by Lee Hollis
“Fine, I will do that . . . if you will let me,” Dr. Cormack said, staring down at Hayley’s foot blocking the doorway.
She slowly removed it, allowing him to finally slam the door shut. They heard the bolt click firmly into place from the inside.
Tilly tugged on Hayley’s shirt. “What about me? I have a double shift today.”
“You should be safe at the hospital. Just don’t go anywhere without someone accompanying you. And whatever you do, don’t go home. I want you to stay with me at my house tonight. Randy is there. I will call Mona and Liddy to come over. There is safety in numbers.”
“Are you going to go to the police?”
“Not just yet. Chuckie doesn’t know we are onto him yet. If he was doing Vic Spencer’s bidding, then maybe I can dig up a little more information, so Sergeant Herrold has no choice but to bring them both in for questioning.”
“Hayley, that sounds dangerous!” Tilly wailed.
“Trust me, if Chief Sergio was here, a couple of eyewitnesses would be more than enough, but that infuriating skeptic in charge while he’s gone is going to need a whole lot more, so it is up to me to give it to her. Don’t worry, I will be fine,” Hayley said reassuringly, trying to convince herself as much as Tilly.
Famous last words.
Chapter 32
The Seagull House, a seven-bedroom, nine-bathroom estate located just outside of town off route three, adjacent to the College of the Atlantic, had recently been bought by a married couple who co-anchored a popular cable morning news show from New York. The wife had a history on the island. Her parents lived for decades during the summers in tony Northeast Harbor on the other side of the island before they died, and so she wanted to custom design her own fabulous summer residence using her millions of dollars in cable news money. A seaside mansion with spectacular views of Frenchman Bay just wasn’t enough. She wanted a pool. Now, most residents, even the millionaires, never bothered with a pool because in the normally chilly climes of Maine, you might get to use an outdoor swimming pool three, four months out of the year, tops. But the Seagull House’s new owners were not going to be deterred. They wanted an Olympic-sized pool that stretched almost to the cliff’s edge. It took a lot of money greasing the wheels at the town hall, but after a long, protracted fight, they finally secured the necessary building permits, and they hired local contractor Vic Spencer to get the job done.
The pool project was the talk of the town for weeks. A few protesters from the neighboring college concerned about the environmental impact had picketed in front of the property, and there was a standoff with a college student bravely throwing himself in front of Vic Spencer’s earthmover that made the front page of the Island Times, evoking memories of that lone student in Tiananmen Square facing off with a giant tank. Suffice it to say, public support fell to the students. But ultimately, it was all for naught. Vic had the legal right to proceed and so the local civil unrest ultimately receded.
With the new owners of the Seagull House back in New York busy working on their morning show, Vic took his sweet time with the project, slow-walking progress so he could charge more.
Small towns have a way of knowing everyone else’s business, so it was no secret that Vic could be found just about every weekday between eleven and twelve sitting at the counter in Jordan’s Restaurant, chowing down on a cheeseburger and onion rings. His foreman Chuckie usually joined him. Hayley had also heard through the grapevine that Chuckie had been staying most nights in Vic’s office trailer that was parked on the estate where they were working, after having had a knock-down, drag-out fight with his girlfriend, who kicked him out of their ramshackle house down a dirt road in Tremont.
So when Hayley pulled onto the gravel path leading down to the Seagull House, she was fairly certain that both Vic and Chuckie were out to lunch. As she pulled up next to the trailer outside the majestic colonial structure, a couple of workmen were shuffling out from behind the house toward their cars. Hayley recognized one, Gary, the son of Rhonda Harris, who had been in her high school class. When Gary spotted Hayley, he lit up with a warm smile, just like his mother’s.
He was the spitting image, Hayley thought.
Hayley jumped out of her car and headed toward Gary and the other worker.
“Hey, Hayley, if you’re here to see Vic, he’s not here,” Gary said.
“Oh, darn, when will he be back, do you think?” Hayley asked.
