Death of a Kitchen Diva (Hayley Powell Food and Cocktail Mysteries) (7 page)

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Authors: Lee Hollis

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Chapter 11
 
Hayley gasped and threw a hand to her mouth. She couldn’t believe it. She knelt down and shook Karen, but instinctively she knew it was too late.
Hayley looked around, spotted a telephone on the wall next to the kitchen counter and stumbled over to it, grabbed the receiver, and dialed 9-1-1.
Bar Harbor being such a small town, several police officers were dispatched instantly and were banging at the door within seven minutes. Hayley ushered them in, and led them into the kitchen and over to Karen’s body.
Officers Donnie and Earl were among them, two young wet-behind-the-ears patrolmen. Earl gently took Hayley by the elbow and steered her into the living room away from the body. He sat her down on the couch and asked her to stay put until the chief got there. He wanted to question her himself.
Hayley knew Police Chief Sergio Alvares would want to personally talk to her for two reasons. For one thing, she was the one who had found the body. And second, they were related. Sort of.
Sergio Alvares was a strapping, impossibly good-looking man from a tiny town in southern Brazil called São Francisco that was nestled along the coast three and a half hours from the nearest metropolitan area of Curitiba. He was the only son of a poor farming family, who worshipped him and wanted great things for him. But Sergio quickly fell into the party scene and spent his early adult years bouncing between the wild, uninhibited nightlife of the two biggest urban areas of Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo.
One spectacular night during Mardi Gras in Rio, he found himself on the private jet of an American mogul flying to Miami Beach for a party on Star Island, thanks to the lustful maneuvers of the businessman’s beautiful college-age daughter. The excitable girl thought she had found her future husband, and her father, seeing how excited his baby girl was over her new plaything, offered to groom Sergio as an executive in the family business as long as he kept her happy.
But Sergio had an independent streak, and had no intentions of marrying the rich girl. And being the hot-blooded outspoken Brazilian he was, he had no qualms about telling both father and daughter to back off. He was only twenty-one at the time and the last thing he wanted was to get tied down so young. That moment would prove fateful. The girl and her mega rich daddy took off back to Dallas in their jet, leaving Sergio stranded in Miami. He had no friends. No place to stay. And most importantly, no money to get back to Brazil.
So Sergio started working odd jobs off the books to get himself an apartment and scrape together some cash. He made some pretty influential friends from the South Beach club scene, and soon was being wooed by a famous fashion designer, whose company had just gone public, making him an instant billionaire. Sergio always knew he was gay, but never labeled himself as such because in Brazil, especially at the hot spots where he hung out, it really wasn’t much of an issue. He had dated girls, boys, and some who you couldn’t tell what they were, especially during Mardi Gras. He was young and carefree, and just went with the flow, whatever felt right at the time.
The designer, who immediately fell in love with Sergio, would whisk him off on fabulous weekend getaways around the world, but soon became possessive and controlling, and Sergio was one man who didn’t take to the idea of being kept.
Especially by another man.
On one weekend trip to Maine where the designer and Sergio went to visit the estate of a wealthy blue blood in Northeast Harbor who adored the designer and his fashions, Sergio slipped away to explore on his own. He fell in love with the glorious mountains and peaceful carriage trails of Acadia National Park, the stark rocky shores, and, across the island from the more stuffy, old money Northeast Harbor, the down-to-earth, eccentric, colorful tourist town of Bar Harbor. Drinking at a bar with a few locals, Sergio felt right at home. The live-and-let-live attitude of the people reminded him of his own home in São Francisco.
So when the designer sent a driver to find him and deliver him back to the estate so they could fly home to Miami, Sergio refused to go. He knew he didn’t want a future as the boy toy of a famous fashion designer. He wanted to be his own man. So once again, Sergio started from scratch.
He bussed tables at a number of restaurants that buzzed with activity in the summer, cleared brush for the National Park Service in the fall, and shoveled snow out of driveways for cash in the cold, dreary winters. He did anything to scrape together enough money to pay for his one-room apartment above a hair salon on a tucked away side street off one of the busier main drags. He lived on Ramen noodles and sent whatever spare money he could to his parents back in Brazil.
It didn’t take long for Sergio to become well-known in town. How many strikingly good-looking Brazilian men were there in Bar Harbor, especially in the freezing winter months, who actually liked to go ice fishing with friends?
Lex Bansfield got plenty of attention for his good looks, but Sergio was in another category altogether and the single women flocked to him. But it quickly became clear he played for the other team. This was never a big deal in Bar Harbor, being one of the first towns in the nation to pass a gay rights ordinance; it was mostly to draw the gay tourists, who had a lot of disposable income they could throw at the local businesses during the busy summer season. But New Englanders also prided themselves on keeping out of other people’s business, so, like in his beloved Brazil, Sergio happily found that very few people cared about his sexual orientation.
It was right about this time he landed a job as a dispatcher at the local police station. The chief’s wife, who everyone suspected had a thing for Sergio, strong-armed her husband into hiring him. The only trouble was, English was not Sergio’s first language. A few of his friends called him “Ricky Ricardo” because everyone had trouble understanding him, especially after he had a few cocktails. So the dispatcher gig turned out to be a disaster because if there was a domestic disturbance call, nine times out of ten the officers would show up at the wrong address because they didn’t understand what Sergio was saying.
Still, the chief loved Sergio’s personality and work ethic, and made him a patrolman. That was ten years ago. When the chief retired three years ago, there was only one person everyone in town felt deserved the job.
Right about the time Sergio became a patrolman, Hayley’s brother, Randy, returned to town to start anew after abandoning his ill-fated acting career in New York. There were only so many gay people in town so it didn’t take long for the two of them to hear about each other. But the last thing either of them wanted at the time was a relationship, so they tended to avoid each other. That’s when fate intervened. Randy threw a party for all his old high school friends, and it got a little out of control, and a noise complaint was called into the station. Sergio answered the call, and when Randy opened the door, it was practically a done deal. Sergio still charged Randy with making a public disturbance just so it didn’t appear he was playing favorites, and the court summons was now framed above their fireplace in the nicely appointed waterfront home they shared together, as a reminder of how they first met.
 
