“You served Fitz the night of the party.”
“You’ve done your homework. People saw me hand him documents. They wouldn’t necessarily know what the documents were all about, unless he was willing to share that information. You, obviously, made it your business to find out.”
“You served him in such a public place. He became agitated. As if it was bad news you’d delivered.” Sherry searched Lyman’s face for a clue to the degree of bad news. If he were in a poker game that very moment, judging whether he was holding a winning hand or a dud would have been impossible.
Lyman shrugged. “Safe to say, good news doesn’t usually need to be forced on the recipient.”
“So, it can be deduced as being bad news you delivered.”
“Good deduction, Sherlock. I delivered papers to Fitz, but I’d have thought he’d keep the details of the papers to himself. At least until he’d read through all the documents. My job is to record when he receives the papers. When he reads them is up to him.”
“You don’t feel bad about where and how you served him?”
“My job is about moving the judicial process forward, and that’s what I did. Not my fault he’s been hard to track down. I found him where I could find him. May I ask how you knew I served him legal papers?”
“I’ve been known to get to the bottom of a mystery a time or two.”
“I’m impressed.”
Sherry let her shoulders relax when Lyman paid somewhat of a compliment. “Okay then, you admit you were in an argument with Fitz because he wasn’t happy with you for doing your job during what should’ve been a celebratory night for all the cook-off contestants. So, I’m not wrong.”
“You’re wrong about our confrontation being two-way. I served Frye a subpoena to testify under oath. Getting those papers in his hands wasn’t easy. He’s a slippery devil when he doesn’t want to be found.”
“How did you know he’d be involved in the cook-off and that you’d find him there?”
Lyman softened his tone. “That’s why I’m good at my job. Research, timing, and location are the keys to success. I have to file a report on all my attempts to serve papers. In the case of Fitz Frye, I was getting a bit worried about completing my task. I’m motivated to get the job done in a timely fashion. The guy doesn’t sit still. I learned he was a cook-offer, or whatever you people call yourselves. I got Spice Attitude to get onboard with a sponsorship to get a foot in the door. That alone wasn’t easy, as I wasn’t a full-time employee and had hoped to leave Spice Attitude by the end of the month.”
“Once he’d been served, what was the point in him arguing? From what you’re saying, Fitz wasn’t in any legal trouble. Rather, he was possibly getting rid of a tenant that was trouble.”
“Agreed. No point. He was venting, I suppose. My job never comes with roses from the served. Fitz may have been upset, but I wasn’t, and certainly, I’ve never been upset enough to murder someone I’ve served. That’s what doesn’t make sense. Ironically, he had reason to kill me, not vice versa.”
“Was any of this associated with Maine Course Foods?”
“You’re persistent. But I’m not comfortable giving names. Let’s just say it’s a company headquartered in Connecticut. That’s all I’m willing to say. That’s the reason I had to serve him in Connecticut.” Lyman’s windbreaker billowed as the breeze picked up. “Listen. I didn’t kill Fitz Frye. I did my job, returned to the Augustin Motor Lodge by nine PM and ordered my favorite surfer movie, The Endless Summer on Netflix. I can show you the charge on my hotel bill. Date and time listed. I would imagine the hotel surveillance videos can’t come up with an image of me leaving any time that night after nine, because I didn’t.”
“Putting two and two together, you have an alibi. Detective Bease shouldn’t waste his time looking any further into your comings and goings.” Sherry managed a gentle smile.
“I’d appreciate you spreading that word around. Shouldn’t be hard. Word spreads like wildfire around this neck of the woods.”
“Part of our small-town charm. I like to think it makes people think twice before doing something crazy.”
Lyman grunted.
“Sherry. Hope I’m not late.” Don appeared from behind a row of cars. He parked himself alongside Sherry, keeping his gaze fixated on Lyman. “Hi, I’m Don. It’s pretty dark out here. Even so, you look familiar.”
“Don, you remember Lyman from the cook-off and kitesurfing. He was representing Spice Attitude,” Sherry said. “We ran into each other out here.”
