Eat, Drink and Be Wary

by Devon Delaney

  The woman lowered glasses from the top of her head and rummaged through a shopping bag. When she was done, she raised her head and repositioned her glasses above her hairline. Her accent confirmed her identity. “Good morning, Sherry. I hope you remember me. We had a brief interview following the cook-off this morning.” She turned toward Erno. “This must be your father, judging by the strong resemblance.” She made her way over to Ruth and Beverly. “I know you. You’re Beverly Van Ardan.” She returned her gaze to Ruth. “I’m sorry, I don’t know your name. I’m Vilma Pitney.”

  “I’m Ruth Gadabee. Nice to meet you, Vilma. You have such a pretty accent. I’m a great admirer of all accents.”

  “Thank you. I spent a fortune trying to suppress my Russian accent. I was told it was a bit harsh and turned people off. Lately, I’ve thought twice about that decision. It’s fun to throw in a rolling R every so often, to keep people on their toes,” Vilma chuckled with conviction.

  “Oh, yes.” Sherry said. “Nice to see you again.”

  “You granted me the first interview. It was so amusing to see the expression on Patti’s face when she realized she got sloppy seconds,” Vilma responded.

  Sherry swallowed the words she considered saying in defense of her friend Patti. Instead, she changed the subject. “And you know my father and Beverly?”

  Vilma shifted her bag from one arm to the other. The heft of the tote left an indentation on the sleeve of her sweater. “I don’t exactly know your father. Researched your family, that’s how I recognized your dad. I sent my résumé and an audiotape of one of my interviews to Beverly’s husband in hopes of landing a job in one of his media outlets, but it’s been in the under-consideration pile for a year now. I googled the Van Ardans before I took that step, for a better level of familiarity. You have a lovely photo online, Beverly. You’ll see it if you search yourself.”

  “Oh dear, no thanks. I shudder to think how I might look if I’m caught unaware my picture’s being snapped.” Beverly sidled up to Ruth. She whispered something in her ear.

  Sherry recognized the smirk on Ruth’s face as one she’d seen many times, shared between Ruth and Frances when the ladies disagreed with someone’s opinion.

  “Would you mind if I put my bag on the counter? It’s killing my arm.” Vilma lowered the bag.

  “Please.” Sherry cleared a spot for the bag. The weight of its contents made a solid bang when it hit the wooden counter. “May I show you some rugs? Or perhaps you hook your own, in which case I can show you some beautiful hand-drawn canvases and the associated wool.”

  “That sounds lovely. First, though, I was wondering if you and your brother would be willing to answer a few more questions. I’m putting the finishing touches on my cook-off article. Is that adorable sous chef of yours anywhere nearby? I can come back later, if that’s more convenient.”

  “I don’t know about adorable, but I’m the sous chef.” Pep emerged from the stockroom. “Doesn’t look like I’m getting much help in there. I might as well come out here where my helping hands have stationed themselves.”

  Erno put his arm around Ruth. She made a subtle head gesture toward the door. “Maybe we’ll go grab a cup of coffee and see you back here in an hour. Let’s go, Beverly. Nice meeting you, Vilma.”

  Pep put his hands on his hips as he approached Sherry. “Oh, sure. Now it’s time for a coffee break.”

  Ruth and Beverly gathered their purses, and each of them took one of Erno’s elbows in the crook of their own. The trio slipped out the doorway with Ruth in the lead and the other two links in the friendship chain following close behind.

  “Did I scare them off?” Vilma asked. “Was it something I said?”

  “No. My dad is only working part-time nowadays, so he makes his own rules as to his comings and goings,” Sherry explained. “He was spotting us all morning, while we were at the cook-off. Amber, my coworker, came to watch, so he worked solo.”

  “Family business can get messy. Glad yours works so smoothly.”

  “Ha, not always,” Sherry replied. “What else would you like to ask us for your article?”

  “One minute, while I open up my iPad.” Vilma reached across the table and slid her tablet out of her bag. She tapped on the screen and the device lit up. “I’m satisfied with the answers from your interview this morning, Sherry, but, Pep, if you wouldn’t mind answering a few questions for the readers, I’d be very appreciative.”

  “Who exactly are your readers?” he asked.

