“But if you want to talk to her directly, she happens to be here somewhere, shopping for Chef Brock Lee’s restaurant. She passed by me about ten minutes ago.”
Detective Diamond stepped forward. “Ms. Stark, Chef Birns was hired by Nick Andime to judge the Hillsboro Cook-off. That seems somewhat odd because Mr. Andime was also a financial backer of Chef Lee’s restaurant in Stamford. It’s the same restaurant where Chef Birns was employed as executive chef, a position from which he was ultimately terminated. The restaurant has been struggling to make a profit, some say due to the tumultuous atmosphere in the kitchen. You’d think Andime would want to cut ties with the man. Has Mr. Andime ever mentioned Chef Birns in a disparaging way? Do you believe Andime holds any animosity toward the chef who may have lost him the money he needed to fund his new organic business venture?”
Brynne rearranged a few items on her tray before answering. “Not for a minute.” A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. “I’m not saying he isn’t moody, but Nick is anything but vengeful.” Brynne made three stuttering attempts to get the word vengeful from her tongue.
“By the way, I have yet to receive my apron from the cook-off,” Sherry stated.
Sherry watched Brynne’s eyebrows squeeze together.
“Sorry? Apron?”
“You called a few days ago asking for my address so the sponsor could send me the apron I left behind at the cook-off.”
Brynne shook her head, causing her hair ribbons to brush across the cheese and send crumbles airborne.
“The one with the OrgaNicks logo on it?”
“Yes.” Brynne answered with hesitation. “So many things to do. Seems like ages ago. I’ll follow up and see what the holdup is.”
“No rush. Just checking.” Sherry winked at Amber.
Detective Bease grumbled. “Where’s your computer, Diamond?” Detective Bease whipped his pen back and forth to get the ink flowing, but it wasn’t working.
“I saw you holding your notepad, so I left it in the car,” replied Detective Diamond. “Is there a problem?”
“The problem is you’re not prepared for all scenarios. Next time, don’t come empty-handed.” Detective Bease kicked a pebble.
“Need this?” asked Brynne, as she handed Detective Bease a child-size souvenir pencil with a goat’s head eraser.
“Thank you.” Detective Bease plucked the tiny pencil from her hand and held it with the tips of his fingers. He finished up his notes before relinquishing the pencil to a little girl who was ogling it. “I appreciate your insight, Ms. Stark.”
“My pleasure.” Brynne served a gaggle of young mothers and their children. “Is Nick in trouble?”
Sherry froze in anticipation of the detective’s reply.
“I am not at liberty to answer, Ms. Stark. Have a good day.”
Detective Bease and Detective Diamond left, while offering a dismissive hand wave. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
“Follow me.” Sherry motioned Amber forward in the opposite direction.
“Right behind you.” Amber tagged along behind Sherry as she made a beeline for the artisan bakery. “How in the world can you explain Brynne’s answer about the apron? If they all got thrown out, how can she be sending you one?”
“We’ll have to wait and see if one really does arrive. I’m not too optimistic after seeing the vacant expression on her face when I mentioned it,” said Sherry. “C’mon, let’s keep moving.”
“I can’t resist baked goods.” Amber doubled back to the Yeast Coast Bakery. “Not good for the waistline, but I’m thinking of taking up jogging so this could be just the motivation I’ve been missing. I’m going to grab an apple coffee cake with maple glaze. Who can resist that combo?”
While Sherry waited, she realized Amber was standing behind Detective Bease in the checkout line.
Sherry tapped the detective on the shoulder. “I promise we’re not following you.”
“Just a small sidetrack.” Bease held up his intended purchase. “Nothing here should make headlines.” Detective Bease handed Detective Diamond his bread bag, and they disappeared into the crowd.
“Okay, last stop, the Biz E.B.”
“Welcome! I’m Evan Bumble, this county’s sweetest beekeeper and purveyor of honey products.” A stout man with hair sprouting from all exposed skin swooped in and addressed Sherry. He was dressed in a yellow and gold striped T-shirt. “My favorite singer is Sting and my favorite color is amber. Now you know all about me.” The man began humming a one-note tune.
