“Were the police able to tell you much? Are they any closer to finding out who is responsible for Sherry’s death?”
“They said they are following up a few leads, but they don’t have enough evidence against anyone to make an arrest.”
“Do you know anyone who would have wanted your sister dead?”
“No. Sometimes Sherry operated in what I call the ‘gray area,’ but I don’t think she’d ever done anything that would make anyone want to kill her.”
“What do you mean?” Wavonne asks. “The gray area?”
“Sherry was always looking for a quick buck or some sort of hustle to make some fast money. Sometimes her schemes were legal and sometimes they weren’t... and sometimes they were just more unethical than illegal—like this whole thing she had going with Russell. I assume everyone knows about that by now.”
“It seems to be the worst kept secret in PG County,” Wavonne says.
“It does appear to be pretty out in the open at this point, but we don’t know any real details about their affair. Was she in love with him?”
Angela looks at me like I just asked her if unicorns exist. “She was in love all right . . . with his money.” She pulls a tissue from her purse and dabs at her eyes. “Sherry was my baby sister. She was very dear to me, but she could be a shady character... always scamming. She was determined to be Mrs. Mellinger Number Two. She’d been plotting the whole thing for months... getting cast on the show, studying up on Russell and what he likes, ensuring she got some alone time with him to make her moves. Her goal all along was not to win the contest, although that would have been a nice plus.... It was to win Russell.”
“Forgive me for saying so,” I offer, “but that seems like a lot of... I don’t know... a lot of maneuvering for someone that... How do I say this? For someone who was not . . . overly mentally endowed.”
Angela sighs. “ ‘Not overly mentally endowed’? That’s the politest way I have ever heard anyone called stupid in my life,” she says. “But, thing is—”
“She wasn’t stupid, was she?” I ask, suddenly thinking about what Trey just told me and Wavonne about how he was playing a role to be a favorite among the viewers.
“Sherry was so not stupid. The whole dingbat routine was an act.”
“So, just like Trey, she was hamming it up for the cameras to ensure her survival on the show?”
“She was ‘hamming it up’ even before the show. She knew she needed a shtick to get a spot in the competition, so she adopted a whole Jessica Simpson–Chicken of the Sea thing. I went with her when they were doing the casting interview. She mentioned how her neck was hurting because her head was so heavy, and that she hoped they weren’t shooting in New Mexico because her passport had expired. Believe me, you had to be smart to pull off pretending to be as dumb as she did. And it worked. She was the multiracial answer to Chrissy Snow. We talked almost every day over the past few weeks, and she said the producers were eating it up. She was confident that, even if her culinary skills were subpar, they wouldn’t eliminate her if they thought her airhead antics would draw ratings.”
“So her whole, ‘Oops I forgot and used all the cheddar and grabbed expired baking powder by mistake,’ thing was a farce? She purposely sabotaged Vera?”
“Of course, she did,” Angela says. “Well at least she did with the cheese. She said she just got lucky with the baking powder and, when I talked to her last, she wasn’t sure why her biscuits rose and Vera’s waffle didn’t—they both used the old baking powder”
“That part is strange,” I say. “But so many other things make sense now that we know Sherry didn’t share an IQ with a dodo bird.”
“Like what? What things?” Wavonne asks. “I thought it was odd that someone as dim-witted as we thought Sherry to be had managed to pull off the scheme she had going at Dauphine a couple of years ago.”
“Oh, that one,” Angela says. “That was when she was working at that tacky Cajun restaurant that looks like Catwoman’s lair. I think she made enough cash off pilfered liquor to buy her Lexus.”
“If she made enough money to buy a luxury car, she must have taken Twyla for tens of thousands of dollars.”
“Twyla?”
“The owner of Catwoman’s lair,” Wavonne says.
“Twyla owns Dauphine,” I clarify. “She made it seem like Sherry’s exploits were not such a big deal... maybe worth a few hundred bucks or something.”
