Murder of a Chocolate-Covered Cherry (26 page)

A voice from the audience bellowed, “You should be taking Fine Foods to court, not giving out an award for them. Their negligence contributed to your wife’s murder.”

Skye squinted past the stage lights. The heckler sounded a bit too well educated to be one of the Scumble River regulars. Who was trying to make Grandma Sal’s company look bad in front of all the press?

There was no way to tell, and Skye’s focus returned to Kyle, who pulled at the neck of his white shirt and darted a glance toward Grandma Sal.

She murmured in his ear, and he straightened and said, “The winner of the Cherry Alexander Award for Perseverance is …”

He squinted at the card Grandma Sal handed him, and
Skye wondered just how much Fine Foods was paying him to do this, rather than file a lawsuit.

“Glenda Doozier.” Kyle waited for the applause to end, then continued, “Not only did this plucky little lady come into the contest late and as an alternate, but she made it through some very difficult family issues, still managing to turn her dish in on time.”

Skye would have swallowed her chewing gum if she’d had any. Glenda Doozier, plucky? Little lady? Family issues? Her husband had been trying to bribe people, and her brother-in-law had shot up the place. How did that constitute being worthy to win a prize?

The Red Ragger queen pranced up to the mike in fourinch spike-heeled black plastic sandals and a Dolly Parton wig. Her leather skirt was the size of a Post-it note, and her lipstick-red tube top was no bigger than a rubber band. Every man in the place held his breath and prayed for a wardrobe malfunction.

Kyle seemed to be having trouble forming words. Finally managing to gasp, “Here,” he thrust the silver spoon-shaped trophy at Glenda’s 38DD chest. When it caught in the elastic of her top, several men in the audience growled like hyenas about to tear into their dinner.

Clearly Grandma Sal had dealt with testosterone-induced stupidity before. She casually reached over, disengaged the utensil’s handle from the stretchy material, and gently moved Kyle backward, taking his place. She then grasped Glenda’s arm, and as she walked her to the stairs said, “Mrs. Doozier, thank you so much for participating in our little contest. You’ll be contacted to come and pick up your check at the factory.”

Skye overheard Grandma Sal mutter to herself as she walked back to center stage, “Why in the world would he pick
her
to win the special prize? Is he trying to ruin us?”

The older woman straightened as she approached the microphone, pasted a smile on her face, and addressed the audience again. “Now, for our regular awards. We’ll be giving one in each of our four categories; Special-Occasion Baking,
Healthy, Snacks, and One-Dish Meals. The grand prize will go to one of those winners.”

Skye looked at the little table placed on Grandma Sal’s right. Several plaques and one trophy—the size of a small child—were waiting to be passed out.

Jared stood between his mother and the table. He picked up the first plaque and handed it to her.

She peered at the name, then announced, “The winner of the Healthy category is Monika Bradley, our CPA from Brooklyn, for her Gluten-Free, Dairy-Free Sponge Cake and Frosting.”

It took several minutes for the attractive blonde to hobble up to the front of the stage, her leg still immobilized by a brace, but when she got there she kept her speech short. “What characterizes a dish as healthy is different for each person. If you have diabetes, it’s sugar-free. If you have high cholesterol, it’s excluding trans fats. And if you have high blood pressure, it’s low sodium.

“While most people are aware of these dietary needs, many are uninformed about life-threatening food allergies. I entered this contest to bring the issue of celiac disease and other life-threatening food allergies to the public’s attention. My winning entry has no gluten or dairy and is still delicious. Thank you all for the opportunity.”

Next Grandma Sal awarded the Snacks winner. Skye had half believed Charlie would win, but a woman from Laurel took the prize for her Fiesta Italiano Dip.

The Special-Occasion-Baking category was next. Skye looked down the row at her mother. May was holding the hands of the contestants on either side of her as if she were in the Miss America Pageant.

Grandma Sal took the plaque from Jared, checked the nameplate, and said, “The winner of Special-Occasion Baking is … Diane White, our cookie blogger from Clay Center, for her Chocolate Brownie Tiramisu.”