  Vilma raised her line of sight to meet Pep’s. “Anyone and everyone.”

  “And what publication do you work for?” A ting of exasperation crept into Pep’s voice.

  “This is a big story. The New England Fall Fest Cook-off takes eleven months of planning and every year attracts a broader pool of the country’s finest home cooks. This year there were cooks from all four corners of the US and a whole bunch of states in between.”

  Sherry nodded. “That’s right. That’s what I love about cook-offs. I meet cooks from everywhere. We all share the love of recipe creation.”

  “And the sponsors! More and more are jumping aboard. Risky Reward Winery, Maine Course Foods, Shrimply Amazing, Sweet Arts, Spice Attitude—all eager to sponsor the prestigious competition. To answer your question, Pep, I’m not going to sell the story that encapsulated the drama, intrigue, and heart of the cook-off to the first two-bit publication that comes along.”

  “Besides, Patti’s got Connecticut covered,” Sherry said. “Her newspaper’s circulation is the largest in the state.” She was glad to put in a good word for her friend.

  Vilma didn’t acknowledge Sherry’s attempt to bolster her friend’s reputation. “That’s the beauty of freelance journalism, and maybe the curse also. I have to sell it to the right market at the right price without pricing myself out of contention. Time is of the essence, because Patti will have her story out ASAP. Haste makes waste. Her content is consistently shallow, but she’s still my competition, so I have to keep my work timely.”

  Sherry side-eyed Pep as he checked his phone. He kept his attention on the small screen until Vilma addressed him.

  “So, Pep. First question. Is the Fall Fest your first foray into the cooking competition world? I, of course, mean as a competitor, not as a cheerleader for your sister.”

  Sherry watched her brother shift his weight from one leg to the other. “Growing up, our sister, Marla, myself, and Sherry used to play a game called Recipe Piggyback, whenever Dad would let us. It wasn’t exactly a competition, but it was a test of our creativity in the kitchen. Other than that, no cook-offs for me. Honestly, I’ve only seen Sherry compete live in one cook-off, maybe seven years ago. I’ve been traveling so much I can rarely squeeze in a pleasure trip. This cook-off was perfect timing. Sherry caught me by surprise when she asked me to join her as sous chef. How could I say no?”

  “Nice answer.” Vilma typed. She looked at Pep. “I was saddened to hear of the passing of one of the contest cooks, Fitz Frye. Did you know him?”

  “Not well.” Pep thrust the words at Vilma.

  “I could have kicked myself when I didn’t get an interview with him at the contestant party.” Vilma stared across the room. “I wonder if Patti got one?”

  “Anything else?” Sherry asked, in hopes of bringing Vilma’s attention back to her iPad.

  “He had a sweet girlfriend that I had a chance to speak to. She was rushing past me on her way to find Ginger when I intercepted her for a few words. Kelly, I think her name was. She was his sous chef.”

  Pep didn’t respond.

  “She was very nice when I spoke to her,” Sherry added when the silence became unbearable.

  “She did her best to answer a quick question but was all consumed with putting out a fire between Fitz and a man named Lyman. I’m going to find out more about this Lyman fellow. Pep, you had an argument with Fitz, too, if I’m not mistaken? If there were a dustup between cook-off teams, that would make for interesting re
ading. Care to elaborate?” Vilma’s eyebrows lifted, revealing more of the purple-blue eye shadow curtaining her eyelid.

  “No story there. Only guy talk. Fitz said something about my sister, and I came to her defense. I’ll do that every time.” Pep’s words were clipped.

  “What did Fitz say about Sherry?” Vilma glanced at Pep before returning her attention to her tablet.

  Sherry crossed her arms. “He doesn’t have to answer that.” She turned to Pep. “You don’t have to answer that. I know the answer. Fitz mentioned he wanted to beat me again after a solid win at the last cook-off we competed in. I’m sure that’s all he said. And it wasn’t only Pep and Lyman who argued with Fitz. Ginger’s brother and his coworker, Roe, were involved in a heated discussion with Fitz. So, you see? Put a bunch of testosterone in one room and you get some showboating.”

  “Yep,” affirmed Pep. “That’s all.”

  “Hmmm.” Vilma held her fingers in the ready position over the tablet. “Okay then. One more question.”

