“It must be really rough on them to lose their friend so suddenly,” said Amber. “Kind of amazing they’re even here tonight, don’t you think?”
“People grieve in mysterious ways.”
“You were right to take your time. It sure was quite the informative bathroom trip.”
Their waitress placed the balsamic, orange blossom honey, and olive oil dressed ruby root salad down in front of Sherry. Sherry picked up a fork and jabbed the plate’s contents. Taking the task of food reviewer very seriously, she contemplated each chew at length.
“How’s this for a review so far: The fresh beet salad saturated my tongue with its vibrant red nectar, allowing the sweetness to linger longer on my palate,” began Amber, “and the earthy goat cheese adorning the greens was Baahh-u-tiful.”
“I think a lamb makes a noise like that. A goat would be more like beh-heh-heh-u-tiful, I’m not even sure I’d know the difference if I heard them both together. Where’s Marla, the animal expert, when I need her?”
The ladies let out hearty giggles, stoked by the Pinot Grigio.
“Look at you,” exclaimed Sherry. “You’re a vampire.”
Amber checked her reflection in her silver knife and laughed. “Beets will do that to you.” Amber bared her blood red stained teeth.
“We probably need more training before we go after Patti’s job,” admitted Sherry. “But it’s fun to try to describe what we’re eating. It would be really easy to embellish the truth if you got carried away. Patti’s famous for not holding back on criticism when she’s not happy with the food or service or both. She has a huge following because she tells it like it is.”
After enjoying a sobering cappuccino and paying the bill, Sherry suggested stopping by Patti’s table to give her their reviews. They reached it only to find it occupied by a young couple.
“Darn,” exclaimed Sherry, as they left the building. “You’d think with all that food she ordered Patti would be here for hours. I had my entrée review all ready to run by her. It goes something like this: ‘The perfectly cooked tenderloin caressed my taste buds with its juicy goodness. The succulent broiled salmon that swam in a luscious lemon caper sauce made me blush with excitement.’ Good, right?”
“Patti asked for a restaurant review, not food porn,” laughed Amber.
In the parking lot, with her thumb poised on her car keys’ unlock button, Sherry paused. “After thinking about it, I’m not sure I’m cut out for Patti’s job. Seeing how her reviews affected the chefs tonight, she might end up with more enemies than friends. I’m too much of a people pleaser.”
When they arrived back at Sherry’s, a man was waiting in front of Sherry’s house.
“Sherry, do you know the man on your porch? Who comes a-calling at ten at night?” Amber asked in a panic.
“Don’t worry. He’s no threat.” Sherry walked up behind the man who was a head taller than her. He had the face of a young man, skin as smooth as a fresh picked peach. A few premature gray flecks in his well-trimmed beard betrayed his age. “May I help you, Charlie?”
“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d say hi. When you didn’t answer, I got worried, so I thought I’d hang out a bit to make sure you got home safely.” Charlie’s sleeves were rolled up, and his gold watch that glimmered in the moonlight caught Sherry’s eye.
“Charlie, you could have called. Despite rumors to the contrary, I don’t just sit at home alone when the sun goes down.” Sherry examined Charlie’s face for a reaction, but like the good lawyer he was, he was expressionless. “This is my friend Amber Sherman. She’s staying with me for a few days. We were in the cook-off together.”
“Nice to meet you.” Charlie extended a hand. “Was she your date tonight?”
“I guess you could say that.” Sherry held out her arms. “What are you holding?”
“I found this leaning on the door.” Charlie passed Sherry a padded envelope.
“Thanks, Charlie, it’s late. Was there anything else you wanted?”
“No. Have a good night, ladies.”
“Would you mind giving me back the house key? I’ve almost locked myself out a few times now when I grabbed the set of car keys with no house key.”
“Sure.” Charlie took his key set out of his pants pocket. “Bye, old friend.” He unhooked a brass key from the ring, fondled it for a moment and handed it to Sherry. “Good night, ladies.” He turned and disappeared into the darkness.
“Don’t ask. I know I should have asked for the key back the day he left. I admit I had the tiniest glimmer of hope he’d change his mind and come crawling back.” Sherry shook her head.
