Death of a Bacon Heiress (8 page)

“Olivia Redmond didn't have a heart attack from eating greasy bacon all her life,” Sergio said as he walked through Hayley's back door into the kitchen. She and Randy were sitting in her high back chairs next to the counter sipping Mexican Martinis. “She died from a broken neck.”

Hayley slammed down her cocktail glass. “Somebody killed her?”

“Snapped it like a tooth,” Sergio said, closing the door behind him as he eyed the scrumptious looking cocktails that were now half gone.

“Twig, honey. Snapped her neck like a twig,” Randy said, jumping down off the chair and reaching for the bottle of vodka. “Here, let me make you a martini.”

“Thank you. It's been a long day.”

Poor Sergio had just spent the last six hours securing the crime scene and launching his investigation into Olivia's untimely death.

It was already half past midnight.

After being questioned at the scene, Hayley had been allowed to drive back to Bar Harbor. She had called her brother on her cell to meet her at the house because she did not want to be alone at this time, and she knew with Sergio busy at the scene and his bar manager, Michelle, handling business at Drinks Like A Fish, Randy would otherwise be at his house all by himself.

Randy rushed right over to find Hayley in a shell-shocked state. Her hands shook as she tried to make them a drink, so Randy gently directed her to a chair and took over. They had been downing Hayley's Mexican Martinis since nine-thirty and had no intention of stopping. Still, though loopy with a slight slur in her voice, she was very alert because she was still haunted by the image in her head of Olivia sprawled out dead in her own garden.

They had been waiting for Sergio to swing by when he was done and pick his husband up to take him home.

“Who would do such a thing?” Hayley wondered as she finished off the last of her martini just as Randy handed Sergio a full one and scooped up Hayley's empty glass to make her another.

“I'm sure there is no shortage of suspects,” Randy said, measuring out vodka in a shot glass before giving up and just pouring directly from the bottle. “Olivia Redmond had a lot of money. And people with a lot of money usually have a lot of enemies. That's how they got so rich.”

“We're looking into everybody who knew her. Her business associates, her family and friends, the people who worked for her at the estate. It's a long list,” Sergio said, yawning.

After one last round so Sergio didn't have to drink alone, Hayley didn't have to hint that she was tired and wanted to go to bed because she was literally nodding off at the kitchen table, exhausted from the traumatic events of the day.

Randy and Sergio polished off their drinks and each gave her a kiss good night before heading out the door. On his way out, Sergio promised to call and keep her informed with any new developments in the case.

Having a brother-in-law as chief of police certainly had its privileges.

She dragged herself upstairs to her bedroom where she found Leroy curled up and nestled into a pillow by the headboard. As she began to undress, she suddenly heard the doorbell ring downstairs.

She checked the clock on her nightstand.

It was 1:16
AM
.

Who would show up on her doorstep at this hour?

She threw on some gray sweatpants and a ratty old T-shirt and padded down the stairs in her bare feet, flipping on a light switch that illuminated the foyer. She paused at the door, unsure if she should open it. Sergio had just told her Olivia Redmond was murdered, so she was understandably jumpy and on edge.

“Who is it?” Hayley called out, loud enough to stir Blueberry, who was stretched out on a recliner in the living room. He gave Hayley a sleepy, annoyed look before closing his eyes again and resting his chin on his paw.

Leroy was still snoozing soundly upstairs.

So much for having a guard dog.

She heard someone talking but couldn't make out the words.

It sounded like a woman's voice.

Finally, she unlatched the lock and opened the door a crack.

Standing on the porch was a wide-eyed, rather rotund woman no more than five feet tall with dull gray frizzy hair. She wore a Japanese print kimono and sandals that barely fit on her pudgy feet. She was heavily made up with too much rouge and smeared lipstick. She looked like one of those scary dolls in a horror movie that moves back and forth in a rocking chair just staring at you.

Hayley hated those movies and the sight of this woman made her shudder.

“I'm so sorry to bother you. But I must speak to you,” the woman said, her squeaky, innocent, nonthreatening little girl voice putting Hayley at ease.

Just a little bit.

“How can I help you?”

“I've seen you around town but we've never been formally introduced. I'm Madame Flossie.”

Madame Flossie. Hayley had heard of her. She was a local eccentric.

A self-professed animal psychic.

And resident crank.

Madame Flossie had set up shop in her tiny apartment above one of the summer tourist shops on Main Street and welcomed pet owners visiting the island from all over who wanted to know why their cat refused to eat dry food or why their dog decided to chew the corner of a brand new area rug.

