A Holiday for Homicide

Chapter 1

Juicy Bites

Augustin will celebrate two Labor Days. One traditional, one for entertainment TV. Stay tuned.

What are you reading? Kat asked. Is that a napkin?

Sherry handed her tennis opponent the folded paper square she’d discovered that doubled as a napkin and a source of news.

Is this something new Pep’s adding to the food truck menu? Kat asked. After examining both sides, she returned the napkin to Sherry. "A Juicy Bites napkin? What is Juicy Bites?"

He said someone left a stack of these printed napkins on his truck windshield this morning. He received fifty. That means first come, first served. Get ’em while they last.

I’d say they’re some sort of puzzle, Kat said with a casual tone.

The napkin has me guessing why Augustin would have two Labor Days. One for television is interesting. I will stay tuned.

Ladies, your Gold Coast Avocado Toast is ready, Pep called out from the Toasts of the Town’s service window.

Kat’s blonde ponytail, wet at the hairline from her recent shower, bobbed with her youthful vigor as she raced Sherry to pick up their post-match breakfast. Kat was the victor in their tennis match, and because of their standing wager, the loser paid the bill. That was happening way too often for Sherry’s liking.

Pep’s sous chef, Angel, stood alongside Sherry’s brother and waved.

"Hola, señoritas," Angel greeted.

Sherry and Kat returned the greeting. "Hola, Angel, gracias por el desayuno."

"De nada, chicas. See you next time. Pep, take good care of mis amigas." Angel wiped his hands on his apron and picked up an order slip on his way back to the truck’s kitchen.

"I love when we can catch a glimpse of Angel, Pep He makes the best toasts in New England. I can’t repeat enough, the concept of your food truck is brilliant. Are customers liking the Juicy Bites napkins?" Kat asked.

This is something new. The napkins only started today, but I bet they do. They’re cryptic and a curiosity all in one. The message is an unfinished puzzle, so there’s got to be more. Clever. That’ll keep customers coming back to see if any more information is provided. I don’t mind that at all, Pep said. If the delivery was a one-and-done, they’ll be disappointed.

I do like a good puzzle. And a bonus, whoever the supplier is, they’ve followed Pep’s mandate that everything must be made from recycled material, Sherry said. She reached up and handed her brother her credit card. Kat and I had a nice match today. The weather has been so lovely this August. Just enough rain to keep my garden happy but not enough to interfere with my outdoor activities. Playing tennis before work is the best way to start the day. A shower in the park’s locker room afterward and we’re ready to get to work.

You two have become my best customers, always stopping by for your breakfast after your tennis match, Pep said.

Give thanks to the mayor for introducing us. Sherry edits his newsletter and I get to see her smiling face at town hall when she stops by to meet with him, Kat said. Credit also goes to my mom. She knew Sherry was a tennis enthusiast and nudged me to ask her to play. My mom won’t admit it, but she makes it her job to keep me active outside work.

Pep leaned forward across the service counter. He pushed the two paper containers toward Sherry and Kat. Are you liking your job as the mayor’s assistant?

They stepped aside as the next customer gave Pep her order. He jotted down the order and passed the slip of paper over his shoulder to Angel.

Very much, Kat said. Mayor Drew has some great ideas for the town. And don’t think he won’t have a dozen more by the end of the day. He has more energy than anyone I’ve ever known.

He’s about thirty years younger than his predecessor, who was getting a little long in the tooth, Pep said.

Same with the ex-mayor’s assistant, Sherry said. Tia was wonderful. She was a quirky character, to say the least, but she loved her job. Kat, you have some hefty shoes to fill.

I know. It’s not a bad thing to bring some fresh blood into town hall. The mayor’s a go-getter. I love the idea of working for an overachiever. He doesn’t mind that I come in at nine on the dot in the morning after a game of tennis either. He never asks me to skip a match in favor of an early start to the workday. Now that’s a good boss.

We better move along, Pep. The line is growing behind us, Sherry said. She scanned the people helping themselves to the napkins as they waited their turn to place an order. See you soon.

Sherry and Kat carried their breakfast a short distance to the landscaped green in front of town hall. They took a seat on one of the many wooden benches.

The town hall location is such a win for the food truck, Sherry said. Pep parks the truck here around seven thirty and by one he’s sold out. Couldn’t be more perfect for folks coming into town for the day.

Awarding Pep the location was a no-brainer for this administration. Mayor Drew is a big fan of the Oliveri family. He’d bend over backward to showcase your father’s artisan rugs, your cook-off successes, or Pep’s popular food truck.

It was nice of him to grant a permit for Pep to sell here, Sherry said as she surveyed her breakfast. And the fact he wrote a note introducing Toasts of the Town’s menu in the newsletter was a bonus. As she leaned in to take her first bite, a stretch limousine turning into the lot caught her eye. The car slowly circled the area.

