Expiration Date

by Devon Delaney

  “The second choice works best for me, ma’am,” said Sherry. “I mean, Officer.”

  “Well then, stay safe.” The officer handed back Sherry’s documents. “Enjoy your evening, ladies.”

  “Good job, Sher,” Marla said.

  “Are we really going home?” Amber asked.

  “Well, yes. After dinner. That is if we can get this GPS working.”

  “Use my phone’s mapping app. I’ve never had any trouble with it.” Marla handed her phone to Amber in the front passenger seat.

  Under the guidance of Marla’s phone, the trio drove past gorgeous one-acre properties with meticulous landscaping and white-pebbled driveways. The houses were well-maintained and well-loved examples of the rewards of upper-middle-class pride and hard work. Each structure along the route was illuminated with inviting outdoor lighting. The homeowners’ attention to detail was repeated house after house.

  “Nice neighborhood. Nick Andime must be doing well.”

  “Right turn onto Cobra Bend in one-quarter mile,” the GPS instructed.

  “Is this right?” Sherry rolled down her window as they neared the instructed turn. She craned her head and double-checked the makeshift gravel road. “That’s definitely not even a real road.”

  “Ugh! We lost the signal. The program shut down. Must be a dead spot.” Amber fiddled with the phone but wasn’t able to restart it. “The house is on Cobra Bend, so I think we can find it from here.”

  Sherry cleared her throat and closed the window to keep the dust out. “Let’s just drive a little way down the street and see if there are any numbered mailboxes. We’re looking for ‘113.’”

  Sherry’s car continued on the bumpy narrow surface.

  “I could really use a full set of headlights now.” Sherry clicked on her high beams. She was forced to reduce them when the branches of the giant oaks crowding the road reflected the intense light back into the car and nearly blinded her. “With a headlight out, I can’t see anything on the left side. We’ll just go slow and hope for the best.”

  An untrimmed tree limb scraped the roof of the car with a goose-bump-inducing screech. Even traveling at ten miles per hour, the car kicked up a cloud of dust, which encircled the car. Sherry squirted wiper fluid on the windshield, in order to proceed safely, only to have the grime build up a moment later.

  “This is crazy,” said Amber. “It seems like we’ve left civilization. Let’s turn around.”

  Marla caught Sherry’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “We can make it. I’m sure we’re almost there.”

  Just as Sherry was mentally assessing the possibility of the car’s ability to make a K-turn without plunging off the skinny road into the drainage canal, which ran on either side, when a mailbox came into view; “113” was painted in blood red on the box. The post it rested on was rotted and cracked and the whole mechanism sat askew.

  Sherry slowed the car before making the left into the driveway.

  “I think this is it. Sure seems the Andimes aren’t keeping up with the Joneses,” Sherry quipped.

  Amber began tapping her foot on the car floor.

  “I still can’t see the house.” Sherry strained to make out a building at the end of the dark driveway. “Would putting in a driveway light or two really kill him? Strike that comment. Kill is a poor choice of words.”

  Sherry took the turn. She pulled the car up into what she interpreted as a parking spot. When she and Marla got out of the car, they found themselves under a giant apple tree that had seen better days. The full moon set in the clear sky lit four monstrous tree limbs, giving them the appearance of grasping arms.

  “Those shadows are hard to ignore. They almost look alive.” Sherry hugged herself to warm her chilled arms. “Too cold out here. Let’s get inside.”

  “Sherry, I have a really bad feeling in my stomach right now. Where are all the other guests’ cars?” Amber stayed seated until Sherry made her way around the car to Amber’s door. Amber’s hands were shaking.

  Sherry coaxed her friend out of the car by offering a hand.

  “We must be fashionably early. Come on, guys.” Marla jumped back when one of the tree limbs scraped up against another, resulting in a monstrous snap when a branch broke off.

  “Hold on a minute. I forgot the apron.” Sherry left Amber and Marla frozen in place until she returned with the apron.

  “I don’t know why you insist on bringing that,” Marla said.

