“Regretfully, ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Sox has made such a compelling case in opposition of his cook-off win it has been decided he should forfeit his Grand Prize.” Brynne plucked the gold trophy out of Jamie’s hands. Jamie, head held high, put the check on the table in front of Nick’s chair and returned to his seat.
“The Runner-Up will now move up a spot and become our Grand Prize Winner. The checks will need to be rewritten, so they’ll be a slight delay in receiving those. Congratulations, Sherry Frazzelle,” Brynne added.
Amber clapped, but she was the only one applauding.
“Our runner-up is Amber Sherman and her Seafood Flatbread.” Brynne tore a slip of paper she held in her hand into scraps.
Chef Baker threw up her hands. “What? Who’s making these decisions?”
Amber didn’t move from her seat. Sherry saw Amber reading her phone and took the cue to check hers. She reached in her pocket but it was empty. Her chest iced over when she spied her pink cell phone next to her napkin on the dinner table.
“Ms. Sherman,” said Nick, “did you hear Ms. Stark announce your name?”
Amber raised her head but remained seated. Nick cleared his throat. Brynne followed suit and cleared hers.
Detective Bease rushed over to Amber’s chair. He banged his hand twice on the table. “Mr. Andime, are you aware labels with a counterfeit organic certification have been confiscated from the printer in the OrgaNicks warehouse? Are you also aware one of the bags you handed Mr. Sox to garnish his food with at the cook-off contained leaves from the houseplant Dieffenbachia? The same plant you had in your office up until three days ago and the same variety of plant that can be found dead in your living room closet? The leaves of which are lethal to a sensitive individual consuming them. Anthony Birns had a sufficient amount of these leaves in his throat to cause his death.
“I’m in possession of photographs which sequentially document you retrieving the bag of deadly leaves from the refrigerator then handing them to Mr. Jamie Sox to use as a garnish. In addition, two more photos show you directing Patti Mellit, your sister-in-law, to consume the food off the cook-off display table. Unfortunately for Chef Anthony Birns, it was he who ingested the leaves.”
Nick banged his hand twice on the podium. “Detective Bease, your interruptions are becoming intolerable. But, in an attempt to not be as rude to you as you have been to me, I’ll respond. Labels are printed at the warehouse as a cost-cutting measure. It saves the consumer money in the end, and that is not a crime last time I checked. And to address the remaining issues, I am president of an organic-food company, not a botanist.” Nick loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. “Let’s face it, the problem here is with Mr. Sox, who clearly had an issue with Chef Birns. I was just helping out a contestant who was struggling to complete his dish. I had no idea I was handing the murderer his weapon.” Nick snickered then turned toward Sherry. “You’re off the hook, Ms. Frazzelle. It wasn’t you after all.”
There was a collective gasp. Sherry’s legs vibrated with adrenaline.
Detective Bease placed a hand inside his coat. “Thanks to the keen eye of one of the contestants, who is an expert gardener, a positive identification of the offending plant leaves could be made from Mr. Stiles’ photos. Yes, it was Mr. Sox’s plate that went to the display table with the deadly leaves, but he is not the murderer.”
Nick jerked his head in Sherry’s direction. His astringent breath made her eyes water more profusely than dicing an onion did. Sherry tried to take a step away from Nick, but the limited space around the podium restricted her movement.
“I think Jamie Sox needs a good lawyer,” said Nick.
Patti rose from her seat. “I witnessed Chef Birns take the garnish off Jamie Sox’s plate as he passed the display table on his way from the men’s room. He put it in his pocket. The judges are very familiar with the finalists’ recipes. He knew a garnish wasn’t written in the recipe and that Jamie would be penalized for having added one at the last minute. I believe the chef was truly trying to help a struggling contestant during the crucial final moments of the cook-off. The chef ate what he thought was a harmless herb and died a painful choking death. Isn’t that so, Chef Baker?” Patti turned in the chef’s direction.
The chef nodded, while wiping tears from her eyes. “He paid the ultimate price for trying to help someone.”
“What garnish was on the plate when it went to the judging table? Why didn’t they all get sick?” Kenny called out.
