Chapter 12
The following Monday, Gemma was still not speaking to Hayley after the Beer 'n Bowl birthday party debacle, so Hayley decided to give her daughter some space. She was not about to give up on finding the root of her daughter's problem; but for now, she felt it best to let Gemma cool off. After all, it wasn't her most shining moment crashing Reverend Staples's private event for his daughter, family, and friends. Her history with the kind minister was a checkered one, to be sure.
Gemma skipped dinner and went straight to her room, mumbling something about having a lot of homework. Hayley didn't believe her, but let it go. Dustin lay on the couch, watching the Disney Channel show
Jessie
and chuckling, while Leroy slept soundly on Dustin's stomach, rising up and down with the belly laughs. Blueberry, meanwhile, sat perched underneath the coffee table. His beady yellow eyes stared at anyone who dared walk past.
Hayley sat in the recliner, with her laptop in front of her. She was trying to write her own column after spending so much time trying to finish Bruce's. She was struggling for a topic. Chocolate, of course, was on her mind constantly. Maybe a nice mole sauce. At least it wasn't candy. The thought of candy was still making her nauseous.
Her cell phone, which rested on the arm of the recliner, lit up and buzzed. Hayley checked the screen. It was Bessie. She debated whether or not she should answer it. Guilt got the best of her.
“Hi, Bessie!”
“Good news, girlfriend! Your special chocolates are ready for you to pick up.”
Hayley choked, fighting back the urge to vomit again.
“I think Hayley's Kisses are going to be a huge seller, but I'll let you be the judge,” Bessie said.
“Thanks, Bessie. I'll swing by after work tomorrow to pick them up.”
“Oh,” Bessie said, disappointed.
“I've just had my fill of chocolates for one day.”
“No, I understand. I'm sorry about that. That was me being the Type A perfectionist. I never should've made you eat that many chocolates. I told the boys to make sure they erase that take so it never gets out.”
Hayley wasn't sure she was going to trust two teenage boys to follow Bessie's explicit instructions, but she was not going to worry about that now.
“So I'll see you tomorrow?” Hayley asked.
No response.
Just dead air.
“Bessie?”
Hayley heard faint wheezing.
Then there was a
click.
Did she hang up?
No. There was heavy breathing.
Bessie had dropped the phone.
Suddenly she had a sickening feeling in her gut.
And it wasn't her overdose from chocolates.
“Bessie? Bessie?”
Hayley jumped out of the recliner, her phone still pressed to her ear. “I'll be back, Dustin!”
“Where are you going?” he asked, eyes glued to the TV.
“Bessie's. I maybe awhile!”
Blueberry hissed as she raced past the coffee table.
Hayley grabbed the car keys off the kitchen counter, jumped in her car, and raced over to Bessie's house.
All the lights were on in the house.
Bessie's car was parked in the driveway.
Hayley raced to the door and rang the bell.
No answer.
She rang again.
Still, nothing.
She tried the doorknob.
It was unlocked.
She poked her head inside. “Bessie? It's me, Hayley. You got me a little worried. Are you okay?”
Hayley walked into the kitchen.
There was a bubbling pot of chocolate on the stove. Some of it was spraying onto the kitchen counter, so Hayley shut off the burner.
A cat jumped up on the counter next to her and began purring.
Another was rubbing up against her leg again.
There was a lot of meowing.
Everywhere Hayley looked, she saw another cat.
“Bessie?”
Hayley left the kitchen and walked into the living room.
More cats.
About seven.
And they were all gathered around a body on the floor. Two were licking the face. One was perched on top of the stomach. A few more nestled between the legs.
Hayley instantly recognized the Garfield tattoo on the neck.
It was Bessie.
The phone was still in her hand.
She was dead.
Surrounded by cats.
Two dozen chocolates wrapped in pink cellophane were scattered about the floor.
Island Food & Spirits by Hayley Powell
A recent unexpected trip to the Beer 'n Bowl in Ellsworth reminded me of the dramatic events that unfolded last year when my girls' night out with my friends Mona and Liddy led us to that popular Friday-night local hot spot. The three of us were looking forward to a fun, laid-back evening with some ice-cold beer and amateur bowling, but things didn't quite work out that way.