Once inside, Sherry tossed the key in a bowl on the front hall table. She ripped open the unmarked envelope and pulled out its contents. “Sure arrived fast,” she remarked in amazement. “Didn’t I just talk to Brynne?”
She unfolded an apron only to realize this particular apron had a distinct difference from the one she wore at the cook-off. The OrgaNicks Cook-Off logo, which was about the size of a five-inch dessert plate, had a menacing black circle and a diagonal slash through it, the universal sign for NO.
“Someone took the time to alter this apron and deliver it, presumably by hand. The envelope has no stamp or return address, and Charlie didn’t see who delivered it.” Sherry flipped the envelope over to check both sides. “But whoever delivered it knew where I lived, even though the envelope wasn’t addressed. Just my name.”
“Do you think it was the same person who brought your beach towel back?” asked Amber. “It doesn’t make sense Brynne would send you this crazy thing, but it sure is quite a coincidence. So who else would send it?”
“Let’s hold the whole package for the detectives to see if maybe there are fingerprints on it, or is that just something they do in the movies?” When she spoke the words, she didn’t recognize the sound of her quivering voice.
“You know, Sherry, you’ve been asking people a lot of questions. Do you think this is some sort of warning to back off?”
“Back off from what? I’ve only asked a few people questions. Patti Mellit, Chef Lee, Chef Baker, Brynne Stark, Diana Stroyer. I think that’s the complete list. And I’m not sure I’ve learned a thing from any one of them that the investigators don’t already know. If it’s a warning, I’d like to know what they think I know, because I don’t know.” Sherry threw up her hands.
“I understand what you’re saying, I think,” Amber said.
Sherry put the apron and its envelope in the kitchen, out of her line of sight. A wave of nausea swept through her stomach reminiscent of the first time she smelled the intense stench of fish Nam Pla sauce reeks of.
Chapter 12
“How’d you sleep, Sherry?” Amber poured herself a mug of deep-roasted coffee.
“Just okay. Listen to this dream I had.” Sherry took a sip of her steaming brew. “I went shopping for cooking aprons, and when I got to the store, it dawned on me I already had way too many, so I turned to get out of there but the glass doors were locked. Chutney was on the outside of the glass doors. I was calling and calling to him, but he couldn’t hear me. Then he disappeared. Charlie strolled casually by the doors but didn’t react when I signaled him to get me out. He just went on his merry way. Me, stuck on the inside, him free as a bird on the outside. I was going to have to figure out my escape all by myself and that put me in a panic. I woke up in a full flop sweat. Rough night. Did you sleep okay?”
“I tossed and turned all night.” Amber cradled her mug with both hands. “I do remember a dream I had just before I woke up. I was in a cook-off where the requirements were you had to capture a live animal and cook it, and I refused to do it. Our blogger friend, The Foody Dude, was in it, too, and he brought a takeout meal to submit as his recipe entry. The whole thing was crazy!”
“Wow, must have been the after-dinner cappuccino talking. Sometimes one last jolt of caffeine before bed doesn’t sit well with me.” Sherry retrieved her cell phone and placed a call.
“Detective Bease?”
“Bease here.”
“This is Sherry Frazzelle. You gave me your number in case I needed to contact you.”
“Go on.”
“I wanted to mention a cooking apron was delivered here. Nothing too strange about that except it had a bit of a warning attached to it.”
During her five-year marriage, Sherry had talked to her husband countless times while he was multitasking and she’d grown adept at sensing when he wasn’t fully engaged. She recognized Detective Bease was doing the same on the other end of the line. Sherry also heard a muffled voice other than the detective’s. Possibly Detective Diamond, but she couldn’t be sure.
“Warning? An apron with a warning? How does that work? Please explain.”
“The apron had the OrgaNicks logo on it just like the cook-off aprons, but this one had a big dark circle around it and slash through it. Picture a no parking sign with the big capital letter ‘P’ inside a circle and a thick diagonal line through it. Definitely not something you’d want to cook a comfort meal in.” Sherry hoped the detective could visualize the apron from her description. “I think you should see it.”