“The plate the judging panel tasted had a basil chiffonade garnish,” said Sherry. “There’s a photo proving it.”
“Idiot!” Nick shouted. “Patti, you just said he put the leaves in his pocket. That means he didn’t eat them. Patti is leading the investigators on a wild goose chase. I’m sorry she wasted your time, Detective Bease.”
Patti hissed at Nick. “Shhh.”
Chef Baker stood up with her hands over her heart. “We discussed what to do when we received word of Mr. Sox’s mistake. We thought at the very least if his dish was photographed on the display table it should be consistent with his written recipe. Chef Birns had the perfect opportunity to remove the garnish during his bathroom break. We didn’t think it would hurt to help Mr. Sox out for committing such a modest error. The fact we okayed Tony’s good deed breaks my heart because it killed him. If the Dieffen . . . whatever the plant was, was on the judged plate, too, I might not be alive today either.” She lowered her head into her hands.
“It was lucky for me Chef Birns got to the display plate before I did, or it would have been me who died.” Patti shuddered. “If only he had just left the leaves stuffed in his pocket.”
“I’m guessing he ate them to clear his palate just before eating the stuffed pork tenderloin dish,” said Chef Baker.
“Why all the fuss over some green plants?” Nick shook his fist. “Ms. Sherman, do you want your award or don’t you?”
Amber remained silent and seated.
“Mr. Andime,” said Detective Bease, “I have evidence you knew precisely what those labeled garnish bags contained and that you intentionally chose the contestant so overcome by nerves he would unknowingly carry out your plan to harm someone, at the same time becoming the prime suspect. In the photographs taken by Mr. Stiles, it’s as clear as white vinegar.”
Sherry appreciated the food reference and nodded her approval in the detective’s direction. The gesture didn’t appear to go unnoticed by him.
“You have the Dieffen . . . the plant, in your office,” said Patti. “The big one alongside your desk. I saw it during our last meeting.”
“Me, too.” Sherry pointed to herself. “Then it mysteriously disappeared. But there’s no mistaking you have one in your living room closet.”
“It’s all ridiculous,” said Nick. “First of all, there was no ‘plan.’ Second, the plant is sold at a million nurseries. Lots of people have one. They just don’t eat them. That was the chef’s big mistake. I had nothing against Chef Birns. I liked the guy.”
“Did you know plants can be identified by their DNA the same way humans can?” probed Detective Bease. “The same accomplished cook and gardener supplied me with valuable information about your Dieffenbachia plant.” Bease’s gaze danced toward Sherry. She blushed.
“With a leaf collected from your plant and a sample from the remains of food storage bag ‘Number four,’ we were able to establish a match. The chef even had a trace of the plant left in his pants pocket lining and in his throat. And it all matched.”
“Nope, you’re wrong. Houseplants are propagated from parent plants. I know that much about raising mass-produced plants. They would all have the same DNA, if so. So my plants have many, many exact relatives, I’m sure. Tell him, you’re the resident expert!” Nick shouted in Sherry’s face. Droplets of spittle rained down on her.
Sherry puffed out her chest and raised her chin. “Sorry to correct you, Mr. Andime. I inquired about where your office plant was purchased wi
th a call to your secretary. She was only too happy to share that yours was a one-of-a-kind plant imported from the best plant nursery in Argentina. You paid a premium for it, she boasted.”
“Patti, you did this.” Nick slammed his hand down. “You ruined me!”
“My food didn’t kill the chef. I knew it.” Sherry pumped her fist. “The poor man ate my pork right after he ate the noxious leaves. It probably helped lodge them in his throat, but I can’t help that.” She bent over at the waist as a combination of relief and dismay washed over her.
“Mr. Andime, I’d like to have a word with you in private before this matter escalates any further.” With a hand inside his jacket, Detective Bease took a measured step toward Nick.
“No!” erupted Nick. “Stay right where you are.”
Nick jumped off the podium and ripped the unclaimed statue out of Brynne’s hands. He shoved Brynne before grabbing Sherry around the neck. Brynne went down in a heap.