No one took her psychic readings seriously, but her business was thriving because there was entertainment value in her conclusions. People loved her speculating on what their pet was thinking.

And she made enough money to pay all her bills.

Hayley shook her hand. “Yes. Hello, Flossie. I mean Madame Flossie.”

“I would never disturb you at such a late hour, but I've been listening to all the reports on my police scanner at home about the awful events that happened at the Redmond Estate.”

“Yes. It's very tragic,” Hayley said, still clueless why this woman was standing on her doorstep at one in the morning.

“Is he here?”

“Who?”

“The potbellied pig.”

“You mean Pork Chop?”

“Yes.”

“No. I'm afraid the police took him over to Dr. Palmer's vet clinic for an examination earlier this evening and he's being kept there until they can figure out what to do with him.”

“I see. It's vitally important I speak with him.”

“Doctor Palmer?”

“No. The pig.”

“You want to . . . talk to Pork Chop?”

“Yes. He may have witnessed Olivia Redmond's murder. He may be able to give me a description of her killer.”

Hayley just stood there, dumbfounded.

She was skeptical to be sure. But she was also intrigued.

“So can you help me get access to the pig so I can question him?” Madame Flossie asked, wringing her hands, her eyes as big as saucers.

It was the silliest idea Hayley had ever heard.

And yet she found herself saying yes.

She was going to help Madame Flossie have a psychic sit down with a murder witness who just happened to be a potbellied pig.

Aaron couldn't stop laughing on the other end of the phone.

Hayley sighed. “Fine. Get it out. I'll wait.”

She had called him the moment she got to the office the following morning, and after explaining how Madame Flossie wanted to come by his clinic to have a psychic chat with Pork Chop, the potbellied pig, the giggles erupted and had yet to subside.

“Look, I know it sounds ridiculous, but the woman was pretty adamant, and who knows, she may find out something valuable.”

“From the pig?” Aaron asked, his voice cracking as he let loose with another machine gun spurt of laughter.

“Look, she may very well be a kook, but what do we have to lose?”

“Oh, I don't know, my reputation, perhaps? Especially if word gets out I'm having séances at my practice and talking to the animals like Dr. Dolittle!”

“Nobody has to know.”

She could see Aaron shaking his head in disbelief on the other end of the phone, probably raking a hand through his wavy brown hair as he considered the risk he was taking if someone were to be tipped off about Pork Chop's psychic interrogation at his vet clinic.

She had been waiting for the right moment to call him, perhaps reconnect again after he brushed her off when she showed up at his office earlier in the week. So why on earth had she chosen this harebrained scheme to get him on the phone so she could hear his voice?

“If it's too much, maybe I can just check him out of the clinic and take him over to my house after work and do it there?” Hayley said, now embarrassed she had even called him.

“No, he's been very stressed and skittish since the cops brought him in here, and his blood pressure is off the charts. I want to keep him here so I can monitor his vitals. He's clearly traumatized by what happened to Ms. Redmond.”

“So your answer is no?”

There was a long pause as he considered.

Aaron chuckled. “I guess there's no harm in letting this Madame Flora . . .”

“Flossie. Madame Flossie.”

“Whatever. Tell her she can come by around lunchtime. I'll let her use my spare exam room, and she has no more than twenty minutes with him.”

“Thank you, Aaron.”

“And I want you here to make sure she doesn't do anything too nutty. Up until today, this has been a respectable business. I'm going to be busy with other patients and won't be able to keep an eye on her.”

“I'll be there,” Hayley said.

“If Pork Chop in any way gets upset or anxious, I want you to shut it down.”

“Got it.”

“Oh, and Hayley?”

“Yes.”

“You owe me.”

He hung up before explaining what exactly that meant. She would happily repay this favor with a home-cooked meal or a night out at the movies. She missed their dates.

She still couldn't fathom Liddy's notion that Aaron was getting ready to propose.

It was too preposterous.

They hadn't been seeing each other all that long.

No. Impossible.

But Hayley also knew that most times when she made her mind up so firmly about something not happening there was a strong likelihood that it actually would happen.

She was a terrible psychic. Hopefully Madame Flossie would be a better one.

If only she could read people and not just animals. Maybe Hayley would be clued in to what was in store for her immediate future.

But the question of who killed Olivia Redmond was a far more important question than whether or not Dr. Aaron was about to ask her to marry him.

She picked up the phone and called Madame Flossie at the number she had given her the night before to set up the appointment.