A celebrity? Sherry asked. Her gaze followed the car until it turned onto Main Street. She checked her phone. Town hall doesn’t open until nine, right?

That’s right. Ten more minutes. Kat swallowed a bite of the crunchy whole-grain toast topped with avocado mash, chopped egg, sun-dried tomatoes, lemon, honey, and fresh herbs. They’re back. She tilted her head in the direction of the car.

The car was so long the trunk extended beyond the parking space limits. The engine was cut and the driver’s-side door opened. A man in a gray suit stepped out. He walked to the rear door and pulled the handle. A casually dressed man who Sherry estimated to be in his forties left the car and made his way toward the food truck.

Do you know him? Sherry asked.

I know who that is. He’s been in the mayor’s office multiple times over the last couple of months, Kat said. He’s usually in a suit and tie.

Sherry waited for Kat to elaborate. When no further details came, she probed. Is he a celebrity of some sort?

I’m not at liberty to say until I get the go-ahead permission from the mayor. You understand, don’t you? Kat pinched up her forehead.

Sherry had known Kat for about four months. The look on Kat’s face suggested Sherry hadn’t cracked the level of friendship where her tennis opponent felt comfortable confiding sensitive information to her. No problem, Sherry fibbed. I completely understand.

The ladies ate in silence until Kat introduced a new topic. I’m organizing an event to raise money for a children’s community garden. One tract of land with multiple plots, solely dedicated to gardeners fourteen years old and under. I’m hoping to attract kids who come from the surrounding underserved neighborhoods. The well-kept secret is there are plenty of pockets of poverty in and around Augustin and the kids are the most vulnerable. A garden to tend would provide a community-minded after-school mission.

What a wonderful concept, Sherry said.

Don’t worry, I know how busy you are with the Augustin Community Garden, and I won’t ask you to spearhead the project, as I really ought to. Kat laughed.

Ask away. I might not volunteer to spearhead the project, but I’d love to help if I’m available.

What I could use is some advice on how to organize a kids’ cook-off. That’s my fundraiser idea, Kat said.

Of course. That’s right up my alley. I think I can reduce the steps that go into an adult cook-off down to a kid-sized event for you. I’ll start brainstorming right away.

Kat closed her empty food container and stood. Thanks so much. I should get going. Work time. Want me to bring your container to the recycle bin? Kat reached out her hand. Her gym bag was balanced precariously on her shoulder, and she struggled to keep from dropping her container.

You’ve got your hands full. Let me take them. I’m heading in that direction. I want to say goodbye to Pep too, Sherry said. You go on. Thanks again for the game. Text me when you want to schedule the next.

Kat handed Sherry her container. Will do. Might even be tomorrow. Have a great day.

As Sherry neared the truck, she spotted the man from the limo engaged in conversation with her brother. She took her time closing in on the pair, checking her phone every few seconds to appear preoccupied.

Sure. You must step on a few toes to get anywhere in the television industry. Dog eat dog. I haven’t earned that reputation, as far as I know, but the nice guy finishes last, unfortunately.

I couldn’t work in such a cutthroat environment, Pep said.

Don’t kid yourself, son. The man shrugged before rubbing the four-leaf-clover pendant on a leather bracelet between two fingers. Success is hard to come by. You must play the game, pay your dues, and rise through the ranks. He pointed to the truck. Take your situation, for example. You don’t think you’ve taken someone else’s coveted parking spot here? Someone who maybe needed the location exposure more than you, just to survive another day?

I never thought about my luck in that way, Pep said. He peered down from his window perch at his sister. Sherry, back for seconds?

Her cheeks warmed when the man leaning on the side of the truck shifted his sights in her direction. Sherry shook her head. Not today, thanks. Just wanted to say goodbye.

Pep glanced from his sister to the handsome man with the wavy brown hair and back again. Pep gestured for Sherry to come closer. She pinched her brows together and darted her gaze toward the mystery customer.

He’s a television producer if that’s what you wanted to know, he whispered. He’s been here a few times recently. He’s negotiating with town hall. He needs permits and police presence and stuff like that for an upcoming shoot. Pretty exciting.

His car is as subtle as a punch in the nose. Sherry laughed.

Mr. Sturges, your four Parisian Prosciutto Scramble Toasts and four smoothies are ready, Pep called out.

Thanks, the man said as he handed Pep his shiny platinum credit card. The card caught the rays of the late summer sun and the reflection blinded Sherry for a second.

This is my sister, Sherry, Pep said. He ran the card through the card reader.

Another Oliveri. Pleasure to meet you. I’m Basil Sturges. Your brother has kept me well-fed on my trips to Augustin. Are you as good a cook as him?