Right off the bat, Liddy got into a heated argument with the gentleman in charge of renting out the bowling shoes. She flatly told him that she was going to wear her new Jimmy Choo leather flats to bowl in, because no fashion-conscious patron such as herself would be caught dead wearing the hideous yellow-and-red bowling shoes he held up in front of her. The man informed Liddy she was welcome to wear her own shoesâas long as she wore them out the same door she came in.
Being the peacemaker of the trio, I quickly stepped in and reminded Liddy that this bowling alley actually had a bar that served Cosmopolitans, which might help make those god-awful shoes a little less offensive. Liddy grimaced, but she finally agreed and snatched the bowling shoes out of the man's hands and stalked off.
As we laced up our shoes, we noticed the place was packed with mostly women bowlers. Then it dawned on us it was Ladies' League Night. Just what we didn't need! None of us had bowled in years, and we were about to look foolish in front of a bunch of competitive near professionals. If only it had been Bumper Bowling Day for Kids, then perhaps we would've at least stood a chance.
After a rusty start, we actually began avoiding the gutter and knocking a few pins down with each turn. The Cosmos were emboldening us and building our confidence.
We worked up quite an appetite, so Mona fetched us the most amazing chicken burritos with a mouthwatering spicy mole sauce. It was so good she and I ordered extra cups of it to dip our burritos into. Who knew bowling alley food was this good?
Meanwhile, Liddy refused to eat, because she was on yet another one of her diets. None of her diets, of course, ever seemed to forbid alcohol. And on an empty stomach, after four Cosmos, she was getting downright belligerent. We decided to get her out of there before she caused a scene; but sadly, we weren't fast enough. When one female bowler yelled at Liddy for walking in front of her while she was trying to bowl and her ball ended up in the gutter, Liddy slurred an insult about the the loud, obnoxious Hawaiian bowling shirt the woman was wearing. Unfortunately, all the women on the team were wearing the same team shirt and were also the size of sumo wrestlers. The last thing we needed was a brawl at the Beer 'n Bowl. What kind of example would that be to my kids?
I didn't see what happened next, but more insults were exchanged. Liddy's spicy mole sauce somehow ended up on half the team's Hawaiian shirts; and before Mona and I could react, there was a stampede of angry, big-boned bowlers heading straight for us!
Mona yelled, “Run!” and the three of us hightailed it out of there. We jumped into Mona's truck and sped off into the night toward the island, leaving seven women bowlers chasing after us, throwing their cups of beer at Mona's taillights.
We were stunned into silence as we drove home, and none of us spoke for at least ten minutes. But as we crossed over the Trenton Bridge, Liddy let out a bloodcurdling scream, which nearly caused Mona to drive off the bridge into the icy, dark water below. Liddy was pointing at her feet. She was still wearing those ugly yellow-and-red bowling shoes. Mona and I couldn't help ourselves. We burst into a fit of giggles. Liddy didn't see the humor. How was she ever going to retrieve her brand-new five-hundred-dollar Jimmy Choo leather flats?
Mona informed Liddy there was no way we were turning around and risking our lives and that she was perfectly willing to sacrifice her ten-dollar Ked sneakers she scored at Marden's last year. I agreed with her, since I had bought myself the same pair.
When Mona and Liddy dropped me off, my mind was already racing to whip up my own version of the Beer 'n Bowl's spicy mole sauce, which had tasted so good before our abrupt departure. So in keeping with our chocolate theme, here it is. But let's first start the evening off with a yummy cocktail recipe, since it's never fun to cook when you're thirsty.
With a good mole sauce to put on your shredded, grilled, or baked chicken or beef, nothing tastes as good with it than a nice cold pitcher of Mexican beer margaritas! Olé!
Â
Â
Mexican Beer Margaritas
Ingredients
1 (12 ounce) can frozen limeade
1½ cups (12 ounces) gold tequila
12 ounces water
12 ounces Mexican beer or a
beer of your choice
Ice
1 lime, cut into wedges
Â
In a large pitcher mix together the limeade, tequila, water, and beer and stir well until the limeade has melted. Add lots of ice and top with the lime wedges. Add more water if needed.
