by Lee Hollis
Hayley got out of the car and slammed the door hard, hoping the noise might alert Bradley. It didn’t.
“Bradley?” she called out, a little crack in her voice betraying her nerves.
She tried again. “Bradley?”
Nothing.
She slowly began walking toward the cabin, not sure what to expect. That’s when she heard a voice behind her.
“Who’s there?”
Hayley spun around and peered into the woods. At first she didn’t see anything. But then she spotted a shotgun propped up against a spruce tree. Followed by a flash of red. It was Bradley, clad only in a pair of red underwear, his skinny pale body standing near that same spruce tree.
He was taking a leak.
Hayley covered her eyes. There was no way she was going to lose that bagel she’d eaten on the way over because Bradley Applebaum flashed her.
“Hello, Bradley, I was hoping I could ask you a few questions.”
There was a long silence as Bradley finished his business, a small trickle wetting the leaves, before he readjusted himself, grabbed his shotgun, and marched back toward the cabin where Hayley waited for him.
His hair was curly and sprouted in all directions. He had a long beard that rivaled some members of ZZ Top. And his lanky body was covered with dirt smudges.
Bradley eyed her warily, and Hayley wasn’t sure if he recognized her or not. He had been quite a few years younger than her in school, but she had heard stories. His erratic behavior was legendary.
Hayley realized the cabin probably had no bathroom or outhouse, which would explain Bradley relieving himself on a spruce tree.
She decided to carefully watch her step since it was likely she could come in contact with some of Bradley’s other undesirable deposits.
Bradley eyed her up and down suspiciously.
She chose to plow ahead.
“First of all, I’m sorry about your mother’s passing.”
“You mean her murder.”
“Right. Terrible. Just terrible.”
“I know who did it.”
“You do?”
“Come inside and we can talk.”
Bradley pushed past her, gripping his twelve gauge shotgun, and disappeared inside the cabin.
Hayley hesitated. A little voice inside her was screaming at her to jump in her car and just haul ass out of there. But her interest was peaked. And maybe Bradley could help clear her name.
She took a deep breath and followed him inside.
The stench in the cabin was stifling. Like rotted eggs mixed with choking body odor. Hayley suddenly felt nauseated.
She looked around. Piles of garbage were everywhere. She squinted to see if the furry brown object in one empty corner was a dead squirrel, but she quickly averted her eyes, deciding she didn’t really want to know.
“Can I offer you something to drink?” Bradley said, still clutching his gun and scratching himself as Hayley glanced away to avoid having to see his red underwear riding up in the front.
“No, thank you, I’m fine,” Hayley said. “So you say you know who poisoned your mother’s clam chowder?”
Bradley nodded. “Of course. It was the president.”
Hayley rolled this one over in her mind for a moment.
“The president of the bank?”
“No,” Bradley sighed, a bit irritated. “The president of the United States.”
“I see. You think the president had your mother killed?”
“Yes. He dispatched some government spooks to get rid of her. Just like Kennedy did with Marilyn Monroe.”
“Okay. So you think your mother was sleeping with the president?”
“No! I’m not some idiot. I know my mother wasn’t having sex with the president.”
Finally. A modicum of sanity.
“He did it to get to me. I’m the real threat,” Bradley said.
“Oh.”
“They’re everywhere. They’re watching us right now.”
Hayley looked around before she realized that there was a small part of her that was actually taking this guy seriously.
She laughed to herself.
“But your mother was seeing someone. You did know that, right?”
Bradley nodded.
“Do you have any idea who it was?”
Bradley nodded again.
Finally. They were getting somewhere.
“Can you tell me?”
Bradley rushed over to the window and peered outside to make sure no one was out there. Then he turned around and surged forward fast, surprising Hayley when he grabbed her by the arm and got up close in her face. The smell wafted up into her nostrils and she again felt like she was going to be sick.
“The vice president.”
“I’m assuming you’re not talking about the vice president of the bank.”
Bradley shook his head wildly.
“No, I didn’t think so,” Hayley said.
It was time to go.
“Well, Bradley, thank you for your time.”
She turned to go, but he gripped her arm tighter.
“Wait,” he said. “Join us.”
“Who?” Hayley said, glancing around. Was he talking about the dead squirrel decomposing in the corner?
“I have friends. We’re building underground bunkers. Taking up arms. We’re going to be ready when the army comes to take our freedom.”
Hayley couldn’t quite imagine herself as a part of some survivalist militia movement. They might not have TV inside the bunker and she couldn’t possibly live without NCIS and her Lifetime movies.
She tried to shake off Bradley’s grip.
But he refused to let go.
“I really need to get to work.” Hayley was now desperate to get the hell out of there.
He gripped her even tighter. “I can’t let you go now. You could lead the National Guard back here and ruin everything. We still have work to do building our stronghold.”
“I won’t say a word. I promise. Pinky swear.”
She tried again to free herself from Bradley. She felt the bile rising up in her throat as he pulled her closer to him, staring directly into her face with his darting, crazy, almost–coal black eyes.
