Death of a Bacon Heiress

by Lee Hollis

  He knew from dating Hayley that she was a sentimental sucker and an enthusiastic animal lover, so in his mind the problem had already been solved.

  “You know I can’t do that. I have two very high maintenance pets already who take up all of my energy.”

  “Then I don’t know what else to tell you,” he said, barely glancing up from the papers on his desk.

  “Aaron . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  He scribbled more notes, his eyes glued to his pad of paper.

  Hayley just stood there in silence, debating with herself on what she should say. She really couldn’t handle the obvious wall between them much longer.

  Propose or break it off.

  Just pick one and do it.

  For both their sakes.

  Aaron finally realized she wasn’t talking and looked up. “Did you want to say something, Hayley?”

  She cleared her throat. It was time. They needed to discuss their relationship. She was finally in the same room with him. She had his attention. He was curious what she had to say.

  Go for it.

  Just go for it.

  “Do you have a pet carrier I can borrow?” Aaron gave her a slight smile and nodded.

  She could have kicked herself. What a wimp she was.

  Fifteen minutes later she was pulling into her driveway. Next to her on the passenger seat Pork Chop was pressing his snout against the wire-rimmed cage, curious as to where he was going. She and Aaron had had no trouble getting him inside the carrier. He was probably grateful to be leaving the clinic where he was housed with a bunch of loud barking dogs.

  Hayley got out of the car and circled around to lift the carrier out and haul her new houseguest inside.

  Leroy bounded down the steps, his toenails that needed to be clipped clicking on the hardwood floors as he scurried into the kitchen to greet Hayley. His tail wagged excitedly as Hayley bent down to rub the fur on top of his head, and his tongue hung out of his mouth as he panted. He gazed at Hayley, trying his best to look adorable and devoted so she might feed him before pouring herself a glass of wine.

  That’s when the snorting from the animal carrier she had set down on the floor diverted his attention. Hayley unlatched the lock on the cage and opened the door, and Pork Chop tentatively poked his head out to take in his new surroundings.

  “We’re going to have company for a few days, Leroy. This is Pork Chop. Try to make him feel at home.”

  Leroy was startled by this noisy creature with black skin, erect ears, and a short snout. At first he recoiled, finding cover behind Hayley’s leg, but his curiosity got the best of him and he couldn’t help but slowly approach the pig, who was already inhaling bits of food that had fallen underneath the kitchen table.

  Hayley tried looking on the bright side. Maybe she wouldn’t have to vacuum as much with a potbellied pig around.

  When Leroy got close enough, the pig, who had poor eyesight but excellent hearing and sense of smell, sensed the dog approaching and turned to greet him. Leroy was close enough that his nose touched Pork Chop’s snout.

  No barking.

  No biting.

  No panicking.

  Just a calm friendly introduction.

  Leroy’s tail slowly resumed wagging. He had a new playmate.

  This temporary arrangement just might work out after all.

  And then she heard the hissing.

  Her Persian cat, Blueberry, bared his teeth, whiskers curled up doing his best to demonstrate his disapproval. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, back arched high in the air, or as much as a twenty-pound Persian cat could raise it, eyes locked on the interloper, who at the moment was paying him no mind.

  “You’re just going to have to get used to him, Blueberry. He’s not going anywhere for a few days,” Hayley said.

  The next two hours were sheer hell.

  Hayley had taken a few minutes to pour herself a glass of wine while Pork Chop trotted off to explore the house. He was soon tearing up a quilt on the couch as he tried to find a nesting place. Leroy joined in, believing it was some kind of game. And Blueberry continued hissing and emitting a low steady growl as he kept his distance from the pig. Unfortunately that plan failed when Pork Chop got too close for comfort, so Blueberry lashed out with his claws, slashing the pig’s snout, who wailed in pain. Leroy, frightened by the pig’s cries, started barking.

  Hayley knelt down to comfort the pig and saw a crippling sad look in his eyes as he continued whining. It was clear he wasn’t crying from Blueberry’s unprovoked attack.

