“You have to be Sherry Oliveri,” a broadly built man with a mustache and short beard suggested. “I saw you at the back of the line and grabbed your tag for you. You’re just as pretty as you were when we competed against each other at the Iron Skillet Cook-off in Nashville.”
Sherry gave a subtle glance at the name tag the man had attached to his blazer. With his fingers obscuring half the name, she was left guessing.
“I’m sorry. Can you remind me of your name?”
“I guess you block out the names of the cooks you’ve lost to,” he laughed.
Sherry studied the man’s face. “Fitz Frye? I didn’t recognize you with all that facial hair.”
“And a few extra pounds.” Fitz patted his belly. “What do you expect? It’s been five years.” His gaze scanned Sherry from head to toe. “You’re putting us all to shame—how wonderful you look. Life is treating you right. I should have retired when I beat you. Guess I’m a glutton for punishment. I feared you’d be competing tomorrow, but I showed up anyway.”
“You’re too kind.” Sherry’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Thanks for retrieving my name tag. Guess I don’t have to be in this line anymore.” Sherry stepped to the side of the line. As she did, the man behind her advanced to the spot she left vacant.
“Nice to see you, Sherry,” the man said.
“Uh . . . hi again. Don, right?” Sherry adjusted her sweater to let cooler air hit her suddenly heated neck. “Is Day with you?”
“She’s on her way. She made a pit stop in the ladies’ room.”
A waitress carrying a tray of wineglasses offered a beverage.
“Thank you.” Don accepted a glass.
Sherry held up her hand. “I’ll wait until I get inside, thanks.”
“See you later.” Fitz backed away from Sherry. He tossed out a wave and turned on his heels toward the side entrance.
“I didn’t get a chance to meet him. Fitz Frye, right? There certainly is some stiff competition. I hope Day’s up to it.” Don rotated toward Sherry as the next contestant in line reached across the table, knocking him off balance. He bumped Sherry’s forearm, jarring his wineglass and spilling its contents. “I’m sorry. You okay?”
“My fault. I’m in the way.” Sherry glanced at her wine-soaked sweater sleeve.
Don offered assistance with a cocktail napkin. “I shouldn’t have accepted a drink from the waitress before I faced the crowd here. You were smart to wait.” Don dabbed at the spill until it looked acceptable.
“Thank you.” Sherry took a look around the porch. “Have you seen my brother? The guy with me at the wine store?”
“I haven’t. If his name tag is gone, he’s most likely stepped inside.”
Sherry scanned the table and saw no name tag for Pep Oliveri. “Inside is my next stop. I’ll follow you.”
The inn boasted a large meeting room adorned with dark wood paneling and wide-plank pine floors so worn in spots, the wood was littered with dips and valleys. Seeing it would be impossible to easily cross the crowded room, Sherry pulled out her phone and texted Pep to meet her by the appetizer table. That seemed the most accessible location. When she lifted her gaze from the phone, Don was gone.
“Sherry Oliveri?”
Sherry jerked her head in the direction of the question. A woman’s smile beamed Sherry’s way. As she approached, the ashy blond topknot of hair on her head bobbed with each spirited step. The name tag secured to her lapel was embellished with hand-drawn multicolored stars, easily spotted from a distance.
“I’m Ginger Constable.” The woman extended her hand. “I’m not sure if you remember me from your wedding reception. I was the bartender slash waitress slash cleanup crew for my father in those days. Probably didn’t see much of me. I ran around like a chicken with my head cut off at the inn’s special events. Still do. Welcome.”
“So nice to see you again. You’re the manager now, if I’m not mistaken.” Sherry watched person after person pass Ginger and either pat her back or wave a hello.
“Owner-manager’s my job title. Basically, I do the same jobs I’ve always done. When Dad did all those tasks, he made it look a lot more glamorous than it really is. But I love my job,” she added in haste, drawing up the corners of her mouth.
“My brother, Pep, is supposed to meet me over by the food. I wonder if you’ve talked to him?”
Before Ginger had time to respond, an imposing figure of a man, with what Sherry imagined was a very expensive haircut and wearing what looked to be a very expensive suit, settled himself next to Ginger. A rosy blush danced across Ginger’s face, giving her sparsely applied makeup more radiance. If there were a photo to go along with the definition of the word “dashing” in the dictionary, it would be a portrait of the man next to Ginger.
