The crowd of people milling around the front of the inn, waiting to check out, pack their cars, or otherwise hang out, had diminished since her visit not long ago. Sherry made her way around the edge of the lawn where she picked up the path to the barn.
She poked her head inside the barn door. “Oxana?”
“Yes, coming.” Oxana trotted from the back of the barn toward Sherry. Her sweatshirt was tied around her waist. She peeled off her rubber gloves. “You, again. Sherry. Pep’s sister.”
“Yes, me again.” Sherry imagined her cheeks bloomed a rosy hue. “I forgot to ask you a question.” Sherry moved to within an arm’s length of Oxana and lowered her voice to a breathy whisper. “I threw something in the garbage the night of the Fall Fest Cook-off party. I was in the main gathering room next to the ice sculpture. There was a small trash receptacle to the side of the sculpture.”
Oxana pinched her forehead into a tight row of lines. “Receptacle?”
“Garbage can, a small one. Maybe for used napkins and such.”
“Yes, yes.” Oxana nodded vigorously. She repeated the word, receptacle, as if she was committing it to memory.
“Do you think there would be a way of finding the envelope I threw away?”
“I know words for that—Dumpster diving.” Oxana threw back her head and let out a burst of laughter. “Some of the first words I learned. Many people lose things at the inn. Somehow, I’m head of Dumpster diving.”
“So you think it’s possible?”
“I have system.” Oxana beckoned Sherry with a sweep of her hand. “Follow me outside.”
They left the barn and circled to the back of the building, where two massive lidded garbage bins stood side by side. Oxana pried open one lid, revealing eight garbage cans. Sherry peeked inside the huge container. The prospect of searching the eight garbage cans, filled with who knew what, turned her stomach. She imagined gooey, sticky, oozy, slimy, smelly contents. She should have thought to bring rubber gloves.
“This could take all day,” Sherry whined.
Oxana pointed to the green plastic garbage can second from the back right. “Can number six.”
“How in the world do you know that?” Sherry was incredulous.
“My system. So I know which garbage cans go back where, after I put out for pickup day. See red dot on the handle? Means first floor, reception room, main building. Only one day and night’s trash in it. Today’s is in other container, can seven.” Oxana pointed to the adjacent massive container. “Pickup is every other day. No weekends.” She lifted the desired canister’s lid and removed the black plastic bag. “If you’d used the inn’s recycle container, even easier.”
Sherry pushed the corners of her mouth upward, hoping for mercy. “Next time, I promise. Thank you so much. That’s all I needed. If you need to go, I’ll put the bag back where it belongs.”
“If Miss Constable sees you Dumpster diving, I’ll be fired.” Oxana’s tone was suddenly urgent.
“Right. Gotcha. Here I go.” Sherry held her breath and plunged both hands in the bag. She pushed past the shrimp tails, cocktail sauce-doused napkins, and lemon and lime wedges until she struck gold. A brown envelope with the name Fitz Frye typed across the center of the front. “Bingo.” She handed Oxana the bag. Without any other option, Sherry wiped her hands on the grass beside the refuse storage.
“You’ve done this before,” Oxana remarked. “You’re good.”
“Sadly, yes. Too many times to count. Thank you.” Sherry watched Oxana pull the garbage bag drawstring closed and replace it in the garbage can. The can went back in its designated canister. Together, they started their return to the barn.
After a few steps, Oxana came to a stop. “Sherry? Can you teach me to cook a meal?”
Sherry studied the young lady’s face. Oxana’s eyes were a brilliant green and sparkled in the sunlight. She had a smudge of something yellowish orange on her cheek.
“That’s a good idea.” Sherry bounced a glance off the blue sky before returning her attention to Oxana. “I have just the recipe for you. I’m thinking of entering it in the Pacific Salmon Run Recipe Contest next month. Only has a few ingredients. It’ll wow whoever you’re making it for. Pecan Salmon with Sweet Red Pepper Mayo. Promise me you won’t give out the recipe.”
“Ah! I promise. Don’t know what is mayo but sounds delicious.”
“Mayo. Mayonnaise. Anyway, if you like salmon, you’ll love this.” Sherry softened her tone. “Do you have a boyfriend?” She braced herself in case her brother’s name was mentioned.