The blogger shrieked and ran over to Grandma Sal. Her hug nearly knocked the older woman off her feet. After releasing Grandma Sal, Diane whipped a piece of paper from her pocket. She unfolded it like an accordion, grabbed the
microphone, and began to read, “I’m grateful to my wonderful husband, my three lovely children …”

The thank-you list was endless, and when Diane expressed her appreciation to the fish in her aquarium for being a calming influence, naming each individually, Skye tuned her out and looked back at May. Her mother’s smile was shaky, and Skye could tell that it cost her a great deal not to burst into tears.

Her own throat closed; she knew how much it had meant to May to win. Skye wished she had done a better job on the casserole, so she could have won for her mother.
Darn
. She should have practiced more and kept her mind on the cooking rather than on sleuthing.

Diane showed no sign of coming to an end of her roll call, but Grandma Sal wrestled the mike away from the excited woman by tempting her with the plaque. The blogger was still thanking people as she returned to her place clutching her prize.

Grandma Sal took the fourth award from her son, squinted at the engraving, and frowned. She whispered something to Jared, who answered her. She shrugged and said, “Last but not least, the winner of our One-Dish Meal is …”

Skye glanced to her left and smiled at Butch King, the firefighter whose mother had tried to obedience-train Earl Doozier. She hoped Butch would win. He’d been so nice that first day when they’d had lunch together.

“… Syke Denison.”

Had her name—at least, a version of her name—really been called? Skye was rooted to the spot. Even after she heard her mother screaming and saw her jumping up and down, she didn’t believe it was possible she had won.

Skye shot Grandma Sal a questioning look, and the older woman nodded. Finally Skye managed to move her feet, and she walked carefully to the front of the stage. She was still more than half afraid that she’d misheard and was about to make a huge fool of herself.

Grandma Sal handed her the plaque and said, “Syke is a school psychologist from right here in Scumble River, and she wins for her Chicken Supreme Casserole.” Skye whispered
in the older woman’s ear and Grandma Sal said, “Sorry, her name is Skye. I thought the other was wrong, but my son insisted. You know these youngsters; they think they know everything.”

The crowd laughed politely, and Grandma Sal handed Skye the mike.

Skye took a deep breath and tried to think of something to say. “Uh, well, I just want to thank my mother for teaching me to cook, and Wally Boyd for eating all of my practice attempts, even the burned ones.”

As Skye stumbled back to her spot, May met her halfway, hugging and kissing her. “You did it! You really did it! I knew you could.”

Grandma Sal waited for May to calm down, then turned to the audience. “Now for what you’ve all been waiting for. The grand prize of ten thousand dollars goes to …”

May’s nails dug into Skye’s hand.

“… Diane White for her Chocolate Brownie Tiramisu.”

Skye’s shoulders sagged. She had no right to be disappointed. It had been a miracle she had won her category, and there was no way she’d had a chance to win the grand prize. Still, for just a second she was let down.

Then May hugged her and whispered, “She was probably sleeping with the judges.”

Skye shook her head. “Two of the judges are women.”

May raised an eyebrow. “So?”

Skye giggled and May hugged her again. “We did great. Next year we’ll get the grand prize.”

“There won’t be any next year.” Skye hugged her mother back and stepped out of her embrace.

“We’ll see.”

“No next year,” Skye insisted.

“Sure. Whatever you say.” May nodded toward the front of the stage. “Now be quiet. I want to hear what our winner has to say.”

This time the cookie blogger’s speech was even longer, and not even being handed the huge trophy shut her up. Twenty minutes later she wound down, after thanking her
Kindergarten teacher, her minister, and the manufacturers of the Easy-Bake oven, in which she first learned to cook.

Grandma Sal asked the winners to stay so the media could ask questions, then dismissed the audience and the rest of the contestants. The Grandma Sal’s Soup-to-Nuts Cooking Challenge was officially over.

Most of the media wanted them to talk about Cherry’s death, but they all professed to have nothing to say. After several “No comments,” “I have no ideas,” and “What are you talking abouts?” the press gave up, and the winners were free to go.

Before they dispersed, Jared told them all they would be notified when their checks were ready. They would need to pick them up at the factory so they could fill out the paperwork for the IRS.

Waiting for Skye when she was finally released were the four huge guys who had been rooting for Janelle to win the contest. Skye’s heart skipped a beat as the largest man, the one she had dubbed Mr. Elephant, stepped forward.

