Expiration Date

by Devon Delaney

  “No thanks. Chutney and I will do some culinary experimentation right here. If all the stars are aligned, it could be your lunch when you return. Then we’ll head over to OrgaNicks.”

  Sherry located her OrgaNicks gift bag, which was still in its unpacked state. She wriggled a squeeze bottle of OrgaNicks mustard and a box of brown rice out of the packing material they were lodged in. Products in hand, she walked over to her kitchen’s cupboard and took out another box of organic brown rice. She always bought rice in the organic section because she had heard some suspicious things about chemicals rice might contain, namely arsenic. “By the way, do you have any idea if there are different types of organic certification seals on packages? The symbol on the OrgaNicks box is different from the one I’m used to seeing on the packages I buy.”

  Sherry placed the two rice packages side by side on the counter. “See, they definitely have different organic seals.”

  “I’m not an expert in organic certification, but it boils down to misrepresentation if a product is labeled something it’s not. Only makes sense,” said Amber. “But I’m sure there are many misleading food labels out there, so buyer beware!”

  “For the premium you pay for an organic label, you want to get what you’re paying for.” Sherry placed the OrgaNicks rice and mustard in a shopping bag. “Dad will love these.” She pulled her grocery list nearer and penciled a note on it to check out other product labels next time she shopped.

  Chapter 13

  “What a nice campus,” commented Amber when they arrived at the OrgaNicks facility in Hillsboro. “Someone’s spent a lot of time and money landscaping the grounds to perfection.”

  Sherry drove through the front gate to the security guard’s shed. She rolled down her window. “Hi. Sherry Frazzelle and Amber Sherman are here to pick up our ingredients for a cooking demonstration.”

  “Says ‘Frazzle,’” The man displayed a computer printout.

  “Not ‘frazzle,’ it’s pronounced ‘Fra-sell-E.’” Sherry treated the syllables of her last name with as much care as she handled expensive saffron.

  “I can hear you perfectly well, ma’am,” said the guard. “No need to shout.”

  “There’s the ‘ma’am’ label again.” Sherry drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. “How does he know I’m not a Miss or Ms.? Actually, I’m a bit of both.”

  While Sherry and Amber waited, the guard flipped through a pad of paper.

  “Ah, yes. Amber Sherman, you’re on the list. You both are all set. Just follow the signs to the distribution dock, and Paulina will meet you there. I’ll give her the heads-up you’ve arrived. Takes her about fifteen minutes to collect and bring your items out.”

  “You know what’s not fair?” asked Sherry as they pulled the car away from the guard shack. “The male equivalent of ‘ma’am’ is ‘sir.’ I know because I researched it. To me, ‘sir’ sounds so respectful and upstanding and ‘ma’am’ sounds like I have one foot in the grave.”

  “It’s more of a gender thing, not a judgmental age thing, Sherry. Besides, you’re only in your thirties, still very young.”

  “I really bring out the therapist in you, and I’m not sorry.”

  With a few minutes to spare, Sherry made an impromptu decision to take an abbreviated driving tour of the corporate grounds. The detour took them by a two-story brick house with a historic designation plaque to the side of the front door.

  “I love those date plaques.” Sherry slowed the car to a near stop. “Makes me so curious about who lived there and what their life was like. It was built in seventeen eighty-nine. Amazing. Someone’s taking really good care of the building. It’s in great shape. Sign says ‘Corporate Offices.’ Must be where the Big Boss works.”

  Sherry pulled her SUV over to the side of the road so as not to block the delivery truck blasting its horn behind them. No sooner had Sherry considered the location of Nick Andime’s office than she saw Nick and Patti Mellit leaving the building. The duo was heading toward the small parking lot in the back of the building.

  “Look who’s here.” Sherry nudged Amber.

  Nick and Patti walked at a crisp pace while appearing to carry on a heated discussion. Sherry slumped down in her seat to avoid being seen.

  “Pull in over there.” Amber pointed to an adjacent parking lot.

