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

by Lee Hollis

  “You’re a lying bitch. And if you even dare come near my pan fried dumplings or Swedish meatballs, I will take you down.”

  “You really are bananas, you know that?”

  “You’re on my radar, Hayley Powell. You just better watch yourself.”

  And with that, Karen Applebaum stood back up and pushed her cart past Hayley’s and stormed down the aisle.

  Several shoppers, their mouths agape, watched the scene with rapt attention.

  Hayley hated scenes. Karen looked so evil. Just like that Disney villain. And Hayley was suddenly afraid of winding up sleepwalking during the night and coming across a spinning wheel where she would prick her finger and slip into a deep coma never to awaken unless her lips were touched by a true love’s kiss.

  Fat chance that would happen. There was only one guy in town she was attracted to and as for him, she had just nearly killed him with her car and then stupidly turned him down flat when he asked her out on a date.

  Life sure could be depressing sometimes.

  Chapter 8

  By the time Hayley arrived home from the market with her ingredients for the clam chowder, Gemma and Dustin were already eating day-old pizza warmed up in the oven and watching an Adam Sandler comedy on TV.

  “I’m making a clam chowder so stop snacking on pizza!” Hayley said as she hurriedly unloaded her grocery bags.

  A few grunts were heard from the living room. At least they were acknowledging she was actually in the house. Unlike her children, her dog, Leroy, was running around her in his usual circles, nipping at her pant leg, acting as if she had just returned from a two-year journey around the world. She tossed him a doggie treat as a reward for his utter devotion to her.

  Hayley rifled through her bag for the lotto ticket where she had written down all the ingredients and instructions her mother had given her, but couldn’t find it. She emptied the bag on the counter, sorting every hairbrush and silver wrapped piece of chewing gum, but there was no sign of it. She then searched through all her pockets.

  Nothing.

  She knew she had it when she was at the store because she was holding it in her hand to make sure she didn’t forget any of the ingredients she needed.

  Maybe she dropped it when she slammed into Karen Applebaum’s grocery cart. That’s the only explanation that made sense. She didn’t want to call her mother again, so she decided to re-create the cooking instructions from memory.

  By the time she was finished, the kids were drawn into the kitchen by the delicious smell and began chowing down on it. They didn’t even wait for Hayley to sprinkle those cute little fish crackers on top, they were so ravenous. Hayley knew her chowder was a hit if her kids liked it. They were the pickiest eaters in the world.

  Hayley sat down at the dining room table and began pounding out her column on her laptop. Leroy nestled in her lap, snoring softly. The kids went upstairs to do their homework. Or at least that’s what they told her. It was going on midnight when Hayley finally finished and e-mailed the column to the office.

  Two down.

  Hayley was finally starting to feel like a real bona fide writer.

  She slept surprisingly well given how much was on her mind. Hitting Lex in the crosswalk. The altercation with Karen at the grocery store.

  And she even leapt out of bed the following morning without waiting for the alarm clock to annoy her into crawling out of bed. That was definitely a first.

  She took Leroy out for a brief walk around the block, and even had time to iron her blouse before she was in her car by 7:45 A.M. and on her way to the office.

  That’s when all hell broke loose. When she arrived at work, Sal was already there with a tall, lanky IT guy who was busily working on his computer. Eddie and Bruce were there as well, watching nervously. This was definitely another first. Hayley was always the first one to arrive at the office in the morning.

  “What’s going on?” she asked as she went to pour herself a cup of coffee.

  “There was a power surge in the building last night. Blew out the whole network of computers,” Bruce said.

  “What?” Hayley said, nearly spilling hot coffee all over Bruce’s shirt.

  “Sal’s got a guy working on it. Says we should be back up and running by noon, but we’ll be behind schedule, which means the paper’s going to be late coming out today,” Eddie said.

  The paper had come out late before. When Sal’s wife had a baby. When a snowstorm swept through town with such force one February morning that everybody had to stay home. So it didn’t seem like such a crisis.