“Too busy. School. Work. Lessons. But one day, maybe.” Oxana stared off into the distance for a moment. “Mamma says learn to cook and love will find you.”
“Wise woman,” Sherry laughed. “I’ll keep cooking and there’s hope for me. I’ll text you, and we’ll set up a cooking-lesson date.”
Oxana recited her cell number as Sherry entered it into her phone’s contacts. Sherry reciprocated with her phone number, then walked Oxana back to the barn. She thanked her and they said their goodbyes. Back at her car, Sherry retrieved her favorite water bottle, the one she received at the Mushroom Festival Cook-off two years ago. Instead of taking a drink, she splashed water on her soiled hands. She picked up the emergency all-purpose towel she kept on the floor of the car. She dried her hands on it and draped the towel across her car seat. She positioned herself on the towel in hopes that her car seat would be protected from any trash residue she might have picked up from the garbage rescue operation.
Even after a good hand rinse, Chutney was very interested in the new scent Sherry brought into the car. Eau de Garbage. With twitching nostrils, he paid his owner extra close attention as she examined the recovered envelope. She ran her finger under the words in the top left corner that read, “Service of Process.”
“Fitz Frye was served. For what, and by whom? I know who physically served him. Lyman. Spice salesman by day, process server by night. Who was Lyman representing?” Sherry reached back and set the cocktail sauce–stained envelope down on the unused portion of dog seat cover beside Chutney, which pleased him to no end.
He not only made sure that the delicious-smelling envelope never moved from under his guard, he gave it a good washing with his tongue for good measure.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Sherry scolded. Chutney resigned himself to noncontact sentry duty.
“Whew, it really stinks in here.” Sherry lowered the windows all the way. “Glad you’re buckled in, boy. Gonna be a windy ride home. At least we can breathe fresh air.” She reached back and retrieved the envelope. “Don’t want you flying away after all the work it took to find you.” She nestled the envelope under her leg and drove home.
Sherry parked behind Pep’s car. She unbuckled Chutney, and he followed her and the towel-wrapped envelope to the front porch. She set the towel bundle down on the porch. “You can stay right here for now.”
She found Pep seated on the couch in the living room. “How was brunch with Dad?”
He stood and collected an empty glass off the side table. “Fun. I hope we can do it one more time before I leave.”
“About that,” Sherry began.
“Sher, I need to get back to Maine. I can’t hang here forever.” Pep’s tone was defensive.
“Message received.”
“Do you know you have splinters in your hair? Or is it straw?” Pep reached up and pulled a sample from over Sherry’s ear. “You don’t smell great, either. No offense, but I recommend a shower. What have you been up to?”
Sherry ran her fingers through her hair, dislodging a cornstalk shard. “Nothing good. You’re right. I need a long shower. What do you know about the company Maine Course Foods?”
“Not much more than that they specialize in seafood.”
“Do you know of any reason Fitz would have been served?”
“You’re a bundle of questions. Slow down, you’re changing subjects so quickly. What do you mean served?”
�
��Served, as in by a process server. Maybe divorce papers, maybe a subpoena to appear in court for a lawsuit?”
“I know you’re trying to help, but I didn’t know Fitz very well.”
Sherry widened her eyes. “I’m trying to help because I don’t think you’re taking this whole mess seriously enough. Listen to someone who’s been at the top of a murder suspect list. The investigation can’t go fast enough for my peace of mind. If you’re not going to jump in and look for the murderer, then I have to.”
“Okay, okay. I really appreciate your efforts. Let me think. Fitz is divorced, and he was seeing his girlfriend, Kelly. So, not divorce papers from a disgruntled spouse.” Pep paused. “Your phone is ringing.”
Sherry grumbled an inaudible phrase before rummaging through her purse. “Hi, Day. Yes, I’d love to grab some dinner. I have to check with Pep. Never know what he’s up to. How about The Hunger Dames? It’s a new restaurant in town. Or maybe I should first check out the review my friend wrote on the place. She said it would be online today. I’ll go read it, right after I take a much-needed shower. Call you back in a few.”
