Death of a Bacon Heiress (14 page)

Hayley could make out the body from behind the yellow police tape that was tied between two trees deep in the woods of Acadia National Park, outside town. The body was crumpled and twisted around, but the head was turned in her direction and she knew from the pictures in the
Island Times
that it was definitely Dr. Alvin Foley, the scientist from the Jackson Lab who had been missing for weeks.

It had been a quiet morning at the paper before word quickly spread that a hiker, who'd wandered off the path into the woods just after sunrise, had stumbled across a dead body.

Bruce had flown out of his office and asked Hayley if she wanted to tag along with him. She knew the only reason he wanted her to come with him was because the police chief was her brother-in-law and he might be more willing to share key details of the investigation if Hayley was the one asking the questions.

Hayley knew her presence would make absolutely no difference. Sergio was a professional. And helping her colleague Bruce Linney write a story would be the last thing on his mind.

The cops had cordoned off the area and they were a safe distance from where the investigators were hard at work examining the scene for evidence.

“That's him. That's Dr. Foley, for sure. What's he doing all the way out here?” Bruce said, more to himself than to Hayley, who was standing next to him.

“Maybe he fell while jogging and hurt himself and didn't have a cell phone to call for help,” Hayley offered, not quite convinced of her own theory.

“I heard one of the cops say he was shot,” a reporter from the
Bar Harbor Herald
said, angling his way to the front of the small crowd of spectators who had heard the news on their police scanners at home and rushed to the scene. “Bullet hole straight through his chest.”

“So we're talking homicide,” Bruce said, staring at the body.

“Nothing's been confirmed. Just what I heard,” the reporter said.

Bruce nodded, then turned to Hayley. “Maybe he was murdered somewhere else, like in his home, or closer to town, and the killer drove out here and dumped the body off the beaten path hoping it wouldn't be found.”

“This means there have been two local murders in less than a month. First, Dr. Foley, and then Olivia Redmond,” Hayley said, her whole body shivering at the thought of a serial killer on the loose in Bar Harbor.

“I sure would love to get the chance to talk to the chief for a few minutes,” Bruce said, eyeing Hayley.

“Not going to happen, Bruce. He won't talk to me. Not right now anyway. And I don't want to interfere with his job.”

One of the investigators covered Dr. Foley's body with a white sheet as a few others began packing up their equipment.

“Looks like they're wrapping up. We might as well head back to the office,” Bruce said, sighing, frustrated.

As they trudged back to Bruce's car, parked on the roadside, Bruce gently placed a hand on Hayley's shoulder. “I have a proposition for you.”

“What kind of proposition?” Hayley asked, drawing a sharp intake of breath, not entirely sure she wanted to hear his answer.

“I want you to cowrite this story with me.”

This was not what she was expecting.

“You mean work together?”

“Yes. I know we've butted heads in the past and I haven't always treated you with respect, and I'm sorry for that. I think part of the reason for that is because sometimes I feel threatened by you.”

Well, this certainly was a surprise.

Bruce was actually having a Come to Jesus moment.

“You may just write a cooking column, but you're also whip smart and a damn good investigative journalist in your own right.”

“Bruce, I don't know what to say. . . .”

“Let me finish. I'd be an idiot if I kept trying to pretend you're not my equal. I've spent a hell of a lot of time trying to show you up and put you in your place, and I've screwed it up every time. I'm surprised Sal still keeps me around. He should just give the crime column to you and let you do double duty.”

“I don't know what to say. . . .”

“Say yes. And I'm not pushing for this because you have an in with the police chief and I want to take advantage of that.”

Hayley crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him.

“Okay. That may be a small part of why I want to team up.”

“Why all of a sudden the change of heart? Why now?”

Bruce shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe it's the old saying, ‘If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.'”

There was a long pause.

“Or maybe I just want to spend more time with you. . . .”

He let the words drift off.

At first she thought she had heard wrong. Spend more time with her? That was the last thing she ever thought Bruce Linney would want.

“So what do you say?”

“I'm flattered, Bruce. Truly I am. But I'm going to have to say no. I'm afraid we'd wind up killing each other. We have such different approaches. Don't get me wrong, I admire your writing and your sense of justice, really I do—”

“You can stop. I get it.”

“It's just that—”

“Seriously, Hayley. Drop it. It was just a thought I decided to throw out there. It's no big deal.”

“I appreciate the offer though. Maybe another time. . . .”

Bruce smiled and nodded and then got into the car.

