Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry (6 page)

“Right. Sorry. I know you don’t have long. It’s just that I wanted to tell you … that is, before someone else did … that, uh …”

He hesitated, then opened his mouth, but before a single word escaped his lips the radio squawked to life. “Chief, there’s been an accident over by the I–55 exit. Car versus semi. Traffic is completely stopped, and the ambulance and fire truck can’t get through.”

“I’ll be there in five.” Wally had let go of Skye’s hand to work the radio. Now he leaned toward her and opened the door for her. “Sorry, sugar—I’ll explain when I pick you up for the dinner tonight. And remember, don’t believe anything you hear until I get a chance to talk to you.”

It almost felt as if he had pushed her out of the squad car.
Skye’s shoulders drooped. What in the world did he have to tell her? Whatever it was, she was pretty sure it wasn’t something she wanted to hear.

Scumble River might be a small town, but it wasn’t quite small enough for the entire population to fit inside the Feed Bag, particularly since the maximum-seating-capacity sign read seventy-six. Still, it looked as if the residents had given it the old college try. When Skye entered the only way she could get to her table was by edging sideways and holding her purse above her head.

Once seated, Skye noticed that Tomi Johnson, the owner of the Feed Bag, was not her usual cool and in-control self. May reported to Skye that when Tomi had been introduced to Grandma Sal, the restaurateur had practically kissed the food manufacturer’s ring. Now Tomi was rushing around bringing Grandma Sal bites of this, samples of that, and hanging on the CEO’s every tidbit of praise.

In fact, Skye noted that a lot of Scumble River’s citizens were acting out of character. They seemed more impressed by Grandma Sal and the contestants than they had been in the past by TV stars and supermodels. Why was that? Could it be that at some level the townspeople knew that nourishment was more important than glamour? Of course, it probably didn’t hurt that Grandma Sal’s picture was plastered on nearly every product her company sold, and many people saw her face at least three times a day.

The contestants were seated at four tables of six. Skye observed that Vince and Charlie had elected to sit separately, each the only rooster among five hens. Both men had self-satisfied looks on their faces that Skye’s palm itched to slap off. She restrained herself, reasoning that once the cooking started and they burned their entries, those smug expressions would be erased with the first wisp of smoke.

Grandma Sal’s staff had its own table, as did the judges and the media, which claimed the three back booths. The other diners were all locals, most of whom appeared to be more interested in catching a glimpse of Grandma Sal and the contestants than they did in eating. Skye was happy to
see that Tomi had clipped an index card to the menus that read,
MINIMUM ORDER PER PERSON $5.00. NO SHARING. NO DOGGIE BAGS.
The restaurant owner deserved to make a profit from all this hullabaloo.

Skye had just bitten into her BLT when Butch King, their table’s token male, tipped his head toward May and remarked, “So, both you and your daughter are from Scumble River?”

May nodded. “I grew up in Brooklyn, but ever since I got married I’ve lived here.” Skye saw her mother peek at the man’s left ring finger, which was bare, and flinched when she added, “I think a woman should live where her husband’s work is, as long as it’s not too far from her mother.”

The man looked amused. He winked at Skye and said to May, “You sound like my mom. She was so happy when I tied the knot and moved into the apartment next to her.”

“How wonderful.”

Skye did not like the expression that had settled on her mother’s face. She could tell that May was already picturing a house next to hers in the adjoining cornfield.

Hastily swallowing, Skye jumped into the conversation before her mother started drawing up the blueprints. “Where are
you
from, Butch?”

“Laurel.” Butch cut a piece of his chicken-fried steak and forked it into his mouth.

“I was surprised that the contest was open only to Stanley County.” Skye took a sip of her Diet Coke. “I had heard that Fine Foods has been enlarging its market.”