When Sergio marched through the door of Karen Applebaum’s house, a wave of relief swept over Hayley. She stood up and threw her arms around his neck.
“Thank God you’re here!” Hayley said, near tears.
Sergio comforted Hayley for a few moments, but then pulled away, trying to remain professional. After all, this was a potentially sticky situation.
“Please, sit down, Hayley. I have some questions for you,” Sergio said.
“Do we have to do this now? I’m totally stressed out, Sergio. Why don’t I just come over to your house tomorrow and we can go over everything then? I’ll bring bagels and coffee.”
“We have to do it now, Hayley,” Sergio said, stepping away and gesturing for her to sit down on the couch.
Hayley’s sense of relief was now slipping away, replaced with a queasy feeling in her stomach.
“Okay,” Hayley said, following instructions and sitting down. “Shoot.”
“What were you doing here tonight?”
“Karen sent me an e-mail. We had a little disagreement earlier ...”
“The food fight at the library bake sale.”
“You heard about that?”
“Everyone heard about it.”
“Oh,” Hayley said, not too surprised.
“Go on.”
“Anyway, after I got home, I got an e-mail from Karen apologizing and asking me to come over to her house so we could talk about it.”
“So soon?”
“I know. I thought it was strange, too. I wasn’t going to go, but she sounded so desperate to resolve our differences in the e-mail, so I decided just to come over and work it out and be done with it.”
“And that’s when you found the body?”
“Yes.”
“What about the clam chowder?”
“What about it?”
Sergio paused, thinking about what he was going to say next very carefully.
“Don’t you find it a bit iconic that you found Karen face down in a bowl of clam chowder?”
“Iconic?”
“Yes.”
“You mean ironic?”
“What?”
“Iconic is someone who has made a cultural impact like Madonna or Lady Gaga,” Hayley said, smiling. “I think you mean ironic. Like the Alanis Morissette song.”
Sergio thought for a second.
“Okay. Yes. Ironic,” he said, frustrated, then growled something to himself in Portuguese.
Hayley really didn’t want to know what he said.
“What was the question again?” she asked.
“The clam chowder,” Sergio said, trying not to raise his voice.
“Oh, right. No. Not really. Why do you say it’s ironic?”
“Because Karen had just accused you of stealing her crab stuffed mushroom recipe.”
“How did you know that?”
“Everyone knows it.”
“Oh.”
“You two were moral enemies.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Hayley laughed, deciding not to correct Sergio by telling him he probably meant to say mortal enemies.
“You threatened her at the library in front of everyone,” Sergio said. He was dead serious.
“You heard about that? Wait. I know. Everyone did.”
“And now you’re in her house, with her body, her face drowning in a big bowl of clam chowder, which you wrote about in your columns.”
“Wait just a second, Sergio. You’re questioning me like this is some sort of murder investigation.”
“It’s not a murder investigation, Hayley,” Sergio said.
“Good,” Hayley said.
“Yet.”
“What do you mean, yet? There’s no evidence of foul play. Where’s the blood? She wasn’t stabbed or shot or anything like that!”
“All I’m saying is, I think it’s a bit odd you being here and the circumstances surrounding her sudden death,” Sergio said.
“I suppose,” Hayley said. “But what seems odder is you treating me like some kind of suspect. Like this is a
Law and Order
episode or something. How can you imply something like that? Especially after we kicked ass playing trivia together at Randy’s bar last weekend.”
“I’m sorry, Hayley,” Sergio said calmly, putting an arm around her. “I don’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. But I’m just doing my job. I need to ask the tough questions. But I’d be lying if I told you your presence here is not going to jump-start the rumor factory.”
“Rumor mill.”
“What?”
“It’s not rumor factory. It’s rumor mill.”
She just couldn’t help herself that time.
Sergio sputtered something to himself in Portuguese again.
“I think you’re overreacting, Sergio,” Hayley said confidently. “Everyone in town knows I wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
Hayley had been wrong before.
But she had no clue how wrong she was now.
Chapter 12
 