  Little did Hayley know just what kind of crisis would balloon after this seemingly harmless office setback.

  The IT guy was true to his word. By noon, the computers were humming like new, and the next issue was back on track again. Bruce had taken the morning to go interview the chief of police about the Razor Rick break-in, and when he returned to the office, he had a copy of the Bar Harbor Herald tucked under his arm.

  Apparently they didn’t have a power surge at their office.

  “I wonder what scrumptious delicacy Karen Applebaum wrote about this week,” Bruce said, thumbing through the paper. “I just love her column.”

  “Don’t start with me, Bruce,” Hayley sighed. “I’m not in the mood.”

  Bruce cleared his throat and skimmed Karen’s column. “Looks like a yummy recipe for a delicious New England clam chowder.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Hayley said, grabbing the paper from Bruce.

  Hayley’s mouth dropped open as she perused the column. Karen Applebaum’s recipe was an exact word-for-word replica of Hayley’s own. This could not be happening. The Bar Harbor Herald was already plastered all over town. When the Times came out, it would look like Hayley was copying her. How did this happen?

  The supermarket! When Karen banged her cart into Hayley’s and all the contents of her bag went scattering across the floor, Hayley must have dropped the lotto ticket. And when Karen bent down to pick up the eyebrow liner, she could easily have seen the recipe and pocketed the ticket. But Karen Applebaum couldn’t possibly be that sinister and devious.

  Of course she could!

  Hayley was fuming. She had been outplayed. And she wouldn’t be surprised if Karen somehow caused the power surge that delayed the paper. Who knew what that scheming witch was capable of? She had a lot of connections in town.

  Hayley dashed into Sal’s office to stop him from running her column, but it was too late. The paper had already been put to bed and was now being printed and, worse, Hayley’s column had already been posted online.

  Within minutes, her phone started ringing with people wanting to know why Hayley had stolen poor Karen Applebaum’s New England clam chowder recipe. Much to Hayley’s horror, it was quickly becoming obvious that the whole town was not only going to eat up two identical recipes for New England clam chowder, but also this delicious dishy feud between the two dueling kitchen divas of Bar Harbor.

  Island Food & Spirits

  by Hayley Powell

  Have you ever had one of those days? Well, I certainly had a long one today, after fighting my way through the grocery store and losing my shopping list, then trying to remember everything on it. I couldn’t wait to get home and have a relaxing cocktail. Which reminds me. Last night when I was watching the Food Network, Sandra Lee made a fantastic concoction of vodka, club soda, and a splash of cranberry juice garnished with a lime, so I decided to try that and, wow, what a refreshing way to relax and begin your evening.

  I envy that woman, with her cute little chic outfits that always match her kitchen décor, plates, glasses, and even her napkins so perfectly. When I get home, I grab the first pair of sweats I find lying on the bedroom floor and a t-shirt three sizes too big, which lately hasn’t seemed so big (note to self: start using the gym membership I transferred from my son’s name to mine and swore I was going to start using regularly).

  So having a few minutes to myself before starting dinner
(which is rare at my house because usually my kids cannot wait for dinner and start munching on leftovers before I even have a chance to get one frying pan on the burner), I decided to take my dog Leroy for a quick walk to the shore path and back in an effort to try and loosen up that T-shirt.

  After filling my “To Go Cup,” we headed out. I was hoping not too many people would be there as Leroy can be quite a handful. But just my luck, as soon as we arrived, he began barking at seagulls and lunging at other dogs passing us by. My dream of relaxing and sitting by the water was completely shattered so when he pulled extra hard on his leash and broke free, I just gave up and sat down to watch him dig up every clam and mussel he could find.

  Watching Leroy dig up the clams reminded me of a recipe I wanted to share with you this week.

  I thought of it recently while looking for a small snack in the hospital cafeteria. I was there visiting a dear friend who had the unfortunate experience of being struck down by a car. Not to worry though. With the fast, highly skilled excellent care he received at our local hospital, I know he will be absolutely fine with just a scratch that shouldn’t even leave a scar. So I’m absolutely positive that it’s in my dear friend’s best interest and health that he should just forget about this small bump in the road and move forward and not look back and dwell on it.