This was feeling way too dangerous now. What had she gotten herself into?
“Bradley, please, I really have to get to the paper. I’m going to be late.”
Bradley eased up for a moment, a curious look on his face. “Paper? Are you a journalist?”
“You might say that. I work at the Times. Don’t you remember who I am? Hayley Powell. We’ve both lived here all our lives.”
Bradley gasped and completely released his grip. “Hayley? I remember you from when I was just a little kid. I had no idea that was you. You look so different. You’re pretty now.”
Okay. He wasn’t so crazy that he didn’t remember Hayley’s frizzy hair, severe acne, and metal braces when she was twelve.
“I love you, Hayley!”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m a huge fan of your column!”
Okay, now this was just getting surreal.
“Wait! Hold on!” he yelled, beaming from ear to ear.
Bradley scampered over to the counter and cleared some dirty pots and pans away. There was a paper plate with some cookies on it. He proudly picked it up and carried it back over to Hayley. “Here. I made these applesauce oatmeal cookies, which was a big challenge, believe me, with no electricity, and not buying the ingredients at the store. I need your professional opinion.”
The last thing Hayley wanted to do was eat anything in this disgusting dump that belonged on a very special episode of Hoarders.
But it could be her only escape.
Bradley gently removed the plastic wrap covering the cookies. Hayley picked one up, studied it carefully to make sure there was nothing crawling on top of it, and then took a teeny tiny bite.
It tasted like cardboard.
“Delicious,” she said, in an effort to
get out of there alive.
“Not too much nutmeg?”
“No. Perfection,” Hayley said, chewing.
Bradley sighed, relieved. “I trust your opinion. You’re my idol. I can’t believe Hayley Powell is standing here in my house eating one of my cookies!”
Hayley desperately wanted to spit it out, but she was in self-preservation mode and swallowed the bit of cookie whole.
“I’m such a huge fan!” he screamed.
“Thank you,” Hayley said, eyeing the door, waiting for the right opportunity to bolt.
“Why don’t you come and visit me again and we can enjoy one of your mouthwatering cocktail recipes?” Bradley said, winking at her.
Oh, no.
He was turning amorous. She had to find some means of escape.
“You can meet some of the other cool dudes who are stockpiling for the war with the fascist government pigs. We’re a tight-knit group.”
“Of that, I have no doubt. Sounds delightful, Bradley. But if I don’t get back to the office, I’m not going to get the next column in on time so you won’t have anything to read when the next paper comes out.”
“Well, we can’t have that. Your columns are the highlight of my week!”
“You’re too kind.”
“And you’re too beautiful,” Bradley said.
Then he scratched himself again.
Hayley forced a smile, and backed away toward the door.
“We’re going to need a lot of women who are still in their childbearing years joining us so we can repopulate after the revolution.”
“Smooth talker.”
“There’s something about you. You remind me of my mother.”
Hayley stopped in her tracks.
Karen Applebaum? Really?
Besides the disturbing oedipal undertones that were obviously going on here, the fact that she reminded anyone of Karen, especially her wacky son, sent shivers down Hayley’s spine.
“I miss her,” Bradley said softly.
Hayley saw the pain in Bradley’s eyes. “You really did love her, didn’t you?”
“Of course. She was my mother.”
“Then why didn’t you attend her funeral?”
“I was banned.”
“By the government?”
Bradley looked at her as if she were out of her mind.
“No. Of course not. My father. He told me I wasn’t welcome.”
“But your parents were divorced. How could he have any say in the matter?”
“Because he’s working with the president. He’s a key player in the plot to subjugate the citizens of this country. I tried to warn my mother but she wouldn’t listen. She always saw the best in people. She thought I was looney tunes.”
The Mother’s Day card that Bradley sent Karen. Get out of town now or you’re going to die.
Of course.
It wasn’t a threat. It was a warning.
Hayley suddenly felt confident that Bradley had nothing to do with his mother’s murder. But her ex-husband, Martin, well that was a different matter altogether.
Chapter 28
After leaving Bradley, Hayley drove back across the island at lightning speed hoping to make another stop before she was due at the office. She knew Martin Applebaum ate breakfast every morning at Jordan’s coffee shop on Cottage Street. That’s where he met his latest girlfriend, one of the waitresses, who took his usual order of scrambled eggs and sausage links and a cup of black coffee.
Hayley pulled up in front of the restaurant, and almost forgot to put the car in PARK as she leaped out in a race to get to Martin before he finished eating.
Once inside, Hayley was greeted by the hefty blond hostess, an Eastern European immigrant with a gruff exterior who rarely cracked a smile. But Hayley knew she was a sweet girl who just hadn’t quite learned the requirements yet for the position of perky hostess. The girl had a giant chest so a lot of the local lobstermen and electricians were quick to cut her some slack.
“Good morning, Hayley,” the girl said flatly.
“Hi, Tatiana, I was wondering if you have seen ...”
