Death of a Cookbook Author

by Lee Hollis

  Hayley bounded out of the room, full of excitement over the prospect of hobnobbing with her favorite chefs over a long holiday weekend. But there was also a persistent twinge of nervousness. This whole experience was going to be far outside her wheelhouse.

  Halfway down the hall, Hayley got turned around and couldn’t find the staircase that led down to the main foyer.

  She walked back, turned a corner and headed down another long hallway, but ultimately reached a dead end. She finally stopped to get her bearings.

  The house was so big she was now lost.

  Hayley smiled to herself.

  Cottage? Really?

  She suddenly felt something furry brush up against her bare leg, and she jumped with a yelp.

  Hayley looked down to see a large fluffy white Persian cat staring up at her with giant copper eyes that seemed to say, “Of course you are going to love me.”

  “Look how beautiful you are,” Hayley cooed, bending down to scratch the top of the cat’s head as he closed his eyes, happy, relaxed, and purring, with a proud smile and attitude that said in no uncertain terms, “Yes, I know.”

  “What’s your name?”

  Hayley fingered an expensive crystal rhinestone collar around the cat’s neck that had a small gold-plated medallion in front with the name Sebastian inscribed on the back.

  “Nice to meet you, Sebastian. I’m Hayley,” she said, before realizing she still couldn’t ditch the habit of talking to animals even though she knew they were never going to talk back unless they were in an animated Disney movie.

  “You’re being ridiculous!” a man bellowed from behind a closed door just down the hall.

  “Do not patronize me, Conrad! I hate it when you patronize me!”

  “Well, then stop acting like a petulant child!”

  Hayley picked Sebastian up in her arms and he contentedly settled into the crook of her arm, cuddling against her chest, on his back facing up, begging to be scratched. She began to lightly caress his furry white belly as she listened to Penelope arguing with Conrad, whom Hayley knew to be her husband of twenty-six years from her TV show on the Flavor Network.

  “I will not be humiliated by that woman this weekend in front of all my peers, do you hear me?”

  “What exactly do you think is going on between the two of us?”

  “What am I supposed to think? You seem to spend an awful lot of your time with her. She works for me, Conrad! Not you! You don’t have to take her everywhere you go like some damn service dog!”

  “Do not compare Lena to an animal. That’s beneath you.”

  Lena.

  Lena Hendricks.

  Hayley recognized the name from Penelope’s Cupboard. She was the star’s devoted assistant, although there was a rumor on the Internet that Lena was a very talented author in her own right and actually ghostwrote, or at least contributed heavily to, all of Penelope’s number-one best-selling books.

  “I gave her the weekend off! Why is she still here? Are you two planning some secret tryst while I’m preoccupied with my guests?”

  “Calm down, Pep! I’m not sleeping with her,” Conrad sighed.

  Hayley couldn’t resist creeping farther down the hallway toward the door as Sebastian purred loudly, his eyes closed, a euphoric look on his face.

  “Don’t call me that! You know I hate that name!”

  “It’s a term of endearment,” Conrad argued.

  “Well, I hate it!”

  “You didn’t hate it before you became famous, interestingly enough.”

  “Oh, please, don’t start this again! You always try to make me feel bad about my success. You certainly never complain about the money that comes with my fame!”

  “I’m done here,” Conrad barked, and before Hayley could even make a move, he slammed open the door, surprising her enough that she dropped Sebastian to the floor. Conrad didn’t even acknowledge her as he stomped out of the room, the heel of his shoe catching Sebastian’s tail. The startled Persian cat screeched, more from shock than pain.

  Conrad didn’t bother to even stop, but continued clomping down the hall in a huff until he disappeared around the corner.

  Penelope, having heard her cat’s surprised cry, shot out into the hall, rearing back at the sight of Hayley skulking outside her bedroom door. “Hayley, what are you doing?”

  “Looking for the kitchen,” Hayley babbled far too quickly. “I’m hopelessly turned around and have no idea where I am.”