“That’s quite a coincidence,” Don commented.
“I’m on my way out. Decided not to eat here after all.” Lyman averted his gaze away from Sherry.
“Glad we ran into each other. Take care,” Sherry said with a hastened tone.
Lyman got inside his car and the engine hummed to life.
“He’s leaving Spice Attitude. His was a part-time position.”
Don laughed. “Might have been a good decision. Those spices were lacking, compared to others I’ve used. Let’s get inside. It’s getting chilly out here.”
Sherry scanned the parking lot. “Where did Day park? Should we wait for her inside?”
“Day has a migraine. She sends her regrets. She went to lie down, back at the inn. We’re leaving in the morning, and she was sad to miss a fun night out, but she was hurting.”
“I’m so sorry. Please send my best wishes for a speedy recovery. Those things can be nasty.”
“Hopefully Pep’s joining us?” Don peered over his shoulder. “You didn’t come together?”
“He’ll be here by dessert time. I know what to order for him. If there’s apple pie on the menu, a la mode, of course, that’s what he wants. No Amber, either. She has tennis.”
“We’ll have to make the best of it, just you and me.”
Once inside the restaurant, the hostess showed Sherry and Don to a corner table sized to fit four diners. They placed their drink orders with the waitress and browsed the menu.
Sherry peeked over top of her menu and saw Don’s eyes shifting from side to side as he mulled over the choices. “My friend, Patti Mellitt, who you were probably interviewed by at the cook-off, reviewed this place. She recommended the seafood chowder, the ranch skirt-steak tacos, and the oyster pancakes with rainbow-cabbage slaw.”
“I was interviewed by her. I’m sure she was bored to tears with my lack of cook-off experience. The requirements for a sous chef are nil, except maybe nepotism. I was perfect for the job. Another reporter, Vilma Pitney, wanted me to meet her here the day before the cook-off for an interview. No time. Too busy helping you pick the perfect merlot for your winning sauce.” Don winked.
Sherry checked the room for their waitress. Why is the Pinot Grigio taking so long?
“Glad I waited to come here with you. Thank you, Patti Mellitt, for your recommendations. One of each, please. I was getting overwhelmed with how good everything looks. The name ‘The Hunger Dames’ is very appropriate if the food delivers on its promise. I’m starving.”
Sherry set her menu down and laughed. “Agreed. I’m going out on a limb and ordering the free-range roast game hen. Kind of a gamble, because those little suckers are really easy to overcook.”
Don closed his menu. “You probably can’t help yourself, judging other people’s cooking. Admit it.”
“Maybe a little bit.” Sherry shrugged. “I try to hold my tongue. Everyone thinks their cooking is the best. I don’t want to hurt feelings. When I first stumbled into cooking contests, I had the thinnest skin ever. I took not winning as a slap in the face for all my efforts trying to create the perfect recipe. Being judged is tough. It was a big step for me when I was able to learn from my losses.”
The waitress approached and took their orders.
“People say they learn from their losses, but do you really mean it?” Don asked.
Don has such gentle green eyes. An unusual color. On second thought, his eyes are blue with yellow flecks,
lending the appearance of green. And those lashes. The long curly ones that some people are lucky enough to be born with.
“Sherry?”
Sherry cleared her throat. “Lashes, I mean, losses. Learning.” She blinked with conviction. “Yes. Cooking is so subjective. You have no control over so many unforeseen variables. What the judges’ personal preferences are, what the contestant next to you is preparing, your choice of serving utensils. On and on.”
Don narrowed his eyes and their color deepened.
“When you submit a recipe in August for the perfect peach tart and the contest isn’t until February, you better come to grips with the fact there are no local fresh peaches in February.”
“Sounds like what you learn at cook-offs is, there’s no tried and true formula to success.”
The waitress made an appearance. She set down a beer in front of Don and a glass of Pinot Grigio in front of Sherry. They clanked their glasses together.
Don announced, “Here’s to a new friendship. Back to your cook-off formula for success. You say there really isn’t one?”