  The two drove at a snail’s pace over the next twenty feet. Sherry peered out the tiny opening under the steering wheel. She parked the car far enough away to avoid detection but close enough to witness the action. In front of them, a scene was being played out that included hand gestures, raised voices, and facial scowls.

  “I can’t hear anything. Roll down your window,” directed Amber.

  Sherry still wasn’t able to hear more than sentence fragments, even after lowering the windows completely.

  “None of your business . . . that article . . . opportunist . . .”

  Nick and Patti seemed to be doing an equally strong job of fortifying their points, often speaking over one another.

  After a short time, Patti got in a car, revved the motor, rolled down her window, and called out, “Blood is not always thicker than water.” She drove away, leaving Nick shaking his head.

  He returned to the office building.

  “What was that all about?” asked Amber.

  “No idea.” Sherry unfurled her rounded spine like pop-can dough after it’d been whacked on the edge of a counter. “There’s a lot going on between them, without a doubt. We better get going, though. Otherwise we’re going to be late meeting with Paulina.”

  On her way around the campus a second time, Sherry noticed a large warehouse behind the administrative building. In front of the warehouse was a large “Restricted Area—No Admittance Without Proper Clearance and Identification” sign plastered across the entrance.

  Sherry slowed the car to a crawl again and studied the words. “Hmmm, what would need ‘restricting’ at a place like this?”

  “Maybe secret organic blends no company has marketed yet,” said Amber. “I’m sure competition is getting cutthroat between companies in this branch of the food industry.”

  “True. Makes sense.”

  “There he is!” Amber pointed toward Detective Ray Bease. “Pull in right here.”

  Sherry steered her car toward the open parking spot next to the detective’s car.

  He flagged them down with his hat. “Hello, ladies. What have you got for me?”

  Sherry got out of her car and moved around to the back, where she lifted the hatchback. She pulled out the large bag containing the altered cook-off apron and the envelope it arrived in. She handed it to the detective. He, in turn, handed the package to Detective Diamond, who had sidled up to him.

  “Is there any chance your fingerprints are on file in any police database, Ms. Frazzelle?” Diamond asked.

  “Well, as a matter of fact, yes.” Sherry turned her hands over and eyeballed the tips of her fingers. “My fingerprints are definitely on file. I was a teacher for many years. During the hiring process, you must be fingerprinted at your local police precinct. It’s the law.”

  “Okay.” Diamond’s punctuated the two letters with aggression.

  Detective Bease used a softer delivery. “In the meantime, the towel situation and the delivery of the tainted apron to your home should be considered a warning.”

  “Or, on the other hand,” Detective Diamond said, in a near whisper, “could the towel and apron have been planted, you know, to lead the investigation in a different direction.”

  “That’s not what happened. I’m not guil . . . not a murd . . .” Sherry bit the inside of her cheek.

  “Ms. Frazzelle, take it easy,” said Detective Bease. “Just keep your eyes and ears open, and things will fall into place.”

  “One way or another,” added Detective Diamond.

  Sherry raised her chin high.

  “Another thing. I spoke again with Mac Stiles, who was the photographer at the cook-off,” Detect
ive Bease said. “I’m sure you remember him. His job was to accompany the hostess, Brynne Stark, during her contestant interviews, while documenting the event.”

  “He would be a tough one to forget,” said Amber. “He was quite a character.”

  “I brought his photographs from the event.” Detective Bease turned and began to rummage through the backseat of his car. He brought out a box labeled OrgaNicks Cook-Off—Official Photos. “I’d like to get you two to thumb through these at your earliest convenience. Spend time analyzing each one, and just make note if you see anything out of the ordinary. Compare what you experienced that morning versus what Mr. Stiles captured on camera. Let me remind you it’s in your best interest to notice the subtleties.”

  “If you need any tips, I was at the top of my class at spotting details others missed.” Detective Diamond lowered his sunglasses from the top of his head to shade his eyes and placed his hands on his hips.

  The detective shuffled through the box and removed a photo. He set the box down on the hood of his car and held up the picture. “It’s about seeing what’s not there, mostly. Don’t let your book learning restrict your mind with rules and guidelines. Instinct for observation can’t be taught. Watch and learn.” Detective Bease moved closer to Sherry. “Ms. Frazzelle. There’s a background and foreground of each shot, not just the central subject—study the tiniest of details. Don’t take anything at face value. And, I’d prefer it to be done by tomorrow, please.” He replaced the photo in the box.