  Sherry just shrugged. From a distance, Sherry heard a repetitive squeak, followed by a bang. A lone path light guided them up to the front door of the dark gray ranch-style house. The source of the noise seemed to be a loose shutter, painted a darker shade of gray than the house. Each time the shutter scraped then slapped the side of the window, Amber grabbed Sherry’s arm.

  “Is there even a doorbell?” The women ascended two rickety steps in need of a good sweeping. Sherry ran her hand down the molding around the door in search of a button but only got a handful of paint flakes. As she shook out her hand free of debris, the door hinges cried out a hellish wail.

  “Welcome,” boomed a voice just inside the open front door.

  Sherry seized Marla’s forearm to steady herself. She sucked in a huge breath and willed herself to reply.

  “We’re here for the dinner,” Sherry squeaked. She extended her hand to the man inside the door.

  He left her holding it in midair for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, a reciprocating hand jutted forward. It was awkward to shake someone’s left hand with her right hand, but it was all he offered, so she accepted.

  “You’re Mike, from OrgaNicks,” said Sherry. “We met a few days ago.”

  “Yes. Follow me.”

  As he turned to walk away, Sherry noticed Mike’s right hand was heavily bandaged. A shiver rippled down her body. She hugged her arms tight across her waist and fell in line behind the blocky man. She elbowed Amber. Amber stumbled forward. Marla stayed a step behind Amber.

  The women followed Mike through the hallway. The man was mute as they walked but pointed out the frayed edge of an area rug as if to suggest they should watch their step. He stopped in front of a closed door. There, he turned the knob and wrestled with the warped door until it opened, at which point he fell inside the room, severing his grip on the door.

  “I am not going in there.” Amber put her hands on her hips. “I’ve never had claustrophobia until this very minute, but it’s full-blown now.”

  Before Sherry could respond, Mike proclaimed, “This way.”

  Sherry linked her arm with Amber’s and guided her into the dimly lit room. Marla scurried in behind them. Without uttering a word, Mike turned and left the room, yanking the door shut behind him. Sherry scanned the room to get her bearings. The dark laminate floor was partially covered with a moss green rug. The windows in the room were streaked with smudges. The sills were bug graveyards with no room for more bodies. Dotted across the surrounding gray walls were a number of charcoal portraits of various old-timey people interspersed with mounted animal heads. Sherry saw the growing panic in Amber’s eyes and made it her mission to counter it.

  “I think those are meant for us.” The shrill voice that escaped from Sherry’s mouth was unrecognizable to her ears. She pointed to a corner table set up with various drink offerings.

  “I guess so.” Amber cleared her throat. “But, I’m not thirsty.”

  “The decorator needs to be fired.” Marla pointed to the numerous animal heads on the wall. “Andime must not be a vegetarian.”

  Sherry took a step closer to inspect a rabbit head. “Well, what do you know? You were wrong, Marla. These are stuffed animals, literally. They’re made of felt. He has a sense of humor after all.”

  Sherry walked over to a sofa angled to best enjoy what appeared to be a boarded-up fireplace. “Should we sit? I’m sure the others will be here soon.”

  Sherry took a seat and refolded the apron in her hand to smooth out any wrinkles. She switched on the smal
l lamp on the side table but realized it had no bulb in its socket.

  “Maybe this will help.” Marla flipped a wall switch. Nothing. “Good way to save on the electric bill, I guess. This whole house should be called ‘Nick’s Man Cave’ it’s so dark. I believe I heard he’s never been married.”

  “Ouch!” Sherry leapt up. Caught on the back of her shirt was a crusty metal spring that had popped through the sofa’s slipcover. She unhooked herself and frowned when she saw the hole it left. Sherry pointed to a door beside the fireplace. “Do you think that’s a bathroom? I’ve got rust all over my hands. I need to wash them.”

  “If it is, you’re not leaving me alone.” Amber jumped to Sherry’s side. “Consider me Velcroed to you.”

  Not letting her more than an arm’s length away, Amber followed Sherry to the doorway. Sherry turned the knob and when the door opened, they were stunned at what they saw. Inside, was a closet piled high with miscellaneous items, which appeared to have been tossed in with no regard to organization. The skin under Sherry’s eye twitched. Two large plants housed in cracked terra-cotta pots were slumped over, dehydrated beyond salvation. Brown, withered leaves littered the closet floor. Leaning against one of the pots was a shovel caked with dirt. Sherry took a step closer. Amber pulled her back.

