“What prompted the Van Ardans to come forward with their claim, I wonder?” Sherry took a step sideways toward her father. Erno tucked his chin to his chest.
“All in the name of the almighty dollar, I’m afraid,” Frances said. “Let’s not cloud the evening with negative talk. I, for one, am counting my blessings that my grandson is alive and healthy after a terrible scare. So, let’s give a toast to that.”
As everyone raised his or her glass, J. Foster called out from inside the patio door. “Sherry, your timer’s buzzing. Good thing I went in to use the men’s room, or your recipes might have been ruined and everyone left hungry and desperate. Your dinner party could have turned into the Donner Party.”
Chapter 12
“Someone call nine-one-one. Sherry killed it with the Peanut Butter Chicken Curry.” Erno licked his fork clean before letting the silverware clank down on his plate.
Sherry gasped. “Dad, that’s not funny. By the way, my other dish, Spinach Lentil Curry, was one of my best efforts, so this could be a tight race.”
“You’re not supposed to advertise which dish you’re voting for, Erno,” Ruth scolded. “It’s called a secret ballot for a reason. There aren’t supposed to be any undue influences.”
Sherry glanced across the table at Damien. He’d been quiet throughout dinner. “Damien, is there one dish you prefer over the other? A simple yes or no is fine. You can expound on your reasons on the written ballot.”
“Yes,” Damien said.
Sherry held a steady gaze on the man. Damien put his fork down on his empty plate and folded his hands in his lap. The man’s unwavering stare wrestled with Sherry’s until she blinked.
“If everyone is done eating, I’m going to hand out the ballots. Dessert and voting, the perfect combination. And remember, there are no wrong answers.” Sherry stood and began gathering plates. When she saw Larson pick up his plate, she added, “I’ve got those. Keep your seat and relax. You’re all doing me such a big favor. I’m so appreciative.”
Back in the kitchen, Sherry gathered the notepad sheets and a handful of pens to distribute to her guests. As she walked the collection back to the table, Amber met her halfway.
“That was such a good dinner, Sherry.” Amber shifted her stance. “I hope I didn’t put you in an awkward position, inviting Damien at the very last minute, but I thought it was a safe environment for a meeting. I don’t know if he’s having much fun, though. He’s barely said two words.”
“Imagine my shock at seeing him at the door. You know I’ve got some conflicting thoughts about him. On one hand, there are reasons to suspect him of foul play and, on the other, I don’t want to sour relations between you and me. So, to be quite honest, I’m biting my tongue and behaving my best when what I really want to do is shine a bright light in his eyes and question him until he confesses so my father can find some peace.”
“Let me finish the date, if it really can be classified as such, and if you still feel the same way tomorrow, I’ll keep my distance from him until the dust settles. Agreed?”
“Agreed. But promise me you won’t find yourself alone with him at any point.”
Amber let out a sigh. “With all due respect, I repeat, I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself.” Amber relieved Sherry of the pens and paper and left the kitchen.
Sherry cut the apple cake she’d been thawing throughout the day. She scooped vanilla bean ice cream on the side of each dessert plate before arranging them on a tray. With the finesse of a veteran waitress, she transported the dessert to the living room without so much as a displacement of an apple chunk. As she entered the room, her guests rushed to curl their hands across their ballots to conceal their votes. Sherry circled the table and placed a dessert in front of each guest. They in turn placed their ballots on the tray.
“While you were dishing out dessert, our new friend Amber was dishing on the advice column she writes for an online publication,” Ruth said.
Amber cleared her throat. “Your father was simply asking for an example of the sort of issues I touch on, so I gave one I’m working on for this week. I won’t give away my response. You’ll have to pay full price for that.”
Frances placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin down in her open hands. “Fascinating.”
“Can I get a recap?” Sherry sat and spun her dessert plate around so the cut of cake was square to the edge of the table.
