Eat, Drink and Be Wary

  MURDER AT THE COOK-OFF

  “Why would it matter if he had words with other guests? It has to have been an accident with no one at fault but Fitz himself,” Sherry said.

  “Sherry, you may fancy yourself an accomplished amateur sleuth, due to past successes at finding a killer or two, but right now your guesses about Frye wandering the grounds, tumbling into a pool of cold water, and drowning are way off base.”

  “Enlighten us, will you, Detective?” Erno said.

  “Frye had blunt force trauma to the back of the head, inconsistent with someone accidentally falling forward into a hard object, which is the way he was found. There was also a calling card left at the scene. A fishhook, a multiple-barbed, bait-holder hook, to be specific, that was meticulously maneuvered into the back of Frye’s neck in such away that the man could not have possibly managed it on his own, even if he had fallen backwards onto it in a mishap. He was also clutching a handful of illegible soaked papers.”

  “Sounds like murder to me,” Erno surmised.

  Books by Devon Delaney

  EXPIRATION DATE

  FINAL ROASTING PLACE

  GUILTY AS CHARRED

  EAT, DRINK AND BE WARY

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.

  Eat, Drink and be Wary

  Devon Delaney

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  MURDER AT THE COOK-OFF

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Please turn the page for recipes from Sherry’s kitchen!

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2020 by Devon Delaney

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Kensington and the Klogo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-2784-8

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2785-5 (eBook)

  ISBN-10: 1-4967-2785-1 (eBook)

  Chapter 1

  “So many merlots, so little time. How are we going to make a selection?” Sherry continued her walk down the domestic reds aisle.

  “Not we, you,” Pep replied. “And it’s not my fault you spent so much time meeting your neighbor’s new cat. We could have been here an hour ago.”

  Sherry peered over her shoulder and caught sight of her brother checking his phone. “Expecting something important? I’ve seen you pull that thing out of your pocket every two minutes since we’ve been in here. When you have time to focus, I could use your help choosing the right wine.”

  Pep lifted his gaze from the phone screen. “Message received. I’m all yours. I just didn’t realize signing up to be your cook-off sous chef meant I had to be in on all the recipe decisions.”

  Sherry noted his sweet smile hadn’t changed a bit since childhood. But the scruffy, day-old stubble he sported was a change she hadn’t yet fully embraced. The whiskers aged him more than she was willing to accept. Even after not having seen her brother for nearly a year, his handsome features left Sherry’s heart warm every time she looked his way.

  “It’s important you’re familiar with all the ingredients and how they work in the recipe. The problem is, the merlot I used in the recipe’s sauce was a gift from a previous contest. I can’t seem to find the maker here in Augustin.” Sherry sighed. “I’m looking for something light and fruity that pairs well with seafood.”

  Sherry faced the wall of bottles. As she reached toward a domestic red, her fingers collided with an arm. “I’m sorry.” Sherry retracted her hand. “We seem to have the same taste in reds.” She giggled. “Go ahead, you take it.”

  “I’m not too particular. I just like the design of the label and the fact that it’s from a Massachusetts winery,” the tall woman with wavy red hair explained. “I’m in a recipe contest tomorrow, and one of the prizes is a trip to the Mass winery, Risky Reward. I thought drinking a glass later might bring me good luck.”

  Sherry heard Pep clear his throat with extra emphasis. She glanced his way, and sure enough, he tossed her a smirk. For a split second, she was ten again. Sherry let a snicker escape, despite trying to suppress it.

  “Did I say something funny?” the woman asked.

  “My brother and I are in a contest tomorrow, too. I’m assuming we’ll all be competitors in the New England Fall Food Fest?”

  The woman gave Sherry a look that lingered. “Are you by any chance Sherry Oliveri?”

  Sherry nodded.

  “I’m in big trouble now.” The woman lowered her head. “I thought I had a shot at winning with my Surf and Turf Shepherd’s Pie, but not now.” She lifted her head and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Donnie, come here a sec. I have someone I’d like you to meet.”

  Sherry watched a man make his way from the other side of the liquor store.

  “I’m Day Paulson, and this is my brother, Donnie, although he prefers Don. I’ll never see him as anyone but my little brother, Donnie, who bugged the heck out of me growing up, so that’s what I call him.”

  Sherry pumped Day’s extended hand. “I don’t think we’re in the same category, unless you’ve found away to make shepherd’s pie a portable food that needs no utensils to eat it. That’s the category I’m competing in. Hands-On Foods. You must be in the One-Pot Wonders category.”

  Day swept her hand across her forehead. “Phew.”

  “Where are you two from?” Sherry took note of Don’s resemblance to his sister, especially his height. His gaze shifted her way. She felt a flush sweep across her cheeks.