  This pig was in mourning.

  He was missing his mistress, Olivia Redmond. And her absence was amplified by the fact that he had been deposited from one strange place to another in the span of just a few days.

  More wailing.

  More hissing.

  More barking.

  At least her empty-nest syndrome was finally cured. Yes, she still missed the kids. But now her hands were full with a grief-stricken pig, a high-strung dog, and an enraged territorial cat.

  Hayley poured herself another glass of wine.

  Thankfully, two hours later Randy arrived with a box full of table scraps he had packed up at his bar.

  “I know there are all these rules about what pigs should and should not eat, but I figured tonight we could make an exception. At least until you can get to the store and stock up on some healthier vegetation.”

  “Thank you, Randy. I appreciate it.”

  She removed the tin foil and made a plate of chicken fingers, French fries, some leftover hamburger meat, and the remnants of a tossed salad and set it down for Pork Chop, who excitedly consumed it, and was soon joined by Leroy, who insisted on his own fair share. Blueberry remained underneath the coffee table in the living room, defiantly making his point that he was not happy about any of this situation by keeping up his low, incessant growl.

  “You have a plan yet on what you’re going to do with him?”

  Hayley shook her head and gulped down her wine. “Olivia’s son, Red, wants nothing to do with him.”

  “Sergio stopped by the bar on his way home. He had just finished questioning Olivia Redmond’s maid. . . .”

  “Caroline.”

  “Right. Anyway, according to her, on the day Olivia was killed, before she took Pork Chop out for a walk and never came back, she had a visitor.”

  “Who?”

  “Felicity Flynn-Chan.”

  “The owner of the Blooming Rose restaurant?”

  “Yes. They talked for about fifteen minutes. Caroline was in the kitchen washing the breakfast dishes and couldn’t hear what was said, but she saw Felicity leave and she did not look happy. In fact, it looked like she was crying.”

  Chapter 15

  “Hayley, could you please step into the kitchen where we can speak privately?” Felicity Flynn-Chan squeaked, her face a ghostly white and her hands trembling. “Dora, please show the Rockefeller party to the table near the bay window.”

  “Yes, Felicity,” the wispy hostess said in a whisper. She had on the same sundress she had worn the last time Hayley was at the Blooming Rose and, snatching up a handful of menus, she escorted the three elderly patrons across the dining room.

  Felicity gripped Hayley tightly by the shoulder and guided her through the wooden swinging doors into the hot, steamy kitchen where her husband, Alan, was hard at work preparing each dish that was ordered with a small staff of sous-chefs assisting with the chopping and dicing.

  “Hayley, do you know who those people were out there?” Felicity said, the veins in her forehead popping out like she was in one of those alien movies where the visitors take human form, revealing themselves at the end of the movie to be lizard people.

  “You called them the Rockefellers, so I assume they’re related to the ones in Seal Harbor?”

  “And you would be correct. They visit the family estate every summer and always make a point of dining here and recommending us to all of their wealthy friends
who come to the island.”

  Hayley nodded, smiling, not sure why it was so important for her to know all this, so she answered with a simple, “I see.”

  “So you can imagine how awkward it was when you barged in here just as they were about to sit down to have dinner and said in the loudest voice imaginable, ‘Felicity, I would like to ask you a few questions about Olivia Redmond’s murder!’”

  “Oh, I don’t think I was that loud. I pride myself on being subtle.”

  “Subtle? You might as well have been shouting over a stadium of screaming girls at a One Direction concert.”

  One of the sous-chefs dicing some carrots on a cutting board snickered.

  “Felicity, I’m so sorry, but I don’t understand. . . .”