Gary shrugged. “Not for a while. He said he had some errands to run after lunch, so I’m guessing maybe two, three at the latest. Me and Sam here are gonna go grab some lobster rolls up at the Trenton Bridge. See you around.”
“Bye,” Hayley said, waiting as they climbed into Gary’s truck and sped away. She pretended to be walking back toward her own car to leave the property, but once Gary’s truck had turned onto the main road and disappeared, Hayley made a beeline for Vic’s office trailer.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t locked. She stepped inside. The place was messy and disorganized. There was a shoddy wooden desk and metal chair with a computer and cheap printer. Stacks of paper cups, a few dirty mugs, and a coffeepot that had not been cleaned out. In the back of the trailer was a stained mattress with twisted-up sheets and a couple of ratty old pillows. Obviously Chuckie’s makeshift bed for the time being.
Hayley was on a mission. Find something, anything that would tie Vic and Chuckie to Chef Romeo’s murder. She sat down at the desk, cleared some papers, and glanced around. She opened the desk drawers. More paperwork and work orders and receipts for building materials. She got to the bottom drawer and when she pulled at the handle it didn’t budge. This drawer was locked. Hayley noticed a letter opener in a cup holder along with some pens and pencils and a ruler, and used it to jimmy open the lock and get inside the drawer. The first thing Hayley saw was an expensive-looking bottle of scotch. No wonder Vic had kept this one locked. He wanted to keep his booze out of the hands of his workers. But then she noticed, rolled into a dark corner, another bottle, this one much smaller. Maitotoxin was printed on the label. Hayley had never heard of it. But after a quick Google search on her phone, she quickly learned that Maitotoxin was a cardiotoxin, which exerted its effects by increasing the flow of calcium ions through the cardiac muscle membrane, causing heart failure.
Heart failure.
Hayley gasped. She had just found the murder weapon used to kill Chef Romeo. Vic had had his right-hand man Chuckie do his dirty work by sneaking into the hospital disguised as an orderly and wearing a mask. He had injected Maitotoxin in Chef Romeo’s system through the tube that he had been hooked up to, killing him instantly. Because Romeo was already recovering from a heart attack, Vic had counted on that fact to keep the doctor from ordering a full autopsy. What would be the point? It would be obvious that Romeo’s condition just naturally worsened before ultimately proving fatal.
Hayley found a musty old rag hanging from the faucet in the tiny kitchen area and used it to gingerly pick up the bottle of poison and slip it in her bag to avoid getting any fingerprints on it.
She was halfway out the door when she suddenly found herself face-to-face with Chuckie, blocking her exit, a grim look on his face. Gary had mentioned Vic had errands to run after lunch, but not Chuckie.
She had not counted on him returning to the work site earlier.
And she was about to pay for that critical mistake.
“What were you doing in there?” Chuckie growled.
“I was looking for Vic,” Hayley said calmly.
Chuckie eyed her suspiciously. “In his office?”
“Yes, I want to talk to him about adding an enclosed patio to my house. Gary said Vic was still at lunch when I showed up, so I decided to wait until he got back, but it’s getting late now, and I have to get back to my office before the boss notices my lunch hour has stretched to almost two,” Hayley said with a chuckle.
Chuckie didn’t crack a smile.
“Can you tell Vic I stopped by and will try and call hi
m later?” Hayley asked casually.
“Why don’t you go talk to him yourself?”
She scanned the area.
There was no sign of Vic.
“He’s here?” Hayley asked, confused.
Chuckie nodded. “Around back. At the work site.”
“But I thought—” Hayley stopped herself and smiled innocently at Chuckie, trying not to tip him off to the fact that she knew from Gary that Vic would be gone for a good chunk of the afternoon.
“Go on, I’m sure he’d be happy to give you a quote,” Chuckie said flatly, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.
Hayley hesitated, not sure what to do, but to avoid arousing any more suspicion, she decided to play along. “Well, I guess I’m in luck then.”
She headed off around the side of the house and could feel Chuckie’s prying, watchful eyes fixed upon her.