After Sherry showered and changed her clothes, she brought her laptop over to the couch and wedged herself next to Pep and Chutney. She searched for the Nutmeg State of Mind online edition restaurant reviews. She read Patti’s review of The Hunger Dames to Pep, who approved the choice of restaurants. Three stars was high praise for the new establishment. They both agreed, “American classics with a modern twist” sounded perfect. She texted Day and set the time for six-thirty.
“Speaking of classics with a twist, I was going to make a kimchi turkey burger for lunch. Care to join me?” she asked her brother.
“At brunch, Dad and I shared pancakes, an omelet, bacon, and the best French toast I’ve ever eaten, besides yours, of course. Oh, and I had a vanilla-strawberry smoothie. I don’t think I need to eat until tomorrow.”
“Sounds fantastic. I’ll be in the kitchen, if you’d like another crack at being my sous chef,” Sherry laughed. She made her way to the kitchen counter. She pulled out a mixing bowl from the storage below. “I think this burger could be a winner at my next grilling contest.”
She pulled ground turkey, fish and soy sauces, ginger, and sesame oil from her fridge. She combined the ingredients and formed burger patties from the blend. In a small bowl, she stirred together mayonnaise, chili-garlic sauce, honey, soy sauce, and scallions. She fried up a burger, along with an over-easy fried egg.
With a toasted, sesame seed burger bun as the base on her plate, she topped the bottom bun with the burger. Next, chili-mayo and chopped kimchi were piled on. Finally, she laid the fried egg and bun lid on top. The enticing aroma swirled around her nose, and a smile crossed her lips.
Pep entered the kitchen. “What in the world is that? Smells awesome. Now, I’m starving.”
“See? You should never turn down an offer of a classic with a twist,” Sherry teased. “While my masterpiece was cooking, I texted Patti and thanked her for the recommendation of The Hunger Dames.”
“I bet she’s happy about that. If the place gets your stamp of approval, it’s well on its way.”
Sherry took a bite of her saucy, tangy, exotic burger. She sang a tune of pure satisfaction. She savored the combination of flavors with each chew. Earthy fish sauce, spicy crunchy kimchi, and salty soy sauce rocked her taste buds. The red pepper punch lingered only to be replaced with the luscious gingered turkey as the dominant flavor.
After swallowing, Sherry glanced at her vibrating phone. “Interesting. Patti texted she forgot to tell me she saw Vilma sharing a table with Fitz the day she wrote her review of The Hunger Dames.”
Pep cocked his head toward Sherry’s phone. “I know why. Check your emails. I got a request the day before the cook-off asking for an interview with that woman. I bet you did, too. I blew it off. We were too busy wine shopping. Didn’t even mention it to you. Figured you’d make up your own mind to do it or not.”
“Vilma told me she never interviewed Fitz and wished she had. Why would she lie about that? Did he tell her something she wasn’t willing to share?”
“Didn’t your friend Patti warn you about that woman?” Pep kept his sights on the burger. “Mind if I try a bite?”
“She did, and I told her Vilma was harmless.” Sherry pushed her plate closer to her brother. “Save me some.” He went in with two hands. He jammed the edge of the thick burger concoction into his gaping mouth. He rolled his eyes back.
Sherry rescued the remainder of the burger. “Looks like you’re enjoying it.”
“Has anyone ever told you, you’re too nice? That Pitney woman may not be as harmless as you think. You might regret cutting her so much slack.”
Chapter 17
“I’ll meet you guys for dessert,” Pep said. “I’m still full from the massive brunch Dad and I had. Maybe also from the kimchi megaburger I begged you to make me an hour ago, too.” Pep handed Sherry her car keys.
“That’s fine. See you later.” Sherry knelt and ruffled Chutney’s neck fur. “And would you mind giving this guy his dinner in about a half hour? Thanks.” Sherry shut the door behind her before Pep had a chance to answer. As soon as she was outside, she caught a whiff of the towel-wrapped envelope. She pinched the corner of the bundle between two fingers and walked it to the outdoor garbage can around the side of the house. “Good riddance, you smelly thing. It was time to replace that old towel anyway.”
As she returned to the front of the house, Sherry caught sight of Eileen, across the street, attempting another leash lesson with her cat.
