by Lee Hollis
“I don’t mean tonight. I mean this weekend like Saturday night,” he said quickly.
“Saturday?”
“Yes, Hayley, Saturday, this coming Saturday, if you’re free I’d like to take you to dinner.”
“You’re paying?” she asked incredulously.
This was definitely a first.
“That’s right. I’m paying. Like a real date.”
Hayley’s heart nearly leapt into her throat.
An honest-to-goodness date with Bruce Linney.
She never could have imagined it two years ago.
They had been at odds since high school.
But lately she had developed a soft spot for the ambitious, often exasperating crime reporter at the Island Times.
But going on a date with him?
Sure, the kiss they shared when he rescued her from the sea cave gave her a tingle. Well, okay, maybe more than just a tingle, but this was a big step, and she just wasn’t sure it was a good idea, especially since they both worked in the same office.
Hayley had made it a firm rule never to date a coworker.
“So how long are you going to keep me hanging in suspense? It’s a simple yes-or-no question.”
Hayley finished her Jack and Coke and sputtered, “Yes.”
He didn’t smile or jump for joy or celebrate her answer in any way. He just downed the rest of his beer and gave her a fast nod. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”
And then he jumped off his stool and flew out the door, grateful to be done with the whole thing.
Hayley replayed the entire scene in her mind.
Sal knew.
Bruce must have confided in him, asked his opinion, set her up by pretending to believe, along with the rest of the office, that she and Bruce didn’t get along.
But that was all just an act.
Sal and the rest of the Island Times staff must have suspected something happening between them.
Especially after the Fourth of July fireworks display.
Had she been the only one still in the dark?
Randy raced out of the kitchen with a plate stacked with thin crispy onion rings and delivered them to a table of four women, who dove into them before the plate had even hit the table.
On his way back, he swung around to check on Hayley. “Need anything, sis?”
“Bruce just asked me out on a date,” Hayley said, still a bit bewildered.
“Finally! Took him long enough,” Randy chuckled before zipping back into the kitchen.
So Randy knew too.
And she guessed that if she called Liddy and Mona, her two BFFs who knew more about her than possibly anyone else in her life, they would also claim to have known.
Hayley leaned forward on her stool, elbows on the bar, and shook her head, amazed at how she was the last one to know.
She was even more amazed that she was excited about Saturday night.
And what the future might hold.
Who knows?
This could be the start of a whole new chapter.
Island Food & Spirits
BY HAYLEY POWELL
Recently I was sorting through all of my favorite recipes that I have collected over the years in a card file. I sometimes pick out my favorites and set them aside to try again one day soon. I’ve been sharing my recipes for quite a while now, and I’ve been encouraged by my friends to write my own cookbook.
Well, needless to say, I’m no Rachael Ray or Penelope Janice, with huge social media followings and cable TV shows, nor do I aspire to be famous, but a cookbook I could share with my family and friends and future generations has always been a dream of mine since I picked up my first baking dish at the age of twelve and followed the instructions on a recipe card my grandmother had given me—a Summer Corn Casserole.
The Summer Corn Casserole was a huge hit with my family and so I made my fair share of them over the years. I knew if I ever wrote that cookbook, the Summer Corn Casserole would be on page one, as the moment I first discovered my love of cooking.
The Summer Corn Casserole was not just the first recipe I ever tried. It was also the favorite dish of a close friend of mine. I was going to change his name to protect his privacy, something like “Rex,” but let’s face it, on Mount Desert Island everybody pretty much knows everybody else’s business so there’s really no point in trying to hide his identity. Yes, I’m talking about Lex Bansfield.
I’m not going to discuss the big scandal of last summer that happened on Penelope Janice’s estate during Fourth of July weekend. By now, everyone knows all the sordid details and Lex’s role in the whole affair. It was all well documented in the local papers, the Island Times included. Lex was recently paroled and left town for parts unknown. I won’t speculate on where he might have gone out of respect for his privacy.
But I have to say, I miss him. We had a very colorful history. Many of you might recall the time we first met, when I hit him with my car. That’s right. I plowed right into him and he wound up on the hood. Luckily after I rushed him to the hospital, he checked out okay, no broken bones, and once he was given the all clear to go home, he asked me out on a date. It’s not every day you go out with someone you just ran over with your car. But that was Lex. He said it was a sign we were supposed to get to know each other. And we did.
Of course, everyone also knows the relationship ran its course and ended, and now years have gone by, and I am proud to say we have remained friends. The other night as I was making his favorite Summer Corn Casserole, all my happy memories of Lex came flooding back, so I made myself a lovely cocktail creation given to me by my brother Randy’s friends Ivan and Stephen from Bristol, England, called the “Last Word.” That cocktail also reminded me of good old Lex because when we were together and had our occasional disagreement, he always accused me of having to have the “last word!”
True or not, it’s a yummy cocktail.
But I was still melancholy from Lex leaving town without even a quick visit or call, or even email to say good-bye.
Maybe he was afraid I might try talking him out of moving away and didn’t want me to have the last word and try to change his mind.
I thought I would forever remain in the dark about whatever happened to Lex Bansfield.
Well, a few days later, on a Saturday morning after running a few errands and taking Leroy for a walk, I stopped to grab my mail out of the mailbox, and glancing through the small stack as I strolled up the driveway, I suddenly noticed a postcard with a beautiful tropical ocean scene on the front. I couldn’t help thinking to myself, “Who sends postcards?”
