SUGAR AND VICE
“One of the bakers from the contest was found dead on the Augustin Marina’s property,” Warren said.
Sherry clutched the handle of her cart to steady herself. She shuddered. “Dead? Who? When?”
“I realize you were familiar with many of the contestants, so I hope the news isn’t too much of a shock. Remember the man with the story about baking his cookies for a homeless shelter? His name is Crosby Currier. He went by the last name Banks in the bake-off. Crosby Banks.”
Sherry took a moment to process the name. “Oh, no. Crosby?”
“You did know him. I’m sorry.”
“Barely, but yes. That’s awful. What happened? When? Where?”
“I know you have a lot of questions, but I don’t have all the answers. The police said his time of death was not long after the bake-off.”
“I’m so sorry for the man and his family. Was there an accident or did he have a medical condition of some sort?”
“Neither. I’m afraid he died from neither of those. Police said they have every reason to believe he was murdered. . .”
Books by Devon Delaney
EXPIRATION DATE
FINAL ROASTING PLACE
GUILTY AS CHARRED
EAT, DRINK AND BE WARY
DOUBLE CHOCOLATE COOKIE MURDER
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
A COOK-OFF MYSTERY!
Double Chocolate Cookie Murder
Devon Delaney
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
SUGAR AND VICE
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Sherry’s Favorite Holiday Side Dish Recipe
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2021 by Devon Delaney
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
The K logo is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-2786-2
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2787-9 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-2787-8 (ebook)
This book is for Chris and my daughter, Jesse, who support my urge to wander away to my happy place—my writing desk. And for my granddaughter, Isabella, who I didn’t know I needed so much.
Chapter 1
“You should have worn a warmer coat. Are you in denial that winter’s around the corner?” Mrs. Nagle, bundled in a boiled wool coat and a plaid scarf, returned her attention to the door handle. “I really must replace this confounded mechanism. My hands are too cold to wiggle the key this way and that to get the blasted thing to work.”
“Let me help.” Sherry wedged herself between the woman and the storefront door. She handed Mrs. Nagle two dog leashes and took hold of the door handle.
“Two dogs today?”
“My friend and coworker, Amber, is out of town, so I’m watching her dog, Bean. He’s my Chutney’s best friend.” The door to Augustin Dry Goods opened sluggishly as Sherry applied pressure with her shoulder. “There you go.” Sherry collected the leashes from the owner of the store. Sherry was reminded and amused by the fact no one addressed Mrs. Nagle by her first name, Penny, as she watched the woman enter the doorway. She introduced herself as Mrs. Nagle and offered no alternative. Her husband, on the other hand, was Tony from the first introduction.
“Dear, would you mind helping me in with the box of holiday decorations?” Mrs. Nagle pointed to a cardboard box on the sidewalk, the size of a small steamer trunk. “Tony was in a great hurry this morning to get to the Black Friday TV sales. On one hand, I’m glad stores in Augustin don’t open until nine for Black Friday; on the other, we may be losing customers to the early bird deals the malls offer. In his rush to get to the mall, Tony left me on the curb with this monstrosity. I don’t know how I could ever lift it. We do such a good job packing up the holiday goodies after New Year’s, I always forget how much stuff we fit in the box.” The woman looked Sherry up and down. “You’re such a strong young woman. Must be all the good cooking you do.”
Sherry considered Mrs. Nagle’s description. She was strong, in a casual-exerciser sort of way. She was young, in a midthirties sort of way. She handed the leashes back to Mrs. Nagle. “Of course. Where should I put the box?”
Mrs. Nagle swept her arm forward, indicating anywhere inside the store was appreciated. Sherry grunted as she hoisted the box. She put the container inside the door before her frame collapsed from the strain. She had to remember to either take a different route from the parking lot the day after Thanksgiving next year or get in better shape.
“Phew. Glad we keep our holiday decorations in-store.” Sherry straightened and turned toward the open door. “Have a nice day.”
“You too. Don’t forget these guys.” Mrs. Nagle returned the leashes. “I’ll stop by to see what you and Erno have on sale for Black Friday.”
Without looking back, Sherry tossed Mrs. Nagle a farewell wave. “What are we putting on sale? Good question. Dad is so dead set against Black Friday sales he won’t even work the day,” Sherry mumbled.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you. Can you repeat what you said?” Sal, performing the same exercise with his key and door as Mrs. Nagle, turned his attention to Sherry as she neared.
“Hi, Sal.” Sherry nodded a hello to the elderly man who’d owned the Shore Cleaners for over fifty years. His tiny wife stood vigil over two canvas bags, presumably stuffed with laundry. “I was muttering to myself. You didn’t miss a thing.”
