Death of a Bacon Heiress (10 page)

“Hayley, could you please step into the kitchen where we can speak privately?” Felicity Flynn-Chan squeaked, her face a ghostly white and her hands trembling. “Dora, please show the Rockefeller party to the table near the bay window.”

“Yes, Felicity,” the wispy hostess said in a whisper. She had on the same sundress she had worn the last time Hayley was at the Blooming Rose and, snatching up a handful of menus, she escorted the three elderly patrons across the dining room.

Felicity gripped Hayley tightly by the shoulder and guided her through the wooden swinging doors into the hot, steamy kitchen where her husband, Alan, was hard at work preparing each dish that was ordered with a small staff of sous-chefs assisting with the chopping and dicing.

“Hayley, do you know who those people were out there?” Felicity said, the veins in her forehead popping out like she was in one of those alien movies where the visitors take human form, revealing themselves at the end of the movie to be lizard people.

“You called them the Rockefellers, so I assume they're related to the ones in Seal Harbor?”

“And you would be correct. They visit the family estate every summer and always make a point of dining here and recommending us to all of their wealthy friends who come to the island.”

Hayley nodded, smiling, not sure why it was so important for her to know all this, so she answered with a simple, “I see.”

“So you can imagine how awkward it was when you barged in here just as they were about to sit down to have dinner and said in the loudest voice imaginable, ‘Felicity, I would like to ask you a few questions about Olivia Redmond's murder!'”

“Oh, I don't think I was that loud. I pride myself on being subtle.”

“Subtle? You might as well have been shouting over a stadium of screaming girls at a One Direction concert.”

One of the sous-chefs dicing some carrots on a cutting board snickered.

“Felicity, I'm so sorry, but I don't understand. . . .”

“Olivia Redmond's murder is the only thing anyone is talking about. Tongues are wagging and everyone is guessing what happened to her, and you, with a very well-known reputation for insinuating yourself into local investigations, marched into my place of business and announced that I am a suspect. I can't have that! If rumors spread that I have any connection to that sordid business, my business will go belly up! This is our busiest season! Martha Stewart just called today to request a table for twelve for tomorrow night. I don't have a table for twelve. I had to convince her it was a good idea to dine with her friends on the patio alfresco with the black flies! This is my livelihood, Hayley! I depend on my customers! I can't afford a whispering campaign about me being some sort of ruthless killer!”

“I guess when you put it that way I can see why I might have practiced a bit more discretion. . . .”

“Especially since I already spoke with Chief Alvares earlier today,
not
during business hours, mind you, and was able to put the whole matter to rest.”

“Oh. I didn't know that.”

“Well, maybe you should have better lines of communication so this doesn't happen again.”

Hayley felt horrible.

In hindsight, she did just sort of breeze through the front door of Felicity's restaurant and ask her point blank about a murder, not even noticing who was standing around the hostess station or milling about the coatrack.

“Felicity, I really am sorry. . . .”

Hayley knew Felicity was in no mood to share whatever she told Sergio, so she turned to leave quietly before she made the situation any worse. She quietly retreated through the wooden swinging doors back into the main dining room and headed for the door. Felicity followed close behind to ensure she was actually leaving. She probably feared Hayley would go from table to table asking everyone at the restaurant questions about the Olivia Redmond murder.

Almost as an afterthought, Hayley turned and said, “By the way, the leftovers from the other night were scrumptious.”

Felicity's demeanor changed instantly. She smiled warmly. “Why, thank you. That's so sweet of you to say.”

Felicity looked around, smiling at a handsome couple waiting to be seated, making sure they heard Hayley's stellar review. “Someone will be with you in a moment.”

The couple nodded and within seconds the hostess had menus in her arms and was leading them to a table.

Felicity took Hayley by the arm, this time much more gently, and steered her out the door to the parking lot. “That was a lovely thing to say, Hayley.”

“It's the truth.”

Felicity stared at Hayley, gauging her sincerity, and once she was convinced, became far more convivial and engaging. “I hope you go online and write a review for us on all those travel Web sites. We rely on our customers' testimonials to get the tourists to try us out.”

