by Lee Hollis
“Do you know who she is?”
“Not by name, but I’ve seen her around town. I think she owns a catering business or something.”
“Nina Foster-Jones?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. I see her ads in the paper all the time. She wears that tacky smiley-face apron and the matching chef’s hat, and she’s holding a wooden spoon in the air.”
“Are you sure they walked in here together?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.”
“I know for a fact they didn’t like each other. Could you sense any kind of tension between them?”
“No, not at all. In fact, I heard her say to Bessie that everything was going to be all right, and she would take care of everything.”
“Take care of what?”
“Beats me. I handed Bessie her bag and then they left.”
“Together? You’re absolutely sure?”
Jimmy nodded.
Bessie and Nina detested each other. Nina was threatening legal action against Bessie for stealing her ideas. What were they doing hanging around each other? And what was Nina going to take care of for Bessie?
Hayley felt a charge of excitement.
She finally had a new lead to follow.
And it led straight to Bessie’s archrival, Nina Foster-Jones.
Chapter 30
Nina Foster-Jones was a realist. She wasn’t going to become a Food Network star over night. It was going to take a lot of hard work, perseverance, and a large stack of applications to various cable-TV-network cooking-competition shows. Her catering business did decent-enough business during the summer months, but she was still just getting by and unable to bank enough money to get her through the harsh winter months.
She was still anxiously awaiting her big break. With a mortgage to pay and mounting credit card debt from buying all of the top-brand cooking utensils and pots and pans, not to mention an expensive wardrobe for her own YouTube cooking instruction videos, Nina had little choice but to find a “day job.”
When Gretchen Maxwell finally retired from the local branch of Grand Future Insurance after slipping on a patch of ice and breaking her hip in January, Nina swooped in and applied for her job. Nina had zero interest in overseeing insurance policies; but it was a steady paycheck, and it would go a long way in paying the monthly minimum interest on her Visa bill.
Hayley entered the office of Grand Future Insurance, on the second floor of a building next to the post office on Cottage Street. The receptionist pointed Hayley toward Nina’s tiny office in the back, not bothering even to call Nina to let her know she had a visitor. Just a handful of people worked in this tiny satellite office of the main corporate headquarters in Chicago.
Nina’s door was open, and she was behind her desk, feet up, flipping through the latest issue of Bon Appétit magazine.
“Nina?”
The sound of Hayley’s voice startled her, and she almost tipped over in her chair as she swung her feet off the desk, nearly knocking a lamp over. She hastily crammed the magazine into her oversize turquoise purse, which was on the floor.
“Hayley, you scared the stuffing out of me!” Nina said, resting her hand over her heart. “Which reminds me, I have a new cranberry-and-walnut stuffing recipe you’ll just die over. Make sure I give it to you before you leave. Maybe you can write about it in your column. Just don’t forget to give me the credit.”
“Will do, Nina. But this month I’m doing all chocolate recipes in honor of Valentine’s Day.”
“Okay. I will e-mail you my chocolate strawberry cream-cheese tart recipe. Three words. Better. Than. Sex.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“It’s a religious experience. Frankly, I’m surprised you don’t give me more credit in that cute little column of yours. I’ve noticed on more than one occasion you borrowed heavily from my blog.”
“I’m sorry, Nina, I’ve never read your blog.”
Nina chortled. “Oh, come on, Hayley. You can admit it. I won’t sue.”
“That’s not what Bessie Winthrop told me.”
Nina’s face reddened and suddenly she was all business. “Now, are you here to discuss your policy? Being relatively new here, I’m not familiar with what you have covered with us, but if you just give me a minute to bring up your file on the computer, I’ll get myself up to speed.”
“Actually, I’m not here to talk about my policy.”
“Oh?”
“I’m here about Bessie Winthrop.”
“You really should’ve made an appointment. It’s very busy around here today.”
Hayley looked outside the office door.
