Death of a Country Fried Redneck

by Lee Hollis

  Well, it wasn’t the deer that startled us, as they really didn’t seem to be disturbed by our intrusion at all. What made me gasp, and unfortunately made Leroy start barking furiously with that high-pitched annoying bark of his, was the most enormous, gigantic eight-point buck I have ever seen in my life! I was pretty sure it was the same one the locals call “Bucky.” I’ve been told the legend of Bucky the eight-point buck many times over the years. He’s been a fixture in Acadia National Park and is probably the daddy to half of the island’s deer population.

  Of course, Leroy failed to notice the huge size difference between himself and Bucky and continued barking wildly and frantically pulling at his leash. As the other deer began to calmly walk away, obviously annoyed that their dinner was interrupted by some annoying yapping tiny little creature, I noticed Bucky was staring intently at us, and was starting to paw at the ground and snorting at us like a bull.

  I decided this moment might be a good time to turn around and hightail it out of there, so I gave Leroy’s leash a big tug, which choked him enough to stop his barking for a brief moment. We took off running so fast back in the direction from which we had come, you would have thought Mona and Liddy had just called me from my brother’s bar Drinks Like A Fish and told me there was a 2 for 1 Happy Hour special!

  Leroy was not happy about his walk being cut short, but as soon as the giant angry beast started charging us, he seemed to have a change of heart, and ran just as fast as he could right past me, dragging me along by the leash.

  All I could hear was loud crashing and stomping through the underbrush behind us. I didn’t dare turn around because I didn’t want to know just how much Bucky was gaining on us. Suddenly, there was a loud crash, some grunting, and then silence. Curiosity was killing me, so I glanced over my shoulder and stopped dead in my tracks. Leroy tumbled over backward since he was running forward full tilt.

  In his attempt to chase us down, poor Bucky had tried running between two trees that weren’t quite wide enough for his gigantic antlers to fit through. Bucky’s antlers got caught on both sides. He was completely dazed and the wind had been knocked right out of him! He just stood there, slowly shaking his head. He seemed to be no worse for wear. Except for the fact he was no longer an eight-point buck. He was a six-point buck.

  That was our cue to quietly slip away before this one sore buck came to his senses, freed himself, and finally finished us off!

  As Leroy and I jogged home, I wondered if, instead of ribs, the venison steaks in my freezer might be a better accompaniment with our mac and cheese for the barbecue!

  But, first, before heating up the oven, I’m going to have a nice Southern Screw and relax.

  Cocktail, that is.

  Southern Screw (driver)

  2 ounces vodka

  2 ounces Southern Comfort peach liquor

  6 ounces orange juice

  Pour all ingredients over ice in a glass and enjoy!

  Southern Mac and Cheese

  1 pound cavatappi pasta

  2 tablespoons butter

  3 tablespoons flour

  1 cup milk

  1 12-ounce can evaporated milk

  2 cups shredded smoked Gouda cheese

  1 3-ounce package softened cream cheese

  ¾ teaspoon salt

  ½ teaspoon red pepper flakes, divided

  1 8-ounce chopped cooked smoked ham (if you have leftover ham from the night before, dice it up and use that)

  2 cups corn flakes cereal, crushed

  2 melted tablespoons of butter

  Preheat your oven to 350 degrees. Prepare cavatappi pasta according to the directions on the box.

  Melt 2 tablespoons butter over medium heat in large saucepan or skillet big enough to hold the pasta. Gradually whisk in flour until smooth; cook while constantly whisking for one minute or until thickened. Slowly whisk milk and evaporated milk into the saucepan and cook until thickened. Whisk Gouda, cream cheese, salt and a ¼ teaspoon of the red pepper flakes until smooth. Remove from heat and stir in ham.

  Pour pasta into the cheese sauce and mix. Pour into a lightly grease 13 x 9–inch baking dish. Stir 2 tablespoons melted butter and remaining ¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes into the crushed corn flakes and sprinkle over the mac and cheese.

