Death of a Country Fried Redneck (Hayley Powell Food and Cocktails Mysteries)

by Lee Hollis

  Still, he had entered her house and taken her dog. She should call Sergio and report him and maybe get him thrown back in jail until the trial.

  But she had no proof.

  And going after Jesse would just exascerbate the situation.

  But warning Gemma to stick close to her friends was her utmost priority. There was no way she wanted her daughter in close proximity to any danger.

  Just the thought of it made her shudder.

  Chapter 22

  Three nights later was Wade Springer’s first charity concert. When Hayley showed up at the Criterion Theatre, Billy Ray escorted her to a trailer parked out back, which served as Wade’s makeshift dressing room. It was bigger than the whole first floor of Hayley’s house. Framed gold records of Wade’s singles adorned the wall. A Country Music Association award that Hayley at first assumed was a lamp sat on a side table. The furniture was plush and cushiony, the bar was fully stocked, and there was an entire buffet of assorted cheeses and finger foods set up off to the side.

  Wade sat on the couch in a pair of crisp, dark blue jeans and a black shirt open enough to show off hints of his curly chest hair. His cowboy hat rested next to him and he was strumming his guitar.

  After Billy Ray had ushered her inside, he then stepped back out, closing the door behind him.

  Wade looked up and smiled.

  “Hey there, stranger,” he said. “Haven’t seen you around much lately.”

  “It’s been a crazy couple of days,” Hayley said. “I hope you’ve been getting your meals on time.”

  “Oh, yeah, and they’re so mouth-wateringly delicious, I just may have to kidnap you when I’m done here and whisk you away with me.”

  Hayley’s heart fluttered.

  He looked so handsome, and the scent of his cologne wafted over to her and made her nose tingle.

  “So what’s been keeping you so busy?” Wade asked.

  “My work at the office, my column, my kids,” she said, shrugging. “The usual stuff.”

  Hayley didn’t want to admit to her own haphazard investigation into the Mickey Pritchett murder, or her recent run-in with town thug Jesse DeSoto, which had rocked her world off its orbit, and how she was terrified the creep might come within spitting distance of her daughter, Gemma.

  She had spent the whole day lecturing Gemma on the phone to keep an eye out, to definitely not separate from her friends, and to come home right after school and keep the doors of the house locked.

  Gemma wasn’t nearly as concerned. She knew Jesse DeSoto and said she had no doubts she could take him in a fight. And if for some reason she couldn’t, her boyfriend Reid would protect her. He was twice Jesse’s size.

  That was some comfort, but Hayley was still haunted by the delinquent’s threats.

  “Why don’t you have some food?” Wade said. “There’s enough there to feed the entire Grand Ole Opry. I don’t know why they stock this place with so much. Seems like such a waste.”

  Hayley wandered over to the table and speared a fresh shrimp with a toothpick, slathered on some cocktail sauce, and popped it in her mouth.

  Wade patted the couch. “Now, why don’t you sashay on over here and take a load off, Hayley. There’s something I want to share with you.”

  Hayley did as she was told.

  She sashayed. And sat down on the couch.

  Hayley made sure she was as far away from Wade as possible. She didn’t know why she did that. But she was nervous and jumpy and didn’t want to give Wade the wrong impression.

  Wade gave her a funny look and then shuffled over closer to her. He strummed his guitar some more and started to sing.

  A quiet ballad.

  About a woman in love with a man.

  And how she gets the man to fall in love with her by cooking for him.

  And how the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.

  Exactly what everyone assumed she was doing with Wade.

  Did Wade actually believe this?

  Hayley shifted uncomfortably, her eyes downcast, her face burning with embarrassment.

  Wade continued singing the chorus.

  “The way to a man’s heart.”

  That had to be the title of the song.

  And then he segued into another refrain.

  How the man couldn’t stop thinking about the woman’s food.

  And how she put so much tender loving care into each and every dish, it was as if they were her own children.

