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  Marla coughed and then cleared her throat.

  “Here’s my favorite room.” Sherry let her arms flow out to her sides.

  “You did a great job on the kitchen,” said Amber. “These green granite counters are gorgeous! And these wood cabinets go so well with the earthy backsplash tiles.”

  “Sometimes I think I would trade it all in for a second chance at my marriage.” Sherry’s wide-eyed gaze met her sister’s. “But then reality sets in, and I realize the marriage ship has sailed. So it’s the future that needs a remodel now. Dad made a comment the other day about how my life currently is a pizza for one and I just have to pick the right toppings.”

  “Dads are the best.” Amber put her clasped hands over her heart.

  “Okay, enough wallowing in my life mess,” Sherry announced. “Anyone want a section of the newspaper? I wouldn’t mind taking a few minutes to relax. Let’s go out on the patio. Grab your mugs.” Sherry led Amber and Marla outside to the bluestone terrace. Secured under her arm was the day’s newspaper.

  “I’ll take the sports section.” Marla plopped down on a cushioned lawn chair.

  “No argument here.” Sherry settled in to the lounge chair beside Marla. “I’ll take the Home and Garden section, unless you want it, Amber.”

  “Front page for me.” Amber reclined on another lounge chair.

  “Yesterday in the paper I saw a print ad for cook-off audience tickets. I would think the article about what happened would come out tomorrow. Wonder what they’ll report.”

  Amber scanned the headlines. “Wow, did you hear the food giant Visible Roots Produce is being sued for knowingly selling packaged salads with insect larvae in them?”

  “Yuck!”

  “Not a good news day for food companies,” Marla added.

  Sherry peeked over the top of her newspaper section. “Amber, I was thinking, after today, you may be put off by cook-offs, but there’s one coming up featuring honey. Marla and I have made it a goal to try and get into the finals, and it would be great if you could be there, too. Maybe while you’re staying here we could all work on some entries, if there’s time?”

  “I’ll think about it,” sighed Amber.

  Chapter 5

  “Sherry, wake up.” Marla thumped her sister on the head as if she were testing a melon for ripeness. “I think someone’s knocking at the door.”

  “Wow, I really zonked out.” Sherry shook her head to awaken her brain. “Sorry ’bout that. I guess I was wiped out from the cook-off.”

  Marla pulled Sherry to her feet. “You were snoring.”

  “And drooling a bit.” Amber struggled to get out of her lounge chair.

  As Sherry wiped the corners of her mouth, Chutney began barking.

  “I’m not expecting anyone.” Sherry reentered the house from the patio and peered out the window beside her front door. She was met with the silhouette of a slightly crouched man in a suit. Another man, carrying a computer tablet, stood a step behind. Sherry unlocked the door and opened it a few inches, keeping one foot at the base of the doorframe.

  The man wearing a crumpled hat wedged his head sideways through the sliver of space the partially open door provided. “Good afternoon. I’m Detective Ray Bease. I’m the Hillsboro Police Department detective assigned to investigate the death that occurred at the OrgaNicks Cook-Off earlier today. And this is my assistant, Detective Cody Diamond.”

  Sherry widened the door opening.

  “Here are our credentials. Please inspect them thoroughly.” Detective Bease presented his badge and paperwork to Sherry. She took what he offered and shuffled through the collection.

  “Is one of you Sherry Frazzelle?” the Detective asked.

  “Yes, I am. My last name’s pronounced Fra-sell-E, not frazzle. Please, come in,”

  “Hold on. Let me just double-check those.” Marla snatched the identification documents out of Sherry’s hands. “You can never be too careful.”

  “She’s right, ma’am. You can never be too careful,” Detective Diamond added.

  “Seems legit, Sherry.” Marla looked up from the documents with a slight smirk. “Ray Bease. Really?”

  Detective Diamond put his hand up to his mouth to conceal a smile. With his other hand, he swept his highlighted bangs out of his eyes.