When Hayley pulled up in front of Aaron's office across town a couple hours later, Madame Flossie was already outside the door waiting for her, pacing back and forth, a lost look in her eye, like her mind was somewhere else.

Hayley got out of her car and slowly approached her. “Madame Flossie?”

Her head jerked and her eyes rolled. She was wearing a green and white scarf on her head and a matching muumuu that draped over her full-figured form. Her pudgy hands were clasped together.

Hayley placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “Is everything all right?”

Madame Flossie suddenly snapped out of her trance and looked at Hayley with big round doe eyes. “Yes. Everything is fine. There is just a lot of energy going on right now. I'm picking up the thoughts of many animals inside who are dying to talk to someone. Mostly to complain about their owners.”

“Shall we go inside?”

Madame Flossie nodded and followed as Hayley pushed open the door, and they entered the waiting room of the clinic. There was just one elderly woman sitting in a chair with her rag doll cat in her lap, stroking his back.

Aaron's Nazi receptionist, Edna, nodded courteously with a tight smile and waved them through the door leading back to the exam rooms. She didn't look too happy about having to cooperate and cater to this obvious pair of whack jobs. “Dr. Palmer sends his apologies. He's very busy today so he won't be able to stop by and say hello.”

That was her way of saying,
Dr. Palmer has no intention of actually taking time out of his day to indulge in this freak show.

“It's just as well,” Madame Flossie said, almost dismissively. “We need privacy. Pork Chop will be more likely to open up to me if there isn't a crowd around.”

“Should I wait outside?” Hayley asked, hoping she would say yes.

“No. You're fine, Hayley. Pork Chop already knows you. You might be a source of comfort.”

“I'll go get the pig,” Edna said before closing the door.

Madame Flossie floated about the room, looking around and taking in deep breaths.

Hayley hovered in the corner, trying desperately not to get in the way.

A few minutes later Edna returned with Pork Chop.

Aaron was right. Pork Chop appeared nervous and unsettled as Edna set him down on the cold steel exam table.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” Edna said, an exasperated edge to her voice as she gave the two women one last long withering stare and left the room.

“Pork Chop doesn't like her,” Madame Flossie said as she delicately scratched the pig underneath his chin.

“I'm sorry?”

“The receptionist. Pork Chop thinks she's a bitch.”

Hayley laughed. “Are you sure you're not channeling
me
right now?”

Madame Flossie ignored her. She was focused on Pork Chop, who was moving around, restless and shaky.

“Yes. I understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Shhhh. Please, Hayley. Don't interrupt. Pork Chop is talking.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

She half expected the pig's mouth to be moving.

Hayley had always imagined that if an animal spoke, it would be like in the countless Disney animated movies she had bought for her kids on DVD.

“He misses her so much. He loved Ms. Redmond. Except for the times she would leave him in the care of her servants to take trips with her husband. He would suffer separation anxiety and lose his appetite until she returned. But the servants never told her how upset he was when she was gone; they would always just say he was fine and no trouble. He didn't like them lying like that.”

Hayley stepped a little closer. She was intrigued.

“Oh my. Now, there's no need to be so vulgar.”

“What did he say?”

“He clearly does not like Olivia's husband, Nacho. He just called him a money-grubbing man whore.”

“Wow. Pork Chop actually said ‘man whore'?”

Madame Flossie nodded. “Yes. He says Ms. Redmond used to leave the TV on to keep him company when she went out, so he learned a lot from
The Real Housewives
.”

Hayley stifled a giggle.

Maybe Aaron was right and this was just a bunch of time-wasting malarky.

Madame Flossie held the pig's chin. He was staring straight into her eyes, transfixed, or as the pet psychic would have her believe, having a very intense conversation.

“Is that so? He's saying he saw what happened to Ms. Redmond. Someone came up behind her and grabbed her in a choke hold and twisted her neck until it snapped.”

Pretty close to how Sergio had described what happened.

“It was a man. A man killed Olivia according to Pork Chop,” Madame Flossie said, leaning down so the pig could sniff the tip of her nose. “There, there, it's okay to cry. You've suffered a tremendous loss.”

Hayley, despite her skepticism, was transfixed. She had already been told once to keep quiet, but she just couldn't resist another outburst. “Was it Olivia's husband? Was it Nacho?”

Madame Flossie picked up the potbellied pig in her arms and pressed him into her chest. “There. There. Let it out. Let it all out.”

She then turned to Hayley. “No. The husband had nothing to do with the crime. But Pork Chop was very clear about one thing. The killer was a stranger. He had never laid eyes on him before.”