It was so quiet she was half expecting a tumbleweed to blow past.
“This will only take a second, Nina.”
“I know all about you, Hayley. I’ve heard the stories. Running all over town, pointing fingers at people like some ambulance-chasing lawyer, accusing every last local of engaging in some treacherous deed. Well, it won’t work with me. My hands are clean. I had nothing to do with Bessie’s murder.”
“So you think it was a murder? Because Sabrina Merryweather remains convinced Bessie died of heart disease. That’s interesting.”
“Oh no. Don’t you even start insinuating that I know more than I do. I have my professional reputation to protect! If you even dare whisper a false accusation, I will sue you. Because we both know what’s really going on here.”
“We do?”
“Yes. You are threatened by my success.”
“Success”?
Her greatest claim to fame was catering a party at the rented house of eighties teen pop star Debbie Gibson two summers ago.
“I’m on the cusp of fame. That’s right, Hayley, the cusp. I am this close to a major break. And I know you are seething with jealousy, and are hoping to bring me down so you can capitalize on those precious food-and-cocktails columns of yours. Well, you can’t stop me! I will be taking my rightful place as the lead-in show to Rachael Ray on the Food Network!”
This woman is bananas.
“I’m not interested in competing with you, Nina. I’m happy just writing my column and raising my kids here in little ole Bar Harbor!”
“Bull puckey! Who on earth would be satisfied just doing that?”
Nina assumed everybody had her breadth of ambition.
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Just answer one question, and I promise to steer clear of your path to stardom.”
“What?”
“If you and Bessie were such bitter rivals, why were you hanging around together on the day she died?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Jimmy MacDonald saw the two of you at the pharmacy and you seemed quite friendly. In fact, he overheard you tell Bessie not to worry, you’d take care of everything. What did you mean by that?”
“Is that what this is all about? Good Lord, Hayley, Bessie and I weren’t girlfriends. We didn’t pal around together. We just happened to run into each other outside the pharmacy as we were going in. She asked if we could call a truce for two minutes so she could ask me a professional question.”
“What kind of professional question?”
“She knew I had recently replaced Gretchen Maxwell at Grand Future Insurance. Bessie had a life insurance policy with us.”
“Life insurance?”
Alarm bells went off in Hayley’s head.
“Yes. She recently made a change to her policy and so she just wanted me to make sure the revisions were processed and completed.”
“Did she change the name of the beneficiary?”
“I’m sorry, Hayley, I can’t divulge that information. It would be a breach of professional ethics.”
“Oh, come on, Nina. Give me a hint.”
“I could get fired, Hayley, and then how would I pay for my YouTube videos? I can’t slip up now. Cusp, Hayley! Do you hear me? I’m on the cusp !”
Hayley knew she wasn’t going to get any more out of the future Fo
od Network superstar.
Believe it or not, a small part of Hayley was rooting for her to make it.
Someone who wanted something so badly, and was willing to work her tail off to get it, at least deserved a little success.
But no matter how much fame and fortune followed, Hayley suspected Nina Foster-Jones would still be just as paranoid and petty and unhappy as she was now.
Chapter 31
Hayley knew she couldn’t call Sergio to rustle up a warrant in order to get a peek at Bessie’s life insurance policy at Grand Future Insurance. Mostly because there was no active murder investigation at this point, and the police, the coroner, and the entire town were still convinced Bessie’s heart just gave out.
So if Bessie had kept a copy of her policy, it would most likely still be inside the house somewhere.
And Hayley still had the key.
Her previous search was cut short by Mary Garber calling the police, so she knew she had to be more careful this time, and not be spotted by a nosy neighbor or passerby.
Hayley parked her car at the far end of the street and sat there, engine idling, watching the neighborhood, waiting for her opportunity to slip inside Bessie’s house undetected.
