“I admire your defense of your friend, Ms. Sherman, but I assure you, facts are facts. No one is accusing anyone of a crime, but I want Ms. Frazzelle to be aware of where the investigation is currently because she is front and center on our radar.” Detective Bease’s expression softened as his eyes lingered on Sherry.
Sherry hardened her return glare and sent the detective’s eyes darting in the direction of his partner. Sherry thought she detected a rosy tinge bloom on Bease’s cheeks.
“You know, yesterday we also spoke briefly to Brynne Stark, the cook-off hostess,” added Sherry.
“Where did you see her?” Detective Bease sat up a little straighter, bumping Chutney in the process. Chutney nestled closer to the detective’s feet. Sherry scooted Chutney away with a wave of her hand.
Detective Bease intercepted Sherry’s hand. “He’s fine.”
“You two do get around,” said Detective Diamond.
“She and I spoke on the phone. She was contacting all the contestants to alert them they’d be receiving their cook-off aprons in the mail because no one thought to bring them home. They’re a common gift from the sponsor,” said Sherry. “Anyway, we got to talking about different things.” Sherry paused. “Did you know she had a relationship with Mr. Andime, the OrgaNicks CEO, for a while?” She waited for a reply, then wondered if the detectives thought the statement rhetorical because they remained silent. They weren’t going to divulge whether they knew or not.
Detective Diamond broke the silence. “Just to be clear, ‘she’ being Brynne Stark.”
“Yep. I mentioned you two had been by for more questioning, and then I told her about the death being investigated as a crime. I realized by her reaction I shouldn’t be the one to spread such shocking news around. I couldn’t tell if she already knew.”
“We’ve spoken to her, but I cannot elaborate further. Did you record that, Diamond? My pen seems to be out of ink.” Bease shook his pen as if it was on fire then stowed it in his pocket. “Good-bye, old friend.”
“Of course.” Detective Diamond’s head was buried in his laptop.
“Did Ms. Stark call you too, Ms. Sherman?” asked Detective Bease.
“No, actually she didn’t. I’m sure she will soon. The contest organizers have my cell phone number, so I’m sure they’ll call in the next day or so. I really want an apron. I’m inspired to start a collection like Sherry’s.”
“Did Ms. Stark say she’s calling all the contestants?” Bease asked Sherry.
“Definitely.” Sherry bobbed her head. The tone of their questions was becoming as challenging as avoiding lumps while making a roux.
“Okay, well, I’d like to know when the others have heard from her.”
“I can only speak for myself,” said Amber.
“Got to keep moving.” Detective Bease stood and collected his hat and notepad. Stepping around Chutney as if the dog was a poisonous snake, the detective fell backward when he grazed his canine admirer’s paw. His chair toppled over. As it went down, it banged into Sherry’s small work desk, sending an open cookbook flying.
Detective Diamond launched himself off his chair, righted the overturned seat, and retrieved the fallen cookbook. He studied the cover for a moment.
“Do you mind if I ask your advice on how to cook a chicken breast for dinner tonight? My last attempt at cooking for myself was more like a science project gone awry than an edible meal.”
Sherry stayed silent, surprised by the question.
“You have so many cookbooks. I guess being a skilled cook comes with studying the craft.” Detective Diamond flipped the book over and back again.
Sherry pondered the poultry preparation possibilities. “Easiest would be to poach it in chicken broth, garlic, herbs and a little olive oil. Just cover the chicken halfway with the liquid, garlic and two of your favorite herbs. Basil and thyme are great. Add about two tablespoons olive oil, cover, and simmer on low for about twelve minutes. It’s really moist and juicy.”
“Satisfied? She’s a good cook.” Detective Bease walked toward the front door.
Sherry cracked a weak smile.
“Did you ladies go to the beach today?” asked Detective Diamond as he passed their beach equipment near the front hall closet on his way to the door.
“You don’t miss a thing,” said Amber. “Yes, we did.”
“Did you go fishing? Smells like you did.” Diamond wrinkled up his nose.