  Penelope softened and smiled. “Let me show you.”

  She bent down and patted her cat on the top of his head. “I see you’ve met Sebastian.”

  “He’s adorable. So good-natured.”

  “That’s because he just ate. The number one rule in this house that we all must follow for our own safety is to never allow Sebastian to get hungry. You never, ever want to see him hungry.”

  Hayley chuckled and followed Penelope to a back set of stairs that she had completely missed before that led them down to the most impressive, top-flight kitchen Hayley had ever seen. Despite the laid-back New England charm of the rest of the house, the kitchen was an organized restaurant-style workspace complete with a multi-unit range with a combination of gas burners, a griddle, a wok burner, and a fryer. Overhead was a full-length hood to provide maximum ventilation coverage, a pasta-filler faucet, and a wall rail for gadgets and utensils. There was also a pizza oven on the opposite side of the room and designated task stations, high-efficiency Sub-Zero refrigeration, stylish workhorse sinks, and hands-free faucets.

  It was a cook’s dream.

  “I hope you’ll find everything you need,” Penelope said.

  Hayley nodded, taking it all in, and thought she might burst into tears with joy. She had never had the privilege of cooking in a kitchen like this.

  A back door flew open and a short stout woman with frizzy black hair and a flinty, hard-nosed look on her face barreled inside carrying a bag of fresh produce in a reusable green grocery bag.

  “Slim pickings at the market,” she said in a thick Maine drawl, setting the bag down on one of the long counters and unloading it. “Everyone must be stocking up for the long weekend.”

  “Clara, I’d like you to meet Hayley Powell,” Penelope said.

  Clara slowly turned around and gave Hayley the once-over.

  “We’ve met,” she said, scowling.

  Clara Beaumont was a longtime local, her family dating all the way back to the mid-eighteenth century according to Mount Desert Island historical records. Very few of her kin ever ventured off the island, most preferring to live a quiet provincial Down East life. Hayley knew Clara mostly from having gone to high school with her son Eben.

  Clara was known about town as a good and reliable cook, having worked in a number of high-end restaurants during the summer seasons for most of her adult life. But when Penelope Janice placed an ad in the Island Times for full-time kitchen help at her seaside estate, excuse me, summer cottage, Clara applied for the job. She managed to impress Penelope with her mad cooking skills, no small feat, Hayley imagined, and at this point had been working for the culinary queen going on eight or nine years.

  Hayley spotted Clara every so often shuffling around in the background during a few episodes of Penelope’s Cupboard. Clara was extremely camera shy, so whenever Penelope would try and engage her, she would keep her head down and pretend she was whisking or kneading something, or find an excuse to run off to the pantry. It just made Penelope’s viewers more curious about her.

  Penelope glanced at a text on her phone and then turned to Hayley. “Clara can help you find any ingredients you will need for your dish. I just got word Carol’s plane landed at the Bar Harbor Airport early and there is no one there to pick her up, so I have to send Arthur, my driver, to fetch her.”

  She had to be talking about Carol Kay, a healthy eating expert with her own show on the Lifestyle Network.

  “Excuse me,” Penelope said apologetically. “Make yourself at home.”r />
  “Thank you so much, Mrs. Janice!” Hayley said.

  “Oh, Lord, Hayley, call me Penelope! We’re friends now!” she said as she dashed out of the kitchen.

  Hayley was still wrapping her head around the fact that Penelope Janice considered her a friend when she noticed Clara glaring at her.

  “You must love working in such a beautiful kitchen,” Hayley said, attempting to make some small talk.

  Clara didn’t answer her at first.

  She just kept glaring.

  Finally, she turned and continued unloading fresh fruit and vegetables from her green grocery bag. “Just because she likes you now doesn’t mean you’re going to be able to use that to push me out.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Clara whipped around, brandishing a stalk of celery, waving it at Hayley.

  Hayley would have felt threatened.

  If it wasn’t a stalk of celery.

  “You heard me!” Clara spit out. “I don’t take kindly to young women trespassing onto my territory, thinking they can get their grubby little hands on my utensils and take over my job!”