Â
Â
Hayley's Spicy Mole Sauce
Ingredients
4½ cups chicken broth
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 cup onion, finely chopped
3 tablespoons fresh garlic, chopped
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon ground cumin
¼ teaspoon cinnamon
2½ tablespoons chili powder
3 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 ounces your favorite dark choco-
late, chopped
Â
Heat oil in a large saucepan over medium heat. Add the onion, garlic, oregano, cumin, and cinnamon. Cover and cook until onion is almost tender, stirring occasionally for about 10 minutes.
Â
Mix in the chili powder and flour, stirring for 3 minutes. Gradually whisk in the chicken broth. Increase your heat to medium high. Boil until reduced, about 35 minutes, stirring occasionally. Remove from heat and whisk in the chocolate; season with salt and pepper, if desired.
Chapter 13
Hayley couldn't believe what Sal was telling her.
“She said what?”
“She's not doing an autopsy,” Sal said, before struggling into his army green winter parka and pulling a red wool cap over his balding head. “You want to grab a burger and onion rings at Jordan's with me?”
“I was going to spend my lunch hour writing Bruce's column about Bessie Winthrop's death.”
“Why? It's not a crime.”
“Well, we don't know that. And now we never will, since the county coroner refuses to do an autopsy on her,” Hayley said.
Sal shook his head. “Bessie died of natural causes. Sabrina is certain of it.”
Sabrina Merryweather was the county coronerânot to mention the mean girl who tortured Hayley all through high school. In recent years Sabrina had forgotten all about her abhorrent behavior toward Hayley when they were teenagers. Now she considered Hayley to be one of her closest friends. Hayley went along with the charade because every corpse in town eventually wound up on Sabrina's examining table, and Sabrina was a font of information whenever circumstances forced Hayley to investigate a local dead body independently. Hayley was fast gaining a reputation around town not only as an amateur chef, but also as Bar Harbor's very own Miss Marple.
“So, are you coming or what?” Sal asked. There was a gruff tone to his voice that Hayley chalked up to hunger, since she could hear his stomach growling clear across the room.
“No, I'm going to hang out here and get some work done.”
Sal pointed to a white box, with a pink ribbon tied around it, which was sitting on top of her desk. They were the special chocolates Bessie had made for her right before she died. After Police Chief Sergio Alvares conducted a thorough sweep through the whole house and determined Bessie's death was not a homicide, he allowed Hayley to take the box home with her. She didn't want them. She was never going to eat another piece of chocolate as long as she lived. But she also didn't want to appear ungrateful and callous; after all, Bessie had put her heart and soul into making those chocolates, and the least she could do was graciously accept them.
“Well, don't eat too many of those. I don't want to hear you whining all afternoon about how you need to eat more healthy after you finish the whole box.”
“Says the man who is on his way out for a burger, with everything on it, and fried onion rings.”
“Don't tell my wife. I have to load up at lunchtime because she's got me on this cockamamie diet. She's force-feeding me every lousy night a crappy piece of salmon and a tiny, little side salad that wouldn't satisfy a blue jay. My life sucks!”
Sal blew out the door.
The second he was gone, Hayley picked up the phone and called Sabrina Merryweather at her office.
“Hey, girlfriend!” Sabrina chirped, picking up on the first ring. “I saw it was the
Island Times
on my caller ID, so I knew it was my bestie checking up on me. When are we having a girls' night with you, me, and Liddy?”
Sabrina knew not to include Mona, since Mona was the type to say what she was thinking, and had told Sabrina on multiple social occasions exactly what she thought of Sabrina. Much of it involved four-letter words.
“I miss you!” Sabrina cooed. “You never call me!”
Hayley mentally envisioned Sabrina making her cute, pouty face that got her lots of dates with football players in high school and straight A's from most of the male teachers. It was still highly effective.
Just not with Hayley.
“I'm calling you now.”
“You want something. I can always tell,” Sabrina said, sighing.
“What kind of friend would I be if I only called when I wanted something?”
“So you're just calling to say hi?” Sabrina asked suspiciously.
“Yes. I want to hear all about what's going on with you.”