Hayley jumped into the passenger seat.

They drove back to town in silence.

Had she reacted too swiftly? He had just taken her by surprise. She had no idea where all this was coming from.

Bruce had never shown an ounce of interest in her as a crime reporter let alone as the paper's office manager and cooking columnist.

Now he wanted to team up like the characters in her favorite TV shows she watched religiously when she was a kid, such as
Remington Steele, Moonlighting,
and
Scarecrow and Mrs. King
.

But what all those shows had in common was an obvious sexual tension.

And the thought of sexual tension with Bruce Linney was utterly ridiculous.

She had been repulsed by him ever since the two ill-fated days they had dated in high school. Awkwardly asking her out in front of her locker. The movie date in Ellsworth where they sucked face in the back row during a Saturday night showing of
The Brady Bunch Movie
. Catching him eyeing the pretty blonde in front of them while still making out with her. It was awful. And mercifully short. By Monday they were both using their friends to get the word out to everyone that they were totally uninterested in repeating such an obvious mistake. That was the end of any romantic notions she'd had about Bruce Linney.

And she didn't see her feelings changing anytime soon.

She glanced over at Bruce, who gripped the wheel, staring straight ahead, his face void of emotion except for a slight grimace.

The chirping of Hayley's cell phone disrupted the tension and she was grateful for the call. It was from Mona.

“Hey, what's up?”

“Rhonda and I just had lunch.”

“How nice. Are you calling to tell me she proposed?”

“Oh, that's cute, Hayley. You can make all the jokes you want, but we're just friends. I'd be a fool to turn down all these free meals and time away from my kids!”

“I'm happy for you, Mona.”

“Our relationship is completely innocent. Although she did try and play footsies with me under the table at dinner the other night. I jumped up and accidentally knocked our table over because I thought it was a friggin' rat crawling up my leg. I had to shell out a few bucks for some broken plates and wineglasses. But Rhonda and I had a good laugh about it on the way home.”

“We're almost back at the office, Mona, so I'm going to have to go soon. Was there anything else?”

“Of course there's something else! Do you think I'm just calling to brag about my new BFF who is a big Hollywood star? I'm calling to tell you that when I dropped Rhonda off at her hotel after lunch, she forgot her bag in my car, so I took it up to her room to return it, and that's when I spotted that floozy dating Olivia Redmond's son sneaking into some other guy's room, and the two of them looked pretty cozy. She was kissing him and slobbering all over his face. When she saw me looking, she turned away and covered her face and they hightailed it inside his room and slammed the door.

“Did you get a good look at the man she was with?”

“Older guy. Nice looking. Well dressed. And he had an accent.”

“What kind of accent?”

“I don't know. He sounded a lot like that guy in the last James Bond movie who played the bad guy, Blowhard.”

“Blofeld. Christoph Waltz.”

“Yeah, him.”

Christoph Waltz, the Oscar-winning Austrian actor.

He speaks German.

Thorsten Brandt.

Peggy was with Thorsten Brandt.

The Redmond Meats executive whom Hayley had seen arguing with Olivia the day before someone snapped her neck in the garden.

Wildwood Stables in Acadia National Park offered a variety of horse-drawn carriage rides from mid-June through early October, but many of the wealthier residents who lived on the island during the summer season were given the option of bringing their own horses for riding on the carriage roads. They were allowed to rent stables in the horse camp provided on the property, situated on the southeast end of the island near Seal Harbor.

Hayley had followed Thorsten Brandt from the Harborside Hotel, in town, to the Wildwood Stables, tailing him in her car along the two-way section of the Park Loop Road going south past Bubble Pond and Jordan Pond House. She pulled into an empty space in the parking lot adjacent to the stables and watched Thorsten, dressed in a tight-fitting lime green polo shirt and white pants and riding boots, as he flagged down the stable boy to bring around his horse.

The young stable boy trotted off to fetch Thorsten's horse, which he called Thunder. Hayley got out of her car and walked across the yard, finding cover among some trees lining the property. She watched curiously as Thorsten waited until he was alone before pulling his cell phone out of his back pocket and pressing a button to make a call.

A few seconds later Thorsten was whispering intensely into the phone.

Although there was a slight breeze that made eavesdropping somewhat of a challenge, Hayley managed to make out most of the one-sided conversation.

“Try to be patient, Peggy. It's all going to work out as planned. I promise you,” he said, glancing around to make sure he was alone, not noticing Hayley hiding behind the trees a few feet away from him.