“Talking to yourself. This crazy time of year will do that to a sane woman.”
Sal’s wife, Effi, let loose a high-pitched giggle. “Sal!”
“I saw you helping Mrs. Nagle with her box of decorations. That woman is as precise as clockwork. The day after Thanksgiving on the nose, every year, her store goes from autumn’s harvest theme to winter holiday extravaganza, and we’re all expected to follow suit.”
“Guilty,” Sherry said. “I’m puttin
g up our decorations today if there’s a slow time. Can’t help myself. Dad’s not working today so I want to surprise him.”
“I’m amazed he’s not working on Black Friday. I can’t resist a good sale, whether I’m on the giving or the receiving end. The cleaners is running a one-day special. Two items cleaned for the price of one. Some exclusions may apply, of course.” Sal opened the door, stepped over the threshold, and held the door open for his wife.
“Dad says he can’t witness his rugs sold at a discount, even if it’s only one day a year. Says they weren’t crafted with half talent, why should they be sold at half price.”
“Makes sense,” Sal added. “Erno’s as proud of his rugs as we are of our family business. Can’t say the same for most businesses these days. We’re a dying breed.”
“I’m sure having the store decorated for the holidays will brighten his mood when he comes in tomorrow. At least, that’s what I’m hoping. Have a good day,” Sherry called to the couple as she walked away from the cleaners.
As she headed toward the Ruggery, Sherry thought about the Thanksgiving meal she’d served the day before. As wonderful as it was to cook for most of her family, she was still sad her brother, Pep, and his new wife, Charlotte, couldn’t attend. They didn’t want to travel too far with their infant, but a smile danced on her lips as she visualized the rest of her family seated around the dining room table. Sherry’s sister, Marla, Marla’s husband, Grant, their father and his girlfriend, Ruth Gadabee. Sherry was thrilled when the lively group gushed over her menu. Well, almost all of the menu. The roasted butternut squash panzanella hadn’t come out exactly as she’d liked. How could she enter the recipe, as she intended to do, in the upcoming Holiday Sides Recipe Contest if her own family was lukewarm on the dish? Lost in thought, Sherry found herself at a dead stop in front of a stocky man in uniform.
“May I help you, ma’am?”
Sherry took note of the nameplate pinned to the man’s lapel: Hans. She lifted her gaze to his ruddy face, then up to the building sign etched in stone above a massive door behind him. “Oh my gosh. I wasn’t paying attention and I’ve walked too far. While I’m here, I’ll introduce myself.” Sherry stuck out her hand. “I’m Sherry Oliveri. Tomorrow I’ll be a judge in the bake-off here.” She shook the man’s gloved hand.
“My name is Hans. I’m head of security for the Media Center.” Hans cracked a broad smile. “Very nice to meet you. You and your dog have been walking by the building for years. Glad to finally, formally, be introduced. We are very excited to be host to the Story For Glory Cookie Bake-off. I’ll be providing security for the event.” Hans enunciated the words slowly and deliberately, with a slight Dutch accent, as if he’d practiced hard to memorize the long contest name. “Personally, I’m excited about any leftovers. I’ve been told to expect fifty-plus contestants bringing their cookies in the morning. I think I’ll skip breakfast, just in case I get to taste some of the baked goods.”
“You’ve got the right idea. I’m usually the contestant in a cooking contest rather than the judge, so I’ll be getting my first chance to taste all the entries this time around.”
“How lucky are you?” Hans’s eyes brightened as his bushy eyebrows lifted. “Even at my age I’m still a cookie monster. I have tea and cookies with my five-year-old granddaughter every time she visits.”
“This bake-off is an interesting one because the cooks prepare their recipes at home. That is a challenge all in itself, to be able to recognize when you’ve made your best batch. No time limitations like in the usual bake-off, but you might drive yourself crazy striving for perfection. The contest is also about the story behind the cookie recipe. To hear where the cooks got their recipe inspiration is what I’m most excited about.”
“Sherry. How nice to see you. Good morning, Hans.” Patti Mellitt, in a beige overcoat, approached. She was carrying a briefcase and a slouchy tote bag. What appeared to be celery stalks protruded from the bag.
“Patti, hi.” Sherry glanced at the greens. “Thanksgiving leftovers?”
Bean and Chutney strained at their leashes to get a whiff.
“Exactly. The reporter who sits next to me in the Nutmeg State of Mind newsroom texted she needs celery and did I have any. If I never see another celery stalk until summer, I’ll be happy. I made pounds of my famous sausage stuffing with it yesterday for the homeless shelter.”