  And how a man like him couldn’t help but fall in love with a woman like that.

  And how, when you’ve found someone you love that much, there’s always room for dessert.

  Wade sang the chorus again. The way to a man’s heart . . .

  Hayley reached out and grabbed the hand that was strumming the guitar strings. “Wade, please, stop.”

  “What’s wrong? You don’t like the song?”

  “It’s beautiful. But I’m just humiliated that you think by cooking for you, I’m trying to get you to fall in love with me. I admit, I tried to meet you through my cooking, but it was more as a fan meeting her idol. I had no pretensions that you and I would ever . . .”

  “You think this song is about you?”

  “Well, you wrote it. You tell me.”

  “Hayley, I didn’t write this song.”

  “Then who did?”

  “Mickey Pritchett.”

  It was like a kick in the solar plexus.

  Hayley reared back, her mouth agape. “Mickey? Are you serious? How?”

  “Mickey’s been an aspiring songwriter for years. He’s tried to sell me so many songs, I lost count. But none of them have ever really spoken to me. I kept putting him off, telling him to keep at it, work harder. I was beginning to think he just didn’t have what it takes, until he showed up with this one.”

  “Oh. Hearing the lyrics, it just sounded a lot like it was based on me and you,” Hayley said, deeply embarrassed.

  “Maybe it was. I read your column about me. You wanting to impress me with your country fried chicken recipe. Mickey could’ve seen it, too, and been inspired to write this song.”

  It sounded plausible.

  But no less embarrassing.

  “I was going to try it out tonight,” Wade said.

  “Tonight?” Hayley gasped, realizing the whole town was now seated in the theater and would immediately know who Wade was probably singing about.

  “I won’t if you don’t want me to,” Wade said. “But I was hoping to record it on my next album and donate all the proceeds to Mickey’s brother Clarence. He’s a sweet and kind young man. Nothing like Mickey. He’s just trying to make something of himself and could really use a little money to give him a boost.”

  Now Hayley felt like a heel.

  She couldn’t stand in the way of Clarence getting a little financial relief from his brother doing doing one thing right: writing a hit song recorded by Wade Springer.

  “Of course, you have to sing it,” Hayley said. “I want you to.”

  Wade smiled. “I’m just joshin’ ya, Hayley. I’m not going to sing it tonight. I still have some work I want to do on it first. I just wanted to see your face when you thought the whole town was about to hear it.”

  Hayley gave him a playful slap on his arm.

  She could feel the muscles.

  Now her whole body tingled.

  Wade gave her a hug.

  He squeezed so tight, Hayley couldn’t breathe.

  Or maybe it was his cologne.

  Either way, she wasn’t complaining.

  Wade slowly pulled away and stared at Hayley, a grave look on his face. “Hayley, I just want to say, I’m so, so sorry for all this trouble I’ve brought to your town.”

  “You . . . ?”

  “Well, it’s my tour and Mickey’s murder has caused all kinds of chaos and I can’t help but feel responsible. . .”

  “This isn’t your fault, Wade. It’s becoming clear Mickey had a lot of enemies. That has nothing
to do with you. So don’t worry. Sergio is going to solve this case and clear up this whole awful mess.”

  There was a rap on the door and from outside they heard Billy Ray shouting, “Five minutes, Wade!”

  “Now forget about all that, because you know what they say . . . ,” Hayley said, smiling.

  Wade nodded and they both said in unison, “The show must go on.”

  Wade slung his guitar over his shoulder and grabbed his cowboy hat off the couch and opened the door for Hayley.

  The two of them stepped outside. Wade took her by the hand and led her through the door to the backstage of the theater. He escorted her to the side, hidden out of view from the audience by the curtain, and put his hands on her shoulders.

  “Best view in the house,” he said, reaching around and giving her a quick peck on the cheek. Hayley resisted the urge to spin around and grab him by the neck and plant a big kiss on his lips.

  Especially after hearing that song.