“Well, actually, see the garbage bag just over there?” Sherry asked as she pointed through the open door. “In there is a towel that was involved in a fishy mishap.”
“Almost lost it today, and it’s Sherry’s favorite,” said Amber.
“You might want to lose it now. Whew!” Detective Diamond raised his forearm to cover his nose.
“I left it on the beach with all our stuff while we went to eat lunch, and it wasn’t there when we returned. Miraculously, it was on my front porch when we got back.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” Detective Bease turned his back to the women and spoke to his partner before turning back. “I would like to bring your towel to the lab, as a precaution, and have it analyzed.”
“Why? It’s not a big deal.” Sherry shrugged. “But fine, it’s over there on the side of the porch all bagged up. I’d like it back though, clean, preferably.”
“Hmmm.” Detective Bease held the door for his partner. He yanked it shut behind him as he left. Through the window, Sherry watched Bease pick up the malodorous bag with the care of a baker taking a chocolate soufflé out of the oven.
Chapter 11
“We’re making great time.” Sherry’s car flowed down the parkway at the posted speed limit. “Where are all the cars? It’s rush hour! I’ve never had such good luck.” Next thing she knew, Sherry was forced to brake when traffic came to an excruciatingly slow crawl.
“I broke my own rule of never mentioning good traffic luck.” Sherry rolled up the sleeves on her turquoise linen shirt. She gripped the wheel in frustration and checked the dashboard clock. “Well, my thirty-minute trip estimate wasn’t even close. Try an hour and a quarter. I’m sorry about that.”
“In Maine, there isn’t much of a rush hour,” Amber commented, as the car turned into the Splayd and Spork Restaurant parking lot. “Unless you’re stuck behind a logging truck, a moose crossing, or a snowplow, you can pretty much get from point A to point B without seeing another car or even using your brakes. Of course, any two points are really far apart! Quite a change from my Boston commute.”
“Wow, this place is full to the brim.” Sherry maneuvered the car into the first available parking slot. It was a good distance from the entrance. “I didn’t even think to make a reservation. Strike two!”
“What is a splayd anyway?” Amber asked as they walked into the restaurant. “I thought it was a verb not a noun.”
“Funny you should ask because I only found out when I read Chef Brock Lee’s bio in the cook-off brochure,” laughed Sherry. “A splayd is an eating utensil combining the functions of spoon, knife, and fork. I guess the chef’s into combo utensils because obviously a spork is a spoon-fork. Apparently, the restaurant’s name was inspired by his fusion viewpoint toward cooking.”
“Do you think the food is served on plowls—a plate and bowl combined?”
“We’ll find out soon.”
Sherry and Amber entered the restaurant and walked up to the hostess stand. They were greeted by a pretty young woman flashing a welcoming smile but were told there was a forty-five-minute wait for a table. As an option, the hostess offered them a seat at the bar.
“We’ll sit at the bar,” Sherry told the hostess. “As long as we can order food.”
“Of course.” The hostess led Sherry and Amber to the bar. “The waitress will be right over with menus and place settings.”
Sherry placed her wrap on the empty stool next to Amber. “Amber, do you mind if I run to the ladies’ room? I’d say come with me, but I don’t want to los
e these seats. I’ll be quick.”
“No problem,” Amber said.
Sherry patted Amber on the back and headed to the back of the restaurant. Past the bar, Sherry noticed a woman swathed in an oversized floral scarf at a dining table against the wall. A second scarf was draped around her head, partially obscuring her facial features. Something about the woman’s exposed eyes, nose, and mouth seemed vaguely familiar to Sherry. Trying to not stare, but needing a closer look, Sherry charted a path that led her by the woman’s table.
“I’m sorry, but have we met? You seem so familiar.” Sherry positioned herself just beyond the woman’s table.
The woman raised her head from one of two entrée plates she was examining. “Of course. We were at the OrgaNicks Cook-Off together.” She seemed to study Sherry’s face with the intensity with which she had been studying the food on her plates. “Yes, you are the cook-off contestant from Connecticut, Sherry Frazzelle, correct?” The woman lowered her voice, making it difficult for Sherry to hear her. “I’m Patti Mellit. How are you?”