Nick held the statue, poised to bash Sherry on the head if someone made a move. “Not one more step, heroes, or this lady’s toast.”
Detective Bease held his ground.
“Nick, how could you do this to me?” cried Brynne. “I tried so hard to protect you. I don’t even know why I bothered. I was never your first choice, anyway. Right, Olivia? You scored big. You got a husband and a boyfriend.”
“Truth is, sadly, I’m just a sucker for the wrong kind of guy,” Chef Baker called out from her seat. “Thanks for the good times, Nick, but we’re done.”
Nick tightened his armlock on Sherry. She struggled for a breath.
“As soon as the chef was murdered, your behavior became so bizarre I knew you had something to do with it. Then I saw this one closing in on you.” From the floor, Brynne pointed to Sherry. “I did my best to try to buy you some time, you know, hoping you’d make the right decision to get out of this mess. But she couldn’t be scared off. What a wasted effort.” Brynne struggled to sit up. “Nick, you’re a monster!”
Nick let out a cry that seemed born from deep in his gut.
Sherry’s eyes widened when she saw Detective Bease edge forward.
The detective’s voice softened. “Okay, Mr. Andime. Just relax.”
“It wasn’t the chef I wanted taken out. It was my idiot brother’s wife.” Nick released his grip on Sherry and pointed at Patti.
Sherry’s jaw dropped and her chest deflated. She began to back away from Nick, while keeping her gaze on the trophy in his hand. “I knew it! That was the reason you two were fighting when I saw you together. There’s even a photo of you two arguing at the cook-off.” Sherry placed her hand on the table to steady herself. “Patti was way too nice in her article about the cook-off. I was suspicious she felt threatened by you. No offense, Patti, but you’re famous for your bite, not your bark, when it comes to your writing.” Sherry peered down the table toward Patti.
Patti put up her hand and waved. “None taken,” she mouthed.
Nick thumped the trophy on the side of the podium. “Patti’s been trying to publish a scathing article for weeks about my business. Why is she trying to ruin me? I’ll tell you why. From the day she and my brother became editors at the high school paper, their life has been ‘happily ever after.’ I wanted that. I deserved that. But I couldn’t even get ‘Editor’ in our stupid high school. I think she recognized I was now finally hitting my stride, and she was jealous. She was the only obstacle between me and the success I deserved. I wanted her gone. How was I supposed to know Tony would swipe the stupid garnish off Jamie Sox’s plate on his way to the restroom before Patti got to it? I told her to go taste test the display plates, but she was too late. He’d already eaten it. She’s been late to every appointment since I’ve known her. Why should the day of the cook-off have been any different? Then people really started sniffing around my personal space, and that made me very angry.”
“Time to give up, Nick. Face it. Your company’s based on a lie,” Patti shouted. “You can’t throw around the term ‘organic’ if it’s not true. Certified organic labels are never yellow and blue. Security records show OrgaNick’s never had a visit from a certifying agent. I had to tell the truth because you wouldn’t. But to try to kill me for that?”
“Patti, don’t be so dramatic. I only wanted to make you sick enough to keep you from publishing your exposé article. I never meant to kill anyone. The information I read about the plant claimed you’d only be knocked out for a few days. Just enough time to tidy up a few things, like the hard drive on your computer, right, Mike?”
All heads turned to the back of the room where Mike, still rubbing his bandaged arm, faintly muttered, “Yes, sir.”
“Okay, there may have been an asterisk in the article that mentioned some people had fatal reactions to the leaves,” added Nick, “but come on, usually side effects are exaggerated. The chef must have had a weak constitution.
“And you, Sherry Frazzelle.” Nick’s voice raised an octave. “You just wouldn’t quit tracking me. You’re as persistent as gas after a chilidog-eating contest. Why is the world out to ruin me?”
“I’m lost.” Diana refitted her loose hearing-aid battery. “What did Patti know about Nick’s business, and why would it ruin him?”
“We’ll fill you in later,” yelled Kenny.
“Does this look familiar, Mr. Andime?” Detective Bease held up a round blue and yellow piece of paper. “To the untrained eye, it’s a label, but in reality, it’s a smoking gun.”