Amber poked a small piece of cake and dipped it in the thawing ice cream until the confection was fully coated with the melting goodness. She took a moment to savor the bite while everyone waited. Her tongue lapped up a rogue drop of ice cream from her lower lip. “A woman e-mailed explaining she was suspicious of the behavior of her fiancé, who she was concerned was hiding a secret life. The reason her suspicions were growing was because he was so protective of his phone. He wouldn’t allow her to touch the device in any way, shape, or form. She felt that was a major red flag, and now she can’t move forward with their future plans. She wanted my advice on the situation. She signed her e-mail ‘Disconnected.’” Amber tipped her head to the side and scooped up another piece of cake.
Next to her, Damien kept his eyes on his final course.
“So, that’ll be in your column?” Frances asked. “No hints whatsoever?”
“If she told you, she’d have to kill you.” Erno laughed.
“Dad! Now I know where Marla gets her knack for inappropriate comments.” Sherry clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “But, I admit I’m dying of curiosity. That can’t give the poor girl much feeling of reassurance, if the man she may be spending the rest of her life with is hiding parts of his life from her. Hope he hasn’t committed a crime he doesn’t want her to find out about.”
“Sherry, you haven’t collected my ballot,” Damien said. “I wouldn’t want to miss out on being included in the process.” He handed Sherry a piece of paper. “I want to apologize ahead of time. When you read my ballot, even though supposedly you don’t know who wrote what, you’ll see that I only named my choice. I don’t like to give my opinion about situations I don’t fully understand.” Damien lowered his eyelids, strengthening the impact of his serious expression.
The skin on the back of Sherry’s neck tingled.
“I think I’m speaking for all of us when I say your two dishes didn’t disappoint,” J. Foster announced.
His wife, Eileen, nodded. The rest of the table clapped.
Sherry touched her heated cheek with the back of her hand as she pulled her chair up under her. “Thanks, guys. I can’t think of a nicer group to cook for.”
Larson erupted in a chuckle. “Except, we have no giant game-show check to present you for your winning efforts.” He pulled a folded pamphlet out of his back pocket. “While we’re enjoying dessert, I wanted to pass around the final mock-up of the Founder’s Day leaflet. You’ll notice a blank section waiting for one of Sherry’s recipes. There’s a blurb about Sherry and Erno that hopefully will be acceptable. The paper outlines the timetable for the day’s scheduled events, all leading to the stunning climax at the Trivselbit presentation on the green at the town square.”
“I’ll e-mail you the recipe by tonight, I promise. If it’s too late to include it I’ll personally make copies and tape one to each leaflet. May I take a look?” Sherry extended her hand. She unfolded the papers and let out a melodic coo when she saw the cover. An onion superimposed over a map of Hillsboro County, with a “You Are Here” flag indicating where Augustin was located, entertained her eyes. At the bottom of the cover, in a bold but sassy font, were the words “Peel back the layers and see what Augustin’s made of.” She flipped over the front page. Her eyes bulged when she came face-to-face with a startling illustration.
Larson waved his fork at Sherry, apple cake speared on the prongs. “No problem. The printer’s on standby, ready to finish the job when I provide your recipe. Your scrunchy face tells me I shouldn’t have put that advertisement on the inside cover. I in
itially wanted a portrait rendering of Andre August Dahlback. I have to tell you, the amount of money the committee received for that ad placement from MediaPie Corp, made ‘no thanks’ impossible. The sum was enough to pay for the deluxe-size podium and stage upgrade with the full trim package, and that sealed the deal.”
Sherry swore she heard “hypocrite” uttered from the direction of Erno’s seat.
“No, no, it’s fine. This is the second or third time I’ve seen this logo recently. What’s the MediaPie Corporation’s interest in Augustin’s Founder’s Day, I wonder?” Sherry squinted as she visualized the mug on Carmell Gordy’s desk brandishing the same image. Her father shifted his body to the edge of his chair. In the process, he grazed his dessert plate and knocked his fork to the floor. He retrieved the pronged poker before Chutney secured it in his snout. Erno waved off Sherry’s attempt to hand him a clean fork.