  Bake at 350 for 45 minutes or until golden brown and bubbly. Let stand for 5 minutes and then dig in!

  Chapter 14

  Hayley couldn’t believe what she was reading as she sat behind her desk at the Island Times office perusing Monday’s edition of the paper.

  After she and Gemma caught Jesse DeSoto hot-wiring a car, after leading him on a high-speed chase, after Officers Donnie and Earl arrived on the scene and cuffed him and booked him, Bruce’s local crime-beat article was all about the suspicious behavior of Wade Springer and how there were lingering questions about his role in the murder of Mickey Pritchett.

  Bruce had been obsessed with Jesse, the bad-news delinquent. He had been tracking him, watching his every move, making it his personal mission to link him to the recent crime spree in town.

  And, now, faced with undisputable proof thanks to Hayley and her daughter, Bruce couldn’t be bothered.

  When Bruce sauntered into the office later that morning, a smug look on his face, Hayley told him so to his face.

  “Look, Hayley, I admit I’ve been interested in Jesse, trying to connect him to the rash of thefts and break-ins,” Bruce explained. “But we’re here to sell papers. And frankly, Wade Springer is the bigger story. I had to write about him. There are dozens of punk-ass Jesse DeSotos in this town, but only one singer with a slew of number one records who is connected to a brutal murder.”

  “But all you’ve got on Wade is speculation. Just because no one saw him walking his dog, doesn’t mean he’s the one who shot Mickey Pritchett!”

  “Doesn’t mean he didn’t do it.”

  “You’re no better than the tabloids,” Hayley said, folding up the issue with Bruce’s latest article and hurling it into a trash can to make a statement.

  Her statement didn’t have the desired effect.

  Bruce ignored it.

  “Talk to Sal,” Bruce said, still with the irritating smug look on his face. “I called him up and got his approval before we printed the story. It was his call.”

  “I don’t care if Sal approved it. Your article had the breathless gossipy tone of a teenage girl’s Facebook page, making things up about who’s dating whom just to make herself look like she’s in the know and more important than she really is.”

  “You’re calling me a teenage girl?”

  “I’m calling this article a load of crap. There isn’t one solid fact in it that suggests Wade is guilty. And you come off as if you desperately want him to be.”

  “I don’t even know the guy. And I’m not the one who goes on and on about him like he’s the Second Coming. Let’s face it. You’re the one who’s been seen traipsing over to his hotel room at night with feasts of food like some sex-starved Paula Deen.”

  “Traipsing? I don’t traipse. And sex starved? Where do you get off? I’ve walked my dog past your house on many Friday nights, and it was hard not to see the glow of your television from the front window and the erotic images of some twentysomething sexpot getting off on a late-night Skinemax show!”

  “Excuse me, you two, but this is a professional office!” Sal bellowed as he charged out from the back to shush them both. “Keep it down or take it outside!”

  “Sal, I’m taking my break early,” Hayley said, grabbing her bag, anxious to get out of the office before she said something to Bruce she would regret. “I need to cool off.”

  “Go. Take a walk. Go to your brother’s bar and have a drink.”

  “It’s ten in the morning,” Hayley said.

  “Since when has that stopped you?” Bruce asked, sneering.

  Hayley took a deep breath.

  Be the bigger person. Be the bigger person.

  She turned and headed for the door.


  She reached for the door handle, and was seconds from making a dignified exit, but she stopped.

  She just couldn’t resist.

  She turned back around and stared at Bruce.

  “I know you’re just mad because it wasn’t you, the big-time crime reporter, it was me who finally collared Jesse DeSoto,” Hayley said quietly. “I robbed you of your one chance to be the big hero in town.”

  Bruce looked like he was ready to blow.

  Sal grabbed his arm. “Easy, Bruce. Hayley, go. Walk it off.”

  Walk it off?

  What was she, back on her high school basketball team having just been fouled by a player from the other team and pissed about it?