  “Olivia Redmond’s murder is the only thing anyone is talking about. Tongues are wagging and everyone is guessing what happened to her, and you, with a very well-known reputation for insinuating yourself into local investigations, marched into my place of business and announced that I am a suspect. I can’t have that! If rumors spread that I have any connection to that sordid business, my business will go belly up! This is our busiest season! Martha Stewart just called today to request a table for twelve for tomorrow night. I don’t have a table for twelve. I had to convince her it was a good idea to dine with her friends on the patio alfresco with the black flies! This is my livelihood, Hayley! I depend on my customers! I can’t afford a whispering campaign about me being some sort of ruthless killer!”

  “I guess when you put it that way I can see why I might have practiced a bit more discretion. . . .”

  “Especially since I already spoke with Chief Alvares earlier today, not during business hours, mind you, and was able to put the whole matter to rest.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, maybe you should have better lines of communication so this doesn’t happen again.”

  Hayley felt horrible.

  In hindsight, she did just sort of breeze through the front door of Felicity’s restaurant and ask her point blank about a murder, not even noticing who was standing around the hostess station or milling about the coatrack.

  “Felicity, I really am sorry. . . .”

  Hayley knew Felicity was in no mood to share whatever she told Sergio, so she turned to leave quietly before she made the situation any worse. She quietly retreated through the wooden swinging doors back into the main dining room and headed for the door. Felicity followed close behind to ensure she was actually leaving. She probably feared Hayley would go from table to table asking everyone at the restaurant questions about the Olivia Redmond murder.

  Almost as an afterthought, Hayley turned and said, “By the way, the leftovers from the other night were scrumptious.”

  Felicity’s demeanor changed instantly. She smiled warmly. “Why, thank you. That’s so sweet of you to say.”

  Felicity looked around, smiling at a handsome couple waiting to be seated, making sure they heard Hayley’s stellar review. “Someone will be with you in a moment.”

  The couple nodded and within seconds the hostess had menus in her arms and was leading them to a table.

  Felicity took Hayley by the arm, this time much more gently, and steered her out the door to the parking lot. “That was a lovely thing to say, Hayley.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  Felicity stared at Hayley, gauging her sincerity, and once she was convinced, became far more convivial and engaging. “I hope you go online and write a review for us on all those travel Web sites. We rely on our customers’ testimonials to get the tourists to try us out.”

  “I’ll be sure to do that,” Hayley said.

  “I’m sorry I was so cross with you in there. We’re very worried about this summer. The projections don’t look good so far and all the local businesses are on edge that the summer tourist season is going to be down from last year. None of us can afford any negative publicity.”

  “I totally get it. I work at the paper. I’ve read all the reports. I should have been more sensitive to that when I came here.”

  “That’s the reason I went to see Olivia Redmond on the day she was killed,” Felicity said. “I didn’t want her bad-mouthing the restaurant to all her high society friends, so I paid her a visit to apologize once again and offer to cater one of her summer parties free of charge in an effort to make it up to her.”

  If Hayley had known complimenting her high end restaurant was a surefire way to get Felicity Flynn-Chan to open up and talk, she would have planned her trip to Town Hill to pump her for information more strategically.

  “Of course she turned me down flat,” Felicity said, sighing. “She wasn’t in a forgiving mood. So I left. I drove back here and spent the rest of the day with my gardener in our vegetable garden just over there, picking out fresh produce for the restaurant’s menu that day. Chief Alvares spoke with Barney, who is a respectable local, as you know, and he corroborated my alibi, so I have officially been crossed off the suspect list.”

  “Again, Felicity, I am so sorry.”

  “Just promise me you’ll come back for dinner here again and bring all your friends.”

  “Just try to keep me away.”

  With Felicity’s feathers no longer ruffled, Hayley was free to jump in her car and drive back to town. She thought about stopping by the office to finish her column there before heading home, but she knew Bruce was there working late, and frankly she just didn’t want to see him. He had been in a terrible state all day when the one lead in his investigation of Dr. Foley’s disappearance led him to a dead end.

  He was getting nowhere.

  And with Olivia Redmond’s murder demanding his attention now that the hullabaloo over Hayley’s TV appearance had finally subsided, the public’s demand for answers in the Foley investigation was rapidly waning.