Frances raised her voice to an urgent shout. “I’ll tell you what their interest is.” Crumbs flew from her mouth. “MediaPie is a media conglomerate owned by the Van Ardans. Obtaining a stronghold on radio and television stations in the northeast is their main objective. The same family who wishes to undermine Founder’s Day. By placing that ad strategically inside the front cover, they’re sending the strong message that Augustin can be bought. Don’t you all agree?”
“You said we wouldn’t discuss this tonight,” Larson said with a note of desperation in his voice.
“Frances, you’re being dramatic.” Erno straightened his posture.
“Erno, you’re the one who’s starring in a drama, since you and Beverly have grown very close.” Ruth peppered her words with a number of huffs. She turned her attention to Sherry. “That woman even gave your father flowers when he wasn’t feeling well. That certainly was going above and beyond, I’d say. For the amount of money she probably spent, she should have known they were city flowers. I could tell. If she had purchased them locally, they would have been hydrangeas or chrysanthemums; they’re fall bloomers. She gave him delphinium and larkspur, obviously not locally grown at this time of the year. Only a city dweller would be oblivious to the art of proper flower bestowal. I suppose it’s the thought that counts, even if the action is ill conceived.”
Erno raised his chin and opened his mouth. He blew out a noisy burst of air before he snapped his jaw shut.
Sherry set down her fork. “Damien, I checked out the recording I made of the News Twelve cook-off. There was a moment on the tape when I noticed a mug on the anchor desk brandishing that same MediaPie logo. Does MediaPie have connections with News Twelve? I thought the station was a shareholder enterprise, but I’m no expert on media entities.” Sherry’s peripheral field of vision was singed by Amber’s searing glare.
“It’s getting late, and talking business is so tiring. Would you all please excuse me? I have a full day ahead tomorrow.” Damien removed his napkin from his lap and set the linen on his place mat. He stood and extended a parting wave. “Thank you so much for the glorious meal. I hope Amber will let me know the voting results.”
“I’ll bet the winner’s the Peanut Butter Chicken Curry,” Erno added.
Damien took a misstep and hit the chair leg with his shin. He winced and uttered unintelligible words under his breath.
“I’ll walk you out.” Amber pushed back her chair.
“Sherry, that was a bold move,” Larson said. “There have been a lot of questions about the future of News Twelve. Makes sense to think Damien Castle is the one who knows the answers.”
“Don’t try to deflect attention from your questionable actions, Larson,” Ruth said. “You were swayed by the dollar bills that family waved in your face. So for you to pass judgment on Mr. Castle seems petty. If management over at News Twelve has intentions to join up the Van Ardans, that’s one more facet to MediaPie’s emerging empire. Losing Augustin’s local channel would hurt the town. MediaPie would surely remove all the local programming along with the charm and character of our special town we all tune in for. You and Erno need to decide which side your bread is buttered on.”
“I appreciate what you’re saying, but I shouldn’t have put Damien on the spot like that. The words came flying out. I couldn’t help myself. He was Amber’s, he was Amber’s . . .” Sherry rose from her seat. “. . . Amber’s date, so I should have been a more gracious host.” She set her napkin on her place mat. “Can I offer anyone some coffee, tea, or another piece of apple cake?”
“I couldn’t.”
“I’ve got to get to bed.”
“I’m stuffed.”
“Can we help you with the dishes, Sherry?” Frances asked.
“No, no. Thanks for the offer, Frances. I enjoy the process of cleaning up. It’s very relaxing.”
“In that case, we’ll take off.” Erno slid his chair back and stood.
One by one, Sherry’s guests gathered their belongings and headed to the door. Sherry followed after her guests. There, through the window, she caught sight of Amber and Damien presumably saying good night at the end of her driveway. As much as she was tempted to keep vigil, she turned her head away. Sherry hugged each of her guests as he or she left her house. As she closed the door behind her father, who was the last to leave, an arm thrust through the small opening.