“He’s doing well, wouldn’t you say?” Eileen called out.
Elvis Purrsley was lying down on the sidewalk, tail lashing back and forth furiously.
“He’s taking a little rest.”
Sherry swallowed a giggle. “You’re the cat whisperer, for sure.”
“Heard about the cook-off contestant’s murder. Do you think the hobby’s safe? I mean, people can take competition to the extreme when big money’s on the line. Not everyone is as talented as you. Killing the competition may be the only solution. You know, last man standing wins?”
“I hope it’s just a coincidence the deceased man was in the cook-off.” Sherry was unwilling to muster the energy to refute Eileen’s assertions. “Who knows? You might be on to something, Eileen. Thanks.”
“My pleasure, dear. Glad to help. Have a nice evening.” Eileen tugged on the leash. The cat replied with a yawn.
When Sherry arrived at The Hunger Dames, she considered parking on the street, but the sign along the curb was ambiguous as to whether she’d be ticketed after 6 PM. What came to mind was last week’s mayoral editorial in the town newsletter. The subject was revamping parking restrictions. Would a stricter set of regulations give Leila, the meter maid, increased ticketing potential or aggravate potential local shop customers to the point of shopping elsewhere? Augustin’s constituent response was strongly in favor of relaxing parking regulations.
As a result, new signage was issued in multiple locations. The problem was, the hours the signs listed as no parking and short-term parking, versus off-hours parking, overlapped and cancelled each other out. Sherry had worked with the mayor long enough to recognize the ambiguity was his way of leaving the decision making to Leila, parking meter monarch for many decades. Small towns had their own way of governing, and Sherry was resigned to accepting what others might see as an annoyance.
Not wanting to risk a ticket, the cost of which was also notoriously open to fluctuation, Sherry made her decision. Headlights glaring through her rearview mirror urged her to act quickly. A U-turn later, she steered the car into the parking lot. The headlights followed closely behind.
“I wonder if that’s Day and Don.”
The car moved at a snail’s pace. She darted her hand out the window and waved the car forward. “Follow me, guys.” Sherry parked her car on the far edge of the lot, leaving plenty of space for the incoming car. She gat
hered her purse and exited her car. One glance through the other car’s driver’s side window led to a surprise discovery. She waited until the person exited the vehicle. “Lyman. What a coincidence seeing you here.”
The man was dressed in a windbreaker and cargo pants combo.
She shuddered when the word “coincidence” left her lips. The saying, “there are no coincidences,” tiptoed across her brain.
“Not a coincidence at all. I’ve been looking for you.” Lyman squared himself up to Sherry.
“Me?” Sherry squeaked. “Why?”
“A reporter, last name Pitney, tells me you think I had something to do with Fitz’s murder.” Lyman’s words were timed slowly and deliberately. “I did an interview with her the day before the cook-off, and she was kind enough to text me today with that news. I’m not happy.” The scowl on his face made the hair on Sherry’s arm rise to attention.
“She said you’ve told the investigator in charge, a Detective Bease, I was in a two-way confrontation with Fitz the night of the party at the Augustin Inn. Now he’s after me with questions.” Lyman paused and stared into Sherry’s eyes. “I admit, that night Frye and I weren’t toasting to a possible win on his behalf, but you’re only half right.”
“Better than usual.”
Vilma’s name swirled in her head. The woman had riled Lyman up. The slack she considered cutting Vilma was growing taut. Sherry glanced in all directions. Empty cars as far as she could see. No one else in sight, except Lyman.
Lyman’s jaw muscle was visibly pulsating. “He and I weren’t arguing. I was doing my job, and he didn’t hold back his sentiment. He wasn’t having it.”
Sherry softened her words. “He was upset you were a spice distributor? That doesn’t make much sense.” She waited for what seemed like minutes for his reply.
Lyman’s face relaxed enough for Sherry to exhale the breath she’d been holding far too long.
“Not that job. My second job. Besides my former employment at Spice Attitude, I am an independent process server. A challenging job serving legal papers. You like cook-offs, I like the law process.” He cracked a sly smile.
Eat, Drink and Be Wary Page 13