She rounded the corner and happened upon the giant hole in the ground where the luxurious swimming pool would be. A massive yellow excavator was parked about fifty feet from the hole next to one of three huge mounds of dirt.
There was still no sign of Vic.
Maybe he was working down in the hole.
Hayley cautiously approached the edge and peered down. There were some discarded tools and a couple of hard hats, but otherwise the hole was empty.
Suddenly, without warning, the deafening sound of the excavator roaring to life drowned everything out. The noise caused some frightened birds to flee from the branches of a nearby tree.
Hayley spun around. The giant earthmover rolled menacingly toward her. She could plainly see Chuckie in the cab operating it.
Her heart sank.
He had lured her back here by lying about Vic being on site.
And his plan was becoming painfully clear.
He wasn’t going to use a simple four-wheel truck this time.
He was going to come after her with a giant excavator.
Hayley backed away as far as possible, until her heels were dangling precariously over the edge of the hole. She could try to dash to the left or right, but the hole was too long and wide. The excavator would reach her before she managed to clear it.
She watched as Chuckie, who appeared so nonchalant and carefree in the cab, shifted one of the levers, which raised up the humungous metal shovel bucket until it was directly over Hayley’s head!
He was going to use it to crush her to death.
Sure enough, she saw him pull another level and the bucket began its drop. Hayley, left with no choice, took a flying leap over the edge of the dirt hole, tumbling down the side, until she found herself facedown in the dirt. She rolled over in time to see the bucket crash to the ground near the edge of the hole where she had just been standing.
Hayley closed her eyes, thankful to still be alive. When she opened them again, Chuckie was standing at the edge of the hole, coolly sopping sweat off his brow with a handkerchief and peering down at her lying in the dirt at the bottom.
“Sorry, didn’t see you,” he said as easily as if he had just bumped her arm slightly, instead of trying to demolish her like a bug with a two-ton piece of construction equipment.
Chapter 33
Officer Donnie escorted Hayley into Sergeant Herrold’s office, where she sat, leaning back in her chair, black boots propped up on top of the desk, casually scrolling through her phone.
Moments earlier, Hayley had driven directly from the Seagull House to the Bar Harbor police station immediately following her disturbing run-in with Chuckie. Officer Donnie had been manning the reception desk when she had arrived, and much to Hayley’s irritation, hemmed and hawed after Hayley requested a meeting with Sergeant Herrold. Donnie had claimed she was busy handling other vital police business, an excuse Hayley simply did not buy since there was rarely any “vital police business” to attend to in town. Hayley had refused to budge and insisted it was important, and that it would be a dereliction of duty for Donnie not to at least alert Sergeant Herrold to the fact that Hayley was here and needed to speak with her urgently.
Donnie sighed, slightly annoyed, as if Hayley was simply here to collect donations for a food drive or complain about a parking ticket. But he did finally scoop up the phone and call Herrold in her office, or rather Sergio’s office that she had usurped while he was away.
After Donnie had said in a somewhat derisive tone, “She says it’s important,” much to Hayley’s surprise, Herrold agreed to see her.
Upon finding Herrold looking relaxed and bored while staring at her phone, she knew Donnie had been covering for Herrold and there was no “vital police business” demanding her immediate attention.
“Yes, Hayley,” Vanessa said, rubbing her eyes and forcing a polite smile. “How can I help you today?”
“Someone just tried to kill me,” Hayley said.
The room fell silent as Herrold and Donnie exchanged skeptical looks.
Sergeant Herrold swung her feet off the desk, planted them on the floor, then leaned forward, clasping her hands in front of her. “Did this person use a truck like last time?”
“No, an earthmover. But this time I got a good look at his face. I know who it was.”
“Well, please, don’t keep me in suspense,” Herrold said, a crooked smile on her face, as if she was just humoring Hayley. “Who was it?”
“Vic Spencer’s foreman, Chuckie Rhinehart. I also have three eyewitnesses who saw Chuckie leaving Chef Romeo’s hospital room shortly before he died,” Hayley said.