Another contestant joined the conversation. “The scuttlebutt around cooking-contest circles is that this will be the last year there’s a local contest. Fine Foods used to be strictly a Midwestern company, but the last couple of years it’s been expanding to Southern and Western markets. There’s a rumor that Grandma Sal is in negotiations with some big food conglomerate. If that company buys Fine Foods, the products will go nationwide and so will the contest.”

“I wonder if that will affect the factory here.” Skye worried
that a lot of locals could be out of jobs if the company was sold.

No one seemed to have an answer, and a few minutes later May asked, “What made you decide to enter, Butch?”

“I didn’t.” His smile was boyish. “I’m a firefighter, and the guys at my stationhouse love my spaghechili, so they sent in the recipe.”

“Spaghechili?”

“It’s a combination of my Italian grandmother’s spaghetti recipe and my Mexican grandmother’s chili recipe.” Butch grinned. “I came up with it when I didn’t have enough ingredients for either to feed the whole crew.”

“Very clever,” Skye complimented him.

“Clever, my eye,” May muttered. “That’s not a recipe; that’s leftovers.”

“Uh,” Skye said quickly, forestalling May’s next comment, “so you’re a Laurel firefighter? Do you know our police chief, Wally Boyd?”

“Sure. He’s a great guy.”

“My mom works for him as a dispatcher.”

“I’m a police, fire, and emergency dispatcher.” May’s eyes narrowed. “My paycheck is signed by the mayor, not Wally.”

“Oh, I see.” Butch looked at Skye, then May. “I’ve probably heard you on the radio.”

May nodded, then said, “I’ll bet you know Simon Reid too, the county coroner.”

“Right.” Butch handed the waitress his plate and ordered lemon meringue pie for dessert. “Not well. He sort of keeps to himself, you know?”

“He’s friendlier once you get to know him.” May shook her head at the waitress’s offer of dessert. “He’s Skye’s boyfriend, so we know him in a different way, of course.”

“No, he isn’t,” Skye blurted out. “He and I stopped seeing each other six months ago. Actually I’m dating Wally now, but Mom refuses to believe Simon and I have broken up for good.”

May harrumphed, nudging Skye. “Butch doesn’t care about your love life.”

Skye felt her face redden. “But you said …” Why did May always do this to her? Why did she start something, then make Skye feel like the one in the wrong? Skye stuttered to a stop. Anything she said to defend herself would make it worse. “Of course, sorry.” When everyone else resumed the conversation, she hissed in her mom’s ear, “You brought up the subject of Wally and Simon, so back off.”

May harrumphed again, then turned her attention to another tablemate. “What about you, Monika? Did Grandma Sal say you were from Brooklyn?”

“Yes,” the attractive blonde answered before pushing aside her nearly untouched plate. “I’m lucky it’s only eight miles from here.”

“I have a lot of relatives in Brooklyn,” May said. “Do you know the head librarian, Jayne? She’s one of my cousins.”

“Yes.” Monika reached into her purse and took out a Ziploc bag. “She’s one of my clients.”

May peered at the woman as she opened the plastic sack and started snacking from it. “Didn’t you like your lunch?”

Monika hesitated, then explained, “I have severe food allergies and can’t eat anything with dairy or gluten. I ordered a chicken breast broiled without butter, but they breaded it, and then I was afraid the fries had been in the same oil used to deep-fry other foods with breading.”

“Such a small trace would be a problem for you?” May probed, a look of disbelief on her face.

“Yes, even a tiny bit could cause me to become extremely ill and possibly die.”

“You poor thing.” May patted the woman’s hand.

Skye wrinkled her brow. If she had a food allergy that severe, would she be brave enough to come to a cooking contest, where someone’s innocent crumbs could kill her?

As May had predicted, they were running late, but it wasn’t Skye’s fault. The responsibility lay with Grandma Sal, who was turning out to be a girl who just couldn’t say no. All the townspeople in the restaurant and all the Feed Bag employees wanted an autograph and their picture taken
with her. Skye had never seen anyone sign boxes of cake mix, tubes of biscuits, and packets of dry pasta before.