  Well, on to the secret recipe that has been safeguarded in my family for generations. One that I got from my mother and plan on handing down to my own children. But it’s just so good, I’ve decided to share it with you.

  I thought my family’s secret New England clam chowder recipe would be the perfect recipe for our soup course. I hope you will enjoy it as much as we do. So make yourself a cocktail, relax, and eat up this delicious recipe.

  New England Clam Chowder

  2 ½ cups water

  20 to 30 fresh clams (which I buy at my friend Mona’s shop so I know they’ll be fresh)

  2 strips thick sliced bacon

  1 medium yellow onion, chopped

  1 stalk celery, chopped

  4 Tablespoons flour

  1 clove garlic, minced

  4 medium red potatoes, peeled and diced

  1 bay leaf

  1 teaspoon salt

  ½ teaspoon black pepper

  2 cups half & half

  Pour 1 cup of the water in a large stockpot and bring to a boil over high heat. Add clams, cover pot; reduce heat to medium and steam for 5 to 7 minutes or until clams start to open. Remove clams from pot as they open. Throw out any unopened clams.

  Remove clams from shells, chop clams, and set aside.

  Cook bacon in large saucepan until crisp. Remove bacon to paper towels, leave dripping in pan. Crumble bacon when cool enough to handle.

  Add onion, celery, flour, and garlic to bacon drippings. Cook over medium heat, stirring occasionally, about 2 minutes or until veggies are crisp tender. Remove from heat.

  Add potatoes to onion mixture. Stir in remaining 1 ½ cups of water, bay leaf, salt, and pepper. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to a medium low and simmer uncovered until potatoes are tender, about 10 minutes.

  Stir in half & half and chopped clams, heat through over medium heat, stirring occasionally. Throw out your bay leaf. Stir in bacon. Serve with your favorite crackers (my kids prefer the Goldfish over the traditional Oyster Crackers).

  Enjoy!

  Chapter 9

  Hayley kept her head down while running errands in town, hoping all the drama involving Karen Applebaum and the identical recipes would just die down by the time the next issue of the twice-weekly paper hit the stands. In hindsight, that was just wishful thinking.

  Things quickly went from bad to worse.

  Hayley had completely forgotten about the Library Bake Sale, an annual event she had long participated in to raise funds for new books. The city council had continually slashed the library’s budget year after year and they were no longer capable of buying the latest John Grisham or Stephanie Meyer best-sellers and were increasingly facing complaints from locals and tourists alike, who wanted something a little more contemporary than Jane Austen or Oscar Wilde. So every September, the library hosted a bake sale, and as she did every year, Hayley made her delectable almond fudge brownies.

  She had been up late the night before baking because Gemma and Dustin didn’t see the “Do Not Touch” note scotch taped to the batch she had made the previous night that was sitting wrapped in cellophane on the kitchen counter. Or at least she chose to believe they didn’t see the note. There was probably a fifty-fifty chance they did see it and just ignored it. But she opted to give them the benefit of the doubt.

  So Hayley didn’t get to sleep before 1 A.M., and was groggy the next morning when she bolted out of bed just after dawn to shower, slip into some jeans and a red print sleeveless blouse, comb out her hair, and get the brownies to the library before the doors opened for the sale at 8 A.M.

  There were several ladies already setting up on the main floor of the library when Hayley arrived. Agatha Farnsworth, the librarian since the early 1960s, was barking orders like a drill sergeant. Two strokes and a replaced hip had done little to dampen the eighty-year-old’s controlling nature.

  Hayley always shuddered at the sound of Agatha’s booming, intimidating voice. It brought back a lot of memories from her childhood of that same bellowing voice ordering her to hush up or get kicked out of the library permanently. Time hadn’t really made Hayley less afraid of Agatha and she always had a tendency to stutter when she was forced to have a conversation with her.

  “Brownies? You brought brownies, Hayley? Didn’t you get my e-mail?” Agatha said, a put-out expression on her face.