Herrold and Donnie exchanged another glance, this one less mocking and a little more curious. Hayley also noticed Donnie’s body shivering slightly every time he made eye contact with Herrold, as if just her offhanded gaze caused some kind of electricity to shoot through him from head to toe.
This boy was more than just smitten.
He was spellbound by this woman.
“Who are your witnesses?” Herrold asked.
“Leonard Cho, for one. He saw Nurse Fredy leaving the room with a man in a mask, who it now turns out was Chuckie.”
Donnie piped in. “If he was wearing a mask, how did Leonard know it was Chuckie?”
“Actually, he didn’t.”
“Because of the mask,” Herrold said, rolling her eyes.
“Yes. But the other two witnesses did see his face when the mask accidentally slipped down at one point,” Hayley explained.
Herrold grabbed a Post-it note and a pen. “And who might they be?”
Hayley frowned. “Well, I’m having a little trouble getting them to come forward. I’m sure they will eventually, they just need a little more time.”
“Why?”
“It’s a deeply personal matter, but I’m certain with a little more persuading . . .” Hayley said, frustrated.
“I have an idea. Why don’t you come back when you’ve done a little more persuading?” Herrold suggested, shaking her head.
“So the fact that Chuckie Rhinehart just tried to crush me with a giant shovel not ten minutes ago isn’t worrying enough to arrest him, or at the very least bring him in for questioning?”
There was a knock on the office door.
They all turned to see Officer Earl standing shyly in the doorway, holding a pink box.
“Yes, Earl?” Herrold asked.
Earl held up the box. “I stopped by the Cookie Crumble Bakery on my way in and bought you a blueberry scone.”
“My favorite!” Herrold cooed.
Donnie bristled.
It appeared as if his rival for Sergeant Herrold’s affections was suddenly getting the upper hand.
“It looks like you’re busy,” Earl said, scooting into the office and planting the box down on top of Herrold’s desk before slowly backing away. “So I’ll just leave that there and let you get back to what you were talking about.”
“Thank you, Earl. That was very sweet of you,” Herrold said, flashing a rare smile.
At least for Hayley it was a rare sight to see.
Donnie scowled at Earl, who could hardly contain his giddy excitement over pleasing Vanessa Herrold.
“A—anytime, anytime . . . A—anything you need,” Earl sputtered as he backed into the wall before managing to stumble his way out the door.
Donnie just stood frozen in place, staring daggers at the now-empty doorway.
Herrold opened the box and peeked inside. “Looks delicious.” She raised her eyes back up to Hayley, appearing disappointed over the fact that Hayley was still in her office. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes. The evil, homicidal maniac Chuckie Rhinehart. Where did this alleged murder attempt on your life take place?”
“At the Seagull House. Behind the main structure where they’re building a swimming pool. Chuckie sent me back there looking for Vic, who he said was there, but he wasn’t, and the next thing I knew, he was driving an excavator and barreling down on me and nearly dropped the shovel right on top of my head! If I hadn’t jumped into the dirt pit when I did, I wouldn’t be standing here now!”
“How do you know he just didn’t see you?” Donnie inquired, folding his arms confidently.
“He saw me!” Hayley cried.
“Did you have one of those red vests on like construction workers wear, or a hard hat, or any kind of protective gear?”
“No,” Hayley whispered.
“What?” Herrold asked, leaning forward.
“No!” Hayley said louder.
“And after he barely missed you the first time with the giant shovel, did he try again?”
Hayley shook her head, frustrated. “No.”
“Did he say anything to you?”
“He said . . .”
Herrold raised an eyebrow, curious. “Yes?”
“He said—he said he didn’t see me,” Hayley mumbled.
Herrold leaned back in her chair again. “Hayley, I want to take your accusations seriously, really, I do.”
It was painfully obvious she did not.
“But I am a little confused. If you are not one of the two mystery witnesses who claim they saw Chuckie Rhinehart at the hospital after supposedly murdering Romeo Russo, why would Chuckie have any reason to come after you?”