  Wade stepped around her and sauntered out on the stage, and the crowd erupted in thunderous applause. Even Hayley found herself clapping and whistling and hooting and hollering.

  On Wade’s cue, the band started playing and Wade launched into one of his biggest hits—and Hayley’s favorite—“I’m Not a Wife Beater, I Just Wear One.” Hayley started bopping up and down to the music.

  She had dreamt of this moment.

  Seeing Wade Springer live.

  She never imagined she would be his personal guest backstage.

  Sometimes life really was full of surprises.

  And, then, suddenly, without warning, Hayley felt something thrown around her neck like a rope or a cord, and it instantly tightened like a noose. She clawed at it with her fingers as she was yanked back, out of the lights, into a dark corner backstage. She struggled.

  There was someone pressed up against her from behind, pulling on the cord. She couldn’t breathe.

  Omigod.

  Someone was strangling her.

  She saw Billy Ray on the other side of the stage and reached out to him, trying to scream for help.

  But he couldn’t see her.

  And the cord around her neck prevented her from screaming.

  Her attacker wasn’t letting up, choking her until she was gasping for air.

  And he was strong.

  Whenever she tried to break free, he anticipated her move and squeezed harder, until she was about to pass out and her eyes rolled back in her head.

  Chapter 23

  Hayley knew she was moments away from slipping into unconsciousness. She had to act fast. She worked her hands up to the cord and tried to pull it away from her neck but her assailant was holding tight.

  She managed to focus her eyes again for a split second, and she could see Wade standing out on the stage in the spotlight, strumming his guitar, at one with the audience, singing his heart out, blissfully unaware that Hayley was being strangled to death only a couple hundred feet away.

  The music, so deafening just a few moments before, was now fading into nothingness as the vision of Wade became cloudy and blurry and she knew she was seconds away from blacking out.

  Hayley went limp and fell back against her attacker’s chest, and for a second he thought she had passed out. He relaxed his grip just a bit, allowing Hayley the moment she needed.

  She thrust her head back with her last ounce of strength, cracking the man’s nose with a sickening crunch. She heard a wail in her ear as her attacker let go completely. She saw blood spurt past her as she lifted her right leg and nailed it down on the guy’s foot.

  He stumbled back, allowing her to rip the cord off her neck and hurl it to the ground. Then she felt a hand shoving her forward. Her whole body smacked against a giant speaker set off just out of view of the audience.

  The impact knocked the wind out of her and she fell to the ground, her forehead cracking against the hardwood floor.

  She was going to have a nasty bruise.

  But she was alive.

  At least for now.

  Hayley scrambled to her feet and spun around to get a look at her attacker. He was dressed all in black and had his hands in front of his face to conceal his identity. And then he whirled around and bolted out the backstage door into the parking lot where Wade’s mobile dressing room was parked.

  Still woozy from her head hitting the floor, Hayley stumbled after him, determined not to allow him to get away. She went to open the door he’d run out, but it didn’t budge. She stepped back, and threw a flying kick at the door.

  She heard a sharp crack but it still wasn’t opening.

  She tried again, insistent that those karate classes she’d spent a fortune on for Dustin—and spent hours watching—would somehow pay off.

  And, finally, they did.

  Another kick and the door flew open.

  Apiece of wood her attacker had jammed up against the doorknob snapped in half and went flying in two different directions.

  Hayley raced outside.

  She spotted the attacker, sitting atop a Harley-Davidson, strapping on a black helmet, and frantically trying to kick-start his motorcycle.

  Hayley started yelling and running at him.

  Which, upon reflection, was a really dumb thing to do since she was chasing after an attempted murderer with no backup.

  But she was pumped full of adrenaline and not thinking clearly, and she definitely didn’t want this creep getting away.

  The attacker kept glancing up at Hayley and back down at his kick-starter.

  It was a race against time and she was only a few feet away when the Harley finally roared to life, and the attacker cranked the handlebar accelerator and took off with a cloud of smoke trailing out from the exhaust pipe.