“I'll be sure to do that,” Hayley said.

“I'm sorry I was so cross with you in there. We're very worried about this summer. The projections don't look good so far and all the local businesses are on edge that the summer tourist season is going to be down from last year. None of us can afford any negative publicity.”

“I totally get it. I work at the paper. I've read all the reports. I should have been more sensitive to that when I came here.”

“That's the reason I went to see Olivia Redmond on the day she was killed,” Felicity said. “I didn't want her bad-mouthing the restaurant to all her high society friends, so I paid her a visit to apologize once again and offer to cater one of her summer parties free of charge in an effort to make it up to her.”

If Hayley had known complimenting her high end restaurant was a surefire way to get Felicity Flynn-Chan to open up and talk, she would have planned her trip to Town Hill to pump her for information more strategically.

“Of course she turned me down flat,” Felicity said, sighing. “She wasn't in a forgiving mood. So I left. I drove back here and spent the rest of the day with my gardener in our vegetable garden just over there, picking out fresh produce for the restaurant's menu that day. Chief Alvares spoke with Barney, who is a respectable local, as you know, and he corroborated my alibi, so I have officially been crossed off the suspect list.”

“Again, Felicity, I am so sorry.”

“Just promise me you'll come back for dinner here again and bring all your friends.”

“Just try to keep me away.”

With Felicity's feathers no longer ruffled, Hayley was free to jump in her car and drive back to town. She thought about stopping by the office to finish her column there before heading home, but she knew Bruce was there working late, and frankly she just didn't want to see him. He had been in a terrible state all day when the one lead in his investigation of Dr. Foley's disappearance led him to a dead end.

He was getting nowhere.

And with Olivia Redmond's murder demanding his attention now that the hullabaloo over Hayley's TV appearance had finally subsided, the public's demand for answers in the Foley investigation was rapidly waning.

Bruce felt in his gut that Dr. Foley's disappearance was the result of foul play and the whole matter was now in danger of being completely forgotten.

He was back to square one and enormously frustrated.

Hayley was frustrated as well.

Only one day on her new gig moonlighting as a bona fide bacon blogger and her quick-tempered yet exceedingly generous employer was now dead.

And whoever did the dirty deed had shown no mercy.

She was determined not to let him get away with it.

“Hayley, I want to explain why I've been slightly distant lately,” Aaron said.

Slightly?

That was a bit of an understatement.

Hayley took a deep breath. She wiped her mouth with a yellow cloth napkin and set it back down in her lap.

Aaron was nervous and fidgety. He stabbed at a fried shrimp on his plate and missed it twice before finally impaling it with the fork's silver prongs and popping it into his mouth. The chewing bought him an additional few seconds before he had to speak again.

He wiped sweat from his brow with his forearm and with a full mouth said, “Awfully hot in here.”

Hayley was surprised when he had called her on her cell phone earlier in the day and asked if she was free for dinner that evening. Even if she hadn't been, she would have cleared her schedule because the suspense was killing her.

She had to know what was going on with him.

Was he going to break up with her or propose?

Whichever it was, she just wanted to know.

He swallowed the shrimp, set down his fork, and cleared his throat.

The dinner at West Street Café, near the waterfront, had up to this point been uneventful and filled with small talk. Nothing of consequence. But finally, near the end of the main course, there appeared to be a breakthrough.

He was about to get serious.

She downed the last of her glass of ice water to hydrate and prepare herself for what was about to come. Water was a poor substitute for her reliable Jack and Coke, but the restaurant was busy tonight and the bar was backed up.

“I'm listening.”

“I've been thinking about us a lot lately and . . . Wait . . .” he said, reaching into the pocket of his tan khaki pants.

Was he about to pull out a ring?

He withdrew his hand from the pocket and there was a small white pill in the middle of his palm. He tossed it in his mouth and chased it by guzzling down some water.