“You don’t think this Twyla would have murdered Sherry?” Angela asks.
“I don’t think so, but it wasn’t that long ago that someone was stabbed to death over a Popeye’s chicken sandwich, so people have certainly killed for less. I know Detective Hutchins at the police department. I’ll make sure he’s aware of Sherry’s history with Twyla,” I say. “Other than her antics with Twyla and her affair with Russell, is there anything else that might be useful to know... that might offer any leads?”
“I don’t think so, but I was worried about her because of the whole Russell thing. Last week she told me she thought she had him where she wanted him and had given him an ultimatum—he was to tell Cynthia about them and ask for a divorce, or she was going to end their relationship.”
“Do you know if Russell told Cynthia?”
“No, but Sherry said that Cynthia came by her room before she called me the night of the murder. She thought Cynthia had come to confront her about the affair, but it turned out she only came by to tell Sherry that they had moved up the scheduling for the following day, and Sherry needed to be ready by seven a.m. instead of eight a.m. Come to think of it, she said Trey came by as well, claiming to just want to wish her luck... a sort of ‘may the best man win’ kind of moment.”
“She didn’t mention anything about having any sort of cross words or conflict with either one of them?”
“No, she mostly just mentioned their visits in passing . . . in between talk of how good the red velvet cake was at the museum cafeteria, and how she was liking the new moisturizer she was using on her elbows. We just yammered about nothing on our phone calls. Most nights we did this for about an hour while we got ready for bed, but that night, the day had really taken a toll on her. She said she was calling it a night early, so we only talked for about ten minutes. Little did I know, a few minutes after we hung up she’d...” Angela starts to lose her composure again. “No.” She straightens herself on the sofa. “I’ve cried enough for one day, but I am really tired. I got a room at the Gaylord, so I think I’m going to call an Uber and head over there. Russell offered to let me stay here, but that would be too weird.”
“No need to call an Uber. We’ll drop you off.” I get up from the sofa. “If there’s anything else we can do for you while you’re in town getting things settled, please let us know.”
“That’s nice of you, but honestly, I prefer to ride over there alone. ”
“Girlfriend’s sick of your questions, Halia,” Wavonne says.
Angela almost cracks a smile. “Maybe... just a little. But you’ve been very kind. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I say. “Really, if we can do anything...”
Angela nods, and Wavonne and I turn to go as she pulls out her phone and starts tapping on the screen to order her ride. As we head for the door I start to mull everything over in my head: Russell and Sherry’s affair, Sherry insisting that he tell Cynthia about said affair, the money Sherry stole from Twyla, the door adjoining Sherry’s room to Trey’s. I’m wondering why, with all these red flags, Vera is the only one the police have brought in for questioning, and that’s when I see Russell emerge from the hallway that leads to his suite. I watch as he says something to Mitchell at the desk and then moves on toward the breezeway that leads to the restaurant.
“Hey,” I say to Wavonne. “Why don’t we—”
“Go talk to Russell?”
“Am I that predictable?”
“I saw that look in your eyes as soon as you caught sight of him... like a kid in a candy store.�
�
“Only, instead of candy, I want information.”
Chapter 28
“Hello?” I call after Wavonne as I walk into Sunfish.
We saw Russell walk in ahead of us, but now he’s nowhere to be seen. The dining room looks kind of spooky and surreal. With most of the lights off, the remnants of the competition—the cooking stations, the mixers, the pots and pans—seem like they’re lurking in the shadows.
“Over here,” a voice calls from inside a doorway on the other side of the room.
Wavonne and I follow the sound and find Russell seated behind a desk in a little nook of an office.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hello,” Russell replies. “What can I do for you?” He asks this in such a way that it’s clear he’d rather not do anything for me.
“Um... nothing,” I say. “We were here talking to Trey, and we saw you head this way. Just thought we’d say hi and see how you’re doing.”