Peggy.

The
Downton Abbey
–loving girlfriend of Olivia's son, Red.

And probably the secret lover of Olivia's right-hand man.

“I know. But don't worry about Red. His head is up in the clouds. He has no idea what's going on. The kid has zero interest in running his mother's company anyway. He's a vegetarian! Why would he want to have anything to do with a bacon company? Trust me, darling. I'm confident we can strong-arm him into voting my way, and then it's done. I will have full control of the company and then we can—”

Peggy apparently cut him off.

He just stood there listening, his cell phone clamped to his ear, an annoyed look on his face.

“I understand. Stop worrying. I've got this covered. The kid will never know what hit him.”

The stable boy arrived, leading a horse by a long leather rein.

“I've got to go now. Just sit tight. It will all work out in our favor,” Thorsten said, ending the call and stuffing the phone in his back pocket.

“Excuse me!” a shrill voice said, piercing the air, surprising Hayley, who spun around to find a family of tourists, the mother thrusting a digital camera in her face. “Would you be so kind as to take our picture?”

They were all beaming from ear to ear. The mother. The father. And two moppets. One boy. One girl. The perfect midwestern family.

It was unusual for tourists to show up on the island in the spring. They mostly arrived during the summer months. But these early birds were here, and they had no idea they were causing enough of a scene to expose Hayley's hiding place.

“Yes, I'd . . . I'd be happy to,” Hayley said softly, taking the camera from the mother as the family lined up in a row and threw their arms around each other.

Hayley glanced back to see Thorsten staring at her, suddenly aware of her presence. He turned to the stable boy and spoke quietly in his ear. The boy ran off toward the stables.

Hayley snapped a photo of the family. The mother immediately snatched the camera from her and inspected the photo.

She frowned. “It's too dark. We need to use the flash. Would you mind taking another one?”

Left with no choice, Hayley smiled and nodded and tried again.

The mother grabbed the camera out of her hands once more and examined the photo. This time she was satisfied. After a perfunctory “thank you,” the family wandered away and Hayley was left alone.

Thorsten casually approached her. “Ms. Powell, right? The cooking columnist.”

Hayley feigned surprise. “Yes, I am. You're . . . ?”

“Thorsten Brandt. I'm on the Board of Directors for Redmond Meats. We met at the estate not too long ago. Before . . .”

“Yes, of course. I remember. How are you, Mr. Brandt?”

“Fine. I didn't know you ride.”

Hayley smiled tightly. “Yes. I love riding. Horses are my life.”

Really? Horses were her life?

Okay, that was a slight exaggeration. Yes, she'd ridden a lot when she was a kid and loved watching reruns of
The Big Valley
with Barbara Stanwyck, Linda Evans, and Lee Majors on the local retro TV channel, but that was about the extent of her experience with horses.

But she needed an explanation for why she was at the Wildwood Stables, and a love of horses was the first thing that popped into her mind.

“Really?” Thorsten said, letting the word roll off his tongue slowly enough to make the point that he hardly believed her.

“Yes,” Hayley said, doubling down.

The stable boy returned with another horse, at the behest of Mr. Brandt, and was having trouble controlling him. He gripped the leash, but the horse was skittish and uneasy and bucked and resisted the reins.

“Well, since you are an experienced rider, would you like to join me for a jaunt along the carriage trails?”

“Oh, thank you, but no, I wasn't planning on—”

“Please. I'd love the company,” Thorsten said, eyes boring into her, challenging her, daring her to back down and admit she was lying.

“Sounds lovely,” Hayley heard herself saying.

What was she thinking? Thorsten Brandt was an arrogant snob. She detested that kind of privileged sense of superiority.

She knew to beware of men like him. And yet she had just played right into his hand.

But maybe a pleasant horse ride along the carriage trails might be the perfect opportunity to grill him and get him to slip up and say something he shouldn't about any knowledge he might have regarding Olivia's grisly murder.

Thorsten signaled the stable boy to bring the horse he was desperately trying to keep under control over to Hayley. Then Thorsten casually walked over and petted the horse from the other side, adjusting the saddle to make sure it was tight enough.

“This is Lightning. The brother of my horse Thunder,” Thorsten said with a smirk. “He can be a bit defiant on occasion, but I'm sure an experienced rider such as yourself can handle him.”

He locked eyes with Hayley, waiting for her to back down.

The smug smile made her bristle. There was no way she was going to let this self-satisfied SOB get the best of her.