  “Y-Y-Yes, I always bring b-b-brownies. It’s sort of a t-t-tradition,” Hayley said.

  “Keep your voice down, Hayley. Don’t forget this is a library.”

  “S-S-Sorry,” Hayley said, looking at all the other women who were talking in normal voices.

  Maybe it was just her that Agatha didn’t want to hear talking in the library.

  “If you had bothered reading my e-mail, you would have known I have too many people bringing brownies this year. Peanut butter brownies, blonde brownies, five different kinds of fudge brownies. We need some variety. I was hoping you would make cupcakes, or blueberry squares, or hell, at this point I would take marshmallow Rice Krispie treats,” Agatha said, sighing.

  “You sent me an e-mail?” Hayley said, trying to keep her voice to a whisper.

  “I sent it to your office. You didn’t get it? I find that rather strange. I’ve sent you e-mails before and there was never an issue,” Agatha said, folding her arms, eyes filled with judgment.

  Hayley remembered she had been so thrown by the whole dueling divas with identical New England clam chowder recipes crisis, she never bothered to check her account before leaving the office yesterday. And she missed it in the morning because the computers were down.

  Well, it was too late now. She couldn’t very well run home and whip up another dessert in forty-five minutes.

  “Do you think you could run home and bake something else before we open the doors?” Agatha asked, not even cracking a smile.

  She wasn’t joking.

  “Ummmm, I-I-I really don’t think that’s possible,” Hayley said in a tiny whisper. “It’s already a quarter past seven and by the time I get home ...”

  “Oh, forget it, Hayley. I’m not interested in excuses. I just assumed you were a miracle worker in the kitchen because of all the brouhaha surrounding your new column in the Times,” Agatha said, practically drooling sarcasm.

  Hayley suddenly felt an evil presence in the library, like some dark force casting a shadow over her.

  “Here we are, Agatha. Four cherries jubilee pies, priced at ten dollars apiece,” Karen Applebaum said as she placed a cardboard box down on a table right next to Hayley and began unloading her bright red desserts. “I just want to add a little whipped cream along the sides before we put them up for sale. As if they could
possibly look more delicious.”

  “I knew I could count on you, Karen,” Agatha said, turning to Hayley. “At least somebody got my e-mail.”

  Hayley was steaming mad and wanted to tell both Agatha and Karen off, but held her tongue. Now was not the time to cause a scene.

  Hayley was grateful to see Liddy sweep into the library, dressed to the nines, wearing a giant floppy pink hat to protect her light complexion from the intense sun, and carrying a matching bag. She marched right over and gave Hayley a hug. The tension drained out of her. Finally, she had an ally.

  “Thank God you’re here,” Hayley said.

  “I wouldn’t miss it. Well, actually I would, but I want to butter up Aggie and rent this place next spring for my birthday party. I want to throw a costume party and have everyone show up as their favorite literary characters. I’m going to come as Scarlett O’Hara. Big shock, right? I’ve already ordered the dress.”

  “What’d you bring for the sale?” Hayley asked.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” Liddy reached into her pink bag, fished around, and pulled out a bag of Pepperidge Farm oatmeal cookies. “Here you go, Aggie.”

  She tossed the bag to Agatha, who managed to catch it. Agatha stared at the label, an irritated look on her face.

  “I can’t sell these to people. They’re store bought. Everything at the sale is supposed to be homemade,” Agatha said.

  “It says homestyle, right on the bag. Close enough,” Liddy said dismissively before turning back to Hayley. “Such a bitch.”

  “You sure you want to tick her off? What about your birthday party?”

  “Please. I’ve got dirt on her. Remember last year’s sale? She served rum balls so soaked with booze, five twelve-year-olds tested over the legal limit.”

  Suddenly there was a squirting sound and Hayley heard a tiny giggle from behind and someone said, “Oops.”

  She turned around to see Karen holding a canister of whipped cream. A couple of her friends from her coven of witches were covering their mouths and trying not to laugh.