I flipped the card over and on the back was scribbled one word—“Aloha!” I started to laugh as I stared at the Hawaiian word that means both “hello” and “good-bye.”
Well played, Lex Bansfield, well played.
You finally got the last word.
On a hot summer day or any day for that matter, you are just going to love Ivan and Stephen’s refreshing Last Word cocktail!
Ivan and Stephen’s Last Word Cocktail
1 ounce gin
1 ounce green Chartreuse
1 ounce maraschino liqueur
1 ounce lime juice
Shake all ingredients in a cocktail shaker with ice, and enjoy!
Summer Corn Casserole
2–2½ cups fresh corn off the cob (about 5 ears);
you can also substitute frozen or canned
1 can cream-style corn
1 8.5-ounce box Jiffy corn muffin mix
1 cup sour cream
1 stick butter
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese
Preheat your oven to 350°F.
Combine both your corns, Jiffy mix, and sour cream in a mixing bowl.
Melt your butter and add to the bowl and mix all together.
Pour the corn mixture into a greased casserole dish and bake for 45 minutes. Remove and sprinkle the shredded cheese on top and bake 10 more minutes, or until cheese is melted.
Remov
e from oven and serve.
Have a happy Fourth of July, everyone!
Hayley Powell returns in 2019 in
Death of a Wedding Cake Baker.
In the meantime, Lee Hollis will be debuting
a new mystery series,
POPPY HARMON INVESTIGATES,
in summer 2018.
Lee Hollis begins a delightful new series in which
Poppy Harmon and her friends find that life after
retirement can be much busier—and deadlier—
than any of them ever anticipated . . .
When Poppy goes from complacent retiree to penniless widow in a matter of weeks, the idea of spending her golden years as the biggest charity case in Palm Springs renders her speechless. With no real skills and nothing left to lose, Poppy uses her obsession with true crime shows to start a career as a private eye . . .
But after opening the Desert Flowers Detective Agency with help from her two best friends, Violet and Iris, Poppy realizes that age brings wisdom, not business—until she convinces her daughter’s handsome boyfriend, Matt, to pose as the face of the agency. It’s not long before Matt’s irresistible act snags a client desperate to retrieve priceless jewelry burglarized from an aging actress at the Palm Leaf Retirement Village. Or before Poppy stumbles upon the bloodied body of the victim’s archrival . . .
In a flash, Poppy’s innocent detective gig is upstaged by a dangerous murder investigation riddled with slimy suspects and unspeakable scandal. As she and her team uncover the truth, Poppy must confront the secrets about her late husband’s past and swiftly catch a killer lurking around the retirement community—even if it means turning her world upside down all over again.
Read on for an exciting sneak peek of
POPPY HARMON INVESTIGATES
coming soon wherever print and e-books are sold!
Chapter 1
Poppy frantically banged on the door of the house but there was no answer.
She waited a few moments and then tried again.
Still no answer.
A foreboding sense of dread filled her entire body.
She had learned from a very young age to trust her intuition.
Something was seriously wrong.
She jiggled the door handle.
It was unlocked.
She sighed, making a quick decision, then pushed the door open slightly and poked her head inside.
“Hello? Anyone home?”
The single-level house was eerily quiet except for some soft music playing from somewhere not far away.
She couldn’t tell who was singing because the volume was too low.
Poppy pushed the door all the way open and slipped inside, looking back to make sure none of the nosy neighbors saw her sneaking into a house where she did not live.
“Hello?” she tried one more time, but there was still no answer.
She was hardly surprised.
Poppy had guest-starred on enough TV crime shows in the ’80s to know this was usually the point in the show where an unsuspecting woman found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time, and suddenly fell prey to a mad killer or treacherous villain seconds before the commercial break.
Still, her burning curiosity won out over her innate cautiousness, and she shut the door behind her and slowly, carefully, moved farther into the foyer, looking around to make sure no one was lying in wait to suddenly jump out at her with a rag soaked with chloroform, or worse, a sharp weapon like a carving knife or a rope cord from the curtains which he could use to loop around her neck and choke her to death.
Again, she had played a lot of damsels in distress during her years of acting in film and TV.
So her imagination tended to run wild.
There was hardly that kind of violent crime to be found in Palm Springs, her home for the last ten years.
And yet, there were alarm bells going off in her head.
She never felt such a strong sense of imminent danger.
She followed the sound of the music into the living room until she was finally able recognize the familiar voice belting out a song on an old CD player set up in a corner on a small wooden desk next to the fireplace.
It was Elaine Stritch.
The brassy, ballsy late Broadway legend.
The song was “The Ladies Who Lunch,” from the hit 1970 Stephen Sondheim musical Company.
How appropriate, Poppy thought, given the majority of women who resided here in the Palm Leaf Retirement Village, most of whom spent their days golfing during the morning and enjoying cocktails in the afternoon during their typical three-hour lunches.
She moved farther into the living room in order to turn off the CD player when she caught something out of the corner of her eye.
Poppy spun around, gasping, her right hand flying to her chest.
She struggled to steady herself as she stared at the body lying facedown on the floor next to a cracked coffee table.
A small pool of blood seeped slowly into the pristine white carpet.