She was there about ten minutes when Mary Garber slammed out of her house, cupping her hands and blowing into them to keep warm before climbing into her Jeep Cherokee. It took a few tries before the Jeep’s engine sputtered to life. Mary backed out of the driveway and passed Hayley’s car, not even noticing her. Mary’s eyes were clear and focused, which was unusual, since most of the time she was blistering drunk. Hayley thought perhaps she might be on a mission to the liquor store.
Hayley got out of her car and scurried down the street to Bessie’s house. She plucked the key from her pocket and inserted it into the lock; but when she turned the knob, the door creaked open.
The house was already unlocked.
Hayley guardedly stepped inside, trying not to make any sound; she looked around.
The house appeared to be just as she had last seen it.
Like a bomb had hit it.
Lots of clutter and that unrelenting odor.
Hayley glanced around. She had done a pretty thorough sweep of the downstairs and Bessie’s bedroom before she got caught by Sergio.
But she never made it to that upstairs storage closet.
She slowly walked up the steps, past the closed door to Bessie’s bedroom, before stopping at the hallway closet.
She opened it and a stack of cookbooks and stuffed file folders came tumbling down off the top shelf, nearly burying Hayley alive.
She got down on her knees and started sifting through all the strewn junk. Mostly copied old fan letters to Bessie’s childhood idol, Julia Child, and more current kitchen masters like that grouchy, loud Gordon Ramsay and that cackling, butter-loving Paula Deen.
And then there were recipes.
Scores of scraps of paper where Bessie scribbled new spins on old-time favorites, like bread pudding and lemon squares.
After a few minutes of sorting through the different folders, Hayley happened upon one unlabeled folder stuffed with reams of paper.
She fanned through it.
An overdue fire insurance premium.
A last warning for her car insurance payment.
This had to be it.
Hayley kept skimming through the papers. The bank threatening to foreclose on her house if she didn’t pay her mortgage.
A letter to her health insurance company begging them to reduce her co-payment for her heart medication.
About halfway through the stack, Hayley identified the logo for Grand Future Insurance.
She speedily read through the five pages stapled together.
It was definitely the policy Nina was talking about.
Near the bottom of the last page, the name “Tawnia Wentworth” was listed as the primary beneficiary.
Tawnia Wentworth.
Why did Hayley know that name?
Of course!
Tawnia was sixteen years old and in Gemma’s class in high school. She lived with her mother, Nancy, who was divorced from Rand Winthrop, Bessie’s estranged brother. Rand had blown town years ago when Tawnia was not even three years old because he felt stifled by the responsibilities of marriage and fatherhood. Hayley last heard he was working on a dude ranch in Wyoming.
Bessie despised her brother for deserting his young family and never spoke to him again, but she always had a soft spot for her niece, Tawnia, even though the two rarely saw each other.
That would make perfect sense.
But Nancy had a good job and was saving her money so Tawnia could go to college. Hayley found it hard to believe that Tawnia or her mother would commit such a heinous act over some insurance money. They may not have even been aware of the policy.
Hayley suddenly heard a thumping sound coming from the bedroom.
Her ears perked up and she knelt there on the floor, frozen.
Was someone else in the house?
The last time when she and Sergio left, Hayley distinctly remembered leaving the bedroom door open. Now it was closed.
A voice inside her was screaming, “Get the hell out!”
And for once, she decided to listen.
Hayley slowly stood up and moved silently down the hall toward the stairs. She was just about halfway there when the door to the bedroom swung open and a hulking man, twice Hayley’s size, stepped out into the hallway, his back to her, and peered down the staircase.
He was wearing a black ski mask, black sweater, and jeans; he was listening to hear if Hayley had gone, not realizing she was now standing right behind him.
Hayley stood, terror-stricken, not daring to move a muscle.
The giant man craned his neck to get a glimpse of the foyer, which was empty. He relaxed a bit, assuming she was gone, and then turned around to head back to the bedroom.
He stopped in his tracks, thunderstruck.