“Uri, I’d like you to meet Sherry Oliveri. As you probably know, she’s a contestant in the cook-off, and, you didn’t hear it from me, but my money’s on her. Sherry is Augustin’s celebrity chef, and we’re lucky to have her call this seaside stomping ground home.” Ginger guided Uri forward until he was within arm’s length of Sherry.
Uri picked up Sherry’s hand and clasped it in his. “Uri Veshlage, president of Maine Course Foods.” He pumped her hand. “So nice to meet you.”
The warmth and power of his grip weakened her knees. She shifted to a more solid stance. Uri stared into Sherry’s eyes.
“Maine Course, and our Shrimply Amazing Division, are proud to sponsor this year’s cook-off. Our goal is to supply the contest with the finest ingredients and, after that, may the best home cook win.”
Uri gently lowered Sherry’s hand to her side. He picked up Ginger’s and lifted it to his lips. “I must continue to welcome contestants, judges, and sponsors. So, for now, I say good evening, ladies.” He bowed and backed away until he blended into the enlarging crowd of partygoers.
“Uri is as smooth as butter and just as delicious.” Ginger giggled.
“He seems very nice. By any chance, have you seen my brother?” Sherry asked again. “I was hoping he and I could make the rounds together.”
Ginger blinked away the glazed look in her eyes. “Yes, as a matter of fact I have. He’s quite a tall specimen of a man himself. Hasn’t changed hardly a bit since your wedding, except for the better.”
“That’s not what I mean. I mean, do you know where he might be? I need to find him so we can mix and mingle with the guests here, as a team.”
“A few minutes ago, I saw him with the contestant Fitz Frye, my brother, and one of Uri’s employees, Roe. Back by the food table. It’s getting so crowded you can’t even see the table from here. I’d imagine they couldn’t have gone too far in this tight space.”
Sherry peered into the mass of men and women milling about. “Thanks. I’ll head over that way. And thanks for hosting tonight.”
Sherry spotted her brother. Pep was leaning on the appetizer table with one hand. As she moved closer, she observed his inflated cheeks. His free hand wagged an index finger in front of Fitz Frye’s nose. Addison Constable and another man seemed caught up in the conversation, too. As she neared, Sherry heard Pep’s serious tone. When Pep caught sight of her, he removed his hand from the table, stood tall, and stopped talking. Beside him, Fitz and the unfamiliar man held an unwavering stare toward one another. Addison’s head swiveled between the group.
“Hey, Sherry, you found us.” The edge to Pep’s voice made the hair on Sherry’s forearm spring up. “Do you remember Addison Constable? Fitz is a fellow cook. He said he saw you at the check-in table. And this is Roe Trembley.”
“Hi, everyone. I hope I wasn’t interrupting. Nice to meet you, Roe.” Sherry reached across Pep and helped herself to a smoked salmon toast. The caper garnish took flight when her hand bumped into Addison’s, who was also helping himself to an appetizer.
“Let me get that for you.” Roe’s lengthy bangs floated across his eyes as he dipped to the floor in search of the runaway appetizer. “On second thought, let me get
you a fresh one.” He reached behind Sherry with arms equipped with such pronounced muscles, they were visible through his tight cotton shirt. Roe plucked a salmon toast off a tray. He handed the appetizer to Sherry with a grin that revealed a chipped front tooth.
Sherry’s line of sight stalled on the injured tooth, until Roe pinched his lips together. She turned her attention to the man in the flannel shirt. “Addison. Long time no see.” She remembered Addison as a wiry young man. Seems he’d bulked up over the years.
“Thanks for coming, Sherry. I’m a big fan,” Addison replied.
“I’m so excited to be here. And we meet again, Fitz,” Sherry added. “Pep, we need to keep an eye on Fitz. He’s our toughest competitor in the Hands-On Foods category.”
“That’s not the only reason we should keep our eye on him,” Pep muttered.
“You’re not going to keep this up, are you?” Fitz huffed a breath. “Excuse me, I need to find someone.” He turned his back and disappeared into the crowd.
“Everything okay?” Sherry examined her brother. “Fitz didn’t seem thrilled with your conversation. Have you two met before?”