Finally, about three o’clock, a full hour after they were scheduled to have been finished with lunch, Grandma Sal’s staff started moving the contestants out of the restaurant and into their cars. Everyone was instructed to follow Grandma Sal’s limo to the factory, where they would be given a brief tour and then have a chance to do a trial run of their recipes.

Skye and May were in the last group to be ushered from their table.

As they stood to follow the contest staffer, May whispered to Skye, “Here are the keys. I’ll meet you at the car. I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Okay.” Skye noted that a couple of women were lined up to use the only ladies’ room, and wished she had brought a book to read.

Skye followed her tablemates out the door. Once they were in the parking lot everyone scattered toward their vehicles. Skye sorted through the huge ring of keys May had thrust into her hand. She had just found the car key and inserted it into the passenger-side door when she heard the first scream.

S
kye froze. Did that sound like her mother?

The second scream propelled her into action. Over her shoulder she yelled to the few remaining people in the parking lot, “Call nine-one-one. I’ll go see what’s wrong.”

Skye burst through the restaurant’s door and skidded to a stop, searching for the problem. A third scream drew her to the back of the restaurant, where two women were engaged in a shoving match.

When Skye got closer she saw that one of the brawlers was Cherry Alexander. The redhead pushed her opponent and yelled, “You give it back to me right now!”

Cherry’s shove moved the other combatant into view, and Skye cringed as she saw her mother raise both fists and shout, “I told you, I don’t have your silly
secret
ingredient!”

Cherry pulled back her arm, aiming a slap at May’s face, but Skye grabbed the petite woman’s wrist and said in her best playground-monitor voice, “No hitting. We’re all adults here, and I’m sure we’ll find whatever you lost.”

“Get out of my way.” May tried to thrust Skye aside, but her five-foot-two, one hundred twenty-five pounds was no
match for her daughter, who had five inches on her, and quite a bit more weight. “I can fight my own battles.”

“I’m sure you could beat each other to a pulp with no trouble whatsoever, but that would mean you would be kicked out of the contest.” Skye raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you really want?”

As if someone had lowered the flame on a gas stove, both women went from boiling over to simmering in the space of a heartbeat.

“She started it.” May thrust out her chin. “She accused me of stealing.”

“If you didn’t take it, who did?” Cherry theatrically rubbed the wrist Skye had released. “And I’d better be able to whisk tomorrow with this arm or I’m suing you.”

Skye wanted to slap the asinine woman, but instead asked, biting off her words, “What did you lose?”

“You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?” Cherry’s gaze darted among the women gathered around her.

Until then Skye hadn’t noticed that the people who had still been in the parking lot had all come inside. Their presence reminded her that she had told them to call for help before going to investigate the scream. Now she asked, “Did anyone call nine-one-one?”

A woman nodded and held up a bright red cell phone. “They said they’d be right here.”

“Shoot.” Skye was angry with herself for jumping the gun. “Call them back and tell them we don’t need them after all.”

“Don’t you dare!” Cherry forced her way past Skye and pointed at May. “I want this woman arrested.”

Before Skye could react, the restaurant door slammed open and Officer Roy Quirk strode into the room. He immediately spotted Skye and asked, “We got a call about a woman screaming. What’s up?”

Quirk was Wally’s second in command and, since Skye had been hired as a psychological consultant to the Scumble River Police Department, one of her colleagues.

Skye pointed toward Cherry. “This woman claims her
secret ingredient has been stolen, and she’s accusing Mom of taking it.”

Quirk spoke into the radio clipped to his shoulder, then approached Cherry and asked, “Ma’am, what exactly is missing?”

“I’m not saying.” Cherry huffed, “Don’t any of you understand the concept of
secret
?”

“Well, ma’am, how can I look for it if I don’t know what it is?”

“It’s in a white paper sack.” Cherry crossed her arms. “And no one had better open the bag if they find it.”

Quirk turned to May. “Is it okay if I look in your purse?”