“I talked to you at the event and on the phone. I hope my answers to the questions you e-mailed were of some use.”
“They were perfect, Sherry.” Patti laid down her fork. “Thanks for responding so quickly.”
“By the way, the pronunciation of my last name rhymes with la belly, but most people pronounce it frazzle. At this point you’d think I wouldn’t care how people say it, but I do.”
Patti seemed to not understand the gist of Sherry’s words over the restaurant din because she made no effort to acknowledge the comment.
“Anyway,” Sherry forged on, “I’m here with Amber Sherman. You probably remember her. She was the contestant from Maine.”
Patti swept her scarves to the side and nodded.
“I’d ask you to join us, but you are much further along in your meal,” Sherry raised her voice and enunciated each syllable with dramatic pauses separating each word. “We just got here and haven’t even read the menu yet. Also, we’re seated at the bar so we don’t have a table.
“Thanks for the thought. I prefer to eat alone when I’m working.” Patti swatted a scarf that had cascaded into her food. “Maybe next time.”
Sherry took a step closer and crouched down.
“Among other things, I’m a restaurant reviewer.” Patti gestured toward her disguise. “I always prefer to do it incognito so I don’t get any special treatment. These aren’t a fashion statement. They serve to disguise me, hopefully.”
Sherry laughed and felt a twinge of pain. Her back was beginning to ache from hunching over Patti’s table.
“I like to have a broad sampling of the menu, but it’s tricky because so many plates on the table often attracts attention. Do me a favor and let me know how your dishes are, if you wouldn’t mind. Also, keep your eyes peeled for Chef Brock Lee if you pass the kitchen. He isn’t always on the premises, but tonight you’re in luck. He’s here. The food is always a notch better if the executive chef is in the house.”
Before leaving Patti’s table, Sherry whispered in Patti’s scarved ear, “You may want to hide those.” She pointed to the press credentials slung across Patti’s purse in plain sight. Sherry continued on to the ladies’ room. Passing the closed kitchen door, she peeked inside its small glass window in hopes of catching a glimpse of Chef Lee. She was mesmerized by the industrious hubbub of the busy kitchen, but there was no sign of the restaurant’s executive chef.
After a relieving trip to the ladies’ room, Sherry headed back to join Amber. She proceeded down the dark corridor, nearly colliding with two figures, one dressed in a chef’s coat and the other a woman in jeans and a polo shirt. The woman was wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. Sherry shuddered when she read the name on the man’s coat.
“Chef Lee, Chef Baker!” Sherry regretted the enthusiasm of her greeting when she saw the miserable expression on Olivia Baker’s face.
She softened her voice. “I’m Sherry Frazzelle. I was in yesterday’s cook-off. I want to say how sorry I am about the passing of your colleague. Such a tragedy. Amber Sherman and I are here tonight taking up your offer to visit your beautiful restaurant.”
“Those damn cook-off coupons you insisted we hand out will bankrupt you.”
Sherry rocked back on her heels.
“Olivia, please. Thank you, Ms. Frazzelle. We are happy to welcome you to the restaurant.” Chef Lee glanced at Chef Baker.
Sherry cleared her throat. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but Chef Birns’ death has been ruled murder by the investigators. The authorities are now on full alert to find the killer.” She studied the two chefs’ reactions, just as she had seen Detective Bease do when he broke the news to her.
“We were just discussing the situation, coincidentally.” Chef Lee held a stone-faced expression. “You’re confirming our worst fears. We knew him for a long time. We all grew up around here. We gravitated toward each other from high school on because we all loved to cook, and it didn’t make you popular with the cool kids like it does today. It helped having someone like you when other kids were putting you down for being different. We were quite the trio. When Olivia and I were planning our wedding, Tony was going to be in the wedding party. We were really close friends.”
Olivia pressed her finger to the corner of her eye. It was wet when she removed it.
“I’m confused. I didn’t know you two were married! Wow, what a well-kept secret. I read the chefs’ bios from cover to cover, and I swear that wasn’t mentioned.”
