“Does Vilma think Uri may be the killer? That he keeps a fishhook supply in his room?” Sherry asked.
“Not necessarily. Don’t jump to conclusions. And you said Roe was leaving Uri’s room the night Ginger visited Uri’s room. That makes three people who may have left a fishhook catalogue open to that particular page.”
Sherry sucked in a breath. “Would you mind if I had a word with Oxana? I have a feeling she’s leaving out a detail or two of Vilma’s request. And Vilma’s leaving out a detail or two about her relationship with Oxana.”
“I wouldn’t be able to stop you now, would I? When I spoke to Oxana, she said she didn’t find any actual hooks when she went to Uri’s room to clean. She told me she checked the trash can in the room, too, on Vilma’s recommendation.” A moment of silence passed. Ray’s voice wavered a bit. “I’m out, dealing with mother issues, this afternoon. I’d appreciate any news you have to offer after you talk with the girl. And your brother? What’s he up to?”
“He’s leaving soon,” Sherry stated, in no uncertain terms.
“Hmmm. Get back to me today then.” Ray ended the call.
Sherry scrolled through her phone contact list. “I don’t even know Oxana’s last name.” She reached the O’s. She clicked on Oxana’s cell number, labeled Oxana, Augustin Inn.
“Sherry?” Oxana’s voice was scratchy.
“Hi, Oxana. I was hoping I could meet with you for a few minutes this morning. Are you at the inn? Can I stop by? It’s concerning something I’d rather not ask you on the phone.”
There was a shuffling, a crackle, and muffled voices dribbling through the phone. “I’m downtown at Crunchtime Coffeehouse doing schoolwork. I should be here one hour, then class.”
“I’ll pop by very soon, if that’s okay.”
“Pop by?” Oxana asked.
“I’ll be there soon.”
When Pep came downstairs, Sherry had her corduroy barn coat on and Chutney’s leash in hand. “If you could just give this guy a walk, I’d be eternally grateful.” She handed Pep the leash.
“Guess I have no choice. Eternity is a long time. Hard to pass up that offer. Where are you going and when will you be back?”
“You know, I can be as mysterious as you.” She waited for Pep to beg her for details.
Instead, he shrugged.
“Okay, fine. You’ve worn me down with your endless interrogation.” Sherry’s words dripped with sarcasm.
“I actually didn’t ask you one question.” Pep’s sly expression gave Sherry little satisfaction.
“I’ll be back in forty-five minutes to an hour. Maybe we can meet Dad for lunch somewhere.” She tossed Pep a wave and left the house.
The short drive to Augustin’s popular coffeehouse gave Sherry ample time to consider the approach to use. She didn’t want to alienate Oxana with a hard line of questioning, but something wasn’t adding up. Sherry recited a few scenarios as she drove, waving her hand for emphasis. At the four-way stop intersection, labeled, year after year, as the most dangerous in Augustin, Sherry practiced her delivery. Her misconstrued hand gestures were returned in an angry unspeakable tirade from an oncoming driver as he vented about the traffic backup.
“The mayor needs to do something about this intersection and put the parking meters on the back burner.” Sherry watched the angry driver speed away out of turn.
Sherry couldn’t remember the last time she had been in the Crunchtime Coffeehouse. Spending six to eight dollars for a cup of coffee was such an extravagance, she didn’t enjoy the taste the few times she partook. Too much guilt brewed in each cup for her liking. The fact that Augustin might be pricing out locals, in favor of big-spending visitors, irked her to no end.
Inside the coffeehouse, the lighting was bright. Sifting through the small crowd was easy. She didn’t recognize anyone waiting in line at the sales counter, so she moved to the rear of the shop. Sherry neared the corner sectional sofa filled with readers and laptop users enjoying scones and cups of coffee. Wedged in the cushions at right angles to one another, knees nearly touching, were two familiar women. Oxana lowered her gaze as Sherry approached.
Sherry waited until Oxana lifted her head. “Hi, Oxana.”
The woman next to Oxana flashed a toothy grin.
“Vilma. I had no idea you’d be here with Oxana.”