He stared at her without speaking, then turned his head slightly. Skye followed his gaze and saw the prison cook standing a few feet away making a “go on” motion with her hands.

“My posse and me jus’ wanted to give you props on your win. Your recipe was killer.”

“Thanks.” Skye was pretty sure he had given her a compliment. “Your friend Janelle’s recipe was, uh, phat, too.”

Mr. Elephant smiled at her use of slang. “We hears that you got juice in this ’hood.”

That was a little easier to translate. “Maybe some.”

“Little Boy Blue listens to you, and word is you represent for your peeps.”

“I try to help when I can.”

Janelle cleared her throat loudly, and Mr. Elephant took a deep breath before saying, “I know the poe-leece ain’t goin’ listen to a dude like me, but I heard that dead chassis say to that biddie that jus’ won the contest that she be a bammer. That she be cheating by bringing in brownies from the bakery—not making her own.”

“Oh, my.” If Skye understood him correctly, he had accused Diane White of cheating and said that Cherry confronted her about it. The cookie blogger now had a motive for murder.

“You tell your man what I heard.” Mr. Elephant turned to leave.

“No, you have to tell Chief Boyd yourself.” Skye looked the man in the eye. “I promise, he’ll listen to you and not disrespect you.”

“That be whack.”

“No. Chief Boyd is straight-up.”

Janelle had moved closer and spoke up. “Jus’ do it and get it over with. You gonna go straight, you gotta learn to live with the man. That chief of police be cool.” She gave Skye a level look. “Right?”

“Right.” Skye looked around and saw Anthony talking to Diane and Monika.

He had each of them by the arm and was leading them down the hallway saying, “I need you to come this way, please. We have a few more questions for you both about Ms. Alexander’s death.”

Wally had mentioned that he planned to reinterview the contestants and staff who didn’t have alibis for the time of Cherry’s murder. Skye hadn’t realized he would do it right at the school, but it made sense. They were already assembled, and there were plenty of rooms for the interrogations.

As Anthony led Diane and Monika past her, Skye said to him, “Anthony, this gentleman has some information he needs to tell Chief Boyd. Where is he?”

“In the principal’s office.”

Skye nodded and escorted Mr. Elephant, his herd, and Janelle toward the front of the building. As Skye walked, she tried to decide whether she should tell Wally about his father’s visit, or give Carson the chance he had asked for and see if she really was standing in the way of Wally’s desire to go back to Texas.

Part of her said that tricking Wally like that would damage their relationship forever. But another part wondered if
she would ever know the truth if she didn’t go along with Carson’s plan.

She still hadn’t decided what to do when she reached the main office. She’d just have to wing it and see what popped out of her mouth. Perhaps not the best plan, but the only one she had.

The outer office was empty, and Skye asked the group to wait there. Once they complied, she proceeded down the narrow hall and knocked on the door at the end.

“Yes?” Wally’s voice held a slightly annoyed tone.

She inched open the door, poking her head inside. “Could you step out here for a minute?”

“Now?”

“Now.”

When he was outside the office with the door closed she explained about Mr. Elephant and what he had heard. Wally immediately went to talk to them, saying to Skye over his shoulder, “After we get done with this guy, do you have time to help me reinterview Jared’s wife?”

“Sure.”

Mr. Elephant repeated to Wally what he had reported to Skye. Friday night at the dinner he had overheard Cherry tell Diane White that if she didn’t drop out of the competition, Cherry would inform Grandma Sal that Diane had used brownies from a bakery during the practice session that afternoon, and that she had an order for three more pans of brownies from that same bakery the next morning.

Wally asked a few questions, but it was clear Mr. Elephant didn’t have any other information, and since he and his crew had alibis for the time of the murder, there was no reason to suspect he was lying. Wally took his address and phone number, then let them go.

When Wally and Skye returned to the principal’s office, he said to the woman sitting in one of the visitor’s chairs, “Mrs. Fine, this is our psychological consultant, Ms. Denison.”

Tammy appeared impatient, and as Skye took a seat next to her, she demanded, “Are you nearly finished? We have a dinner party in Chicago tonight and we need to get on the
road. My husband and mother-in-law may have to come back here, but this is the last time I ever have to pretend to want to be in Scumble River.”