Eat, Drink and Be Wary Page 5

  “Five, four, three, two, one. Time to cook,” proclaimed a contest official.

  “Let’s kill it,” Pep called out.

  Chapter 6

  “Watch the cables and wires,” Pep advised. “I’ll wait here. Good luck.”

  Sherry stepped cautiously as she carried her tray of plated lettuce wraps to the judges’ table. Name cards revealed the four judges were nationally recognized chefs from California, New York, Texas, and Illinois. With essentially all four corners of the country covered, she hoped her Savory Shrimp Lettuce Wraps would appeal to the palate of at least one, but hopefully all four, culinary experts. She admired her vibrantly colored creation, from the green butter lettuce and pink shrimp to the burgundy-hued balsamic merlot glaze. She was happy with her choice of a white, scallop-shaped platter to present the lettuce wraps on.

  “Please wait here until you’re called,” a cook-off official told Sherry.

  Sherry stood ready to set down her platter of food on the chefs’ table. She watched carefully as they scored the previous cook’s recipe. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t make out any of the scores they assigned to Heidi’s crab-stuffed red potato bites. A moment later, Heidi was given the go-ahead to collect her platter. She circled in from the other side of the table and gathered her platter. Her hand was visibly shaking.

  “Good luck,” Heidi whispered as she passed Sherry. Sherry mouthed a thank you before returning her attention to the judges, currently involved in a conference huddle. When the huddle broke, a cook-off official waved Sherry forward.

  “Sherry Oliveri. Please bring your Shrimp Lettuce Wraps to the judges.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to these since I read the recipe,” Judge Number One exclaimed. He patted his stomach as he spoke. “Set those right down in front of me.”

  The toe of Sherry’s comfort sandal dragged and curled under as she began her journey to judgment. She lurched forward. A collective gasp filled the air. With a swift, and somewhat lucky move, Sherry regained her balance and landed at the edge of the table, tray first.

  “While it was a great recovery, no points for a dramatic entrance,” Judge Number Two said.

  Sherry attempted a retort. Instead, her brain retreated from the situation, leaving her mute. She focused on her lettuce wraps. No time for a poker face. Present a beaming smile. She knew it was important for the judges to see her pride.

  “Thank you, Ms. Oliveri. Your shrimp lettuce wraps are beautiful. Please wait over there.” Judge Number Four assigned Sherry a location over to the side with a point of the finger.

  Sherry settled into the spot Heidi had vacated. She had a frustratingly obscured view of the judging. From her vantage point on this side of the judges’ table, she could only make out a portion of each judge’s face. The judges helped themselves to a plate from her platter. Sherry leaned in, hands clasped at her aproned waist. Not much chance of reading their reactions to the taste of her dish.

  The judges’ tablecloth is white. I would have provided a pop of color instead of the white platter had I known. The wrap going to Judge Number Three has a garnish that’s gone rogue. Too late to fix. Can’t rush the table and adjust the lemon slice with my bare hands in front of the judges. Is that a tear in the lettuce on plate two? If the filling falls out, that defeats the purpose of a secure lettuce wrap needing no utensils. Phew, crisis averted. That’s the corner the judge bit first. I’d give anything to see those notes they’re taking. It’s over. They’re done.

  A murmur rose throughout the collective audience, positioned in front of the judges.

  “Sherry, you may collect your platter.”

  As she scooped up the platter and plates, she side-eyed the judges’ score tally sheet. She was unable to decipher any of their chicken scratch. Sherry made her way back to Pep at their cooking station. “That’s too bad. Someone must have had a last-minute emergency,” Sherry noted as she passed the contestant-free workstation.

  When she arrived at her stove, the area was spotless, and all her pans and utensils were bundled up in their bags.

  “Pep! Thank you.” Sherry’s head pivoted side to side as she took in the spotless scene.

  “We were such a well-oiled machine this morning, I had to continue the flow.” He folded his apron into a square. “Your precision must be rubbing off on me. I’ve never folded anything this neatly in my life.”

  “I think the judges were happy with the wraps. Heidi’s red potato bites looked delicious, too. Seems like there were no hiccups for any of the cooks today, so it’s an even playing field. Kudos to the sponsors for providing great ingredients.”