Sherry heard what she could only interpret as a grumble through the phone.
“Ms. Frazzelle, you did the right thing by calling me. My schedule is tight today, but I could pick it up tomorrow.”
“Actually, I’d rather not wait that long. I’d like to get this thing out of my house. I don’t like the karma that surrounds it. Amber Sherman and I are going over to the OrgaNicks headquarters this afternoon to pick up our recipe ingredients for a demo we were asked to do. Is there any way we can drop it off with you while we’re out? I’m not exactly sure how close you are to Augustin.”
“I’ll be in Hillsboro at the OrgaNicks facility this afternoon to meet with Mr. Andime. Maybe we can coordinate our appointments. What time will you be there?”
“Two.”
“There must be a visitors’ parking lot where we can meet up at around, say, one forty-five?”
“That works. We’ll look for you there. Thank you very much.”
Sherry heard the muffled voice again but couldn’t decipher any words. The tone seemed urgent though.
“Ms. Frazzelle, was there anything else?”
“That’s it. See you later.” Sherry disconnected the call. She faced her phone screen toward Amber. “I got a text from my sister while I was talking to the detective. Marla wants to Skype and show us a recipe she’s working on for the next contest. I’ll tell her we’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“Great, I’d like to see how you sisters operate when you’re in recipe invention mode,” Amber said, as she took a seat at the kitchen table. “It’s so early, though. She’s already cooking up a storm at this time of the day?”
Sherry nodded. She set up her laptop on the table and waited for Marla to dial her up.
“Hi, gals! Here I am, bright and early,” sang Marla, before stepping in front of the camera. “You know I get up before the sun out here. It’s one hour younger here, too. So bear with my appearance. I haven’t primped yet. It’s about the food, so don’t judge the cook.”
Sherry shook her head at her sister’s attempt at wit.
“As you can see, I’ve already been cooking furiously.” Marla aimed her computer’s camera at her cluttered dining room table. Ingredients, utensils, and serving platters filled the screen. Behind Marla’s table was a window that framed the early-morning Midwest sun. A field of what appeared to be golden wheat was swaying in the breeze through the open pane of glass.
“Beautiful day out there,” said Amber. “Your ranch is lovely.”
“Thanks. There’s always so much to do, which is why I get started before dawn. Otherwise, there’s no time for my silly hobbies.”
In the center of the table, Marla had staged two plates of food side by side. They seemed to be prepared with similar ingredients but each was arranged quite differently.
“Let me zoom in a bit. I can tell you’re distracted by too much background, but you both are proving you have great observational skills.” Marla moved the laptop closer to the plates of food. “Here I have two versions of Moroccan Spiced Stuffed Chicken Roll-ups with Pistachio Honey Couscous. I’d like your honest opinions on which plate would photograph best for the Sweet Bee Honey Recipe Contest. Let the debate begin.”
Sherry and Amber studied the vibrant colors and textures presented before them.
“Good job on both. I defer to the expert.” Amber pointed to Sherry.
Sherry’s eyes darted from plate to plate. “The student has become the master. You don’t need my opinion. They’re both great.”
“Come on, Sherry. I couldn’t have come this far without your input. Don’t be afraid to let me have it.”
“I just wanted to hear you admit that.” Sherry sported a broad smile. “Hold on.”
Sherry grasped Amber and spun her around one hundred eighty degrees so their backs were to the computer’s camera.
“She does this to me every time,” whispered Sherry. “She gets a head start on a contest before I can even think about it, and then I’m under pressure to match her. I’d rather not know what she’s entering so she doesn’t have any impact on my entry. Why does she have to do the things I do, only better? I’m a step behind, as usual.”
The women rotated back around to face the computer.
“We unanimously choose the plate on our right, which I believe is your left.”
“Reason being?” asked Marla.
“Well, since honey is the contest’s theme, we like the way the chicken roll-up glimmers with its honey glaze.” Sherry pointed to the plate on the left. “Also the couscous screams glorious honey pistachio flavor! The other plate is nice, but it’s not as showstopping. Our only other suggestion is to remove half of the garnish on the plate. The proportions seem out of balance. What is the garnish? Cilantro?”