“I’m fine. Thank you.” He says this in a “You said you wanted to see how I’m doing. I’ve told you. You can leave now,” sort of way.
He clearly is not interested in having a rap session with us, and given the little use he has for niceties, I figure I’d better get a few questions in before he just flat-out tells us to skedaddle.
“I see all the sets or stations or whatever for the show are still up. Are you planning to resume taping sometime soon?”
“I haven’t decided what we are going to do about the show, but we’ll need to close it out somehow. Perhaps when an appropriate amount of time has passed, we will default back to Vera, and she and Trey will compete in a final challenge.”
“I guess whatever happens, it will be a less interesting show with Sherry gone though.”
“Agreed.” He looks at me suspiciously. “What is it you want, Halia? I have work to do.”
“I’ve been trying to piece a few things together from the night Sherry was killed. That’s why I was here speaking with Trey. I guess I’m hoping you might be able to help some with that, too.”
“Why? Isn’t that a job for the police? That Detective Hutchins fellow?”
“Yes, but so far, the only suspect they seem to have any interest in is Vera.”
“Sherry’s mistakes, if they were in fact mistakes, caused Vera to lose a high stakes competition, and she was nowhere to be seen after Sherry was killed. Doesn’t seem odd to me that she would be on their list.”
“Maybe not, but other people certainly had dubious relationships with Sherry as well.”
“Other people?”
“Yes. Turns out she worked for Twyla years ago and stole from her, and it’s not out of the realm of possibility that Trey could have taken Sherry’s life to eliminate his competition. Word is also that her relationship with Cynthia appeared to sour over the last week or so. And... well . . . I’m sure you’re aware, at this point, that most everyone is in the know about your relationship with Sherry.”
“My relationship?”
“That the two of you were... were...”
“Gettin’ jiggy wit’ it,” Wavonne says.
“Okay, we are done here, ladies,” he says abruptly. “My relationship or lack of relationship with Sherry is none of your concern.”
“We’ll be on our way,” I reply. “But just one question, if you don’t mind.”
Russell looks back at me, neither confirming nor denying if he minds.
“You mentioned how Vera was nowhere to be seen after the shooting. But you were decidedly absent for a few minutes after the shooting as well. Were you—”
“I was right here in the restaurant with my contractor when Sherry was killed. I was on my way out to take a walk and smoke a cigar—it’s sort of a nightly ritual to relax and clear my head, but I made a pit stop in here to see the progress my contractor was making. I heard the gunshots when I was showing him how I wanted the molding finished. I figured there must have been some benign explanation for the noise, so I didn’t exactly rush to check it out.” He gives me that same suspicious look he gave me moments ago. “I suspect what you really want to know is if I have an alibi, and the answer is yes. Not only do I have a witness, but the dining room is under 24/7 surveillance. Both my contractor and I were on camera when the shots went off.”
“I’m sure you understand that, given your relationship with Sherry, it’s not unreasonable to think—”
“I believe I already told you my relationship with Sherry is none of your concern. I also already told you I have things to do.” Russell turns about thirty degrees in his chair, so he’s now more facing his computer screen than Wavonne and me.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Mellinger.” When he continues to stare at his computer screen rather than acknowledge my comment, Wavonne and I turn to leave.
“Well, he was just a breath of stale air,” Wavonne says as we walk through the restaurant.
“Yeah... not exactly sunshine and rainbows, but he’s not the most pleasant person to be around when he isn’t grieving, so I guess him being a little curt was to be expected.”
“Do you think he’s grieving? Do you think he saw Sherry as anything other than a side chick?”
“Maybe. There was something about the look on his face, and the groan that came out of him when he saw her on the bed... and the way he held her limp hand that makes me think he had real feelings for her... assuming Russell Mellinger can have real feelings for anyone.”
Wavonne and I walk outside the restaurant. We’ve barely stepped off the sidewalk onto the parking lot when I see a gangly figure emerging from a little Toyota Corolla.