“Well, my husband's away at some artists' colony, which I'm paying for, of course, and, frankly, I couldn't be happier. I've just been going home after work at night, pouring myself a glass of wine, and taking a bubble bath. It's been sheer heaven. I'm going through brochures now, trying to find an even longer artists' retreatâsay in Hawaiiâwhich lasts something like three weeks that I can send him away to next month. What about you?”
“My daughter's not speaking to me. I'm overwhelmed at work writing two separate columns. . . .” Hayley paused for maximum effect. “Then there's the death of my dear friend Bessie Winthrop.”
“I didn't know you were friends with her.”
“Yes, Bessie and I have gotten very close the past couple of weeks.”
“Really? That's surprising. I can't picture you two together.”
But she could picture Hayley being
her
close friend. Even after Sabrina had spread vicious, false rumors senior year about Hayley having been impregnated by the janitor's slow assistantâa guy with bug eyes and a constantly runny nose. Sabrina certainly had no trouble picturing that.
Hayley tried to keep her emotions in check. Sabrina was right. She did need something, and she wasn't about to blow her chance to get it.
Hayley proceeded with caution. “I suppose you heard that I was the one who found the body.”
“Honey pie, don't you stumble across
every
dead body in town? I mean, let's face it, girl, this is becoming a huge pattern.”
“I just can't believe she's gone.”
“I can,” Sabrina said, snorting. “She was a walking time bomb.”
“She may have been a little overweight, butâ”
“A little? Hayley, she was at least a hundred pounds overweight! And I'm looking at her medical charts right now. She had untreated high blood pressure, was prediabetic, and had a massive blockage in her arteries. It's no wonder she keeled over. Frankly, I'm shocked it didn't happen sooner.”
“Is that why you're not going to perform an autopsy?”
“How did you know that?”
“Sal told me.”
There was a long pause.
“Sabrina, you still there?”
“I knew you were just calling to get the 411 on Bessie,” Sabrina said.
“No, that's not true,” Hayley lied. “In fact, I was calling to find out when you were free for that drink.”
“Really?” Sabrina said, totally unconvinced.
“Yes. I swear on the life of Mark Harmon, and you know how much I love him!”
“Wow! You really are serious,” Sabrina said, giggling.
Hayley felt it was safer not to mention that although she still adored Mark Harmon, she was currently lusting after LL Cool J, the rapper with all those muscles, who starred on that other
NCIS
show that followed sexy Mark's.
“Okay,” Sabrina said. “I'm free tomorrow night.”
“Tomorrow?”
Hayley wasn't sure she was up to seeing Sabrina that soon.
“Yes, Hayley, tomorrow. I'm waiting for an answer. Are you serious about wanting to spend some quality time together?”
Hayley was boxed into a corner.
She had to commit.
“Yes. Absolutely. Let's say seven-thirty. My brother Randy's bar.”
“Done. And don't you even
think
about canceling.”
Sabrina hung up.
Hayley groaned to herself.
A drink with Sabrina.
She'd rather be undergoing a root canal.
But it was for the good of the cause.
Still, the thought of a girls' night out with Sabrina was very stressful. And stress always made Hayley ravenous. She had to eat something pronto. But the only food around was Bessie's box of chocolates.
Damn.
She should've gone with Sal for that burger when she had the chance.
Hayley found herself unwrapping the pink ribbon from around the box and perusing the selection inside. She picked one up, examined it, made sure there wasn't any cat hair sticking out of it, and ate it.
It melted in her mouth.
And no taste of fur.
Hallelujah.
She ate another one.
These candies were delectably delicious.
Hayley could see these actually selling.
Big-time.
A wave of sadness washed over her. Bessie had finally concocted a winning recipeâone that would have undoubtedly put her on the map. Now she was never going to live to see it.
Sadness also made Hayley hungry.
So she kept diving into the box of chocolates.
As she bit into the fifth one, her luck ran out.
There was something inside it.
But it wasn't cat hair.
It was harder.
Like chewing paper.
Hayley pulled it out of her mouth. She was right. It was a small, crumpled-up piece of paper that had been stuffed inside the candy.
She set it down on her desk and flattened it out.
Hayley gasped.
Scrawled on the piece of paper in pen were the words
I think someone is trying to kill me.