“I’m on my way out. Stopped by for a moment with my favorite student.” Vilma reached forward and patted Oxana’s knee. “See you soon, dear. And, Sherry, let’s talk later.”
Vilma gathered up a large bag and hoisted it across her shoulders. With a commanding strut, she left the coffee shop.
Sherry took the seat Vilma had vacated. “You two appear to spend a lot of time together.”
“When she’s in town on business. She’s my . . .” Oxana glanced skyward.
Sherry jerked her head back when she digested Oxana’s partial reply. “Your mother?”
“No, no, no. Mama’s brother. Wife. What’s the English word?”
“Aunt. Vilma’s your aunt?”
“Married my uncle. She was married to Mama’s brother. He died. Vilma doesn’t have any kids of her own. She likes to spend time with me. Mama says she’s lonely. That I should let her teach me better English. Family is important where I come from.” Oxana massaged the charm bracelet on her left wrist between her fingers.
“I understand. Family’s very important to me, too. I’ll make this quick. I’m trying to help my brother, Pep, get off Detective Bease’s suspect list. He didn’t kill Fitz Frye. If I can find out who did, that will secure Pep’s innocence. Pep was at the inn at the time of the murder, but it was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“I did not kill Mr. Frye,” Oxana stated.
“Not saying you did. I’m gathering information to speed the investigation along.” Sherry shifted her body to face Oxana squarely. She leaned in and lowered her voice to a near whisper. “Did your aunt tell you to check Uri’s room at the Augustin Inn for anything that might incriminate him in Mr. Frye’s murder?”
Silence.
“Incriminate. Did Uri have a supply of fishhooks in his room when you went in to clean it? Or a gun or knife? A murder weapon?”
Oxana’s eyes widened. “Da. Yes. Aunt Vilma tells me to look carefully around the room. Didn’t say why.”
“Do you know what incriminate means?”
“Da.”
Sherry held an unblinking gaze into Oxana’s eyes. “Do you think Uri murdered Fitz from what you saw in his room?”
“Nyet. No.”
“How can you be so sure?” Sherry asked.
“I told her I found nothing. When I clean his room, I see nothing except man’s body things—deodorant, razor, and hair hat. She was not happy.”
“Hair hat?”
Oxana flicked her finger through her hair. “Hair, wig, on chest of drawers.”
“Oh! A toupee.” Sherry smiled. She envisioned Uri’s magnificent head of hair before picturing the same head as a shiny dome of hairlessness. “I’ve never seen him hairless, so he must keep a toupee for emergencies. A hair and a spare.”
“She gave me a box to put in his room. In his drawer. She says he needs his box back.” The smile disappeared. “I have the box with me. Vilma’s not family anymore. I don’t have to do what she says, even if Mama says she’s an elder.”
“Elder? I’d guess she’s about my age.”
“Sorry. Older, right word?”
“I know what you meant.” Sherry peered around Oxana toward her backpack. “Can I take a look at the box?”
“I understand what she asks was wrong. I have the box right here.”
Instead of reaching into her backpack, Oxana pulled a small gold box from her jacket pocket.
“Do you know what’s inside?” Sherry asked.
“I do not care. Miss Constable is my boss, not Vilma. I need my job. I do not break rules for anyone. You take. I have to go to class.” Oxana thrust the box towa
rd Sherry. The contents rattled with the force of the motion. Oxana stood and slung her backpack over her shoulder. “We cook Tuesday. Thank you.”
Sherry watched the young lady strut to the door with the same no-regrets conviction her aunt displayed.
Chapter 19
“How about lunch at my house today, Dad?” Sherry asked.
“Are you in the car? The reception’s not very good. You sound like you’re in a tunnel,” Erno yelled into the phone.
“I can hear you perfectly well. No need to shout. Yes, I’m in the car. I’m making a trip to the Augustin Inn. Lunch? My house?”
“Ruth, too?”
“Sure, the more the merrier. You, me, Ruth, and Pep. Since The Ruggery isn’t open Mondays, Amber may be busy. I’ll ask her, though.”
“We’ll be there around twelve-thirty. See you soon.”