  “Clara, I am not here to get a job. I’m just a guest for the weekend,” Hayley tried to assure her.

  Although she was flattered Clara had referred to her as “young.”

  Clara was having none of it.

  “Others have tried before and failed. I’m a fixture in this house and believe me, I’m not going anywhere!”

  “I do believe you and honestly I am happy to hear that because I have no interest—”

  “She may like you now, but give me a day or two. I’ll make sure you don’t stay on Penelope’s good side,” Clara threatened, sneering.

  Hayley knew the woman was dead serious, and that there was no convincing her that she was hardly a threat to her revered position in the household.

  Only twenty minutes since her arrival and she had already made an enemy.

  The Fourth of July weekend was off to a rollicking start.

  Chapter 3

  Hayley stared at herself in the full-length mirror in her room. She was shocked that she had cleaned up so well. In fact, she never remembered ever looking this good. The Lela Rose shift dress with a metallic tweed design and fringe hem that she had borrowed from her far more stylish friend Liddy certainly went a long way in helping shape her look for the evening.

  She had been so nervous about fitting in with all these TV bigwigs she almost cancelled the whole weekend at the last minute. But Liddy, who like clockwork flew to New York three times a year for retail therapy, refused to listen to her moaning, and raced over to Hayley’s house with some selections in tow. She arrived bearing six or seven dresses from her closet not to mention a small trunk-load of expensive shoes and her prized Chanel white vintage clutch bag as well as a few other high-end accessories.

  As for hair and makeup, Hayley was pretty much on her own, but she managed to dab on some rouge and powder, line her eyes with mascara, and choose a not too flashy pastel peach lipstick color.

  She wasn’t exactly runway ready but she at least looked presentable.

  After giving herself the once-over one more time in order to make sure her mascara didn’t make her look like a raccoon and the dress was hanging properly on her frame so she wouldn’t have a wardrobe malfunction during dinner, Hayley took a deep breath and walked out of the room, determined not to embarrass herself this evening.

  She descended the staircase and could hear the other guests conversing in the large living room just past the foyer. As she entered the dining room she saw everyone paired off and chatting. She shifted uncomfortably, feeling self-conscious as she stood off to the side trying to steady her balance, her feet not trained to support the borrowed Christian Louboutin Apostrophy pumps she was sporting.

  Hayley looked around the room, a tight smile fixed on her face, wondering if she should mingle or wait to be approached. She certainly didn’t lack self-confidence in her daily life. Only when she was thrown into unfamiliar situations, like a dinner party where she only knew the hostess.

  And at the moment, their hostess was nowhere to be found.

  Hayley did recognize a few faces. Gerard Roquefort was by a table near the bay window, dipping a large shrimp in a glass bowl of cocktail sauce. Gerard was another top chef star on the Flavor Network. He was big and boisterous, a true force of nature, with a hearty laugh and a trademark waxed mustache. He was prattling on to a younger man, more fit and muscular but still the spitting image of Gerard, who halfheartedly listened. Hayley knew the younger man was Tristan Roquefort, Gerard’s twentysomething son, who was following in his father’s footsteps and fast becoming a respected chef in his own right. But he was still a long way away from achieving the kind of massive success his father currently enjoyed.

  “That’s a lovely dress,” a woman said.

  Hayley spun around and gasped. The towering, thin, blond Amazon, who was rocking a bright red Herve Leger Sarai sleeveless dress that had to have set her back at least a grand, was Carol Kay. Hayley knew from Penelope that she was going to be a guest this weekend, but now that she was face-to-face with her, Hayley couldn’t help but be starstruck.

  “Thank you,” Hayley managed to choke out before an ill-timed giggle escaped her lips.

  “I love the color. So elegant and understated. Mine is so bright it might as well come with an exclamation point!” Carol laughed.

  “No, it’s beautiful,” Hayley said. “It looks perfect on you.”