  “Sherry,” whispered Pep, eyes pleading for her intervention.

  “I’m sorry,” Sherry said. “It’s part of the process. We can’t say no to interviews.”

  “I’m trying to get into the head of the secondary chef, if you don’t mind me calling you that. It wasn’t you who submitted the recipe, and unless your partner decides to split the winnings with you, the sous chef can walk away with nothing other than a thank you. What’s the arrangement between you and your sister?”

  “I don’t feel comfortable discussing how we’re splitting the ten-thousand-dollar prize, but suffice it to say, Pep is happy with his cut. He deserves every penny,” Sherry said.

  “Fitz’s girlfriend said she expected nothing in return for her efforts. She said she was helping him to a victory he felt was in the bag.”

  “Doesn’t sound like she was getting a fair deal,” Pep added.

  “Question is, when you spend some time with the other competitors in a supposedly relaxed atmosphere, but, instead, there’s contentious behavior in the room, is that a performance motivator for the cook-off or are you so taken aback that you don’t know how to handle the situation?” Vilma held a steely gaze on Pep.

  Pep squared up his body to Vilma’s. “Ms. Pitney, it appears you’re looking for some story line that just isn’t there. Guys get together and sometimes don’t play nice. We’re not aware we come off prickly until it’s pointed out to us. My cook-off motivation comes from helping my sister do the best job she can. End of story.” Pep dusted his hands together, rotated a half circle, and headed to the stockroom.

  “I need to get back to work,” Sherry said. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  Vilma pushed out her rose-colored lips. “If what I hear is true and Fitz was murdered, the guilty party may have acted out in defense of a loved one’s reputation.”

  “Hard to say without speculating what the motivation was. And speculation is risky.” Sherry pictured Ray giving her a judgmental look.

  “Word is also out about Pep’s argument with Fitz. Kelly, his girlfriend, is making sure of that. She’s told everyone from Ginger to Uri, the head of Maine Course Foods, to a detective fellow who has begun an investigation.”

  Sherry’s stomach heaved.

  “If he were my brother, I would see what more that Lyman St. Pierre fellow has to say. He was in the midst of the commotion last night. Lyman told me he’s staying in town for more business opportunities. From what I’ve witnessed over the last few minutes, Pep isn’t speaking up for himself. Is he always this quiet? If so, he might want to choose now to open up, unless he’s got something to hide.”

  “Thanks for the advice.” Sherry’s words died slowly from lack of effort.

  “You’ve been involved in other murder investigations. I know, because I’ve followed each one very closely. You’re good, or maybe lucky. Nonetheless, let me know if I can be of any help.” Vilma collected her tablet and inserted it into her bag. She turned toward the door. Without glancing back, she added, “I’d hate to see your sweet handsome brother behind bars.”

  Vilma reached for the doorknob. “When he’s in town, Lyman St. Pierre kiteboards at the Town Beach whenever the wind kicks up, my sources tell me. It’s a nice breezy day today.” As she finished her thought, she was knocked back a step by someone coming through the doorway. “Oh, excuse me, I didn’t see you coming.”

  Amber made her way inside the store. “I’ll hold that for you.” She leaned against the open door until Vilma slipped past her. “Hey, Sher. Hope that was a paying customer with an unlimited budget,” Amber laughed. Her animated comment ended as fast as it began when she met Sherry’s gaze. “Uh-oh. That look on your face doesn’t jive with a sale.”

  Chapter 9

  “Hi to you,” Sherry said. “You’re right. No sale. That was a woman writing a story about the cook-off.”

  “That’s fun. Right in your wheelhouse. Cooking, competing, winning. It’s your thing, and you’re the best.” Amber tucked her purse behind the sales counter. “Thanks for texting me about the poor cook-off contestant who died. Is there any new information on the guy?”

  “Uh, yeah. Ray stopped by, and it wasn’t a social visit.” Sherry shook her head.

  “Oh, no! Are you saying the contestant was murdered?”

  “Yep. Ray was info gathering, but I’m not going to let him spoil my victory. Now that he’s gone—out of sight, out of mind.”

  Pep emerged from the back room, followed by Bean. The dog overtook the man to reach Amber and ply her with enthusiastic jumps against her leg.