  “I’m from just outside of Chicago, and Donnie lives on Long Island. He wasn’t thrilled when I asked him to be my sous chef, but he nicely agreed.” Day pinched Don’s cheek.

  “I’m beginning to reconsider. She’s getting pretty bossy,” Don added. “Nice to meet you.”

  “There aren’t many contests that allow a sous chef. The Fall Food Fest is such a prestigious contest, I
think the sponsors want to ensure the contestants put out their best work without getting tripped up in the details.” Sherry put her arm on Pep’s shoulder. “Not sure how thrilled Pep was to be asked, either. Lucky for me, he’s Mr. Nice Guy.”

  Day stepped back from the wine shelf and handed Sherry the wine bottle. “Take this. I’m not choosy.”

  “Thanks.” Sherry read the label. She returned the bottle to Day. “Can’t use this one. I need a merlot, this one’s a blend. I’m looking for light and fruity.”

  “If those are the qualities you have in mind, may I suggest another?” Don walked a few steps down the aisle. “I’m not a great cook like you and my sister, but I know something about wines.” He pointed to a bottle with a minimally decorated label. “This merlot’s also from Risky Reward. It’s fruity, not overly so, though more so than the one you’re holding.” He pulled the bottle from the shelf. “Can’t hurt to have the bottle in a prominent position on the table during the cook-off either.”

  “I owe you one,” Sherry laughed. “I’m not completely comfortable with my sauce. One more practice session should nail it. Merlot’s the secret ingredient.”

  “Competitor helping competitor. The world needs more of that,” a woman dressed in a blue pantsuit commented as she approached the foursome.

  “Patti, so good to see you.” Sherry smiled at her friend. “This is a hopping place today. Let me introduce you to these nice people.”

  Patti set down her shopping bag. “No need. Day Paulson from Illinois, Sherry from Connecticut, and these are your sous chefs, Pep Oliveri and Donald Johnstone.”

  “Donnie, actually,” Day corrected.

  “Don, actually,” Don corrected. “And you are?”

  “Patti Mellitt, food writer for the Nutmeg State of Mind and podcaster. I’m covering the cook-off tomorrow. I’ve studied the contest literature, and it’s safe to say I can put a face to a photo for all the finalists and their seconds in command.”

  “That’s why you make the big bucks,” Sherry laughed. “Devil’s in the details.”

  “From your mouth to my boss’s ears,” Patti replied.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Sherry saw Day nudge Don with her elbow.

  “We’re gonna keep moving,” Day announced. “We’ll see everyone tomorrow morning at the cook-off.” Day took a step backward.

  “Aren’t you going to the contestant gathering at the Augustin Inn this evening?” Patti asked.

  “I’d like to,” Don responded. “But when my brother-in-law’s not with her, Day gets shy about going out. But hey, I’m single and ready to mingle.”

  “I’ll be there. I’d highly recommend you attending, Day,” Patti said. “You didn’t hear it from me, but all the sponsors and judges will be there. Doesn’t hurt to let them see you at the scheduled events, even for a quick check-in.”

  “I’d skip it if I could.” Pep placed his phone in his pocket.

  “Sounds like we’ll see you there,” Day said, then turned and headed to the cash register with her purchase.

  “Thanks for the wine advice,” Sherry called after her new acquaintances.

  “Happy to oblige. All I ask in return is that you don’t use my knowledge against me.” Don gave a casual salute and followed his sister to the register.

  “If only all competitors were so nice.” Sherry observed Pep tapping the toe of his hiking boot. She faced Patti. “Are you on duty tonight or can you let loose?”

  “I’m not really a let-loose kind of gal. I’d think you’d know that about me by now. That’s why we get along so well.” Patti winked at Pep. “Am I right?”

  “Yep. Sherry’s not as buttoned up as she used to be, but she’d still rather be the caterer to the party than the life of the party,” Pep said with a gentle tone. He reached for the bottle of wine in Sherry’s hand. “I’ll check us out while you guys finish up. See you tonight, Patti.” He waved the bottle of wine overhead and headed toward the front of the store.

  “Your brother is so handsome. A young version of your dad.” Patti’s gaze followed him.

  Sherry grinned. “And a few inches taller. Dad would deny he was ever that handsome, but I agree with you.”

  “Erno is still handsome. I’m assuming Pep’s off the market? If I were only ten, maybe fifteen years younger.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. Getting information on his private life is more difficult than getting meringue to set up. He’s only been in town twenty-four hours, so I haven’t gone too deep with him. He lives the life of a single guy, that’s for sure. Over the last year he’s lived in Europe, followed by Nova Scotia. He’s currently working and living in Maine. He studied geology in college.”

  “Good profession. Can’t find too many places without rocks.” Patti picked up her shopping bag. “I’m off to review the new café in town, The Hunger Dames. It was started by three ladies—one a widower, one a divorcée, and the third, a spinster. Supposed to be fantastic.”

