’t help but notice the two chefs were romantically involved at a previous contest. But she thought at yesterday’s cook-off they definitely weren’t together romantically. They were barely speaking, she thought. It was amazing how much she knew about them.”
“Hmmm. Could you repeat that statement?” Detective Bease flipped the pages of his notepad.
“Don’t worry. I got it,” said the younger detective.
Sherry reconsidered the information she was providing. “Amber, can I see you over here for a moment?” Sherry rose and shuffled her way to the microwave.
Amber rushed to her side.
“What if I’m getting Diana in trouble? She may have not been the contest’s nominee for Miss Congeniality, but that in an
d of itself is no crime. There are questions about the woman’s wealth of knowledge, but jumping to false conclusions can be as damaging as adding lemon juice to a cream sauce. Kenny Dewitt did it to me, and it was very painful.”
“Ms. Frazzelle,” Detective Bease called from the table. “I don’t have much time.”
Sherry and Amber returned to their seats. Sherry’s eyes trained on the pen Detective Bease was holding. It sported a tiny lobster near the top. Must be from Massachusetts.
“I see in my notes you’re a relationship therapist, Ms. Sherman. Being a student of human behavior, you must know sometimes people can be vengeful if they feel judged unfairly, and Ms. Stroyer certainly willingly put herself in a vulnerable position many times over the years, as Ms. Frazzelle seems to be suggesting. The saying, ‘you can’t win ’em all’ is just that, a saying. In fact, if you think you should win ’em all, you may become enraged if you don’t, you know, if your ego takes over.”
“Interesting theory, but if you’re talking about Diana, she went so far as to admit she earns so much with her winnings she doesn’t even have to work at another job,” said Amber. “She isn’t the most personable woman around, but frankly, she’s so self-involved, I wouldn’t think she’d even be bothered by anyone else’s opinion of her or her food.”
“Ms. Frazzelle, do you win as often as Ms. Stroyer does?” asked Detective Diamond.
“I try, but no, I don’t. Not even close.”
Diamond’s computer keys ticked and clicked as he recorded the conversation.
“Well, Ms. Frazzelle, all we have to go on at this very moment is the chef died after eating food your hands created,” stated Detective Bease. “Do you have anything else to add?”
Sherry froze. Her thumping heart battered her chest. Her scalp tingled. She reached up and buried her fingers in her hair. Words collided in her brain but never made the journey to her mouth.
“She’d like to add you should be working harder to find the killer. You’re wasting your time even considering Sherry,” said Amber. “This lady right here is an upstanding citizen and a loving daughter and sister. That’s all you need to know.” Amber drummed a furious beat on the table. “Don’t make baseless accusations. It’s not professional, and, in my opinion, borders on harassment.”
Expiration Date Page 11