“Mr. Andime,” called Detective Diamond, from the back of the room, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Anthony Birns.”
“This isn’t going to happen,” Nick screamed and leapt off the podium.
Just as he jumped, Mac raced forward from the back of the room, met Nick halfway, and knocked the trophy out of his hand. Mac struck him in the midsection, with his fist. Nick slumped forward.
“Throw it,” yelled Kenny.
Heads turned as Diana stood and threw the entire hem she had managed to tear from the bottom of her dress to Kenny, who used it to tie Nick’s hands behind his back as he writhed in pain on the floor. Diana clapped, hiked up her new mini-dress, and sat back down.
“We’ve got our confession.” Detective Bease waved uniformed men into the room. “Come on in, Officers. We’ve got our man.”
Six police officers rushed into the dining room with their weapons drawn.
“You okay, ma’am?” the female officer with the familiar face asked Sherry when she reached her side.
“I think so. I’ve never been happier being called ma’am in all my life.” Sherry’s eyes welled with tears. “Thank you.” Next thing Sherry knew, she was hugging the policewoman who had given her the great advice to “stay safe” earlier in the evening, instead of a ticket.
Chapter 23
“I’m going to have to sign off, Charlie. I just pulled into the Augustin farmers’ market. Good luck in your golf game today. Shoot low. And yes, I’m sure your new friend will enjoy herself. Just tell her how I couldn’t hit the ball past the tee box and still had fun playing with you. On second thought, don’t mention me at all.”
“And good luck to you today. Pickles may just be the ticket to fulfillment you’ve been searching for,” Charlie replied.
“Ha. Bye, Charlie.” Sherry ended the call.
With the majority of the parking spots cordoned off for some unknown reason, Sherry was forced to wedge her SUV into a tight parking spot sandwiched on either side with oversized child movers. The door of one slid open.
“Allie Grace,” a shrill voice wailed from the driver’s side. “Never open the car door before you know it’s clear. And stop unbuckling the car seat while we’re moving. It’s not safe.”
“Sorry, Mommy,” the child whined. Her tiny leg was dangling out the sliding door. Her booster seat strap spilled out of the minivan.
Even after the apology, the little girl neglected to close the door, and Sherry was forced to hold her car’s angled posi
tion. Sherry now had a front-row seat to the lengthy unpacking procedure of all the necessary equipment involved in transporting, entertaining, feeding, and watering of Allie Grace during the family’s time at the market. “I must be patient. Everyone is a potential customer.”
With her thoughts deep in the throes of uncertainty about how her day would unfold, Sherry missed the “all clear” signal from Allie Grace’s mother. For her oversight, Sherry was rewarded with a horn blast from the car behind her. Unfortunately, the “all clear” signal was premature. The strap on the diaper bag the mother attempted to hoist over her shoulder snapped and spilled its contents, once again suspending Sherry’s progress.
“Some things about being a mom I’m not sure I could handle.” Sherry watched as Allie Grace’s supply-packed stroller passed lethargically in front of her. The little girl was attempting to be helpful by pushing it through the bumpy field, which served as the car park, but moving the unwieldy stroller proved impossible for her underdeveloped muscles. Another horn blast from the driver behind Sherry suggested to the mother to take control of the stroller. Finally, Sherry was permitted to pull her car in. She maneuvered her SUV into a parking spot that left as much wiggle room as a pimento stuffed in an olive.
“I better leave ten minutes earlier next week.” Sherry turned the car off and gathered up her information packet, a reusable shopping bag, and her purse. “First-day jitters.” She checked her face in the rearview mirror. “I hope I’m not the oldest apprentice here.”
When she opened her door, the edge of it gently kissed the not-so-minivan next to hers. “I’ll never be able to get out of here.”
After assessing her chances of exiting her car without mishap, Sherry sucked in her stomach, contorted her torso like a pretzel, and squeezed through the sliver of an opening her door provided. She shimmied down the sides of the cars toward the walkway, where she tied on her new “Perfect Storm Pickles” apron over her cucumber green shirtdress. She was surprised to feel a vibration from her purse. She parked herself to the side of the walkway and found her phone.
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