  “No way, Sherry,” Amber warned. “Don’t go in any farther.” Amber grabbed Sherry’s arm.

  “Just want to see something,” Sherry powered out of Amber’s grip. She stepped just inside the closet, knocking over a “Happy Halloween” sign. A second later a human skeleton collapsed down on her.

  “Amber, help,” shrieked Sherry. “We have to clean this up. Now! Marla, get over here. We need your help, quick.” Sherry waved Marla over.

  The trio got down on their hands and knees and collected as many bones as they could manage. Sherry hurled the lightweight bones back into the closet. “At least they’re plastic. I would be in a full flop sweat if these were real.”

  As the last bone flew through the air, Amber gasped when the stomping of footsteps reverberated from the hallway.

  “Someone’s coming,” Sherry managed to spit out. “Get off the floor.” Sherry jutted out her hand to help Amber up. She slammed the closet door with a surge of adrenaline-fueled strength. A moment later Mike entered through the door as it burst open.

  Kenny Dewitt was dressed in a yellow and turquoise Hawaiian shirt that announced his arrival before he did. “Hey, ladies. Long time no see. Why are you so shocked to see me? You’ve got to know I wouldn’t miss the end of this saga for anything.” Behind Kenny followed Diana Stroyer, Jamie Sox, and Patti Mellit.

  Sherry’s chest was heaving. “Hi. Of course, it’s great to see you all.” She brushed the last residue of dust off her hands and pants.

  Mike gestured toward the limited drink selection. He then turned and left the room, this time without closing the door.

  “Man of few words,” said Kenny. “And judging by this dump, he seems to work for a man of poor taste. It’s a fixer-upper even the Addams Family wouldn’t put a down payment on.”

  “Hi, all. Do I detect some negative reviews of my brother-in-law’s interior design skills?” Patti cocked her head to the side as her gaze panned the room.

  “It’s missing a woman’s touch,” said Sherry. “He’s not married, right?”

  “Are you making an offer?” quipped Kenny.

  “Honestly, I’ve only ever been to the front door of this house to pick up Nick for his step-father’s funeral,” Patti said. “I had no idea what the interior was like until now. Unusual is the word that comes to mind.”

  Diana and Jamie joined the group, drinks in hand.

  “Have you been here long?” Diana glanced at Sherry’s empty hands. “You’re not drinking tonight?”

  Sherry and Amber made eye contact.

  “This might sound crazy, but I don’t think anyone should put any food or drink in their mouth tonight,” Sherry blurted out. She had not yet discussed with Amber or Marla about making their discovery public.

  “Let me get this straight.” Kenny tapped his temple. “We’re all invited to the OrgaNicks CEO’s personal house for dinner and awards, and you’re thinking we should all fast instead? Yes, I do think that’s crazy.”

  “Well, speaking of crazy, you came all this way even after being disqualified,” said Marla. “How come?”

  “I consider it a business trip.” Kenny fingered his shirt collar. “Can’t leave my readers hanging. I’m glad you’re a fan of my blog now, by the way.”

  “Is there a problem with the meal?” asked Jamie.

  The group took a step closer together and formed a tight circle.

  “Nick’s not a bad cook, I’ve heard,” said Patti. “Growing up, the two brothers, or half-brothers to be accurate, had a revolving door of parent combinations, so they had to learn to fend for themselves in the kitchen and other places. Rafe is a great cook. I have a hard time believing Nick isn’t also. I don’t see a problem.”

  “It’s not about his cooking skills. See the closet over there?” Sherry pointed to the closed door. “If you open the door and see what’s in there, tell me you don’t think the same thing that happened at the cook-off could happen again tonight. I wouldn’t even recommend having a drink.”

  “What?” Diana held up the glass of wine she’d just sipped from to eye level.

  “Let me check it out,” Kenny strutted over to open the closet door. A turn of the knob did nothing. He yanked and still the door didn’t budge. “Jamie, we need some muscles over here.”