“Is that Trudy?” I ask Wavonne.
“Unless Billy Bob Thornton threw on a tweed skirt and a pair of flats, my guess is yes.”
“Trudy,” I say as she approaches us with a laptop bag over one shoulder and a couple of manila file folders in her hand. “How are you?”
“I’m okay. Such a weird few days. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around it all.” She turns her head from left to right, taking in the scenery around us. “This is such a lovely property. Who would have thought something so ugly... so awful would ever happen at a place like this.”
“I know. I think this being such a beautiful and exclusive hotel is why most of us were convinced the sound we heard the night Sherry was killed wasn’t gunfire—at a place like this, it had to be something else.”
“We’re not sure what it all means for the inn. There has been so much publicity about what the press has dubbed the ‘Elite Chef Murder,’ Russell is afraid the whole place might be done for.”
“I’m sure it will be fine. People have short memories, and this property is too beautiful for people to stay away.”
“Maybe,” Wavonne says. “But I bet they repurpose Sherry’s room into a storage closet or somethin’. I don’t think anyone is gonna want to spend the night in the ‘Murder Room.’”
“Oh my,” Trudy says. “Murder Room? Are they using that term now, too?”
“I think Wavonne just made that up now.”
“I hope so.” Trudy starts rustling the folders in her hand. “I should be on my way. I need to go over a few things with Russell.”
“We just saw him. He’s in his office in the restaurant,” I say.
“I’m sure he was glad to see you.”
“Yeeeah, not so much.”
Trudy narrows her eyebrows at me. “Really?”
“I guess he thought I was asking too many questions.”
“About what?”
“About Sherry and his relationship with her, and what he was doing when she was killed.”
“I can see how those might be unwelcome questions.”
“He must be well aware by now that everyone knows that he had a thing goin’ with Sherry,” Wavonne says.
“Of course. Or at least that everyone involved with the show knows, but so far, the press has not picked it up. I’m sure he doesn’t want to confirm or deny anything about their relationship in hopes that
he’ll be able to keep it off the news until interest in the story dies down.” Trudy pulls the strap on her bag higher up on her shoulder. “I really better get moving. Russell is waiting for me. I don’t want to be late. He’s not the most genial person to be around when you’re on time.”
“Okay, but one last thing.”
“What?”
“Do you know of anyone who might have wanted Sherry dead?”
“No. She was a reasonably pleasant young lady even if she was dumb as a box of hair. I know she had a conflict with Vera at the last taping but, from what I heard about it, it was nothing anyone would kill over.”
“What about Russell... and Cynthia? Did you have any knowledge of Russell and Sherry’s affair going south recently?”
“No, Russell is pretty selective about what he shares with me. You’ve seen him around me.... He mostly just barks orders.”
“And Cynthia? Do you think she may have found out about Sherry and Russell’s affair?”
“I don’t know, but some things have certainly been going on with Cynthia.”
“What sort of things?”
“I’m not sure I should say anything.... It’s yet another thing Russell’s afraid might make the papers.” Trudy takes a breath and seems to contemplate for a moment or two about whether or not she should share whatever information she has. Fortunately for me, she seems to decide on divulging. “Cynthia has a bit of a problem with pills.”
“Pills?” Wavonne asks. “Like tranks? Codies? Roofies? Sobos? Purple drank?”
“I have no idea what any of those are,” Trudy says. “Opioids. I think OxyContin is her drug of choice.”
“Really?”
“Yes. We thought she had beat it, but it seems she went to buy some pills a few days ago. Russell said that over the last week or so, she’d been distant and irritable. He was afraid she may had fallen off the wagon, so he asked me to keep tabs on her... to follow her when I could. She was pretty busy when the show was filming, so mostly I only ended up following her on the occasional trip to the hair salon or the Neiman Marcus across the bridge in Virginia. But late last week, things got weird.”
Murder with Honey Ham Biscuits Page 16