“He's beautiful. I'd be honored to ride such a magnificent horse.”

Did she really just say that?

Had she just signed her own death warrant?

The horse was obviously agitated and jerked fitfully as the stable boy brushed his mane with his hand, trying to calm him down.

Hayley's anger at Thorsten's obvious disdain and sexist attitude outweighed her common sense and she took the reins as if she was outside her body, watching the scene unfold, helpless to stop what was sure to come.

Thorsten knew she had been following him.

He knew she probably suspected he might be somehow connected to Olivia's murder.

But his cool, calculated demeanor never wavered. He just smiled, calm and relaxed as he watched the stable boy grip the reins.

Hayley took a deep breath and mounted the horse.

She could do this.

She had ridden lots of horses when she was younger.

It was just a matter of exerting control over the animal.

Her butt had barely touched the contours of the brown leather saddle before Lightning reared up in a panic and shot off down the carriage trail.

Hayley grabbed the reins, desperately trying to slow him down, but he was obviously spooked by something and there was no stopping him. She bounced up and down as the frightened horse galloped along the dirt path with no intention of stopping.

“Whoa, Lightning! Whoa!”

But her commands fell on deaf ears.

This horse was not going to listen.

She contemplated jumping. But the horse was running so fast now she knew it would be impossible for her to land without at least a few broken bones.

She just held on to the reins with all her might and hoped for the best.

Lightning neighed and kept galloping—dust from the dirt path kicking up like a cloud cover—before veering off into a wooded area toward a pond.

When they reached the edge of the pond, the horse seized up, stopping abruptly, and Hayley found herself thrown out of the saddle and sailing through the air before splashing down in the pond face first. Her nose and mouth filled with water, and for a brief second she felt as if she was drowning before flapping her arms and emerging above the surface, sputtering and coughing and finally able to find some footing.

Lightning was a few feet away, calmly grazing on some grass, oblivious to the fact he had just nearly killed her.

Hayley dragged herself out of the pond, picking weeds from her hair and spitting out pond scum as she crawled over to a dry patch of land spotted with sweet white violets.

She wiped her mouth.

She heard the sound of horse hooves trotting up the carriage trail in her direction and lifted her head to see Thorsten Brandt, confidently astride his loyal horse Thunder, approaching.

“Are you all right?” Thorsten said, unsuccessful in his attempt to pretend he wasn't thoroughly enjoying this moment.

“Yes, I'm fine,” Hayley said defiantly, climbing to her feet and brushing off the dirt. “I can't imagine what could have spooked him so much.”

Thorsten shrugged. “He usually responds to an experienced rider.”

He was calling her on her lie.

He knew she wasn't experienced.

He was teaching her a lesson.

“Perhaps Lightning has a sixth sense. Most animals do,” Thorsten said, his superior German accent dripping in judgment.

“About what?”

“They know on some level when someone is lying, when someone is not being upfront and honest.”

“I really don't know what you mean.”

Thorsten ran his hand down the black mane of his steed Thunder, and then casually and quietly said, “It might be in your best interest to stop lying about your intentions and stop poking your nose in private matters that don't concern you. You obviously can't handle Lightening so I would suggest you walk him back to the stables.”

And with that, Thorsten slapped the reins against Thunder's back and the horse shot off down the carriage trail, leaving Hayley soaked and shivering and utterly humiliated.

After four attempts at grabbing Lightning's reins, Hayley finally managed to get a good grip on the leather strap, and then she walked the rebellious and unruly horse back to the Wildwood Stables.

She was more than happy to hand him off to the stable boy, who offered his sincere apologies.

She thanked him and was about to hobble back to her car, still sore from being shot like a cannonball into the pond, when she heard the stable boy gasp.

“How did this get here?”

She turned around. “What?”

“There's a burr in his saddle.”

Hayley walked over and the stable boy held out a prickly round object.

A burr.

Planted right underneath Lightning's saddle.

“No wonder he was so unruly. The second you mounted him he felt a sharp jolt of pain.”

“How did it get there?”

The stable boy shook his head, a perplexed look on his face. “I don't know. I put his saddle on myself before I brought him out. I swear it wasn't there.”

Hayley didn't have to press him any further because she knew how it got there.

Thorsten Brandt.

He'd slipped it under the saddle right before Hayley mounted Lightning.

She was sure of it.

He was hell-bent on teaching Hayley a lesson.

Or worse.

He was trying to kill her.