  Pep put his hand up to mask a yawn. “Now, we just wait.”

  * * *

  “Sherry, can I have a moment with you?” Patti Mellitt guided Sherry away from the reporter she and Pep were speaking to. “Vilma Pitney has some nerve showing up here, after I told her I was granted first interview rights by the organizers.”

  “Patti, you’re squeezing my arm. Ouch!” Sherry winced. She retracted her assaulted arm from Patti’s grip.

  “Sorry. She makes me so mad. That woman is insufferable.”

  “Sherry, would you mind posing for a group photo next to the other category winners, please.” Sophie Jefferson steered Sherry and Pep toward the other cooks lined up in front of the judges’ table.

  “Hold up your checks and say cheese.”

  The photographer got the desired shots, and the winners dispersed with their winnings in hand. Sherry and Pep returned to Patti.

  When they reached her, Pep asked, “Do you need me, too?”

  “Not on this round,” Patti answered.

  “Great. I’m going to see if Amber can give me a ride back to the house.”

  “See you soon, Pep. And thanks again.” Sherry blew Pep a kiss. “That was so much fun.”

  Pep snatched the kiss out of the air and returned a smile.

  “That Pitney woman. What was she even asking you?” Patti asked through gritted teeth. “Never mind. Forget I asked that. Must play nice, even if she doesn’t.” Patti plastered a grin across her face. “I have a few questions for you. The winner of the Hands-On Foods category is our local gal. Readers need to get their Sherry fix.”

  “Hey, Sherry. Congratulations. We knew you’d take your category,” Day called out as she, Don, and Bernie filed past. “We’ll be gunning for you next year.”

  “I will be, too,” yelled Heidi. She rolled her supply case past Sherry, a netted sack of potatoes dangling from the handle.

  “I got lucky. Thanks.” Sherry’s gaze lingered on the passing contestants. “If anyone’s staying around Augustin, come visit our store, The Ruggery, and we can grab a bite to eat or see the sights.”

  “Will do,” a male voice responded, but she couldn’t be sure who the voice belonged to.

  “Do you mind if we sit down to do the interview? I’m pooped after the morning’s activities.” Sherry led the way to a picnic table beside the boardwalk. Her shirt was splattered with balsamic merlot reduction where her apron didn’t provide coverage. She lowered herself to the bench with a moan. “That feels better.”

  Patti sat across from Sherry and opened her notepad to a blank page. “Did you hear any details about Fitz?”

  “Nothing special. Why?”

  “You haven’t heard? Surprised Vilma didn’t tell you.”

  “I didn’t talk to her for more than a minute.”

  “Fitz Frye is dead.”

  “What? No!”

  “He never made it to the cook-off. You didn’t notice the empty cook station?”

  “This is the first I’ve heard of it. I’m in shock. I didn’t even put two and two together that the empty contestant station was his. I never get social with the other cooks on cook-off day. Everyone is locked into business mode. I didn’t take inventory as to exactly who was missing.”

  “I understand completely,” Patti replied. “Word of his death was kept under wraps until after the awards ceremony.�
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  “I’m so sorry. What a shock.” Sherry organized her thoughts with a shake of her head. “How did the poor man die? Physically, he seemed in good shape last night. His mood was a different story. Something was upsetting him, and he had some harsh words for a few people. Wonder if he had a heart attack.”

  Patti narrowed her eyes. “If he did, he went out with a splash.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was found unresponsive in the melted remains of the seafood ice sculpture at the Augustin Inn.” Patti tapped her pen on her notepad. “Goes without saying, our dear Ginger is beside herself.”

  Sherry lowered her head. “Awful. The answer to your original question is, since this is the first I’ve heard of this, I have no details to share.”

  “I’m not touching on the death in my article. Just thought I’d ask. I’ll leave that to the news bureau. I have lots of story content, but, as always, I’d love your perspective on why you think your dish beat the other portable recipes.”