Sherry nudged Amber. “You’re his favorite color.”
“Very funny.”
“Hey, check them out.” Just beyond Mr. Bumble, Sherry spotted the detectives approaching a woman in a chef ’s coat.
Detective Bease sidled up to Olivia Baker.
“We need to get over there.” Sherry waved to the purveyor of honey. “We’ll buzz back soon, Mr. Bumble.”
“Bease is going to kill us,” Amber said.
The women positioned themselves behind the detectives’ backs.
“I just have a few more questions for you,” Detective Bease began. “It’ll just take a moment of your time.”
“I’ve been waiting for the follow-up interview,” Olivia said. “Now is as good a time as any.”
“Okay. First, it’s come to my attention you had a close relationship with both Tony Birns and Brock Lee. Is this a correct statement?”
Olivia nodded.
“Please use a verbal response so we clearly understand,” stated Detective Diamond. “Engaged to Mr. Lee and a business associate of Mr. Birns. Are these correct facts?”
“Yes, you could say that. Those things have been true at one time.”
“How would you describe your relationship to Mr. Nick Andime at this moment?” asked Detective Bease.
“We have an understanding,” replied Olivia.
“You’re currently unemployed but were once an investor in the Splayd and Spork Restaurant in Stamford. Is this accurate?”
“I have a few part-time gigs. I still am an investor in the restaurant, as is, I mean was, Tony. The three of us disagreed on certain business practices, so rather than pull out my investment, which was basically my life savings, I chose to terminate my employment there. Ironically, because funds are now extremely tight for me, I’m reduced to doing the shopping for Brock’s evening specials. I have, for all intents and purposes, been left with nothing, unless he’s able to turn a profit very, very soon. I think it’ll happen. Tony Birns was a large part of the problem at the restaurant, even after he left as head chef. I imagine with his passing, things may settle down there and run more smoothly.”
Detective Bease made some notes with a pen painted like a rhubarb stalk.
“Don’t get me wrong. We were all still friends up until the time of Tony’s death, but money can drive a big wedge between relationships at times. Brock had to make a choice between his friends and growing his business. That’s why I’m never going to let a man, or anyone for that matter, make me dependent on him or her for anything again. You guys are trouble. Not you specifically, but guys in general. I’m going to work any way I can to get back on my feet and no one, not even someone with deep pockets, will tell me what to do and when to do it. Anyone who lets that happen to them will wither on the vine like a tomato after the first frost.”
“Are you referring to anyone in particular?” Detective Diamond tamped down his windblown hair.
Olivia frowned. “Next question.”
“Have you been in contact with Nick Andime since the cook-off?” asked Detective Bease.
“I’ve talked to him for a second on the phone, but this week our dinner was canceled. His doing. You may want to ask his friend, Brynne, what he’s up to. I bet she’s in contact with him. She’s here right now, as a matter of fact, if you want to ask her in person. Don’t get me wrong. I really don’t mind too much how much time she spends with the guy. Nick gets a bit overly possessive sometimes.”
&nbs
p; “I have another meeting set with Andime tomorrow morning. I’m not sure why he wants to see me again, but you can be sure I have a few more questions for him. Okay, Ms. Baker, we have the information we need from you.” Detective Bease made eye contact with Sherry when the group she was attempting to blend in with dispersed and her hiding place became transparent.
“Is Nick in trouble?” Olivia asked.
Sherry elbowed Amber, picked up her bags, and strutted away.
Chapter 17
After an early dinner, Amber rolled her suitcase to the front door. Sherry scooped up Chutney and Amber’s OrgaNicks gift basket, and took her seat in the car.