  Sherry took a mental note of the request for immediacy. The faster, the better.

  Detective Bease handed the box to Sherry. “You cooks are used to working under time restrictions. Don’t want the fresh ingredients to grow stale and useless.” He nodded to the ladies and, without a farewell, turned and left.

  Sherry’s gaze never left Detective Bease until he entered the corporate building. She turned her attention to his partner. “Aren’t you going with him?’

  “I have a spreadsheet to complete. By the way, the recipe for chicken worked out perfectly. Reminded me a bit of my mom’s cooking. I even went rogue and added some noodles to the dish. Let the record show, I don’t always go by the book.” Toting the package he was given, Detective Diamond let himself in the passenger side of his partner’s car and slammed the door.

  * * *

  At the cavernous OrgaNicks warehouse, Sherry and Amber collected all their pre-packed ingredients. Their refrigerated items were also bundled in well-marked bags.

  “This is making me a little nervous,” said Amber as they carried their parcels back to the car. “What if I burn my flatbread or overcook the seafood tomorrow? People defer to us to be the recipe experts, and if I screw up my New England Seafood Flatbread, I’m letting a lot of people down, like the store customers, the OrgaNicks reps and, possibly, all of New England.”

  Sherry lost her grip on her packages. “Now you’re making me nervous.” She regrouped before they tumbled to the ground. “This demo is supposed to be fun!”

  As Sherry approached her car, she noticed Detective Bease’s car was still in the neighboring parking spot. Detective Diamond’s silhouette was visible through the car window.

  “Wonder how the meeting’s going.” Amber climbed into the passenger seat of Sherry’s car.

  Instead of getting in the car with her, Sherry went around to Amber’s side of the car.

  “I’m going to have a peek inside that building, Amber.” Sherry smacked the car with her hand. “Wait for me here. If I’m not back in ten minutes, call my cell.”

  Sherry jogged toward the building designated “Off Limits.” She crossed the “Restricted Area” warning sign. Sherry tiptoed down the sidewalk to the building’s front door and tried the handle. When it turned with ease, she took it as a sign she was meant to proceed. Once inside, she scanned overhead but could see no obvious cameras or sensors that might alert others to her presence. She moved through one room without seeing anything unconventional. She pried open another door leading to a smaller room full of neatly stacked boxes.

  Sherry made her way over to the boxes to investigate them. The packing label identified the contents as packaging material imprinted with the OrgaNicks logo. To the right of the first stack of boxes were larger containers sitting side by side on the floor. There was one box unsealed, which held empty jars and bottles. It didn’t seem there was anything unusual, certainly nothing appearing “top secret.” Sherry moved deeper into the room.

  The vast space echoed her footsteps with an eerie hollow reverberation. Sherry swiveled her head every few seconds to ensure she was still alone. Just to her left lay an empty conveyor belt and a reserve of filled food containers. To the right was an assortment of papers; next to those was an industrial-size printer.

  Sherry took a few lumbering steps closer to the printer. Suddenly feeling as if she were walking through thick tapioca pudding, she willed herself forward on heavy legs. Her ears were pounding with the irregular thumping of her labored heartbeat.

  Within range of close inspection, she saw a batch of small round label stickers. She also noticed the garbage bin next to the printer contained discarded printing misfits. Sherry pulled out two of the blue and yellow labels with her ice-cold hand—“USDA Certified Organic”—then she stuffed one in her pocket.

  “May I see what’s in your hand, ma’am?”

  Sherry swiveled about and came face-to-face with a uniformed man. He stretched out his arm to receive the remaining paper.

  “Ugh, I am not a ma’am.” Sherry sounded more aggravated than startled.

  “Come with me please, ma’am. Our president would like to have a word with you in his office.” The man dressed in uniform clutched Sherry’s arm just below the elbow. She retracted her arm from his grip and crossed it in front of her so he couldn’t touch it again.