  “Let me get the image of Fitz and the ice puddle out of my head. You know, I considered him my greatest threat. The last time I competed against him, he was flawless, all the way down to the exact number of trailing sauce dots circling his Fresh Tuna and Spinach Strata. He’s the reason I never check out my competitors during a cook-off. I took one look at his perfect presentation and lost focus, knowing he set such a high standard.”

  “Interesting that his recipe today was supposed to be a shrimp wrap.” Patti held up the cook-off recipes handout. “Two shrimp wraps versus each other. How exciting it would have been to see the judges’ notes when they picked the winner. I’m sure it still would have been yours, but his would have provided good competition.” Patti met and held Sherry’s gaze.

  “I admit I wasn’t thrilled when I heard we were both cooking off shrimp wraps, but I was up for the challenge. You never know who or what you’ll be up against in a cook-off. Almost anything goes.”

  “I’d like to use that in my article, if it’s all right with you.” Patti held her pen poised to begin writing.

  “Sure.” Sherry paused over a thought. “Wait, maybe leave out the part where I’m not thrilled about Fitz and I both preparing shrimp wraps. It wasn’t too long ago when I was the suspect in a murder investigation. I don’t want any connections made between our friendly rivalry and his heart attack, or whatever took the poor man’s life.”

  “Do you think the pairing of you and your brother inspires you to seek out more contests with a team theme in the future?”

  “Might have been a one and done scenario. Pep’s got other interests. What made me so happy was how well we worked together. I was unsure if his head was in it before the cook-off began. He’s been so distracted since he arrived in Augustin.”

  “Well done, Sherry,” Heidi called out, as she passed by a second time. “Guess not every judge loves potatoes as much as I do.”

  “Your dish looked fantastic. Better luck next time,” Sherry said, then turned back to Patti. “Let’s see. What was I saying?”

  “Your partnership with Pep?” Patti suggested.

  “Right. It was a good morning. All the stars were aligned. I was pleasantly surprised by Pep’s attention to detail. Having his full participation gave me confidence in my dish’s timing. I didn’t get tripped up with small mistakes. While being allotted two hours was divine, sometimes having too much time to cook and plate works against you. Hands-on food doesn’t need to be oven hot. That was in everyone’s favor.”

  “You won a trip for two to a winery in Massachusetts. How lovely. Any idea when you might go and who you might bring? I do love wine, if you don’t have anyone in mind.” Patti delivered a reinforcing smile.

  Sherry nodded as she considered Patti’s proposal. “I’ll keep that in mind, my friend. I’ll offer the spot to Pep first and go from there, if he declines. Not sure how excited he’d be to take a trip with his big sis. Is there anything else? I’d give anything to go home and change out of these clothes. I still have to work at The Ruggery this afternoon.”

  Patti stared at her notepad. “Last thing. Were you aware of the fact that the Augustin Inn will be closing its doors forever at the end of the year?”

  “You’re the bearer of bad news today. That’s awful. It’s been in the Constable family for something like a hundred years. I had no idea. Ginger certainly didn’t let on last night.”

  Chapter 7

  Sherry couldn’t think of a time when she walked into The Ruggery and her senses weren’t overloaded. The odor of the newly dyed wool permeated the air with must, a smell she likened to the tolerable side of wet dog fur. It was a pungent, organic smell that enlivened her and provided her continued appreciation for the craft her family had practiced for generations. Customers often asked if they should air out the rugs when they brought them home, but Sherry was always hesitant to recommend. She knew the scent of the lamb’s wool would soon take on whatever the dominant smell of the owner’s household was, which she considered a shame.

  Pep was leaning on the counter when she approached.

  “If I’m on the team for your next cook-off, I vote for one with a sixty-minute time limit, not another two-hour extravaganza like we just survived.” Pep plopped down in a chair he had dragged in from the store’s tiny kitchen.

  “Duly noted,” Sherry said. “I just heard the most awful news.”

  “What?” Pep asked. “It’s been such a great day so far, I hope you’re exaggerating.”

  “I wish I was. Patti Mellitt told me, as I was leaving the cook-off, Fitz Frye is dead.”

  “That can’t be. We just saw him last night. He seemed healthy and especially ready to compete against you.”