The news of Karen Applebaum’s untimely death swept through town with the force of a category five hurricane. Hayley even overheard a couple of tourists from Canada gossiping about it when she stopped off at the local book and stationery store to buy a few art supplies for her son, who was drawing a portrait of Batman for a school project on world figures he most admired.
When Hayley checked out with her items, the clerk gave Hayley a smile, but then Hayley noticed the woman quickly averting her eyes, signaling a coworker, alerting her to the fact that Hayley was in the building. Suddenly Hayley felt as if she was becoming a local celebrity for all the wrong reasons. People knew she had found Karen’s body, and they certainly knew all about the strained history between the two of them.
Hayley kept a smile plastered on her face, paid the woman, and walked out of the store with her head held high. She knew once the preliminary autopsy on Karen was completed, she would be in the clear. They would confirm it was some previously undetected health-related issue that got her in the end, something completely innocent and unforeseen.
 
“Poison?” Hayley said the next day as she stood in the doorway of Sal’s office, a stunned expression on her face.
“Coroner up in Bangor found traces of cyanide in her system,” Sal said.
“But I don’t understand. How did she ingest it?”
Sal looked over at Bruce, who put his head down.
They knew Hayley wouldn’t like the answer.
Sal cleared his throat. “It was in the clam chowder.”
“What?” Hayley screamed. Not good. Not good at all. “You’re saying someone actually did murder Karen Applebaum?”
“Looks that way,” Bruce said quietly.
“Who would do such a thing?”
There was dead silence in the room.
Sal and Bruce kept their mouths shut. Hayley stared at them, the uncomfortable truth finally dawning on her.
“You don’t think I actually had anything to do with this, do you?”
“Of course not,” Sal said.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bruce chimed in.
They had answered her too quickly, and Hayley knew in her gut they just didn’t want her getting more upset. But maybe, deep down, they had a small feeling, some tiny notion that Hayley might have reached her limit with Karen, and just done her in. The thought of anyone, especially her colleagues at the paper, suspecting her sickened Hayley.
“Karen and I may not have been the best of friends, but there is no way I would do anything that might harm her, so let’s just make that clear right now,” Hayley said firmly.
“Of course,” Sal said.
“Right. The idea is preposterous,” Bruce said.
Bruce never used words like preposterous unless he was feeling uncomfortable. He was nervous. So was Sal. Were they now afraid of her?
“Would you like me to get you two some coffee?” Hayley said.
“No,” Sal said, standing up. “I’ll get it myself.”
“Yeah, me, too,” Bruce said, nodding.
Getting their own coffee? Hayley suddenly felt like she was in the Twilight Zone.
Hayley folded her arms, furious.
“Don’t worry, boys. I left my vial of cyanide in my other purse.”
They froze in their tracks, exchanged glances, and laughed at the joke. But then they both scurried past her out to the coffee machine to pour themselves their own cups.
Hayley managed to get through the day with only two calls from anonymous locals asking her point-blank if she had poisoned poor Karen. But two was almost more than she could handle.
She decided to ditch her errands after work. Why put herself through shopping for dinner and endure the stares of the other shoppers and checkout clerks? Why buy that duct tape she needed to reattach her rearview mirror after she smashed it into the brick wall of the bank pulling up too close to the drive-through ATM machine? The owner of the hardware store would just think she was really buying the duct tape to tie up and gag her next victim.
No, Hayley drove straight home to hide in her house until all of this nonsense blew over.
She ordered a pizza to be delivered for dinner since she had avoided the grocery store, and Gemma and Dustin, who had already heard the rumors—but of course dismissed them—were excited about chowing down on pizza instead of having to be lab rats for another one of their mother’s recipes which she was trying out for her column.
Both Mona and Liddy called to offer their support. Mona especially was riled up by all the rampant speculation, and nearly punched out one of her longtime customers who said right in front of her that Hayley should get the death penalty. Liddy was more politically savvy than Mona, and simply scoffed at the accusations while getting her hair colored that day.
Later that night, Randy called Hayley, who was becoming deeply depressed about the prospects of being a hermit until the case was solved.
“Why didn’t you stop by for a drink tonight?” Randy asked.