She didn’t have to finish her sentence. As she glanced around the restaurant, she was suddenly blinded by bright turquoise. It was Martin Applebaum’s shirt for the day, and it was just as loud and obnoxious as the man who wore it.
“Never mind.”
“You want the blueberry stuffed pancakes today?”
Hayley stopped. She hadn’t eaten breakfast. Well, she did have a bagel earlier, but that didn’t really count as breakfast. And their pancakes were, after all, a signature dish.
“Sure. Just bring them on over to Martin’s table.”
Tatiana nodded, and went into the kitchen to place the order.
Hayley crossed to the corner booth, waving to a few people she knew seated around the main room before sliding into the booth, opposite Martin, who was intently scraping the last remnants of scrambled egg into a little pile with his fork. Then, using his thumb, he pushed the egg onto his fork and shoveled the remaining bits into his mouth.
He finally noticed Hayley sitting across from him. His look of surprise would’ve been comical if she hadn’t found him so repulsive.
“Good morning, Martin,” Hayley chirped.
“Morning,” he said, chewing his eggs and looking a bit uneasy.
“I was just over at your son Bradley’s house. You should see what he’s done with the place. A decorator’s dream!”
Martin didn’t respond. He swallowed his eggs and slurped the last of his coffee. Then he put down his ceramic cup and stared at Hayley.
“What on earth possessed you to go all the way over there?”
“I wanted to find out why he didn’t attend his mother’s funeral.”
“And what did he tell you?”
“That you forbade him to go.”
“Bradley’s a big boy. He’s long stopped listening to me.”
“Why didn’t you want him there?”
“Is it really necessary for me to answer that? He’s unstable. His brain is out of whack. I didn’t want him there causing a ruckus and maybe hurting someone.”
“You’re right. He does need help. But you don’t seem all that interested.”
Martin raised his cup and shook it, signaling his waitress—who also happened to be his lover—to scoot over with a fresh pot of coffee. She was startled to see Hayley sitting in the booth with her boyfriend.
A suspicious frown formed on her face. Was Hayley moving in on her man?
Hayley laughed to herself at such a ridiculous notion.
“Coffee, Hayley?” she said, squeezing the handle of the pot so hard her knuckles were white.
“Just some orange juice, thanks. I’m waiting for pancakes.”
The waitress—Hayley couldn’t remember her name, Jenny maybe—nodded and marched off to check on her other tables, never taking one eye off Hayley.
Martin was still giving Hayley the cold dead stare.
He had obviously been mulling over her last words.
“Of course I’m interested. He’s my son. But Karen coddled him and indulged him and ignored the signs for years that something wasn’t quite right with him. No matter how hard I tried to get him in to see a psychiatrist, Karen blocked me at every turn. She couldn’t accept the fact that he had psychiatric problems.”
“Bradley thinks you had something to do with Karen’s murder.”
“Of course he does. He’s certifiable.”
“You do have a motive.”
“Enlighten me.”
“The life insurance policy.”
“What life insurance policy?”
“The one where you’re named as beneficiary.”
“We both changed all our policies once we got divorced.”
“She forgot one.”
Martin raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“So you had no idea.”
“No. Not a clue.”
Hayley studied him. He looke
d totally surprised and suddenly over the moon.
“How much am I going to get?”
“Close to a million.”
Martin dropped his coffee cup on the table, drawing some looks from the other diners.
“Are you serious?”
He was almost giddy, but at the same time desperately trying to control himself.
“That’s probably just a drop in the bucket for a man of your means,” Hayley said.
Martin caught himself. “Yes, yes, you’re right. So you see? It really makes no difference and blows my so-called motive to get rid of her right out of the water.”
But Hayley knew from what Randy’d heard from Martin’s blabbermouth waitress girlfriend that he was indeed suffering from poor investments.
But she wasn’t quite ready to play that hand yet.
The waitress brought Hayley’s pancakes and slammed the plate down in front of her to make a point that she was doing so under protest.
She was gone in an instant.
Hayley knew Martin wasn’t that good of an actor. She had seen him play Tevye in a community theater production of Fiddler on the Roof. DeNiro and Pacino had nothing to worry about in the twilight years of their careers.
No, it was obvious Martin really had no idea about the policy.
But maybe someone close to him did.
“Where were you the night Karen ate that poisoned clam chowder?” Hayley asked before taking a bite of her blueberry pancakes.
“Well, I certainly wasn’t at the scene of the crime like you were,” Martin said huffily.
Touché.
“Were you home?”
“No. I was out of town. In Portland. For a Toby Keith concert. I already explained all that to the chief.”
“You could have had someone do the deed for you,” Hayley said, pointing at Jenny the waitress, who was nervously glancing over at them as she scribbled down an order at another table.
“Janice was with me at the concert,” Martin said.
Janice. Not Jenny.
Oh well. Close enough. And pretty soon she would be out of the picture and Martin would move on to the next girl. So why get attached to her actual name?