“That’s why you’re the best food journalist around. You share and you care,” Sherry said.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at the bake-off, right?” As Patti spoke, she flashed her credentials at Hans, who nodded the okay for her to enter the building.
“Right. Sorry you’re not on the judging panel with me. It’s my first time being on the judging end rather than the contestant end of the contest.”
“That’s a story I’d love to write about. How you’re making the transition from contestant to judge,” Patti said.
“No, no. This is a one-time deal. Competing is my passion. Judging others makes me uncomfortable. I was honored to be asked, and I’ll give it my best effort, but I’ve already got my sights on the next contest.”
“Okay, I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m covering the contest for the newspaper and my podcast. May the best baker and cookie backstory-teller win.”
“And would you mind writing up a blurb for my Town Hall newsletter also?” Sherry asked. “I’ll need your input by Sunday, please.”
Chapter 2
“Brace yourselves. Black Friday is about to begin,” Sherry told the dogs as she unlocked the Ruggery’s back door. She unhooked the dogs’ leashes. Habit dictated they remain at her feet until she rewarded them. She treated each to a crunchy biscuit from the jar she kept just inside the kitchenette. A moment later, they were on their way across the store to find a place to wrestle. She flipped on the light switches, took off her coat, and delivered her lunch sack to the kitchenette. She made her way back to the front of the store to unlock the front door and rotated the window sign to “Open.” Immediately, a group of potential customers entered.
“I’m so excited to see what you have on sale,” one woman said as she surveyed the store. “Where are your sale rugs?”
“I haven’t had a chance to put a sale sign up.” Sherry pointed to a small, handmade sign across the room. “Over there. Next to the demonstration table.”
The shoppers flocked toward the stack of area rugs, following Sherry’s lead. Along the way, she was asked if the larger, hand-loomed rugs were on sale. She delivered the bad news that only the smallest rugs were discounted. Disappointment turned to excitement when they reached the sale rugs. Sherry beamed with pride as the customers complimented her on the treasures they found for less money than at any other time of the year.
By noon, all the sale rugs had been purchased. The last morning customer was gone, so Sherry went to the kitchenette in the back of the store to retrieve the turkey cranberry panini she’d brought in her lunch sack. As she savored her first mouthful, the dogs’ chorus of barking alerted her that she wasn’t alone. She peered out of the arched doorway, then swallowed the bite of sandwich and called out, “Hello. I’ll be right there.”
“I’m sorry. You’re in the middle of lunch. Must be impossible to get a moment to yourself.” A man made his way closer to Sherry. “Please, take your time.”
“A bite here, a bite there, and, by the end of the day, somehow, I’ve finished my lunch.” Sherry laughed. She dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Excuse me one sec.” She turned and took the sandwich to the small kitchen counter, well out of reach of the inquisitive Jack Russells’ jumping range. She wiped her hands on the kitchen towel and made her way to where the man stood waiting.
“How can I help you?” There was something familiar about the man dressed in a camel-hair blazer and blue jeans. At first glance, she estimated his age to be somewhere in his forties. Possibly he was a customer who hadn’t been in the store for years. If so, Erno would know the man. Her father nev
er forgot a name or a face. He often attached a nickname to a customer to help jog his memory. The man in front of Sherry would fit the nickname Questioning Man, for the lift in his voice at the end of his sentences, making each sound like a question.
Before he had a chance to respond, the front door burst open. The bell over the door tinkled, and Bean and Chutney raced to greet the visitor. From the dogs’ reaction, Sherry knew who had arrived.
“Sherry,” shouted the woman. “Your favorite sister’s here.”
“Over here.” Sherry returned her attention to the man. “I’m sorry, my sister is visiting from out of town. May I show you a rug?”
The man stuck out his hand. “You’re lucky to have family visiting. My name is Crosby Banks. You must be Sherry Oliveri?”
Sherry shook Crosby’s hand. “Yes, that’s me. Very nice to meet you. You look familiar. Have we met?”
“Hey, Sherry. I’ve come to help out for the afternoon. Grant has some things he wants to get done, so I’m flying solo.” Marla neared.
“Marla, this is Crosby Banks. Crosby, this is my sister, Marla.”
The two smiled at each other.
“I was telling him he looked familiar. If only Dad were here, he’d help me out with where I know you from.”
Marla squinted in Crosby’s direction. “Nice to meet you. First duty is to walk these two pups. I know you probably haven’t had a minute to do that, today being Black Friday and all. Be right back.” Marla clapped her hands to herd the dogs her way.
Chutney and Bean trotted toward the leashes hanging by the front door.
Sherry turned her attention back to Crosby.
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