Death of a Kitchen Diva (Hayley Powell Food and Cocktail Mysteries) (16 page)

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Authors: Lee Hollis

BOOK: Death of a Kitchen Diva (Hayley Powell Food and Cocktail Mysteries)

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Chapter 27

If Hayley had truly thought about it, driving out to a remote cabin in the woods on the far side of the island without telling anyone where she was going might not have been the brightest idea.

Especially since she was paying a visit to one of the more famous nut jobs on the entire island.

But as the sun rose above the crest of Cadillac Mountain and the early morning dew on her windshield slowly began to melt away, Hayley felt confident she had made the right decision. She had to know if Bradley Applebaum had any motive to see his own mother dead.

Hayley pulled onto a dirt road and the car rumbled along, the wheels spitting small pebbles in all directions. Hayley knew she was on the right path. Part of her job at the paper was printing out the police reports, and the cops had been called out to this location on numerous occasions, not to mention a few feds as well when Bradley’s ire got up and he wrote threatening letters to the U.S. Congress. He was a rock star to the anti-government survivalist establishment, almost as popular as the Unabomber.

Just beyond a thicket of trees, Hayley spotted a dilapidated one-story cabin, like something out of
Little House on the Prairie,
with a tarp thrown over a leaky roof, some cracked windows, and a pile of garbage obstructing access to the front door.

This showpiece was never going to make the cover of
Better Homes and Gardens.

Hayley rolled to a stop several hundred feet from the cabin, and contemplated how she should proceed. Getting out and just knocking on the front door might spook him. And she really didn’t want to get a bullet between the eyes. But she also didn’t want to just sit in her car until Bradley spotted her, because that could take awhile.

As far as she knew, Bradley was still sound asleep. It was only a little after six o’clock in the morning. Or worse, he might not even be home. He could be out hunting his next meal or something. Most of Bradley’s criminal record on file had to do with offenses related to hunting deer out of season.

Hayley got out of the car and slammed the door hard, hoping the noise might alert Bradley. It didn’t.

“Bradley?” she called out, a little crack in her voice betraying her nerves.

She tried again. “Bradley?”

Nothing.

She slowly began walking toward the cabin, not sure what to expect. That’s when she heard a voice behind her.

“Who’s there?”

Hayley spun around and peered into the woods. At first she didn’t see anything. But then she spotted a shotgun propped up against a spruce tree. Followed by a flash of red. It was Bradley, clad only in a pair of red underwear, his skinny pale body standing near that same spruce tree.

He was taking a leak.

Hayley covered her eyes. There was no way she was going to lose that bagel she’d eaten on the way over because Bradley Applebaum flashed her.

“Hello, Bradley, I was hoping I could ask you a few questions.”

There was a long silence as Bradley finished his business, a small trickle wetting the leaves, before he readjusted himself, grabbed his shotgun, and marched back toward the cabin where Hayley waited for him.

His hair was curly and sprouted in all directions. He had a long beard that rivaled some members of ZZ Top. And his lanky body was covered with dirt smudges.

Bradley eyed her warily, and Hayley wasn’t sure if he recognized her or not. He had been quite a few years younger than her in school, but she had heard stories. His erratic behavior was legendary.

Hayley realized the cabin probably had no bathroom or outhouse, which would explain Bradley relieving himself on a spruce tree.

She decided to carefully watch her step since it was likely she could come in contact with some of Bradley’s other undesirable deposits.

Bradley eyed her up and down suspiciously.

She chose to plow ahead.

“First of all, I’m sorry about your mother’s passing.”

“You mean her murder.”

“Right. Terrible. Just terrible.”

“I know who did it.”

“You do?”

“Come inside and we can talk.”

Bradley pushed past her, gripping his twelve gauge shotgun, and disappeared inside the cabin.

Hayley hesitated. A little voice inside her was screaming at her to jump in her car and just haul ass out of there. But her interest was peaked. And maybe Bradley could help clear her name.

She took a deep breath and followed him inside.

The stench in the cabin was stifling. Like rotted eggs mixed with choking body odor. Hayley suddenly felt nauseated.

She looked around. Piles of garbage were everywhere. She squinted to see if the furry brown object in one empty corner was a dead squirrel, but she quickly averted her eyes, deciding she didn’t really want to know.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” Bradley said, still clutching his gun and scratching himself as Hayley glanced away to avoid having to see his red underwear riding up in the front.

“No, thank you, I’m fine,” Hayley said. “So you say you know who poisoned your mother’s clam chowder?”

Bradley nodded. “Of course. It was the president.”

Hayley rolled this one over in her mind for a moment.

“The president of the bank?”

“No,” Bradley sighed, a bit irritated. “The president of the United States.”

“I see. You think the president had your mother killed?”

“Yes. He dispatched some government spooks to get rid of her. Just like Kennedy did with Marilyn Monroe.”

“Okay. So you think your mother was sleeping with the president?”

“No! I’m not some idiot. I know my mother wasn’t having sex with the president.”

Finally. A modicum of sanity.

“He did it to get to me. I’m the real threat,” Bradley said.

“Oh.”

“They’re everywhere. They’re watching us right now.”

Hayley looked around before she realized that there was a small part of her that was actually taking this guy seriously.