“Don’t lock me out.” Amber’s voice was as cool as the evening air. “That was a very nice evening. Let me help you clean up.”
“You’ve been so much help already. I couldn’t accept any more.”
“You have to accept my offer. Gives us an opportunity to talk.” Amber led the way to the kitchen sink, where a stack of dishes awaited.
The two women washed, dried, and put away the dinner dishes with assembly-line efficiency. Chutney and Bean provided occasional distractions when they got under foot, but warnings directed at the dogs were the only words spoken until the task was complete.
“Now that that’s done, I have a few things to say,” Amber began.
Sherry wiped her hands on the dish towel. She drew in her breath and hugged her arms across her midsection. “Uh-oh.”
“You were right,” Amber said. “Damien’s covering up. He shared it with me outside.”
“Did he confess to Carmell’s murder? Oh my God, Amber. Did he threaten you? I told you not to get yourself in a situation where you were alone with him. I’ll call the police.”
“No, No. Don’t call the police. I took the opportunity to test the waters by fudging that e-mail from the woman concerned about her fiancé’s behavior,” Amber said. “I might have gotten a somewhat similar question from a reader, but tonight I put a personal touch on it by saying the man in question was overly attached to his phone, the way Damien seems to be.”
“Really? I was thinking of eating my words because I didn’t see him check his phone one time all evening.” Sherry searched Amber’s eyes for evidence of where this conversation was leading.
Amber rubbed her temple with the back of her hand. “A beehive doesn’t buzz as much as his phone. He’s very good at concealing it in his napkin, but being seated right next to him, I couldn’t miss his checking and texting, checking and texting, time after time. I wanted to ask if there was a problem like an emergency at the station, but I let his silence dictate our time together. If I have to do all the initiating in the conversation, that’s a deal breaker. But, by the end of the evening, I’d given up. I didn’t even want to know who he was texting with.”
“What did he tell you outside, if I may ask?” Sherry put down the used dish towel and opened a drawer to remove a clean replacement.
“I now have to eat my words,” Amber said. “Seems he’s battling a gambling addiction. He apparently needs to get constant texts from his support sponsor to get him through the day. He said someone here, possibly your father, used the word ‘bet,’ and Damien immediately broke out in a rash. Damien’s therapy is in its infancy, and he’s coping as best he can. His goal is to get a grip on his destructive habit.”
Sherry’s eyes wi
dened. “Do you think that could be where News Twelve’s cash is bleeding out to? I mean Damien does have access to the funds as the majority shareholder.”
“Does add up, but no. He said he told Detective Bease that he never gambled with the station’s funds. Would Damien commit murder to rid himself of an employee or two who it might have been a mistake to hire in the first place? It’s anyone’s guess at this point. Unless you know more than you’re letting on.”
Sherry shook her head.
“Honestly, Sherry, my gut feeling is Damien didn’t kill Carmell. He explained that he had thought some gambling might be a fast way to double or triple his personal cash reserves, but that didn’t work out.”
“You’re not convincing me. Maybe Damien tried his best to fix a deteriorating situation one way; but when that plan failed, maybe he became so desperate to eliminate his biggest mistake he killed the star he hired.” Sherry’s voice quivered as her words painted a gruesome scene. “Steele was always driving Damien Castle’s car. Do you have any idea why?”
“Yes. Damien said that car was won on a bet, but was a bad reminder of how his habit escalated. He doesn’t have the heart to trade it in quite yet. Letting Steele drive the car was Damien’s way of compensating Steele for the time he spent running errands for Carmell. Steele also took Damien to his early morning Gamblers Anonymous meetings.”
Sherry’s gaze drifted to the ceiling and back down to Amber. “Were those meetings, by any chance, in town by the Ruggery? That has to be it. Makes sense why Steele has been seen over there, waiting with the car. I’m going to check and see if a Gamblers Anonymous group meets in that location.”
Final Roasting Place Page 15