“Exactly. And that’s what keeps me coming back for more. I can’t crack the code, but I can make a mean shrimp lettuce wrap.”
“I like your attitude. Mind if I ask about your personal life? A lady like you must be beating guys off with a stick.” He peeked around the table at Sherry’s purse. “You don’t have a stick with you, do you?”
“Ha. I should look into purchasing one.” Sherry mentally prepared the summary of her social life. A few beats later she was ready to continue. “I was married for about seven years. We divorced, and I’ve been single since. A sad and boring tale.”
“No, no. Not at all. I was asking in case I could persuade you to go on a proper date with me when the time is right. I don’t want to infringe on anyone else’s territory. That’s why I’m asking. Do I have a chance?”
“You do have a chance. I can use a spatula to beat off any other guys in the meantime. I have plenty of those.”
“Another great thing about you. You’re adaptable.”
“No one who knows me well would agree, but here’s to the hope of progress. The new me.” Sherry lifted her glass.
Don held up his glass of beer. “Cheers to the old and new Sherry. I can’t wait to discover both versions of you.”
After the last morsel of dinner was eaten and the dinner plates were collected, Sherry and Don were handed the dessert menu.
“I’ll have the apple pie a la mode, please,” Pep announced as he approached the table. His head pivoted from Sherry to Don and back again. “Oh, no. Three’s a crowd. Where are Day and Amber?”
“Now, it’s a party,” Don said. “Have a seat. We’ve been waiting for you.”
Pep passed a glance from Don to Sherry. Sherry nodded her head, and Pep took a seat.
“Did you come from home?” Sherry asked.
“No.” Pep’s answer was snippy.
“The mystery continues. Two apple pies, a la mode, please,” Sherry told the waitress who arrived while Pep took a seat. “Don and I will share.”
“I guess I have no choice. The lady has made up my mind,” Don chuckled.
Chapter 18
“Sherry, did you hear me?” Pep pushed his empty breakfast plate to the center of the table.
Sherry peered up from her phone. “No, sorry. What?”
Pep shoved his chair backwards. He stood and refilled his coffee mug. “Don’s nice.”
“Yes. Don. Nice.” Sherry returned her attention to her phone. She switched between her text messages and her calendar.
“Now who’s the one attached to her phone?” Pep teased.
“Got a text from Oxana. She’s interested in learning how to cook and yours truly volunteered to teach her a recipe. She doesn’t have much free time between school courses and two cleaning jobs. Next Tuesday might work.” Sherry texted, Tuesday’s the day. I’ve got you on my calendar.
“I’m heading out tomorrow,” Pep said, with an unemotional insistence that brought a tear to Sherry’s eye.
“You’ve only been here for a few days. Can’t you spare a little more time to keep your big sis company? Plus, Ray’s not going to be happy if you leave town.” Sherry pleaded. Silence. She switched gears to a gentler approach. “At least sit back down and tell me what your life plans are.”
“You know, I see someone like Oxana, how hard she’s working to get to a better place in her life. I’ve come to realize that, as much fun as I’ve had traveling the world, it’s time to settle down.”
“Any chance you’d settle down back here in Augustin?” Sherry dredged her question in love.
“You never know. I’m asking for some space right now until my plans come together. You don’t have to understand, but I wouldn’t mind if you’d trust me.” Pep stirred sugar into his coffee.
“So hard for me to be calm about this, having you right here to try and convince, face to face.” She brought her mug to the kitchen sink and rinsed it out with water. “How is it you know Oxana?”
Pep cocked his head to the side and cracked a sly smile. “Sort of a funny story. I have a friend staying at the inn, and she locked herself out of her room the night of the cocktail party. Nothing unusual about that, except I was hiding in the room to surprise her. She found Oxana in the hallway with her set of master keys. When Oxana unlocked the door, I jumped out and welcomed the wrong person in, shall we say, an intimate way.”
“I have so many questions. I’ll start with a logistical one before I move on to the really juicy ones. How did you get in the room without a key?”