She laughed to herself.

“But your mother
was
seeing someone. You did know that, right?”

Bradley nodded.

“Do you have any idea who it was?”

Bradley nodded again.

Finally. They were getting somewhere.

“Can you tell me?”

Bradley rushed over to the window and peered outside to make sure no one was out there. Then he turned around and surged forward fast, surprising Hayley when he grabbed her by the arm and got up close in her face. The smell wafted up into her nostrils and she again felt like she was going to be sick.

“The vice president.”

“I’m assuming you’re not talking about the vice president of the bank.”

Bradley shook his head wildly.

“No, I didn’t think so,” Hayley said.

It was time to go.

“Well, Bradley, thank you for your time.”

She turned to go, but he gripped her arm tighter.

“Wait,” he said. “Join us.”

“Who?” Hayley said, glancing around. Was he talking about the dead squirrel decomposing in the corner?

“I have friends. We’re building underground bunkers. Taking up arms. We’re going to be ready when the army comes to take our freedom.”

Hayley couldn’t quite imagine herself as a part of some survivalist militia movement. They might not have TV inside the bunker and she couldn’t possibly live without
NCIS
and her Lifetime movies.

She tried to shake off Bradley’s grip.

But he refused to let go.

“I really need to get to work.” Hayley was now desperate to get the hell out of there.

He gripped her even tighter. “I can’t let you go now. You could lead the National Guard back here and ruin everything. We still have work to do building our stronghold.”

“I won’t say a word. I promise. Pinky swear.”

She tried again to free herself from Bradley. She felt the bile rising up in her throat as he pulled her closer to him, staring directly into her face with his darting, crazy, almost–coal black eyes.

This was feeling way too dangerous now. What had she gotten herself into?

“Bradley, please, I really have to get to the paper. I’m going to be late.”

Bradley eased up for a moment, a curious look on his face. “Paper? Are you a journalist?”

“You might say that. I work at the
Times.
Don’t you remember who I am? Hayley Powell. We’ve both lived here all our lives.”

Bradley gasped and completely released his grip. “Hayley? I remember you from when I was just a little kid. I had no idea that was you. You look so different. You’re pretty now.”

Okay. He wasn’t so crazy that he didn’t remember Hayley’s frizzy hair, severe acne, and metal braces when she was twelve.

“I love you, Hayley!”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m a huge fan of your column!”

Okay, now this was just getting surreal.

“Wait! Hold on!” he yelled, beaming from ear to ear.

Bradley scampered over to the counter and cleared some dirty pots and pans away. There was a paper plate with some cookies on it. He proudly picked it up and carried it back over to Hayley. “Here. I made these applesauce oatmeal cookies, which was a big challenge, believe me, with no electricity, and not buying the ingredients at the store. I need your professional opinion.”

The last thing Hayley wanted to do was eat anything in this disgusting dump that belonged on a very special episode of
Hoarders
.

But it could be her only escape.

Bradley gently removed the plastic wrap covering the cookies. Hayley picked one up, studied it carefully to make sure there was nothing crawling on top of it, and then took a teeny tiny bite.

It tasted like cardboard.

“Delicious,” she said, in an effort to get out of there alive.

“Not too much nutmeg?”

“No. Perfection,” Hayley said, chewing.

Bradley sighed, relieved. “I trust your opinion. You’re my idol. I can’t believe Hayley Powell is standing here in my house eating one of my cookies!”

Hayley desperately wanted to spit it out, but she was in self-preservation mode and swallowed the bit of cookie whole.

“I’m such a huge fan!” he screamed.

“Thank you,” Hayley said, eyeing the door, waiting for the right opportunity to bolt.

“Why don’t you come and visit me again and we can enjoy one of your mouthwatering cocktail recipes?” Bradley said, winking at her.

Oh, no.

He was turning amorous. She had to find some means of escape.

“You can meet some of the other cool dudes who are stockpiling for the war with the fascist government pigs. We’re a tight-knit group.”

“Of that, I have no doubt. Sounds delightful, Bradley. But if I don’t get back to the office, I’m not going to get the next column in on time so you won’t have anything to read when the next paper comes out.”

“Well, we can’t have that. Your columns are the highlight of my week!”

“You’re too kind.”

“And you’re too beautiful,” Bradley said.

Then he scratched himself again.

Hayley forced a smile, and backed away toward the door.

“We’re going to need a lot of women who are still in their childbearing years joining us so we can repopulate after the revolution.”

“Smooth talker.”

“There’s something about you. You remind me of my mother.”

Hayley stopped in her tracks.

Karen Applebaum? Really?

Besides the disturbing oedipal undertones that were obviously going on here, the fact that she reminded anyone of Karen, especially her wacky son, sent shivers down Hayley’s spine.

“I miss her,” Bradley said softly.

Hayley saw the pain in Bradley’s eyes. “You really did love her, didn’t you?”

“Of course. She was my mother.”

“Then why didn’t you attend her funeral?”

“I was banned.”

“By the government?”

Bradley looked at her as if she were out of her mind.

“No. Of course not. My father. He told me I wasn’t welcome.”

“But your parents were divorced. How could he have any say in the matter?”