Pep couldn’t contain his amusement. Sherry is one of the country’s best amateur cooks. She’s won more cooking competitions than anyone can count. I wish I was half as good as her. As a matter of fact, several of the recipes I serve are her brainchildren.

My goodness, Basil said. It’s an honor to meet you. Something in his tone didn’t ring true to Sherry. Or maybe she was being judgmental and should accept his compliment word for word.

Nice to meet you, too, Sherry said.

Sherry’s gaze drifted from Basil’s face to the large bag of food he received from Pep.

If you’re thinking I’m a huge eater, this isn’t all for me. Not to say I’d have any trouble at all polishing this delicious food off all by myself. I have a hungry driver and two co-producers in the car editing my notes for this morning’s meeting with the mayor and chief of police. Speaking of which, I’m going to be late if I don’t get going.

That’s not what I was thinking at all. I’m always happy when Pep fills a large order, whether it’s for one person or many. I’m his biggest fan.

Need any forks or napkins? Pep asked.

I’ll take a few napkins. The ones that aren’t printed, please. Thanks. Nice to meet you, Sherry. Thanks again, Pep. He lifted his bag and tipped his head before returning to his car.

Nice guy, Pep said.

Kat couldn’t fill me in on what he’s working on, exactly. She’s sworn to secrecy, Sherry said. "Putting two and two together, he may be behind the entertainment television the Juicy Bites napkins allude to."

We’ll know more soon, I’m sure, Pep said. News in Augustin spreads like wildfire and it seems we have someone fanning the flames. He tilted his head toward the dwindling pile of printed napkins.

Chapter 2

Did you have a nice tennis game, dear? Eileen called to Sherry from her driveway across the street.

Yes. I wasn’t triumphant today. Next time I’ll get her. Her neighbor was within arm’s length before Sherry closed her car’s tailgate lift.

"I’m sure you will. Think positively. That young lady from the mayor’s office is sweet. Only yesterday she was a little girl squealing trick or treat at my front door. As I recall, she always dressed as some variation of a famous athlete. A soccer player, a football player, a tennis player. She was quite a little tomboy. Now she’s all grown up with a very important job."

Time marches on, Sherry said. She hoisted her tennis gear over her shoulder as she listened for Eileen’s response.

She and Mayor Drew are a breath of fresh air. I’ve been over to town hall to see what they’re all about and I like what I see.

If they can pass the Eileen test, they receive the highest score, Sherry said. She smiled at her friend, who made most of the town’s business hers as well.

Did Kat mention any word of a television show being filmed in town? Eileen asked. It’s no secret a production crew has been scouring the town for filming sites.

I think it’s more of a secret than you know, Sherry said. At least Kat said it was.

If they wanted to keep it under wraps, the crew shouldn’t travel in such a high-profile vehicle, Eileen said. She set her lips in a straight line to reinforce her point. I’ve spotted the limo at the beach, at the Community Garden, and even in the grocery store parking lot.

Any word on what the show is about? Sherry asked. Her tennis bag slipped off her shoulder and dropped to the pavement with a clatter. Sherry could hear Chutney’s muffled bark, a warning he expected Sherry to hustle inside, or else.

Oh dear, I don’t know everything, Eileen said with a wink. Give me time.

My fur baby is calling me, Sherry said. I’ll see you soon.

Your number-one priority. Eileen turned and headed home.

Once inside, Sherry gathered the coffee mugs left on the kitchen table hours earlier. She didn’t often get up at the crack of dawn with her fiancé, Don, but her pre-work tennis game was becoming a regular feature of her summer schedule and a good excuse to start the day bright and early. He didn’t always stay the night, as they weren’t officially living together, but when he did, she enjoyed seeing him off for his day of running his commuter boat, the Current Sea.

After the table was cleared, Sherry opened her laptop and checked her calendar. The articles for this week’s Augustin newsletter were due to her by six p.m. Only one had arrived in her inbox and the word count was low. The summer slowdown was in full swing. Editing and formatting the town newsletter would be a breeze with less content. The day was looking relaxed. She had no hours to put in at the Ruggery until tomorrow, despite that her father, Erno, was taking a much-deserved vacation with his girlfriend, Ruth. Amber was capably manning the Ruggery solo and had waved off Sherry’s offer to come in. There wasn’t even a pending cook-off deadline to prepare a recipe idea for. This might be the day to formulate her fall project, running a children’s rug-hooking workshop. She had presented the idea to Erno, and he was ecstatic. Teaching the future generation the heirloom artistry of rug hooking would contribute to keeping the Oliveris’ craft thriving and Erno’s business relevant. She could also factor in time to give Kat’s idea for a children’s cook-off some thought.