  Jamie ambled to Kenny’s side and tried the doorknob. No movement. “Locked,” Jamie said.

  “That’s impossible. We were just inside,” said Sherry, “unless Mike somehow got over there on his way out.”

  “I think you’re just being dramatic.” Kenny made his way back across the room to the beverage table.

  Diana sidled up to Sherry. “What exactly was in there?”

  Before Sherry could answer, Mike marched in to the room. “This way to dinner.”

  The guests made their way down a dim hallway to a room furnished with a long rectangular table and chairs. Behind the head of the table was a makeshift podium and above it was a portrait of Nick Andime lit with spotlights that bathed the entire room in a harsh glare. A woman was seated alone at the table with her back to the door. When the group walked in, she turned and stood to face them.

  Chef Olivia Baker was dressed in a tight black dress, gold sandals, and a matching gold headband. Her wavy brown hair, which Sherry had only seen drawn up in a passionless bun, cascaded down her back like a chocolate fountain.

  “Hello,” the chef said. “Come join me. Chef Lee couldn’t make it tonight, so I’m your judge representative. Don’t stress, though. All contest decisions have been made, so it’s time for fun.”

  Sherry flashed a forced smile the chef’s way. She beckoned Marla and Amber over with a curl of her finger.

  “I forgot the apron in the animal head room. I’ll be right back.” Sherry trotted to the door, where Mike met her. She softened her pursed lips and wrestled with her quivering cheek muscles to draw up the corners of her mouth. “I forgot something in the other room.”

  “Was it this?” Mike pulled Sherry’s apron from behind his back.

  Sherry sputtered an unintelligible reply, cleared her throat, then tried it again. “Yes, thanks.” Sherry took the apron from Mike. “What happened to your arm?” She reached forward and as she did her fingers brushed the sleeve of his nubby blazer. The touch of the abrasive material jogged her memory.

  Mike turned on his heels and left the room.

  “Rude.” Sherry rejoined the others at the table. There was only one seat left for Sherry, placing her next to Kenny and across from Amber and Marla.

  As Sherry sat, Kenny said, “You’re not really sticking to your fasting plan, are you?”

  “I’m not eating a bite.”

  “Me either,” said Amber.

&
nbsp; “You want to tell me what was so horrific in that closet that it’s going to keep you from dinner?” asked Kenny.

  Sherry widened her eyes. “For starters, a skeleton and dead plants.”

  “That’s nothing. You should see my closets,” Kenny laughed. “That would really spook you.”

  All heads turned as the lights were dimmed, and Mike began a round of applause. A thunderous “good evening” was bellowed from the doorway. Nick Andime walked through the doorway dressed in a black suit. He wore a lime green tie that provided a splash of color. Around his waist was a cooking apron covered in what appeared to be meat juices.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Mr. Nick Andime, chief executive officer of the OrgaNicks Food Company of Hillsboro, Connecticut. He will be your master of ceremonies for the evening,” Mike announced.

  “Thank you, thank you.” Nick began his trek toward the seat at the head of the table. He glanced at his portrait as he neared it.

  “Okay, things are getting a little weird now.” Kenny turned to Sherry. “Maybe you’re on to something.”

  Chapter 21

  Sherry’s gaze followed Nick as he approached the head of the table. Out of force of habit, she pulled her phone from her purse and checked it to make sure the battery was fully charged. She relaxed a bit when she had completed the ritual.

  “I’m so glad you all made it. I hope I gave everyone enough time to make the trip back for the awards dinner.” Nick walked up behind Chef Baker’s chair. “Good evening, Livvie. I’m so happy to have you represent the judging panel this evening.”

  Olivia leaned away from the hand that brushed her back.

  Nick continued on toward Sherry’s seat.

  When he neared, Sherry sputtered, “Would you like to borrow this?”

  Nick studied the clean apron Sherry presented and then glanced down at his stained one.

  “Very kind of you, Ms. Frazzelle.” He maintained a constant smile. “But I like to show off the work I do in the kitchen. It’s a badge of honor, you could say. If you don’t mind, though.” He wiped his soiled hands on Sherry’s spotless apron, leaving a dark reddish brown smear across the OrgaNicks logo.