Before Sherry could respond, the call dropped. She double-checked the time. “Two hours ’till lunch.” She texted Pep the logistics of the lunch plans, and he gave the plan a thumbs-up emoji. She copied and pasted the same message to Amber, who preferred the applauding emoji as her acceptance of the invitation.
Sherry scrolled through her phone contacts. Ginger Constable. She picked up her purse and exited the car. As she walked toward the inn, she clicked on Ginger’s phone number. The call went directly to voice mail. When Sherry reached the bottom step of the inn’s columned entrance, she paused to calculate her next move.
“Anything I can help you with, Sherry?”
Sherry rotated her head in the direction of the deep voice. The day-old, gray-flecked scruff was a welcome sight. “Addison. I was hoping I’d find you here.”
“Me? What can I do for you?”
“I’m planning a surprise for a friend who’s taking up fishing.” Sherry plunged her hand into her purse. She pulled out the box Oxana had given her. “Is this hook proper? Should he start with something smaller? It’s for whatever kind of fish can be caught in the Long Island Sound.” She handed the box to Addison.
He lifted the lid and took a long look at the steel, double-barbed hook attached to a colorful lure. “I do think you’ve gone for the Maserati rather than the Kia. Plus, I’m not sure the fish in the Long Island Sound are big enough to latch onto this sucker.”
“I should have asked your opinion before I sent away for this monstrosity. Do you know anyone who might be interested in buying it from me at a nice discount? I overheard Uri and Roe discussing an upcoming fishing excursion. Maybe one of them?”
Addison raised his gaze from the box. “I could ask, or you could. I believe they’re checking out tomorrow. Technically, I’m a contract fisherman, and my hope is to do more work for Maine Course. I don’t want to spoil my chances by bothering Uri with questions that aren’t work related.”
“A fishhook is work related.” Sherry made no attempt to take the box back, even though Addison moved his hand closer to hers.
“Where’d you say you got this beauty?” Addison held the open box up to eye level and rotated the box in a full circle, admiring it from all angles.
“A catalogue. What did I know? If it’s not food, gardening or Ruggery related, I’m no expert. I should just make my friend a casserole and stick to what I know best.” Sherry laughed. She tucked her hair behind her ears and gave Addison one more pleading look. “You don’t want to ask Uri or Roe if they’re interested in buying it?”
“I really don’t.” The tone of his voice left no room for negotiation. He closed the box and tucked it in Sherry’s palm. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“Have you run into Uri or Roe this morning?” Sherry replaced the box in her purse.
“Saw them at breakfast. On the early side.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll take a quick look for them in the library.” Sherry headed up the stairs and through the massive white doors framed in thick dental molding. The library opposite the front desk was bustling with activity. She stepped inside the open French doors, where she joined a group gathered around a table of cookies and pastries. Reaching for what looked like a lemon Danish was Vilma. As Vilma backed away from the table, Sherry reached in and their arms collided.
“Pardon me.” Vilma recoiled her arm, dropping crumbs on Sherry’s slip-ons. “Well, well. Sherry. We can’t seem to avoid one another.”
Sherry lowered her chin and stepped a few paces away from the table. Vilma followed close behind.
Sherry clenched her jaw. “Vilma, what you’re doing is very wrong. Patti was right about you. You’re a fraud.”
“I’m a guest here, and the Danish are for the inn’s guests,” Vilma pointed out. “No need for name calling.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
Vilma placed the Danish in her mouth and bit off a hefty portion. She chewed for such a long time Sherry was prompted to stare her down. When Vilma swallowed, she dabbed the corners of her mouth with her napkin.
She turned her back and gathered a handful of cookies before addressing Sherry. “Can’t resist gingersnaps. Sherry, how’s your brother? I saw him here when I returned from the coffee shop. You know what they say about the perpetrator always returning to the scene of the crime.”
“That’s impossible. He’s at home walking my dog. Anyway, I’m not here to talk about Pep. I’m here to see why you asked Oxana to plant evidence in Uri’s room. She didn’t do your bidding, by the way. She has morals and obeys the law.” Sherry tried to steady her voice as she spoke, but nerves crept in and she hit some unsteady notes in her delivery.
“The investigation needs to move along faster. The story needs to keep pace with my deadline. A properly placed piece of evidence may spark some action,” Vilma whispered. “How about you try a little harder to find the murderer if you don’t like my methods.”