“I was afraid you might have other customers besides me, and I just couldn’t take the judgmental looks,” Hayley said.
“It was pretty quiet tonight. I closed early.”
“Oh, you’re home now? You and Sergio having a quiet romantic dinner for two?”
“No, he had to work late.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. Is he working a big case?”
There was an uncomfortable pause.
“Um, yeah,” Randy said.
“Somebody’s dog run away?”
“No. Nothing like that.”
“Well, what is it?”
“What do you think, Hayley?”
It was like a kick in the stomach.
“Karen Applebaum,” Hayley said, sighing.
“It’s his only case at the moment. It’s all anyone is talking about. He’s under a lot of pressure to find who killed her.”
“I wish he would just make a statement saying I’m no longer a person of interest so people will stop staring at me and whispering about me behind my back,” Hayley said.
Another uncomfortable pause.
“Do you think he’d do something like that for me, Randy?”
“Um, I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“Because you
are
a suspect, Hayley!”
“He thinks I did it?”
“No, of course he doesn’t think you did it. But look at the facts! If he takes you off the list of suspects, then it looks like he’s favoring you because you’re his sister-in-law.”
“I guess I understand that. Who else is on his list of suspects?”
Cue uncomfortable pause. Hayley sighed.
“Randy?”
“There isn’t anybody else.”
“Oh my God!”
“But that’s why he’s working late! He’s going over all the evidence and he’s out knocking on doors trying to find someone else who might have had a motive to off Karen.”
Hayley knew in her heart that Sergio would do everything in his power to find the real killer and clear Hayley. But she worried that so many people already thought she was guilty, it would do irreparable harm to her reputation. Not that she cared much what other people thought about her, but it was really tough living in a small town where a good portion of the population avoided eye contact.
Hayley barely slept that night, tossing and turning, coming in and out of dreams of being in a courtroom, a judge sentencing her to life in prison without the possibility of parole, getting processed into a dark and dingy women’s prison, brawling with an imposing inmate named Big Aggie, who chooses Hayley to be her bitch behind bars.
Hayley bolted upright in bed, sweat pouring down, a wild-eyed look on her face. She checked the clock on the bedside table, 4:30
A.M.
Hayley knew getting more sleep was a fruitless ambition, so she petted Leroy who snored softly next to her, crawled out of bed, put on her slippers, and walked downstairs and turned on her computer.
She had been so distracted by all the events involving Karen’s murder she hadn’t written her next column yet. She decided to write it as if nothing was happening. She was not going to make any allusions to the incredible strain she was under from the locals suspecting her of some heinous crime. After all, despite all her troubles, it was poor Karen for whom she felt sorry. Karen probably had a lot of good years left to live if someone hadn’t decided to spike her soup with that cyanide.
Hayley focused on the salad in her seven course series, and just pretended nothing was wrong. Why give people more reason to gossip? She banged it out in less than an hour, and then made a pot of coffee and turned on the morning’s news. She heard the weather report. Another chilly fall day. The college basketball scores. And then at the top of the hour, the headlines.
That’s when her mouth dropped open and she spilled coffee on her ripped gray sweatpants because a local news anchor was saying her name and then they aired an interview with Sergio at the police station. He downplayed Hayley’s presence at the murder scene and tried deflecting questions about her obvious motive. But she knew it wasn’t going to do her any good. People were going to jump to conclusions.
When she got to the office a few hours later, she happened to see Bruce’s own local crime beat piece that he had already included late last night in the layout file on her computer.
Another shock. Bruce couldn’t resist mentioning her as well in his coverage of the case, how one of their own at the
Island Times
had been caught up in the intense investigation due to her very public rivalry with the victim.
Hayley knew if she confronted Bruce, he would say he was just doing his job. As a journalist, it would be irresponsible of him to leave her name out of it. And as mad as she was that her own colleague, in her mind, was throwing her under the bus, she knew he was right to include her in his column. The
Bar Harbor Herald
wouldn’t have any qualms about trumpeting Hayley’s name as a suspect. Or publishing an unflattering photo.
It was all spiraling out of control. And things were just going from bad to worse.
Island Food & Spirits
 
by Hayley Powell
 
 
 