  Sherry patted her stomach. “My dream profession. Restaurant reviewer.”

  “Not always my dream. Last week, I got food poisoning from the new diner in Eastport. Fingers crossed for today’s assignment. Gotta squeeze a review in before I switch gears and begin full coverage of the Fall Food Fest. See you soon.”

  * * *

  On the way home, Pep was quiet. Sherry drummed on the steering wheel as she considered how to enter the uncharted waters of her brother’s love life. She held her tongue until they approached a red light.

  “What did you think of Amber? She’s been such an asset for The Ruggery. You know the whole story—how she and I met at a cook-off and became fast friends. Fast forward a few months, she moved down here from Boston. Left her family therapy practice behind after her divorce and traded it all in to work with Dad selling the Oliveris’ famous hand-crafted hooked rugs. Did you know she also writes a family therapy advice column? So well rounded. Funny thing is, I think you and her would make a good match.” A quick side-eye Pep’s way revealed nothing but the back of his head. His sights were aimed out his window. A honk from behind nudged her attention back to the road.

  Pep pointed at the windshield. “Green means go. Mind if we listen to the radio?” Before Sherry could respond, Pep tapped the knob, and the sound of seventies rock filled the car.

  Chapter 2

  Back in her kitchen, Sherry watched the timer tick off the final seconds. She plunged her wooden spoon in the saucepan and removed the thyme sprig. “Look how the spoon is coated with the deep red goodness.” She waved the blushing spoon in front of Pep’s face.

  “Is it done?”

  Sherry lowered the heat. “Not yet. Can you hand me one tablespoon of butter and the cream?” Sherry tipped her head in the direction of the dairy products gathered on the counter. “Those two additions will make the sauce creamy and glossy and perfect. Added too soon, it might curdle, too late, and the sauce won’t be blended.”

  Sherry stirred until the cream was incorporated and the butter was melted. “Taste this balsamic merlot reduction and see what you think.” Sherry thrust the spoon toward Pep’s mouth. Bits of shallot dotted the creamy sauce. One bit fell to the floor, only to be lapped up by a furry Roomba.

  “Thanks, Chutney.” Sherry smiled at her dog, who remained under foot to wait for more spills.

  Ding, ding, ding.

  “Time!” Pep took a taste and licked his lips. “Wow, that’s good. Maybe a touch more salt and pepper. I’d advise using the sauce sparingly, so it doesn’t overpower the shrimp.”

  “Phew. Perfect timing. The sauce will be warm and fresh for the plating if tomorrow’s prep goes as well as today. Glad there are no problems with the sauce and happy the merlot Don picked out worked. You’re right about the amount to put on. I wrote ‘drizzle on lettuce wraps’ in the instructions. The judges who picked it to compete must have liked the result.” Sherry loaded the spoon in the dishwasher and rolled up the sleeves of her shirt. “Ready to move onto the other steps in the f
inal practice session?”

  Either Pep didn’t hear the question or was too engrossed in scrolling through his phone.

  Sherry raised her voice. “Pep?”

  “Sorry, did you say something?” He didn’t lift his head.

  “We’re going to run through the recipe prep, minus the sauce, since I mastered that.” She held up a piece of paper. “It’s not as easy as reading the recipe and getting it right the first time. If you could put down the phone for a bit, we could get the run-through completed from start to finish, and we’ll all sleep better.” Sherry eyed Pep’s phone as if the device was a worm in her spinach salad.

  Pep lifted his gaze from the phone and met Sherry’s. “I’ll be sleeping fine. Take a deep breath, and you’ll realize you made the right choice when you picked me. Time’s ticking away. Let’s not waste a second even talking about my phone.” His voice had a bit of an edge to it.

  “I apologize for losing my patience. If you’d come a few days earlier, we’d have had more than a few hours to prepare.”

  “I couldn’t, so let’s make the most of the little time we have. I’m sorry, too. Don’t, for a minute, think I take your favorite hobby lightly.” He clicked the side of his phone. “Mute. I’m putting you in the naughty timeout corner.” Pep walked over to the edge of the kitchen counter. He set his phone down and gave it a mild whack. “You’ve been a bad boy.” He sidled up to Sherry. “I’m ready.”

  Sherry groaned before resettling her attention on her written list. She tapped into the compartment of her brain crowded with the experiences of competing in recipe contests and cook-offs. “I need to remember, practicing at the last hour has served me well. Things seep into my short-term memory, so tomorrow I’ll be able to recall tiny details quickly. You’d be surprised, I’m still learning what works best. If I hadn’t made that sauce just now, I wouldn’t have learned cream before butter, rather than the other way around, makes for a better blended sauce.”