“Can we save the juicy ones for a little later, please?”
“You’re torturing me, but I’ll respect your privacy, at least for right now.”
Back to your question about the room and the key. I did have a key. The front desk offered my friend a second key at check-in and, well . . .” Pep’s explanation trailed off to silence.
“Okay, go on,” Sherry prompted. In front of her was her baby brother, who had done some questionable things as a teenager, but always managed to maintain an innocence Sherry found so endearing. Or was she projecting that innocence onto him, merely to keep her role of older sister relevant? Sherry blinked the image of a pimply, gawky, preteen brother out of her head and looked with clear eyes at the man in front of her.
“I feel like you’re looking directly through me. It’s making me nervous,” Pep said.
“Sorry. Continue.”
“Needless to say, I didn’t know she had misplaced her key and that Oxana would be opening the door instead of her. Anyway, after the awkward first moments, we invited Oxana to stay for a chat to diffuse the situation. We got to be friends real quick. Even with the communication barrier.”
“And does your friend like her as well?” Sherry framed the word “friend” with air quotes and drew out the word in two syllables for emphasis.
“Absolutely. Charlotte admires her work ethic so much. That coming from a marine biologist, so you know she understands hard work.”
Sherry’s mouth dropped open as a thought occurred. “If you were with Charlotte at the time of the murder, you’re set. She’s your alibi. Tell the detective.”
“Nope. Not happening. She cannot be involved.”
“I guess I can figure out where you’ve been the times you’ve been unaccounted for. Why so secretive? Especially when it’s so important to give Detective Bease your alibi?” Sherry shrugged. “You’re making it seem like you’re hiding something about this girlfriend of yours. I’m assuming she’s your girlfriend. Any chance of meeting Charlotte? Maybe at dinner tonight, your last night?”
“Sher, please, don’t press,” Pep implored.
“Not pressing. Merely extending a kind invite.”
Pep managed a brotherly smile. “I’ll see if dinner tonight works for her.”
The phone in Sherry’s hand buzzed.
“I’m jumping in the shower.” Pep sprang up the stairs.
<
br /> “Ray. How’s everything? How’s your mother? I’ve been thinking about you.”
“It is what it is.” His voice dragged as the words stumbled out of the phone. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
“While I have you on the line, I have a question for you.”
“Sherry, I called you. I’m the one with the question.”
“There’s the Ray I recognize. Prickly as an artichoke. Don’t ever lose that edge. What’s your question?”
“Vilma Pitney.”
Sherry groaned. A thick bitter taste swathed her tongue.
“The woman interviewed the cook-off contestants,” Ray continued. “Did she mention the publication she writes for? The last record of employment states she was on staff at a regional paper in North Carolina. Her employment was terminated.”
“Freelance. She said she was freelance and hoped to get a good price for her article.”
“She has a book out. Under the pen name Stella Granger. Self-published, two years ago. Titled, How to Solve a Murder or Die Trying.”
“Bet she regrets that title right about now. It’s beginning to make sense why she’s so interested in the Fitz Frye investigation.”
“How interested is she?” Ray asked. “You told me she asked questions, but has her intensity changed?”
Sherry paused while she considered her answer. “Her interest is growing. I’ve run into her at every turn for the last forty-eight hours. She’s always with the people who were involved with Fitz the night of his murder.”
“Oxana told me about a request Vilma made of her to check something out in Uri’s room at the Augustin Inn. She might be asking Oxana to do her dirty work in exchange for English lessons.”
“Oxana is a sweet girl trying to eke out a living. I doubt she’d throw it all away for that woman. Unless Vilma was holding something over Oxana’s head, and she wasn’t able to refuse. What was she looking for in Uri’s room?”
“Believe me, it wasn’t easy to get the English translation from Oxana. Fishhooks. Vilma asked Oxana to check for any evidence of fishhooks in Uri’s room the day after the murder. Vilma was told by Ginger she saw a catalogue in his room open to a page of fishing hooks.”
Eat, Drink and Be Wary Page 14