As they drove, Amber reached in the backseat and rifled through her packed clothes. “I almost forgot the present I picked up for you two at the farmers’ market.” She presented the gourmet dog treats. “Thanks for being the perfect hostess. I learned so much during my visit and have created some tremendous memories, not all good but memories, nonetheless. I’m going to send you something special from Maine to remember me by, but in the meantime, I wanted Chutney to miss me, too!” She hoisted the package of canine cookies so Sherry could see them as she drove. “Chutney’s going to need these for extra energy if he’s going to take my place as your partner in crime. Oops, I mean, solving crime.”
“You shouldn’t have!” said Sherry. “He’ll absolutely love them! Thank you!”
Sherry’s car pulled up to the Amtrak station, with only minutes to spare. Amber leapt from the car with her bag and basket, waved, and scurried off toward the train platform. Sherry lingered in the “no parking” zone to watch the train pull away from the station. Behind her a short siren wailed. A police car pulled up next to her, and the officer inside rolled down his window.
“Keep moving forward, ma’am, you’re holding up everyone behind you.”
Now there’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. I’ve got to get moving.
When Sherry returned home, she was forced to steer her car in a tight turn to get into her driveway. A full-size SUV blocked the normally easy access. Not a great parking place for such a massive car. The driver must need glasses or is just downright inconsiderate. She inched her car along, hoping not to clip the other car’s side mirror with hers.
Safely in her driveway, she unbuckled Chutney from his car restraint and carried him up the steps to the front porch. “Why didn’t I turn the porch light on?” She fumbled inside her purse for the car key set she had tossed inside when she needed both hands to carry Chutney. “Stay very still, boy, and I won’t drop you.” She lowered her chin and wedged the handle of her purse under her jaw. One hand fingered coins, dollar bills, granola bars, and a tube of emergency moisturizer at the bottom of her purse but wasn’t able to locate the keys. If she could activate her phone’s flashlight app, she would stand a chance of finding the darn key. It was going to take a third hand to accomplish that, though. A bead of sweat rolled down Sherry’s forehead. A dull ache was radiating through the side of her head from holding it cocked at an awkward angle.
Just as her search became more of a test of endurance, Chutney began to struggle. Sherry feared hurting him as she squeezed hard to control him. “Chutney, stop wriggling.”
Chutney yelped a piercing cry. She heard a rustling in the giant holly bush next to the porch. She turned toward the noise, just as a dark figure sprinted up the steps. A hard shove knocked the air out of her lungs.
“Mind your own business!”
* * *
Opening her eyes was as herculean a task as prying apart an oyster shell with a chopstick. When she finally muscled her eyelids open, she was stunned to see only branches. She tried to lift her head to identify where she was, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. The arm she lay on felt oddly disconnected from her body, and she couldn’t move her arm.
“This must be what it’s like to have the weight of the world on your shoulders, literally.”
Sherry’s legs straddled a holly limb, and the jagged leaves were embedded in her bare legs. She regretted her decision to wear a skirt to the train station. She also regretted not heeding Ray’s warnings to stay out of the investigation. A tear rolled down her cheek. She couldn’t even lift her hand to wipe it away.
Sherry wiggled the fingers of her free hand. “Well, something works.” Blinking hard to clear her thoughts, she pieced together how she could have had ended up laid out like a butterflied leg of lamb.
“Oh my God,” she exclaimed with a violent, painful shudder. “Chutney. Where are you?” Her brain was pulsing with fear for the safety of her pup. “Chutney, Chutney, here boy,” she whimpered. Speaking sent shockwaves of pain through her bruised head and shoulder. The sound of his jingling collar was nowhere to be heard. “If I could move this shoulder, I could get out of here.” Sherry squeezed her eyes shut then whimpered, “Phone!”
Not only was her battered right shoulder pinned under her, but also her cell phone. In her prone position, using her unhurt left arm to reach her skirt’s right hip pocket was impossible. The pain limited her ability to contort in such a way to get at the pocket, but she kept at it. With each attempt, she bit the inside of her cheek to help counter the searing pain.