“We’ve met in passing.” Pep’s curt reply stalled Sherry’s inquiry.
Addison and Roe exchanged glances and began a private conversation.
“I wonder who his sous chef is for the cook-off. He doesn’t have to have one necessarily, but a helping hand is invaluable if the rules allow,” Sherry said.
Pep shrugged his shoulders. “No idea.”
Addison and Roe separated to include Sherry and Pep in their huddle.
“Sherry, Addison and I are here on behalf of Shrimply Amazing Seafood, which is owned by Maine Course Foods. We’re experts in sustainable fishing practices. I’ve been a fisherman my whole life, and I enjoy sharing my knowledge with customers. Do you have any questions about the salmon you’re about to eat?” Roe asked.
“I do. Where does this salmon come from?” Pep watched Sherry take a bite.
“I’m guessing Alaska?” Roe responded with a question rather than an answer.
“Shouldn’t you know that?” Pep widened his eyes.
Addison puffed out his chest. “What he meant to say was, while wild Atlantic salmon is under conservation restrictions, we supply the freshest aquaculture salmon. Grown and harvested under pristine conditions on farms off the coast of Maine.”
Sherry’s gaze shifted from Addison to Roe, who popped an entire salmon toast into his mouth.
“Pep, I think you’re coming on a bit strong,” Sherry whispered.
Chapter 4
“I’m back to make sure you’re learning about my company’s practices from these fine gentlemen.” Uri leveraged himself into the circle. “Sherry, if your recipe uses any seafood, it’ll be supplied by our Shrimply Amazing Division.”
“Yes. I do use shrimp,” Sherry said.
“Shrimply Amazing supplies only the finest, locally sourced, whenever possible. Right, guys?” Uri looked at Roe.
Roe nodded with vigor. Addison held a rigid stance.
“Addison may not be agreeing,” Pep inserted.
“New England shrimp is making a comeback, but most shrimp, at the moment, is from the Gulf of Mexico. And they’re beauties, right?” Uri added in haste. “Our fish is so local it roots for the Red Sox.”
“Local is relative, I guess. You guys should get your story straight.” Pep crossed his arms in front of his chest.
“Roe and Addison, if you both wouldn’t mind, I’d like to introduce you to a journalist covering the cook-off. Ms. Mellitt is over by the ice sculpture waiting for us. That is, unless you need more time with these fine cooks?”
“We’re good,” Pep said.
Sherry nodded her head in agreement. She watched the men leave the food table. They parked themselves next to Patti Mellitt and a giant ice sculpture of a bowl filled with what, from her vantage point, appeared to be various forms of sea life.
“Have you said hello to anyone else in our Hands-On Foods category?” Pep asked.
“It’s tough to tell who’s in what category unless you get so close to the name tags, you’re getting into personal space,” Sherry laughed. “These icons indicating the categories are practically microscopic.” She pointed to the tiny picture of a hand holding a wrap sandwich in the corner of her name tag. “See what I mean?”
Pep squinted and studied Sherry’s name tag. “Barely. Maybe I need glasses. Not getting any younger.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Sherry spotted Don Johnstone closing in.
“Care for the glass of wine it appears you never got?” He was double fisted with two wineglasses. He handed one to Sherry. “Sorry, old man, I don’t have a third.”
“I’ll help myself. See you in a minute.” Pep skirted around a petite woman who was making her way toward Sherry.
“Sherry? Is that you?” The woman shrieked with a voice squeezed from the depths of her being. Her glossy brown hair danced across her shoulders as she closed in on Sherry. “I was hoping I’d see you here. I follow your cook-off successes in the paper.”
Sherry made eye contact with the excited woman. “Kelly Shanahan, it’s been forever.” Sherry glanced at Don. He seemed fixated on Kelly. “Don, Kelly was a classmate of mine from Augustin High School. I don’t think we’ve seen each other since graduation. Amazing how easy it is to lose touch.” Sherry turned her attention to Kelly. “Do you still live nearby?”
“I loved growing up in Augustin. Southern coastal Connecticut was a kid’s paradise but way too sleepy for me as an adult. I live in New York City.”
Sherry cocked her head to the side. “Are you in the cook-off?”