  “I don’t have any details beyond what I’ve told you. I feel so sorry for his family and friends.”

  Amber’s dog, Bean, jumped up on Pep’s lap.

  “Me, too,” Pep said, with a marked lack of enthusiasm. “I’m exhausted. Bean and I’ll take a rest.” He shifted his attention to two women as they entered The Ruggery.

  “You’re making me feel guilty I left Chutney at home. I could have brought him, since I stopped off to change my clothes. I should have known Amber was leaving Bean here with Dad while she was at the cook-off.” Sherry cocked her head as she watched her brother and her friend’s cuddly Jack Russell share a mutual admiration moment. “My baby brother needs to work on his stamina. With those bulging biceps, I would think shuffling pots and pans on and off the stove for two hours wouldn’t be any problem.”

  “Different set of muscles involved. The mental ones.” Pep laughed.

  Sherry eyed the women, who marched up to the sales counter and set down their purses, side by side. “Good afternoon, ladies. Ruth, I see you’ve had a chance to change out of your Festival overalls.”

  Ruth spun around and her floral dress billowed.

  “Hello, dear. Yes, I’m back in my street clothes. My shift is over. I’m so glad you’re here, too, Pep, my dear.” Ruth rubbed her shoulder. “My doctor says my shoulder wouldn’t be sore if I didn’t ferry my purse around all day.”

  “Hi, Ruth.” Pep hoisted himself and Bean from his chair. He sat back down as quickly as he rose. Bean settled back down on his lap.

  “He also mentioned you needn’t carry the entire inventory of a mini convenience store inside the purse, if you want to lighten the load,” added Beverly Van Ardan. “Good afternoon, Sherry. Is this your dashing and debonair brother?”

  “Yes, though I’ve never used those exact words. My parents referred to him as ‘cutie patootie.’” Sherry turned toward Pep. “Pep, this is Beverly Van Ardan. She’s dear friends with Dad and Ruth and Frances. They usually travel in a pack, but Frances is on a trip.”

  Beverly’s silver updo held firm as she rotated her head to see behind her. She adjusted her turquoise silk scarf when the front knot shifted with her movement. “I don’t see Erno.”

  “Here I am,” Erno called out. He made his way across the
wide-plank wood floor, drawing creaks and groans from the old wood with each step. “Finishing up my lunch. What a nice group of friends and family. To what do we owe this honor, ladies?” Erno planted a kiss on Ruth’s cheek.

  “We came in to congratulate Sherry and Pep on their win this morning,” Ruth said.

  Sherry tipped her head. “Thank you so much.”

  “I wasn’t able to watch much of the cook-off,” Ruth continued, “as I had the very important job of handing out Fall Fest brochures. I did manage to sneak a peek at the action every now and again. Sherry was as intense as always. I caught Pep glued to his phone while Sherry was sautéing the shrimp. I gather that’s what young people do these days.”

  Sherry shot a glare at her brother.

  Pep’s breath caught in his throat with a gasp, and he coughed. “For one or two seconds I was checking texts. No big deal,” he said when his cough died down. “Sherry had my full attention when she needed it.”

  “Except maybe that one time when I asked you to dice the red pepper and you diced a red onion,” Sherry added. “Better keep that detail to ourselves. I gave an interview to Patti Mellitt singing the praises of my worthy assistant. Wouldn’t want her to think I embellished my brother’s contribution to our win.”

  “Rookie mistake,” Pep laughed.

  Sherry didn’t join him in his amusement.

  “Ruth Gadabee can keep a secret,” Ruth announced. “Especially concerning the Oliveri family.” She winked at Erno. “He was all hands on deck when time came for stuffing the lettuce leaves. A thing of beauty to watch.”

  “Aren’t my kids talented.” Erno sent an air kiss Ruth’s way.

  Beverly turned to Pep. “How long are you visiting for?”

  Pep remained silent until Beverly repeated the question. “A few more days, I think. I’m heading back up to Maine. My employment is in a transitional stage, shall we say. Changes are on the horizon.”

  Ruth hummed a note of consideration. “I like a man of mystery.”

  “I don’t see the attraction,” Sherry commented to her brother.