  However, Hayley knew the smart decision was to leave so she followed Sal’s orders and walked out of the office.

  Hayley walked up Main Street at a clip, reliving the argument with Bruce, how arrogant he was acting and how irresponsible he was for treating Wade like he was public enemy number one.

  By the time she reached the end of the street and was staring at all the fishing boats bobbing up and down in the harbor off the town pier, Hayley was calmer.

  Maybe it was she who was being unreasonable.

  Bruce wasn’t completely at fault.

  There was a lot of pressure on everybody at the Times to increase readership and Bruce was no exception.

  Wade Springer was a huge star.

  In a very serious situation.

  What if Lady Gaga was the person of interest and not Wade?

  Would Hayley be treading as lightly, not wanting to upset or alienate her?

  Hardly.

  Although she did like her music.

  Hayley slowly began to realize Bruce was just doing his job.

  She hated to admit it.

  But the wise thing to do was probably go back to the office and apologize.

  Hayley turned to head back around and was startled by the sight of a wiry kid with a camera snapping her picture.

  It was that bratty would-be paparazzi Darrell Rodick!

  He was ambushing her.

  “Darrell, what are you doing?”

  He kept snapping away. “Tell me, Mrs. Powell, are you carrying Wade Springer’s love child?”

  “No! Why? Does it look like I’m gaining weight?”

  Hayley threw her hands up in front of her face. “Stop taking my picture!”

  Darrell wasn’t listening.

  His camera kept clicking and clicking.

  “If you don’t stop taking pictures, I’m going to smash your damn camera,” Hayley said, reaching out to snatch the camera away from him. “I said stop!”

  She got a hold of the strap, but he wrenched it away from her. “Mrs. Powell, I’ll sue you if you try to take my personal property or damage it in any way.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’ll have Chief Alvares arrest you for stalking,” Hayley said, turning her back to Darrell, who just scooted around her and kept taking more pictures.

  “This is a public street,” Darrell said, aiming and shooting. “We both have the right to be here. And, for the record, you gave up your privacy the day you became a public figure.”

  “Since when am I a public figure?”

  “Since you started dating Wade Springer.”

  “I’m not dating Wade Springer! I work for him!”

  “Yeah, and I’m the governor of New Jersey.”

  Hayley could not believe she was fighting with a middle school kid.

  Younger than Dustin, no less.

  This was humiliating.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Powell, but you might as well get used to the fact that for at least the time being, you’re the Angelina Jolie of Bar Harbor.”

  Hayley could think of worse things to be.

  “You’ll never be able to hide from me,” Darrell said, checking a few digital shots before he resumed shooting. “I’ll always be around to record your every movement. Wade Springer’s, too.”

  Something dawned on Hayley. She kneeled down and looked straight into Darrell Rodick’s camera lens. “So you’ve been following Wade every time he’s left the hotel?”

  “From the second he hit town,” Darrell said proudly. “He’s never had a moment’s peace, because I’m that good.”

  “So you must have seen him the other night! The night of Mickey Pritchett’s murder. When he left the hotel to walk his dog.”

  “Sure. I followed him for like an hour, hoping to get a shot of him not cleaning up after his dog, but he had some plastic bags on him,” Darrell said, disappointed.

  Hayley reached inside her bag and pulled out a ten dollar bill and waved it in front of Darrell’s face. “Think I can see a few of those pictures you took?”

  Darrell grabbed the money out of her hand. “Sure. I can e-mail them to you, too, if you want.”

  He clicked through an endless file of photos before settling on one and handing the camera to Hayley so she could take a look.

  Sure enough.

  It was Wade and Delilah.

  And they were on Devon Road about a half a mile from the Harborside Hotel. In the completely opposite direction of Albert Meadow where Mickey’s body was burned to a crisp in the bus.

  And best of all, the photo was time stamped.

  11:15 P.M.