Kelly generated a belly laugh that jostled her hairband loose. “I could never do what you do. Probably why we didn’t spend much time together in school. You were so domestic, and I was, well, I was . . .”
“Uninhibited?” Sherry suggested.
Don coughed. His wine splashed over the rim of his glass.
“I prefer explorative,” Kelly responded. “The thought of me cooking under pressure makes me ill. If I didn’t have my boyfriend, I’d die of starvation or go broke from ordering out. I don’t know how you do it. Let alone, how you win so often. I’ll just stick to rooting for my honey.”
“Your boyfriend is in the cook-off? Do you know what category?” Sherry asked.
“Hands-On is the category. Recipes that don’t require a fork, knife, or spoon to eat. Like a sandwich,” Kelly explained. “He’s making the most delicious recipe. He’s practiced it a million times, and I’m still not sick of it.”
“By any chance, is your boyfriend Fitz Frye?” Sherry asked.
“That’s right. You know each other. I forgot all about that.”
Sherry studied her former classmate, who she didn’t necessarily believe had no memory of Sherry and Fitz knowing one another. The thought of the stubby man, with eyes like dark marbles, matched up with Kelly, gave Sherry pause. Sherry’s memory of Kelly involved her being a hardcore cheerleader in the perkiest sense. She was popular with the elite athletes and rewarded their interest by adorning herself with layers of makeup and skimpy outfits. She dated the quarterback of the football team and the basketball team captain, and there were even rumors of a teacher liaison. Fitz didn’t fit her dating profile, but the possibility that Kelly had exhausted the state’s supply of overachieving jocks and was forced to fish in unexplored dating waters, was a real one.
“We’ve cooked off against each other in the past,” Sherry added.
“Come to think of it, Fitz mentioned he’d beaten you in a previous cook-off. From what I’ve heard and read, that’s not easy to do. But, you’re probably not even in the same category tomorrow.” Kelly unleashed a toothy grin.
“We are,” Sherry responded in a near whisper.
“Well, his shrimp wraps are in for a tough battle,” Kelly chuckled.
“Shrimp wraps,” Sherry repeated. The words tasted like week-old fish. “Of co
urse, Fitz is my toughest competitor. I always read his published recipes because he’s so creative. He’s taught me a lot.” She raised her head and peered behind Kelly.
“Just don’t steal his ideas.” Kelly winked.
“Sherry, is this woman bothering you?” Fitz laughed as he wrapped his arms around Kelly from behind. The man’s arms easily enveloped her tiny stature. “She may be a petite morsel, but she’s loaded with flavor. Right, sweetheart?” He gave Kelly a kiss on the cheek.
“Fitzy, you didn’t tell me Sherry was such a gracious competitor.” Kelly winked at Sherry. “Let’s face it. In high school I had other things on my mind, so I didn’t give the bookworms, I mean the studious group, much consideration. From what Fitzy’s been telling me about your success in cook-offs, I was picturing a ruthless villainess willing to stop at nothing to win.”
Sherry shot a gaze at Fitz. Don coughed again and went in for another sip of wine.
“Hardly,” Sherry laughed. “The minute I get that obsessed about my cooking, it’s time to throw in the competition apron. Don’t get me wrong, I love to win, but not at all costs.”
“Fitz Frye?’ A man with a kind face, in a plaid vest and rolled-up sleeves, tapped Fitz on the shoulder.
Don whispered in Sherry’s ear. “Boy, it’s hard to finish a conversation tonight. I’m dying to hear more about these two.”
Sherry leaned away from Don to get a better look at the vested man.
“Yes. Do I know you? I don’t see any category on your name tag.” Fitz squinted. “Lyman St. Pierre. You must not be a cook.”
“I’m a spice representative. I’d like you to read about my products.” Lyman reached around to his backside. He presented a brown business envelope from his pants pocket. He slid papers from the open envelope. “Our company has selected you as someone who could benefit from what we offer.”
Lyman stepped between Sherry and Fitz. She could no longer see Fitz’s face, but the tone of his voice soured.
“Not interested.” Fitz put his arm around Kelly.
“Shouldn’t you take the information from the nice man?” Kelly questioned. “He said you were hand selected. That’s quite an honor.”
Eat, Drink and Be Wary Page 3