“Take this back and stay out of the way. Detective Bease knows what he’s doing. Stop interfering.” Sherry jammed the gold box into Vilma’s Danish.
Vilma huffed.
Sherry spun on her heels and left the room. As she headed toward the car, her temples were pounding. A new sensation, one she could only label as abandon, was pulsing through her body, and, like any new acquaintance, it would take some time to become familiar with.
Sherry returned home and, with Amber’s help, prepared lunch. Ruth and Erno showed up on the dot of twelve-thirty. Familiar with her father’s punctuality at mealtime, she was ready with the platters of food by twelve twenty-five. For her father, a lunch invitation at his daughter’s house meant eating nearly the moment he entered the house, or he grew impatient. She took that as a compliment.
The round wooden table in Sherry’s screened-in porch was the perfect size for ten diners or less. One empty chair and place setting sat unused.
“I thought Pep was eating here, so now there’s more than enough.” Sherry sighed and checked her phone for the time. She carried the sandwich platter in one hand and a bowl of fruit salad in the other from the kitchen and passed both to Ruth.
“Can I have the secret recipe for these bánh mì minis, Amber?” Ruth asked as she scooped one onto her plate. “They look fabulous.”
“No secret. I marinated thinly sliced pork tenderloin in ginger, and added pickled veggies, like radishes, cukes, scallions, mint, Thai basil, fish sauce, rice vinegar . . .”
“Stop, stop, too much already,” whined Ruth. “Instead of the recipe, can I get you to cater my next luncheon? I can plan for Sundays or Mondays, when The Ruggery’s closed.”
“If I add catering to my résumé, along with The Ruggery manager and advice columnist, I’ll be encroaching on Sherry’s trifecta of holding down three jobs.”
“Only two right now. Lost my pickle business when Frances Dumont came out of retirement.”
“Right. Truth is, I learned this recipe from Sherry. Between the two of us, we’ll get a minute to teach you someday.”
Sherry passed around the lemonade. When the pitcher neared empty, she left her lunch guests and returned to the
kitchen. She refilled the pitcher and turned her attention to dessert. “I wish Pep had come. This very well may be his good-bye lunch. Without the guest of honor,” she told Chutney.
He wagged his tail in response or possibly because Sherry knocked a brioche bun crumb onto the floor.
When everyone had had their fill of sandwiches and fruit salad, Sherry cleared the plates with Amber’s help. In the kitchen, Sherry placed coconut-macadamia blondies on a blue dessert plate in a graduated circular pattern. She placed mint sprigs on the peak of the dessert pyramid for a pop of color.
“Gorgeous. We got here in a nick of time,” Pep announced as he entered the kitchen.
Sherry’s hand lurched forward, knocking the top blondie from its perch. “You scared the bleep out of me,” Sherry laughed. “Chutney, what good are you if you let people wander in off the street unannounced?”
“That’s the closest to cursing I’ve heard you come in a long time,” Pep remarked. “Sorry we’re late. I know how Dad likes to eat the minute he gets here. We ran into a problem.”
Sherry put down the plate and found Pep standing under the arched doorway leading from the front hall to the kitchen. “We?” Sherry checked the area behind Pep. His imposing frame blocked any sighting of a companion.
Behind Pep a hand lifted and waved. “Hi.” A dark-haired beauty peered around Pep.
“Is that your friend, Charlotte?” Sherry’s excitement prompted Chutney to raise up on his back legs with a greeting for the couple.
“Ta, da!” Pep sang out. His hand was clasped in Charlotte’s.
She skirted around him and wiggled through the doorframe. She was draped in a flowy green shirt. Her side ponytail sprouted curls escaping from the lime scrunchie gathering the majority of her shoulder-length hair.
Sherry’s mouth fell open as her gaze dropped to Charlotte’s midsection. She reached for Charlotte’s free hand and guided her forward. “Come in. You need to sit. Pep didn’t mention you were, I mean, are you, I mean, you know what I mean.” Sherry turned to Pep. “You gonna help a sister out here?”
Eat, Drink and Be Wary Page 15