  Hayley was so excited she bent over and took hold of Darrell’s cheeks and planted a big kiss on his forehead.

  “Mrs. Powell, please, control yourself! I know I’m irresistible, but have some decorum. We’re on a public street!”

  Hayley was euphoric.

  She had just cleared Wade Springer of the murder.

  And she was certain Bruce was not going to be too happy about it.

  Chapter 15

  After examining the photos for well over an hour, Bruce, to his credit, immediately began typing a follow-up story that confirmed Wade was nowhere near the scene of the crime at the time the fire was set.

  But he refused to completely exonerate Wade because, in his mind, Wade still had a motive, and could have easily hired someone to do his dirty work for him.

  After Sal signed off on the article, Bruce posted it online and it was set to be printed in the next morning’s paper.

  Bruce didn’t exactly apologize to Hayley. But he did mumble under his breath that he may have been a bit overzealous in trying to get Wade indicted for murder. Although he kept mum on why it was he despised the country singer so much. And Hayley didn’t ask.

  The question now was, who did murder Mickey?

  Hayley had slipped out at lunch to make some Tex Mex chili in her crockpot and to whip up some buttermilk cornbread for Wade’s dinner. So after shutting down her computer for the day, she raced out of the office to pack up the meal and head directly over to the Harborside Hotel.

  Sal wasn’t saying much about her moonlighting as Wade’s chef. He grumbled a bit when she took an extra forty minutes at lunch because she couldn’t find all the ingredients for tomorrow’s chicken and dumplings, but he soon realized having Hayley on the inside of Wade’s entourage could actually turn out to be a lucky break when it came to unearthing information on the murder case. So he stopped complaining.

  Hayley thought Wade was still at the Criterion Theatre rehearsing when she arrived to set the table and put out his dinner in his hotel suite at the Harborside. At least, that’s what Billy Ray told her when she called earlier to confirm his schedule.

  So she was surprised to hear someone in the bathroom taking a shower when the bellhop helped carry her crockpot and bread, covered with aluminum foil, into the room.

  “Wade must have finished rehearsing early,” Hayley said, pointing to the counter in the small kitchen area. “Just set it down there, Danny.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the bellhop said. He was a lanky young kid, pimply and very nervous as he sniffed to keep his nose from running.

  Then he sneezed and almost dropped the crockpot.

  Great.

  The kid had a cold.

 
; Thank God all the food was covered.

  Hayley followed him to the kitchen and put down the tray of cornbread, then fished in her bag for a five dollar bill to tip him.

  “Thanks, Danny,” Hayley said. “Next time, there’s a ten in it for you if you stop calling me, ma’am.”

  “Yes, ma—” Danny stopped himself. “Mrs. Powell.”

  “Hayley.”

  The bellhop nodded, and wiped his nose.

  His eyes were watery.

  Then he sneezed again.

  “Yes, Hayley.”

  Hayley escorted him out. She didn’t want the kid near her food any longer than he had to be.

  She shut the door behind him.

  Hayley picked up a ladle, removed the lid from the crockpot, and stirred the chili slowly. She was going to try and get everything on the table and scoot out the door before Wade finished showering, to honor his privacy.

  She knew he liked her, but she certainly didn’t want to be an intrusion. Especially after a long day of rehearsing.

  She poured some chili into a bowl, sprinkling a little red onion and cheddar cheese on top, and set it down on the table with a hunk of the cornbread. She heard the shower turn off, so she picked up speed and retrieved an ice cold beer and frosted mug she had put in the freezer earlier that day when she’d served breakfast, and set it down on the table with the food.

  She was just turning to go when suddenly the door to the bathroom was flung open.

  “Something sure smells delicious.”

  It wasn’t Wade.

  It wasn’t even a man.

  A pretty blonde, tiny in frame, but with breasts so big they could possibly end hunger in the Third World, flounced out of the bathroom in Wade’s white terrycloth robe. “I hear you’re quite a cook,” she said.