  Bruce felt in his gut that Dr. Foley’s disappearance was the result of foul play and the whole matter was now in danger of being completely forgotten.

  He was back to square one and enormously frustrated.

  Hayley was frustrated as well.

  Only one day on her new gig moonlighting as a bona fide bacon blogger and her quick-tempered yet exceedingly generous employer was now dead.

  And whoever did the dirty deed had shown no mercy.

  She was determined not to let him get away with it.

  Island Food & Spirits by Hayley Powell

  I’ve had a serious craving for Mexican food all week. Probably because I watched El Mariachi on Netflix last weekend. So last night after work I stopped by the Shop ’n Save to pick up the ingredients for my favorite Bacon Nachos. On the drive home, my BFF Liddy called my cell no doubt to tell me how she was getting along with the new friend she had recently made.

  For about six months, Liddy had been contemplating adopting a dog that she could love and tote around in one of those cute but expensive dog carriers and dress in some outrageously priced tiny, adorable dog outfits she had found online. My other BFF, Mona, was totally against this pet adoption idea because she hated the thought of some poor animal dressed up and blinged out and totally humiliated. Not to mention the fact Liddy could barely take care of herself let alone one of God’s precious creatures. What if she got bored with it and forgot to feed it, or worse, left it behind on one of her shopping sprees at the Bangor Mall?

  Mona suggested Liddy volunteer at the local ASPCA in Trenton for a few months just to see if she was suited to the responsibility of being a dog owner. Much to Mona’s surprise, and mine, too, Liddy took to the idea and after only an hour on the job, she announced she was bringing home a dog that was recently abandoned at the shelter to foster it for a few weeks before it was put up for adoption in a forever home.

  When I asked Liddy on the phone how she was handling being a pet foster mother, she screamed into the phone, “I’ll tell you how it’s going! I cooked for the dog and now I’ve killed it! Please! You need to get over here now! I need help!”

  Liddy
was a terrible cook.

  What on earth was she thinking?

  I raced over to her house, but kept Liddy on the line to keep her calm. I asked if she had called Aaron, the town vet.

  “No! I absolutely do not want the whole world to know I killed a dog with my cooking!” she wailed.

  When I arrived at Liddy’s house, the front door was unlocked, and as I entered, it was eerily quiet.

  “Liddy?”

  “In the guest bedroom! Hurry!”

  I followed her voice and found her on the bed with Poppy, a rather large black Labrador retriever mix (which she named after her favorite bagel, the Poppy Seed). Liddy was cradling Poppy’s head in her lap, and my heart skipped a beat as I looked at the poor dog lying there so still.

  As I slowly approached the bed, I could see poor Poppy’s stomach rise and fall, so at least I knew she was breathing. Liddy looked so sad and distraught that for once I didn’t know what to say.

  Suddenly, out of the blue we both began shrieking in horror as Poppy’s stomach began poking out in different directions as if it had a life of its own.

  Poppy let out a loud, agonizing moan.

  “Dear God, Liddy! What in the world did you feed her?”

  “Scrambled eggs! I just fed her scrambled eggs!”

  It was like that scene in the movie Alien, when that gory little slimy creature popped out of that man’s stomach!

  Poppy kept moaning and panting, stomach rising and falling.

  Liddy was now in tears and completely inconsolable. “What have I done? What have I done?”

  At that moment, Poppy tensed and, right before our panicked eyes, gave birth to a tiny poppy seed of her own.

  “You didn’t kill her, Liddy! She’s having puppies!”

  “Right on my brand new Martha Stewart Somerset Peony comforter!”

  “At least she has good taste,” I said, smiling.

  We settled in for a long night as another puppy began its journey out into the world. I went to my car and grabbed my bag of groceries and fixed us a heaping platter of my Bacon Nachos to help pass the time. I also whipped up a nice cold pitcher of Melon Martinis to wash them down with and calm our nerves.