After an hour of alternating between note-taking and birdwatching a pair of goldfinches harvesting echinacea seeds from her flower garden, Sherry’s me-time ended when her phone buzzed. The words Feral Creations flashed on the screen.

I have no idea what or who that is, Sherry said to her dog. Common sense told her the call was a scam. After the fourth buzz her curiosity got the better of her.

Hello?

Good morning. Am I speaking to Sherry Oliveri?

Yes, hi, this is Sherry.

Hello, Sherry. This is Mick Snider. I’m a producer with Feral Creations Productions. Do you have time to speak about a cooking competition?

Hi. Yes. Sure. Sherry recognized the introduction as being like so many she’d received from the organizers of cook-offs. The strange thing was, she wasn’t currently vying for a spot in a contest, so this couldn’t be the reason for the call.

Great. Sherry, our production company is beginning a new series filming a cooking competition. We have it on the best of authorities that you are one of the country’s most talented amateur cooks. An online search of ‘Sherry Oliveri’ has produced an impressive number of cooking wins all over the country. You’ve been doing cook-offs for over ten years. Is that correct?

Sherry’s heart skipped a beat. Yes, that’s me.

We hope you would accept our invitation to be a contestant in our cooking competition. To give you an idea how the process would work, imagine a cook-off that involves various cooking challenges, pits you against other talented cooks, and as the three filming days pass, ongoing contestant eliminations would produce an eventual overall winner. The last cook standing. We’re filming in Augustin, over three days, as I said, beginning next week. Monday.

Monday? Next Monday? Sherry asked. That was just a week from today.

Yes. First, you would need an interview with our team and, if that goes as planned, you’d need to clear your calendar for next Monday through Wednesday. Does that sound like something you’d be interested in? If so, I will email you the paperwork to read, sign, and notarize and we will go from there.

Wow. I’m in shock. This is amazing. Of course. Please send me the documents. When do you need them back?

Immediately. As soon as possible. Whichever comes first. Television moves quickly, Mick said. Do you have time this afternoon for the team to video conference with you? We run an interview session with our potential contestants. We ask questions, get to the bottom of who Sherry Oliveri is, give you a chance to shine on camera, that sort of thing.

This afternoon. Wow, Sherry said.

You’ll be fine. Don’t do any prep. Be yourself. Your personality is what we want to capture.

That’s what I’m afraid of, Sherry mumbled to herself. If all she could utter was wow, they might reconsider her for the project.

If you can manage the papers by tomorrow, we can keep the ball rolling. They should be in your inbox within the hour.

Okay. That all sounds fine. Not the direction I thought today would go in and I’m still processing it.

Sherry’s gaze drifted toward the nearest window, where the sun shone brightly on her backyard. The goldfinches were still canvassing echinacea flowers for seeds. She’d thought they were the busiest creatures she’d see today. She was wrong. Her day began with the promise of a light schedule and all that went out the window in five minutes.

One last request, Mick said. Please keep our conversation to yourself until details are set in stone. There will be a confidentiality agreement among the paperwork you’ll receive today and that’s very important for the integrity of the production.

Okay, yes. Sherry provided Mick with her email address and wished him a good afternoon with the promise of hearing from her soon. Bye now.

Something startled the goldfinches and they scattered.

Sherry ruffled Chutney’s neck fur and shared the news with her Jack Russell. The little dog reacted in terrier style, only displaying a subtle tail wag. You’re the only one I can tell. You could at least show some enthusiasm. How about we choose something nice to wear on camera.

By the time Sherry finished considering clothing choices for her video interview, the documents had arrived in her inbox. She googled Feral Creations Productions before she opened the email. Her eyes widened as she read Basil Sturges was the creative director and senior executive producer with the company. His photo was prominently displayed on the home page of the website. She clicked over to her inbox.

He was putting on an act when he pretended to be impressed by hearing of my cooking accomplishments. He already knew, Sherry said to her dog. His ears pricked up before relaxing again.

Sherry wasn’t surprised at the number of pages of cook-off documents she received. Cooking competitions were strictly regulated affairs involving law firms, big corporations, and a publicity circus covering all aspects of the event. There were often large sums of money at stake for the winner, and the consequences of not understanding the legal repercussions, including tax obligations, were big. She read the papers thoroughly.

Sherry electronically signed her name on seven out of the fourteen pages and initialed an additional five. The final page required agreeing to the confidentiality of the project until notified otherwise by Basil Sturges, who was named project creator/director/producer. She was required to print out the page and sign it in front of a notary. That was a task Sherry knew well. Her friend Vivian, vice president at the Bank of Augustin, was always at the ready to notarize her cook-off documents when necessary.

The phone buzzed as she hit the print key on her laptop.

Hi, sweetie. How’s your day going?

"It’s taken a bit of an unusual turn, but a