Final Roasting Place by Devon Delaney

Author:Devon Delaney
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2018-07-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

Sherry covered one of the baking dishes with foil and pushed it back from the edge of the counter. She let the scent of the curry spices lull her into the dreamy state of contentment over a recipe well constructed. In the other baking dish was a luscious, peanut-buttery chicken curry boasting toasted spices and a touch of mango chutney for a sweet note that married well with the West African inspired flavors. She tore off a second piece of foil and covered the dish. The casseroles would be put in the oven when the first of the guests arrived. The food was ready for the party.

In an attempt to accommodate her somber mood, Sherry had scaled down the routinely larger number of guests to the smaller core group she could count on to understand her muted enthusiasm about the night’s task. She would ply them with wine and whet their appetites with a layered goat cheese dip and toasted pita chips before the taste-testing began, but after that she couldn’t guarantee maintaining a light atmosphere.

Sherry wiped her hands on her blue apron. She balled the cloth up before carrying it upstairs to the laundry room. She tossed her version of a superhero cape in the washing machine. Her stomach dropped as her favorite garment left her sight and fell to the bottom of the drum. She sighed and made her way to her bedroom. She opened the door to her closet. Green. She felt like dusty green was the color of one of her curry dishes. Her eyes shifted over to the grays and browns, where they lingered until she willed them back to the brighter colors. She caught sight of a green linen shirt. She didn’t want to influence her guests’ votes, though, because she herself was unsure which dish she preferred. A burnt orange scarf tied loosely around her neck would serve as a nod to the chutney that rounded out the chicken dish.

Sherry gathered the pieces for her outfit and tossed them on her bed. She checked her wall clock for the time. When she saw the hour, her legs collapsed, planting her backside on the edge of the bed. She could change into her party clothes at leisure on this occasion because Amber had both dogs at her apartment, so no last-minute dog walk was necessary. The canines were invited to the party, just not the pre-party prep. Time was, for once, on Sherry’s side.

As she removed her shirt and took aim to slip on another, her phone reverberated from the kitchen. She speared her arms through the shirt sleeves and sprinted down the steps. In a feat worthy of the senior Olympics, she skidded across the floor on her stocking feet and snagged the cell phone with a swing of her arm.

“Hello?” Sherry’s voice was dripping with a blend of curiosity and exasperation at the fact that the caller identification read “Blocked.” If it was a sales call, her gymnastic move had been for naught.

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