He smiled weakly. “An antacid. I've been suffering from indigestion a lot lately. Probably because I've been eating tons of junk food and not your fine home cooking.”

Smooth talker.

Just get to the point.

“Anyway . . .” he said, reaching over and taking her hand. “We've been together almost two years now and I believe it's time . . .”

“How dare you make an accusation like that?” a man's voice roared from across the room.

Hayley spun around in her seat just in time to see Olivia's husband, Nacho, spring to his feet and push the table aside with such force three wineglasses flew off and shattered into pieces on the floor.

“Chill, dude, don't be such a drama queen,” Olivia's son, Red, said with a smirk, just before Nacho hauled him to his feet by the collar of his shirt. “Whoa, man, don't wrinkle the shirt.”

“I loved your mother and only wanted the best for her! Not like you, who only came around when you needed something.”

Peggy was at the table too and jumped to her feet, flushed with embarrassment, grabbing Nacho's arm. “Would you let him go? People are watching.”

“He's insulting my honor!” Nacho shouted.

“Honor? What honor?” Red spit out, eyes narrowing. “Everyone knows why you married my mother. If it wasn't for her, you'd be back in Buenos Aires scheming and conning your way into whoever's bed so you'd have a roof over your head for the night.”

“You smug little bastard! I will kill you!” Nacho yelled, punching Red in the nose with his hammy fist.

Red stumbled back, nose spurting blood, his eyes wide with shock. “You . . . you hit me. . . .”

Hayley glanced around for a waiter or the owner or someone to intervene, but everyone in the restaurant was slack jawed, in shock, watching the ugly scene unfold.

Peggy screamed. “Are you crazy? Red wants to be an actor! How could you hit him in the face like that?”

“The only role he'll ever play is a lazy, no good, spoiled brat!” Nacho bellowed, gently rubbing his now throbbing fingers.

Finally, a young college-age waiter with slicked back hair and a scared look on his face intervened. “I'm sorry, but if you don't leave now, we're going to have to call the police.”

Nacho nodded, turned to head for the door, but then Red bounced to his feet and came up behind him, wrapping an arm around his neck, trying to choke him.

“You're a fake and a cad and you never loved my mother! You just loved her money!”

Aaron had seen enough. He jumped up from the table, raced over, and tried pulling Red off Nacho. Red head butted him, catching him right in the face, and Aaron flew back into another table before sinking to the ground nursing an injured eye.

The owner rushed into the restaurant, having obviously been called by his staff and told of the emergency. He was apoplectic, screaming threats of arrests and lawsuits.

With the realization that their argument had spiraled way out of control, both Nacho and Red quickly calmed down. Nacho muttered apologies and bolted out the door. Red took the time to hand the owner a wad of cash for any damages and then, after stopping long enough to grab a napkin to hold over his bleeding nose, stormed out, dragging a still crying Peggy behind him.

Hayley was at Aaron's side in an instant. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, a little humiliated about my fighting skills. Guess I won't be jumping in the ring with Floyd Mayweather Junior anytime soon.”

“You were very brave.”

The owner came over and knelt down next to them. “Dr. Palmer, should we get you a doctor to look you over?”

“Oh no, I'll be fine. Maybe just something for my eye.”

The owner stood back up and grabbed the young waiter. “Quick. Go into the kitchen and get him a piece of steak,” he said, before lowering his voice to continue. “Make sure it's one of the cheaper cuts.”

The waiter was gone and back in a flash.

Hayley accepted the fleshy raw meat and helped Aaron carefully place it over his eye.

“Would you like me to call the police?” the owner asked Aaron.

“No. They both lost their temper and things just got overheated. It's a very trying time for both of them. I'm willing to let it go if you are.”

The owner smiled, grateful the potentially litigious incident was over, and then, to insure the rest of the customers' dining experiences hadn't been completely ruined, generously offered every table free dessert. His gesture was met with resounding applause and lots of smiles.

Except for Hayley.

She wasn't smiling.

She knew if Aaron had been planning on proposing, he wasn't going to do it tonight.