  “Not Bease, as in honey bees. It’s pronounced Bease, rhymes with grease. As in elbow grease.” The man eyebrows folded in on themselves. “If we could have a brief moment of your time, we have a few questions to ask. Is now a convenient time?”

  “Please, come in, Detective Bease.” Sherry glanced at the detective’s dusty shoes. Her mouth twisted into a pucker. “If you’d like to take your shoes off, please do.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Let’s go sit in the kitchen.” Sherry’s arm twitched when she saw the flakes of dirt Detective Bease’s shoes shed with each step he took. She suppressed the urge to run and get her portable vacuum cleaner. “This is my sister, Marla Barras, and our friend Amber Sherman. We were all contestants at the cook-off today. Please have a seat.” Sherry waved the group into the kitchen and pointed out the chairs at the round table.

  “Can I get anyone a glass of lemonade?”

  “No, thank you,” said Detective Bease. “We won’t be here long.”

  “Yes, please, ma’am,” Detective Diamond said. “I could never resist my mom’s lemonade. You kind of remind me of her.”

  “I’ll take one, too,” said Marla.

  “Me three, please,” said Amber.

  Sherry always kept a pitcher of lemonade in her refrigerator in case someone stopped by. She constructed a tray of glasses and rushed it to the table.

  When Sherry returned to the table, the detectives were making a lengthy visual scan of her kitchen and dining room from their seats. Detective Diamond had set up a computer on the table. Sherry sat with a rigid posture, uncertain about the men she had invited in.

  “I’m here to ask you, Ms. Frazzelle, if you have any details to add to the statements you gave the police at the scene this morning?” Detective Bease took a gold-trimmed pen out of his coat pocket. Detective Diamond handed his partner a spiral notepad. Bease began clicking the pen’s retractor button manically.

  Sherry’s eyes were drawn to the detective’s pen. She could make out the inscription “Connecticut: The Nutmeg State.” “I like your pen.”

  “Thanks. I’m hoping to collect one from all fifty states.” The detective stopped fidgeting with his pen, and the silence thickened.

  “Back to your question. Do the police always treat a death this way? Seems a bit excessive. Can’t the death certificate give you all the answers you need? By the way, why are you only asking me?” Sherry pointed to Marla and Amber.

  The detective resumed clicking his pen. “I wasn’t aware anyone else from the scene would be here, frankly.”

  “Okay, well, as I told the police, I don’t think I know of anything outside of the cooking we did. I only saw a man collapse while judging the recipe contest. That’s about it.” Sherry picked up a napkin and fanned herself. “The contestants only found out he died after the ambulance left. I had a feeling it wasn’t good when I was giving him CPR, but I was hopeful the EMTs could revive him. Sorry, not too helpful.”

  Detective Diamond leaned over to his associate. “Sounds like a reluctant witness. Chapter Four of The Effective Detective deals with getting those kind to cooperate.”

  Detective Bease’s pen became silent. “I don’t think your textbook can teach you more effective skills than I can. Watch and learn, bookworm.” He turned back to the women. “If you would just keep your eyes and ears open to any clues as to why someone would have such a problem with Chef Anthony Birns that it may have led to his murder, I would appreciate it.”

  “Murder! Wait! Are you saying it was murder?” asked Amber.

  Sherry shivered.

  “It doesn’t seem he died of natural causes, but we’ll know with certainty when the autopsy reports c
ome back.” Detective Bease unbuttoned his dirt-brown blazer and placed his hand inside, as if searching for something. As his coat flapped open, Sherry caught a glimpse of what looked like a pistol holster. She couldn’t control a ripple of uneasiness as it traveled from shoulder to shoulder.

  “Preliminary tests indicate he died from a reaction to an irritant in his throat, and for many reasons it doesn’t appear accidental,” Bease continued. “The medics knew immediately when they were attempting to revive him they were dealing with an unusual food substance in the lining of the victim’s soft tissue. We know of no one else who had an adverse reaction to anything consumed during the cook-off. If it was accidental, there would have been many people affected on some level because so much food was shared.”

  “Unbelievable.” Amber stood. “Who would kill him? I can’t even believe I’m saying those words. And why?” She sat back down.