“You have a good eye.” Marla waved a bunch of leafy cilantro.
“I’m a food geek, and don’t you forget it.” Sherry garnished the word “don’t” with a tone as sharp as cheddar cheese. “Mar, it’s a winner for sure! By the way, I like the way you’re using the OrgaNicks couscous from our gift bags. I see the box on the counter behind the plates.”
“Very perceptive. You’re a natural detective, I’m telling you. Thanks, girls, for all your great advice. I’ve got to get going, but any time I can return the favor, let me know!” Marla signed off.
Feeling the inspiration, Sherry and Amber began to brainstorm what recipes they might enter into the honey contest. Sherry reviewed the contest rules because she knew no two contests were the same when it came down to the fine print. “Okay, here we go. The cook-off for the honey contest will involve only five finalists. The smaller the number the harder it is getting your recipe chosen to compete, but I love the challenge. Wouldn’t it be fun if you, Marla, and I all got in the finals?”
“You and Marla have a good chance. Me, not so much.”
“Can’t hurt to try. As my dad says, ‘The only thing you get sitting on the bench is a splinter.’ Let’s go out to the garden and see if we can get some inspiration from what’s ready to be picked.”
Amber and Chutney followed Sherry out the back of the house to the garden gate. “Stay right here, boy. He loves his sentry duty.”
Chutney parked his small body just out of reach of the swinging gate. Once inside the protective fencing, Sherry followed Amber as they walked around the raised garden boxes. Amber stopped at the herb plants. She bent over and inhaled their fragrances.
“You have cilantro and parsley. Can we bring in some of each because I think I have an idea for something?” She tore off a small bunch of the brilliant green leaves with ruffled edges. She pinched off some leaves from the neighboring basil plant, also.
“Grab me some cilantro, too. I have a cilantro pesto in mind. Cilantro’s pungent, but I won’t use too much. I like to temper its
strong flavor with parsley. Some people don’t take kindly to cilantro, so I don’t want to overpower the dish. I really like your idea of only cooking up sections of a new recipe to see what works. Otherwise, recipe testing can get pricey if you remake the full recipe a bunch of times.”
“Do you think Marla would mind if I also did a take on couscous?” asked Amber. “Honey goes so well with it.”
“Well, I certainly hope not because I was thinking of hopping on the couscous wagon also! As long as we’re all heading in different directions flavor-wise, it’s not a problem. I’m going to bring in a hot pepper because sweet heat is a great combo. Actually, on second thought, maybe I’ll go down the taco road and leave couscous to you two. The jalapeños are ripe.” Sherry strolled over to the box containing a potpourri of peppers. She picked two brilliant green jalapeños about the size of her big toe.
Back indoors, Sherry and Amber laid their bounty across the kitchen counter.
“Lemon pesto sweetened with honey on lamb chops. Now that sounds delicious.” Amber clasped her hands over her head in triumph.
“Honey jalapeño salsa and shrimp tacos. That doesn’t sound half bad either.” Sherry high-fived Amber. “We’re on a roll.”
Sherry’s phone rang. Sherry read the caller ID and sang out, “It’s my Dad.” She accepted the call. “Hi, Dad! Are you missing me at the store? I’ll be in soon. Amber and I are just brainstorming recipes here. Marla inspired us to think about our next cook-off. How’s it going?” Sherry put the phone on speaker. “Say hi to Amber.”
“Hi, Mr. Oliveri. You’ve raised a great cook here. I’m hoping to get to the Ruggery before I leave Augustin.”
“I hope you do and please call me Erno.”
“Short for Ernest,” Sherry whispered. “Dad, I’m going to bring you some cook-off goodies I got in a gift basket. I’ll see you in about a half hour. I’m coming in early.”
“See you then, sweetie. Bye, Amber.”
Sherry put her cell phone in her purse’s side pocket after checking the time on the screen. “I’ll put in my four hours and be back around lunch. Want to give me a lift?”
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