“Got it,” she exclaimed. She hit the phone’s activation key with her thumb and then cursed. “My right thumbprint is the pass code. How’s that going to work? I can’t even begin to move my right hand.” The phone rejected her left thumbprint, so she was forced to type in a numerical pass code. She straddled the phone on her left hip and managed to type the four-digit passcode on the last try before the phone locked her out completely. “Technology, ugh!”
Sherry hit the speed dial key for Charlie’s cell number. She felt a sliver of relief as the phone rang. “When he answers, how am I going to explain my predicament?” She decided on a simple, “I’m in trouble,” but after she counted the fifth ring, she began to lose hope of contacting him.
“You have dialed the Charles Frazzelle law office. I can’t pick up right now, so please leave your name and number after the beep, and have a great day.”
“Charlie, it’s me . . .”
“The recipient’s mailbox is full. Good-bye.” The dial tone marinated her battered brain with bitterness.
“Why didn’t I remind him to clear it out?” Sherry whined. “Because I’m not his mother. That’s why.”
“Okay, nine-one-one.” Sherry punched in the numbers. The screen was black before she got the second “1” pushed. Dead battery. She closed her dripping eyes and began counting backward from one thousand to get her mind off the pain.
“. . . Eight hundred sixty, eight hundred fifty-nine. What if no one finds me and I become the compost in my own front yard?” Sherry whispered. “Eight hundred fifty-eight, eight hundred fiftyseven.”
“Sherry, are you down there? What are you doing?” Erno jumped off the front porch and squatted down next to his daughter. “Can you move?”
“If I could, Dad, I wouldn’t still be here.” Sherry was swamped by her misery.
Erno pulled out his phone. He dialed 911 and gave the address and some vague information concerning what the medics were going to find when they arrived.
“You’ve got some explaining to do.” Her father set about removing the prickly branches from atop her body.
“I called Charlie, but his phone went to voicemail.” Sherry’s voice was as weak as the taste of refrigerated tomatoes. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought you might be lonely after Amber left, so I was just checking in. Lucky thing I did.”
With sirens blaring, the ambulance pulled up to the house. The driver and his crew lifted Sherry out of the bushes and placed her on a stretcher before transporting her to the emergency room.
Just as the EMTs were closing the vehicle door, Sherry called out to Erno with her last drop of energy, “Chutney’s gone. Please find him.”
* * *
On the drive home from the emergency room, Sherry, feeling much improved thanks
to powerful painkillers, attempted to apprise her father of the events of the past few days. She was careful to script it so as not to alarm him unnecessarily, but as she told him the details, she herself grew increasingly concerned for her own safety. She noted he listened in silence without asking any questions.
When she finished her story, Erno released an extended single-note hum. “Sherry, I appreciate your efforts to clear your name and move the investigation along at your speed, but you’re done now, right?”
“Dad,” Sherry said, “my recipe contests, not to mention my good name, mean a lot to me. I’m sure they’ll find who is behind all this very soon.”
Reclined in the backseat to keep the weight off her injured shoulder, Sherry closed her eyes because the throbbing in her head increased with the words she spoke.
“Like I always say, ‘If you don’t know where you’re going, you’ll probably pack the wrong clothes.’”
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll keep that in mind.”
* * *
“Sherry!” Charlie held her hands in his. “Sherry, can you hear me?”
Sherry opened her eyes. She tried to lift the throbbing arm, but it was as difficult as peeling a butternut squash. She coaxed her fingers to investigate what hurt so much on the side of her head. She discovered a bump the size of a walnut.
“Aw! That hurts,” Sherry moaned. “Charlie, is that you? I was dozing. Where are we? Where’s Dad?”
“You’re home. I brought you in from the car. Erno couldn’t lift you by himself so he called me to come help. He was exhausted so I sent him home.” Charlie pulled up an ottoman next to the sofa Sherry was lying on. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Sherry blinked until her vision cleared. “I remember searching for the keys in my purse and having so much trouble finding them. I guess I forgot to turn on the porch light before I took Amber to her train. It was pitch black. Suddenly, someone yelled something at me, and boom, next thing I know the medics are helping me out of the bushes.”
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