The sight of the Herculean-size, masked thug dressed in black was so spine-chilling, Hayley didn’t know what else to do but let out a bloodcurdling scream.
The masked man just stood there in shock for a moment, before regaining his senses and lunging at her, with muscled arms outstretched to grab her.
Hayley tried to dodge his grasp, but his massive frame blocked any room for escape. He wrapped his arms around her and picked her up off the floor, tucking her underneath one arm and jamming a meaty palm over her face to silence her screams as he carried her into the bedroom.
Hayley struggled, but she was like a newborn baby, completely helpless in his superhuman grip.
Hayley reached up with her fist and started pounding his left arm, but the muscles were so tight that he barely felt a thing. She grabbed at the sleeve of his black shirt and the fabric tore slightly, revealing a T-shaped scar on his left bicep. Before she could examine it further, the mountainous prowler let go of her mouth and opened the bedroom closet door. He tossed Hayley inside.
She hit the wall hard, and then dropped to the floor, taking down two dozen of Bessie’s colorful muumuus and dresses, which were hanging on the rack.
The door slammed shut, enveloping Hayley in darkness, and then the intruder pushed something up hard against the closet, probably lodging the back of a chair underneath the knob to trap Hayley inside.
She heard him pounding away.
Hayley threw her shoulder against the door like a battering ram.
Once.
Twice.
Third time was the charm.
The chair gave way and Hayley stumbled out of the closet to freedom.
But by the time she managed to race down the stairs to the open front door, she knew the man was long gone.
Already halfway back to his beanstalk.
Chapter 32
“Oh, my God, that’s so cool!” Tawnia Wentworth squealed as she shoveled air-popped popcorn into her mouth, while sitting at Hayley’s kitchen table. Tawnia was dressed in baby blue sweats
and a t-shirt with the teen pop princes New Direction emblazoned on it. “I mean, it’s not cool that poor Aunt Bessie died, but that she was nice enough to make me the benefactory or whatever.”
“Beneficiary,” Gemma said, forcing a smile.
“So you had no idea you were named in Bessie’s life insurance policy?”
“No! I would’ve been a lot nicer to her if I’d known!” Tawnia said, grabbing the saltshaker and dousing the remaining kernels in the green mixing bowl in front of her. “We hardly saw each other. She’d stop by around Christmas and give me a present, usually a gift card for Amazon or iTunes, which was so sweet of her. And when I was in the chorus of last fall’s musical, Pippin, she was nice enough to show up at a Sunday matinee performance and give me a box of her icky chocolates, which I promptly threw away because I don’t need to be getting fat like her.”
Tawnia noticed both Hayley and Gemma looking aghast, so she quickly added, “God rest her soul.”
Hayley stole a glance toward Gemma and mouthed “Thank you” as Tawnia dove into the bowl and scraped up the last bits of popcorn and licked them off her fingers.
Gemma nodded at her mother and then picked up the empty bowl. “I’ll put another bag in the microwave.”
“I’m so happy you called me to come over tonight, Gemma,” Tawnia said before chugging down a glass of chocolate milk. “I mean, we rarely hang out anymore, now that we move in different social circles. It’s nice to catch up.”
“We’re so overdue,” Gemma said, her back to them, the obvious sarcasm lost on Tawnia.
But certainly not on her mother.
“So I take it Nancy didn’t know about the insurance policy either?” Hayley asked.
“Mom? Are you kidding? If she had, she would’ve knocked off Bessie herself and bought the new Camry she’s been squawking about wanting the past few months,” Tawnia said, cackling, before catching herself again and forcing her face into a frown. “Poor, poor Bessie.”
“So you hadn’t seen her since Christmas?” Hayley asked, refilling Tawnia’s glass with more chocolate milk from a plastic carton.
“Nope. She was so busy trying to start her business. No, wait. There was that one time right after New Year’s when she called to ask if I would be willing to feed her cats for a couple of days while she went to New York to meet with some Food Network executives.”