  “I’m Carol Kay. I don’t think we’ve met before,” she said, holding out her small, bony, freshly moisturized hand.

  Hayley pumped it excitedly. “Hayley Powell.”

  “Oh, yes. Penelope told me all about you. You write those cute little columns in the Island Herald.”

  “Island Times. The Bar Harbor Herald is our competition.”

  “Well, I looked you up online to see who I would be competing against this weekend in the celebrity potluck contest.”

  “I’m strictly an amateur, just here filling in for a no-show, so you have absolutely nothing to worry about.”

  “I disagree. I thought a few of your recipes were creative and inspired, straight from the heart of a genuine food lover with a fervent imagination.”

  “There’s no question I love food. I was barely able to squeeze into this dress,” Hayley said with a smile.

  “Yes, and we both know why,” Carol said, frowning.

  Hayley suddenly didn’t like where this was going.

  “We do?”

  “As fun and inventive as your recipes are, the bulk of them are loaded with sugar and carbohydrates. Eating too many carbs is like catching the express train to obesity and type 2 diabetes.”

  “I like to think that trying a little bit of everything is okay as long as you practice moderation,” Hayley argued.

  “No, sweetie, I’m afraid it’s not,” Carol said in a singsong voice, shaking her head, as if speaking to a confused and ignorant child. “You should know better as a published food columnist. All kinds of people are reading and trying your recipes. People with heart disease and high blood sugar and slow metabolisms. You have a responsibility not to push them into an early grave.”

  Hayley nodded. “I guess I never really thought about it. I just write recipes for dishes I’ve enjoyed over the years.”

  “Then you should be grateful you’re not starring in that TV show My 600 Pound Life,” Carol said. “Everyone eventually pays a heavy price for their uninformed food choices. You really should order a few of my books on Amazon. I think you may discover a whole new world that could change your life.”

  Carol Kay then turned her back on Hayley and breezed off, waving as she approached Gerard and gave him a two-cheek air kiss.

  Hayley stood there, still concentrating on remaining upright in her fancy pumps, suddenly feeling miserable and fat and no longer an unabashed fan of healthy food expert Carol Kay.

  Hayley noticed a plate of crab-stuffed mush
rooms on the table near where Gerard Roquefort was standing. Being chastised for her cooking and eating habits only made Hayley more hungry, so she made a beeline for the table. She grabbed a mushroom off the plate and, popping it in her mouth, quickly realized the stuffed mushroom was piping hot and burning the inside of her mouth.

  She didn’t dare spit the mushroom out, so she started to chew it as fast as she possibly could. Unfortunately she swallowed too soon and the mushroom went down the wrong pipe.

  Now she was coughing and gagging and sputtering.

  Gerard Roquefort turned to see what all the commotion was about. Realizing she was half choking, he quickly handed her his glass of champagne. She gratefully gulped it down, and after a little more hacking and wheezing, managed to finally regain her composure.

  “Are you all right?” Gerard asked with genuine concern.

  Hayley nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

  She was supremely embarrassed.

  “Gerard Roquefort,” he said, eyeing her up and down.

  “Yes, of course. I know who you are,” Hayley said, her voice raspy, as she watched the ends of his mustache go up and down as he spoke.

  “And this is my son Tristan,” he said, gesturing to the young man standing close behind his father’s left shoulder.

  “Hello,” Tristan said, barely interested.

  Tristan was focused on a small camera crew setting up to shoot the dinner for the celebrity potluck episode of Penelope’s Cupboard. A director of photography checked the camera, a soundman adjusted his boom mic, and a production assistant scribbled on a film slate.

  Tristan maneuvered his way toward them to make sure he was in the center of the first shot.

  Penelope’s producer scuttled around the room to make sure everyone was placed properly and on camera, and after a few quick instructions to just act naturally and pretend the camera wasn’t even there, the cameraman yelled “Rolling!” the director called “Action!” and Penelope Janice swept into the room dressed to the nines in her own Diane Von Furstenberg original, her flaming-red hair styled in a chic chignon.