  “My job is to answer those questions. Ironic, isn’t it, for a chef who makes his living preparing and sampling perfectly executed, no pun intended, food to have ingested something toxic enough to kill him? Hmmm.” Detective Bease began working his pen retractor button with a renewed intensity. “But, until we know what or who ended his life, all leads must be considered.”

  “I’m shocked.” Sherry squinted and wrinkled up her nose. “What’s so scary is we witnessed a murder and didn’t even know it.”

  Amber and Marla nodded.

  “I was just thinking the clues detectives gather are kind of like ingredients in a recipe.” Sherry used her hand and an imaginary pencil to write down words. “When you get them all put together in the proper way, the case is solved, and the recipe is complete.” She raised her invisible pencil and waved it overhead.

  “Something like that,” said Detective Bease. “You solve a crime by combining clues, and you make a recipe by combining ingredients. Yep, good comparison.”

  “She’s becoming a ‘friendly’ witness,” added Detective Diamond. “Chapter Three.”

  Sherry sat up a little straighter, proud of her amateur analysis. She flashed a broad smile at the detectives.

  Detective Bease appeared to blush. He reached over and took a sip of his partner’s lemonade.

  “Can we get back to the cook-off, please?” asked Marla. “And can you please stop clicking your pen?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know if I’d be able to help in any way. I just can’t think of anything to add to the statements I already made.” Sherry sighed.

  “Let me try to jog your memory. Do you recall any arguments prior to or during the event?” asked Detective Diamond.

  “Think of any chatter you may have overheard, ma’am. Something that may seem out of the norm as you recall it,” suggested Detective Bease.

  “Don’t hold your breath, Mr. Bease. My sister was a wreck most of the morning trying to get her recipe to come out perfectly. I bet she wasn’t focused on anything but her tenderloin.”

  “Not true.” Sherry wiped a smudge on Marla’s lemonade glass with her napkin. “I was very tuned in to the whole cook-off scene. By the way, Detectives, I prefer not to be called ma’am.”

  Bease raised his head and fixed his gaze on Sherry. Her eyelid fluttered. She hoped he hadn’t noticed.

  “It’s a term derived from Madame, which refers to a woman of high rank, such as royalty. The Queen of England, for example,” explained Detective Diamond, before his partner could respond.

  “Have you seen how old the Queen is?” Sherry shifted to the side of her hip. She examined Detective Bease for a moment. You’re no spring chicken yourself. Her gaze shifted to the younger detective. Okay, I admit I may be a good ten years older than you.

  “Yes, ma’a . . . I mean, okay. Let’s see. Can any of you tell me a bit about the world of recipe contesting?” Detective Bease turned back a few pages in his notepad. “That’s what you call it, correct?”

  “Yes,” answered Marla. “It’s just what it sounds like. People submit recipes to an organized contest, they’re judged, and the best one wins. There are recipe contests conducted over the Internet, where you submit your recipe through the sponsor’s website, and others are promoted through publications, like a magazine. Some require you to participate in a live cooking competition like the OrgaNicks Cook-Off.”

  “Do the contests ever get contentious? For example, is there any animosity amongst contestants or between contestants and judges? Any ill will you have witnessed?” asked Detective Bease.

  “Honestly, I’d dip my grandmother in egg wash and roll her in panko breadcrumbs for a chance at a ten-thousand-dollar grand prize. That’s what was at stake in the OrgaNicks Cook-off.” Marla accented her reply with an exaggerated Midwestern twang. “I’m just joshing you. But I will say, my sister taught me what little I know about cooking. I’d love to win, but if I don’t, I hope she does or Amber. But we’ll have to wait and see on this one, if there ever is a winner announcement. At the end of the day, only the cooking gods know what the outcome will be.”