  The man led Sherry out of the warehouse, down the walkway, and across the parking lot to the historic administrative building. As they approached the entrance, a young woman was also entering the building.

  The security guard held the door open for her. “Ladies first, Miss.”

  Sherry turned to her escort, double-checked his identification badge, and addressed him with a shrill voice she hadn’t produced since she dropped her meat mallet on her toe last winter. “Mike! Why is she a ‘Miss’ and I’m a ‘ma’am’?”

  “Can’t say I know the reason why, but that’s just the way I see the situation.”

  Sherry and Mike took two seats in the waiting room outside Nick Andime’s office. While they were waiting in silence, Sherry read the office sign. “Nick L. Andime. Now that’s a name.”

  Mike furrowed his brow.

  Just as Sherry was going to pursue the subject, her cell phone rang.

  “Hi, Amber. Yes, you did see me being escorted into the administrative offices. By the way, how old do you think I look?”

  In the quiet room, Amber’s concerned voice projected through Sherry’s phone speaker. “Why are you asking me? Are you using code words because you’re being held against your will?”

  The security guard shook his head and smirked.

  “No, no. I’m fine.”

  Amber sighed. “It’s a good thing Detective Diamond has your number on file or I would have never been able to contact you. You never gave it to me. He wasn’t thrilled sharing it—kept telling me something about the stated rules in chapter twenty-two of his manual.”

  “I’m okay.” Sherry tapped her toes. “How long will we be here, Mike? My friend’s waiting for me.”

  “We will wait right here while Mr. Andime finishes up his current meeting.”

  “Be there soon, Amber. Sorry for the delay.” She pocketed her cell phone. “Amber’s going to have a field day telling me, ‘I told you so.’”

  Sherry gritted her teeth and willed her agitated stomach to settle as they waited. Next to her, Mike sat staring straight ahead. Sherry was tempted to brush an unidentifiable foreign clump off the sleeve of his nubby
, olive green blazer but clasped her hands together instead. She remembered the scratchy feel of his shirt cuff on her bare arm when he guided her out of the warehouse, and she was sure the coat was no softer. Some people have no taste for comfort, she thought.

  A moment later, Detective Bease came out of the office, escorted by Nick Andime.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. ”—The detective choked on his words when he spotted Sherry seated in the waiting room. He put his fist to his mouth and coughed—“Mr. Andime.” Detective Bease continued out the door without acknowledging Sherry.

  “Yes, Mike, thanks for bringing our guest.” Nick directed his gaze at Sherry. “Hello, Ms. Frazzelle. You are Sherry Frazzelle, correct?”

  Sherry nodded. She was pleased he pronounced her name correctly.

  “So nice to see you again. I see you’ve already met my security guard, Mike.”

  Sherry swallowed as a sour taste rose from her throat. “I remember him from the cook-off. He was the ID checker.”

  “Sir, you directed me to bring you any violate . . . I mean, visitors, who may have wandered into the Number Three Warehouse and that’s where she was found,” said Mike.

  “Thank you. You’ve done the right thing. I’ll take it from here.” Nick pointed toward the door.

  Mike excused himself and left the room.

  “Come into my office, Ms. Frazzelle.” Nick led Sherry to a chair facing his. “Please have a seat.” He walked around his desk and sat. “As I recall, you’re one of three talented home cooks who will be demonstrating their OrgaNicks product recipes tomorrow at The Au Natural Market. Is this accurate?”

  Sherry’s heart was pounding out of her chest. She was sure Nick could hear it, too. She felt like a naughty adolescent being called out by elders after getting caught with a hand in the cookie jar. She drew in her breath and held it for seven seconds, then released it. Her heart rate slowed, but the exhalation tickled her nose, and she began sneezing. Nick handed her a tissue from a box he pulled out of his desk drawer.

  “Thank you.” Sherry fondled the thin tissue. She was satisfied the sneezing fit broke the tension, but she knew the elephant was still in the room. “Yes, I’m here picking up my ingredients. I must have gotten lost on my way. I’m sorry if I caused any problems.”