  Hayley stopped in her tracks and bent over, trying to catch her breath.

  Suddenly a pickup truck veered around the corner into the parking lot, cutting off the motorcyclist, who had to swerve to avoid a head-on collision.

  The Harley spun out and the attacker lost control and crashed into a Dumpster. He was momentarily stunned.

  The bike was tipped over but the engine was still running.

  Hayley saw Mona getting out of the truck in her bulky sweatshirt and faded jeans. Obviously dressed for the concert.

  “Mona, don’t let him get away!” Hayley screamed.

  That’s all Mona needed to hear.

  She advanced on the motorcyclist, arms stretched out like a New England Patriots linebacker trying to stop a touchdown.

  The attacker hustled to his feet and lifted his Harley off the ground and swung a leg over just as Mona reached him. She grabbed the back of his jacket and tried pulling him off again, but she was a hair too late as he revved the bike and roared off.

  Mona was able to hold on for a few seconds, being dragged along behind him, but she eventually lost her grip and went hurtling to the ground.

  Hayley’s attacker fled off on the Harley into the night.

  Hayley raced to Mona, who was rolling over on her back and clutching her hands to her side.

  “Shit, that hurts!” Mona spat out.

  “Come on, I’ll get you to the hospital.”

  “I don’t need no doctor. I got six rambunctious kids, last count. This is nothing compared to the physical abuse I take from them every day.”

  Hayley helped Mona to her feet.

  “Who the hell was that?” Mona asked.

  “I don’t know. But he tried to strangle me backstage during Wade’s first song.”

  “What?” a voice screamed from behind Hayley.

  It was Liddy, who was jumping out the passenger-side door of Mona’s pickup. “Somebody tried to kill you?”

  “I have the welt on my neck and a bunch of bruises to prove it,” Hayley said, checking Mona for injuries.

  Mona swatted Hayley’s hand away. “I told you, I’m fine. No point fussing over me. Let’s just call the cops and report this.”

  “Can’t we wait until after the concer
t? I’ve already missed the first few songs,” Liddy said.

  Mona looked at Hayley. “Tell me she didn’t just say that out loud.”

  “Well, I’m sorry,” Liddy cried. “But it’s not my fault. We wouldn’t have been so late if your wild-child Ethan hadn’t tried to microwave Judy’s pet hamster.”

  Hayley gasped. “One of your kids tried to microwave Mr. Wiggles?”

  “He’s fine. He couldn’t quite reach the start button before I caught him,” Mona said before turning her attention to Liddy. “But you catching the concert isn’t the hot topic right now. Finding this Jack the Ripper guy who tried to take out Hayley is what we should be concerned about.”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry,” Liddy said, chastised. “We should call Sergio so he can put out an ATM or ABC or whatever it is they put out to catch criminals.”

  “APB,” Mona said, annoyed.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Liddy moaned.

  “Really, I’m fine, Liddy, if you want to go inside, Mona and I can handle it from here,” Hayley said.

  Liddy looked at Hayley expectantly, a smile forming on her face, but then she shifted focus to Mona, who was scowling and shaking her head.

  “No, forget it,” Liddy said. “I’m not going to let Mona hold this over me for years to come. But this proves I’m just as good a friend to you as she is, Hayley. And don’t let her try to tell you otherwise.”

  “Can we discuss who is a better friend to Hayley after we call the cops?” Mona said, ready to lose it.

  Liddy threw her hands up in surrender and nodded.

  Then she pulled off her leopard-print scarf and handed it to Hayley.

  “Here, honey, wear this,” Liddy said. “It’s Hermes.”

  “It’s beautiful, but, why?”

  “You don’t want Wade seeing that disgusting splotchy red mark on your neck.”

  Mona growled and nearly lunged at Liddy, whose eyes popped open in surprise.

  “What? What did I say?” Liddy shrieked.

  Hayley held Mona back with one hand as she flipped open her cell phone and dialed 911 with the other.