  Sherry shifted her gaze from Marla to Detective Bease. “Some individuals I’ve met are more intense than others, but I’ve never seen feelings escalate to a level where someone could get hurt. Every once in a while, you come across a cook who’s solely in it for the money. More often than not, they come away disappointed because very few people win big. I think the fast-cash dreamers are the ones who don’t enter more than one contest because their hopes are quickly dashed. Frankly, anyone who falls into that group is probably not very talented anyway. You know, most of us really are just a nice bunch of people trying to win a prize for doing what we do at six o’clock night after night.”

  Detective Bease put down his pen and tapped his notepad with his index finger. “Okay, let me ask you this. What’s your experience with the judges of these events? Do they make themselves available to the cooks? Any interaction between judges and cooks, I mean? Are the judges pleasant or in any way abrasive? Not all are cut out to be judged in a public forum, and if the judge is detached, patronizing, or maybe even cruel, I could see a motive emerging.”

  “We don’t get much interaction with the judges. Contests are designed to keep contestants and judges apart.” Sherry created a partition in front of her with her hands. “Sometimes the cooks never see them. We may find out their names ahead of the contest or maybe not until after it’s over. I suppose contestants could hold grudges if they feel slighted, but you’d have to be pretty twisted to kill a guy for not liking your Stroganoff.”

  “Okay, let me move in a different direction then.” Detective Bease picked up his pen and pointed it at Sherry. “I am curious how you all come up with these winning recipes.”

  “I’m sure each one of us has different means to the end result,” said Amber. “I’m really new to the game, so I just cooked and cooked and tested and tested until I was somewhat satisfied with the results—enough to send the recipe into the contest.”

  “As a new contestant, how upset were you when you didn’t win?” asked Detective Bease.

  “Wait! I didn’t not win.” Amber balled her hand in a fist. “We still don’t know who the winner was. Weren’t you told that?”

  Detective Diamond’s chair screeched as he scooted forward in it. “We’ve only just begun our investigation. We don’t have all the information. That’s why we’re here.”

  “Sorry.” Amber unclenched her hand. “Chef Tony Birns died before he could get the winning recipe title out of his mouth. The contest results would be postponed, we were told.”

  “I imagine the other two judges know who won or, at the very least, Nick Andime, the head of OrgaNicks, does.” Sherry squinted to see if she could bring what was on Detective Diamond’s computer screen into focus, but he raised his arm and blocked it. “I’m almost certain he was the one who whispered the winner’s name in Chef Birns’ ear. I know because I was watching him like a hawk trying to read his lips, but he was too discreet.”

  “Very interesting.” Detective Bease’s pen danced
across his notepad. “The perpetrator couldn’t have been angry about today’s contest results because the death took place before the winner was announced.”

  “It could easily be that someone who’d been in a previous contest with the deceased judge was in today’s cook-off. He’s been a judge in other contests. That information was listed in the contest brochure under each chef’s bio. I just can’t believe anyone there would do such a thing.” Sherry closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “Let’s move on.” Detective Bease flipped the page on his notepad. “I’m curious about how the mechanics of a cook-off work. I’ve been to state fairs where there’s a baking contest or a blue-ribbon best chili cook-off, and I’ve watched ‘cook for cash’ shows on the Oven Lovin’ Network, but I didn’t realize live cooking competitions had grown into such a nationwide phenomenon. If the prize were large enough, I’d think people might resort to devious means to win at all costs. If the judge was the obstacle between the contestant and a pile of cash, maybe things could turn deadly.”

  “I’ve seen underhanded forms of bending the rules.” Sherry’s voice took on a sarcastic tone. “For example, there is one notorious home cook who is known for taking, and I use the term loosely—”

  “She really means ‘stealing,’” Marla interjected.

  “—a previously published recipe, simply changing the name, and entering it as her own creation. But you can’t get away with shortcutting creativity very easily now because a simple search of the Internet reveals who the recipe belongs to.”

  “What a cheater! Have I ever met her?” Marla asked.

  “Maybe, but I’ll never tell.” Sherry dropped her head to the side. “And then there was the contestant who definitely was married to a cookbook author. You know they have recipe testers on their payroll, so that’s a no-no. You can’t get away with much in the way of cheating these days. But a few people will try if the prize is big enough.”