Once again this year we had another successful bake sale for the library’s fundraiser to help raise money for some much needed books and to also bring our volunteer bakers and community together. Let me tell you this. I truthfully have never tasted such delicious pies, cakes, and brownies. Believe me, I had it coming out of my ears! I would just like to give a big thumbs-up to all of the ladies that baked these delectable treats.
As you know from all of the people who attended the sale, a good time was had by all!
This also reminds me of one of the pies I tasted today. It was a really scrumptious strawberry pie. So after arriving home with a slight headache from my busy day, I remembered that while I was out shopping at our local farmer’s market a few days ago, I happened to see the most delicious looking strawberries. Well, true to form, I overbought and walked away with an entire case of those yummy looking berries.
By the time I arrived home, I had two thoughts. My first was daiquiris (big surprise) and my second was desserts!
After a few trials and errors, I am proud to say I made the best strawberry daiquiri ever! After polishing off my first batch, my headache was completely gone! I also regret to say that I forgot to write down exactly how I did it so a do-over was definitely in order.
Then I went on to making homemade biscuits just like my grandmother used to make for her strawberry shortcakes. Unfortunately, my biscuits turned out a little dry. But with the syrupy sauce, fresh strawberries, and whipped cream piled on top, it didn’t much matter. And since the kids weren’t home, I found myself eating enough of these sweet and delicious concoctions for a small church social. You might say I satisfied my craving for strawberries.
Then I settled down in my chair promptly at 8:00
P.M.
to watch my favorite crime drama of the moment on TV.
NCIS
with that sexy Mark Harmon. He’s one man who gets even more handsome with age. Sigh. Why does it seem that men just get better looking as they get older while we women have to start dealing with wrinkles and our skin sagging in places which should be illegal? The other day when I saw a friend drive by my house and I waved at her, I almost knocked myself unconscious with the loose skin on my arms. It just does not seem fair!
Anyway, my daughter casually strolled in the room just as the show started and announced that it was her turn to provide the snacks for the next day’s away soccer game. But not to worry, she told me, it was only the boys and girls varsity teams going as the junior varsity was staying home, so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem for me to whip something up at the last minute. Now as most of you know, this is still roughly 50 people. I’m not proud to say this, but after some major huffing and puffing, I heaved myself out of the chair and marched into the kitchen and started grabbing a bowl and pans with a little banging for dramatic effect (which was totally ignored, by the way) and began making strawberry granola bars for the soccer teams. It’s required that all snacks be somewhat healthy, which, unfortunately, reminded me of the ever-growing tightness in the waistband of my pants this week. Who puts on all this extra weight just eating healthy fruit? It dawned on me that for this week’s third course, which is the salad course, you can have your strawberries without all of the cream fillings, pastry, and sugary extras just by having a nice refreshing light salad. So here’s a recipe for a strawberry and spinach salad, and I highly recommend making a strawberry daiquiri as well so you’ll have something to chase it down with.
Strawberry Daiquiri
 
2 ounces rum
Your favorite drink glass filled with ice
6 fresh strawberries (or a quart if you’re like me and make a few mistakes)
2 teaspoons sugar
 
Blend all ingredients together in a blender until smooth (taste and add more rum if needed). Pour in your glass, sit back, and enjoy!
Strawberry and Spinach Salad
 
2 Tablespoons sesame seeds
½ cup white sugar
½ cup good olive oil
¼ cup distilled white vinegar
¼ teaspoon paprika
¼ teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
1 Tablespoon minced onion
10 ounces fresh spinach—rinsed, dried, and torn into bite-size pieces (support your local farmers)
1 quart strawberries (cleaned and sliced)
¼ cup almonds toasted and slivered (warm up a small pan and toss your almonds and toast them until golden brown)
 
In a medium bowl, whisk together the sesame seeds, sugar, olive oil, vinegar, paprika, Worcestershire sauce, and onion. Cover, and chill for one hour.
In a large bowl, combine the spinach, strawberries, and almonds. Pour dressing over salad, and toss. Refrigerate 10 to 15 minutes before serving.

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