“Let me jump in here now,” said Olivia. “Brock and I were engaged, but we didn’t get any further than the planning stage. Water under the bridge now. But our professional lives will forever be bound together.”
The chefs gave each other a sideways glance, the meaning of which Sherry couldn’t interpret.
“It was quite devastating to lose Tony.” Olivia blinked back a glistening tear. “He will be sorely missed. Speaking for myself, I’m baffled over the whole thing. If you’ll excuse me, I was on my way out.”
“Do you remember me from the Beef Chow-down a few years ago?” Sherry couldn’t resist asking before Olivia could escape.
“Ah yes, my first judging stint. Let’s see, Diana Stroyer’s Deconstructed Beef Wellington is my fondest memory of the Chow-down. I can still taste its deep, succulent goodness as we speak. But I’m sorry, I have no idea what you made.”
“I can’t recall either.” Sherry studied the palms of her hands. “Nothing memorable, obviously.”
“By the way, you see the interestingly dressed woman eating alone at the table near the wall?” Olivia pointed into the darkness. “She’s Patti Mellit, the journalist who covered the cook-off. I had an interview with her and was hoping to see the article come out, but I heard she had to postpone or possibly cancel it.
“She must be reviewing the restaurant because the staff noticed how much she ordered and gave Brock a heads-up. She also tipped her hand when she used that ridiculous ‘discount’ coupon on herself, twice. Somebody should tell her all those mismatched scarves wrapping her up make her look more like the remnants of a Seven Layer Dip than a reporter.”
Sherry was shocked at Olivia’s animosity.
“Relax, Olivia.” Chef Lee patted her forearm. “Patti Mellit’s first review of Tony’s cooking when he began working here wasn’t favorable, only a half fork rating, but sometimes it’s just the spark to ignite a restaurant to catch fire. Problem was, keeping Tony’s life on track was like trying to make a successful risotto in a hurry. Good things take time to develop properly. Too many rash decisions kept him from success.” He lifted Olivia’s chin with his fingers. “Ms. Mellit’s review can’t be blamed for his downfall.”
“We’ll see how you feel when her latest review of this place comes out in print,” said Olivia. “I’ve never read a review by her that wasn’t harsh. She shoots from the hip and doesn’t mind who she wounds.”
Olivia returned the pat to Chef Lee befo
re leaving. Sherry noted Chef Lee’s gaze followed her until she was out of sight.
“I should get back to work. If I’m able to get out of the kitchen again tonight, I’ll come check on you to make sure all is well. Please enjoy!” Chef Lee walked away.
Sherry returned to her waiting friend. She grimaced when she checked her watch and realized how long she had been gone.
“I’m glad you’re back. I was about to sell your seat to the highest bidder! Was there rush-hour traffic on the way to the bathroom? Maybe a moose crossing?”
“Okay, I deserve the reprimand you’re dishing out. I’m so sorry. I’ll explain.”
“I ordered you a wine, by the way. I’ve already finished my first, so you’re a glass behind. And I even know what I want to order.”
Sherry skimmed the menu and then ordered fish and beef tenderloin to share. They would start their meal with a locally grown beet, walnut, and goat cheese salad.
“The reason my bathroom break took so long was I saw Patti Mellit at a table. Remember she’s the reporter who was covering the cook-off and also the one who called me. What a fun job Patti has. Eating, taking notes, then eating some more. Being paid to eat is a dream of mine. She invited us to stop by her table on our way out because she wants to know how our food was. So we have to focus when we eat and think like we’re mini-reviewers! She was the first interesting character I ran into.”
“First? There were more?”
“Outside the kitchen I ran into Chefs Baker and Lee. They were having a tête-à-tête in the dark hallway right outside the bathroom,” said Sherry. “Olivia Baker wasn’t in a great mood. Something was going on, and I got the impression it had to do with Patti Mellit being here to review the restaurant. In passing they mentioned the two of them were once engaged—Chef Baker and Chef Lee—and they mentioned Chef Birns was their high school pal. That trio is complicated, to say the least.”
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