  “Hi, Amber.”

  “Hi, Pep, and hello to you, boy.” Amber reached down and tussled her dog’s neck fur. “Thanks for filling in for me, Sherry. You saved me. I didn’t realize I was obligated to pick up the tennis team’s new shirts by lunchtime today. Yours is in the car. Pep, go get some much-needed rest.”

  “Well, actually,” Sherry began, “I was hoping Pep could stick around for an hour or two longer, while I run an errand. I know you can get the job done on your own, but why not take the help when you can get it? Also, I’m pretty sure Dad will be returning in around an hour. Can’t be sure, though. When he’s with his girls, he loses all track of time.” She sent Pep a sweet smile.

  “I repeat. Why was I under the false impression that at least part of my visit to Augustin would be relaxing? It’s getting less relaxing by the minute.”

  “Come on,” Amber pleaded, “admit you enjoy your time with me. We had some laughs on our way home from the cook-off, right? I mean, who else is going to give me the inside scoop on these contests. Heaven knows, Sherry isn’t willing to share more than the published recipe with me. I’ve been in one contest myself, but I’m still fascinated to learn what makes the perennial contestant tick.”

  “Wait, Pep shared information with you?” Sherry threw her hands up in the air. “I can’t get him to tell me more than the bare essentials.”

  “The answer is yes, I’ll pitch in here, with Amber, while you do your quote, unquote, errands.”

  The front door burst open, announced by the dull thud of a bell hit too hard.

  “I’ll take one of each,” announced a man dressed in madras shorts and a gray sweatshirt. He pointed to the rugs on display.

  “Me, too!” a woman in navy sweatpants and a white sweater called out. She followed a step behind the man.

  “Day! Don! I’m so glad you made it to the store.” Sherry offered each a fast hug. “My new cook-off friends, this is Amber, who basically runs The Ruggery. And you know my brother, Pep.”

  “Who, also, suddenly basically runs the store,” Pep muttered.

  “The rugs are beyond gorgeous,” Day gushed. “Would anyone mind showing me a small area rug in lavender and greens? That’s the color scheme of my front hallway.”

  “Amber, would you mind? I was just on my way out to run an errand on the other side of town,” Sherry said. “We could meet up for a drink before dinne
r, if that works out.”

  “Is this too far to walk?” Don rotated his phone and showed Sherry a map of the town of Augustin. He zoomed in on the Town Beach. “Day wants to shop until she drops, and I need some fresh air.”

  “It’s a bit of a hike. Let me give you a lift.” Without waiting for a response, Sherry grabbed her purse from behind the sales counter and hoisted it over her shoulder. She marched to the door and turned the handle. “We’ll figure out a drink spot on the way and text you guys. All are encouraged to attend. Amber and Pep, I should be back in an hour, give or take.”

  “Guess I don’t have a choice. I’m right behind you.” Don trotted to the door before it closed. “Happy shopping,” he called back to his sister.

  Sherry drove the scenic route to the beach, instead of her usual, more direct route. The lengthier drive took her and Don through the reasonably priced neighborhoods on up to the extravagant and exclusive enclaves, closer to the sound. She pointed out landmarks that had special meaning to her, such as the majestic oak tree, survivor of numerous storms. The centuries old, hand-built stone walls marking property lines were her absolute favorite because they’d stood the test of time. By the time they reached the beach, she was filled with a renewed sense of pride to be an Augustin citizen.

  “Thanks for the lift and the tour of your town. Hope I didn’t take you too far out of your way,” Don said.

  “I was on my way to the Town Beach, actually. I didn’t want my brother to know. He might think I’m goofing off.” Sherry forced a laugh. She wasn’t convinced Don would accept her explanation when it was only a partial truth.

  “An errand at the beach on a beautiful day. Who would question the legitimacy?” Don chuckled.

  Sherry parked her car in the beach’s lot. There were a surprising number of cars for a Saturday in autumn. Sherry seldom made it to the beach on Saturdays, no matter what the season. Maybe she was missing out.

  “I’m hoping to find someone over at the north end. That’s the windy side of the beach and kite surfers flock there on breezy days, like today.” Sherry pointed to a group of people in wetsuits gathered around boards and sail lines a few hundred yards away.