Death of a Bacon Heiress (11 page)

“I want you to drive straight home and take care of your eye,” Hayley said, escorting Aaron to his parked car out in front of the West Street Café.

“I'm fine. It's just going to be a little black and blue for a few days. Get in. I'll drive you home.”

“No. It's only a ten-minute walk to the house from here. I can use the exercise. I ate my entire Café Delight.”

Café Delight was one of West Street Café's signature dishes, with lobster meat, North Atlantic shrimp, and mushrooms topped with a homemade cheese sauce, served over pasta. Sometimes she found herself dreaming about it at night.

“Okay, sorry we didn't get a chance to chat. Next time,” Aaron said brusquely, jumping in his car and peeling away.

Chat?

That was all it was?

And boy, he sure didn't put up much of a fuss over driving her home.

Usually he was a lot more chivalrous, ever the gentleman insisting it was his duty to see to it that she made it home safely.

Hayley scolded herself. Cut the poor guy some slack. He had just been popped in the eye by an obnoxious rich kid's head.

There were certainly better ways the evening could have ended for him.

She suddenly heard a noise off to her left near some parked cars. She spun around and spotted Nacho hunched over, quietly sobbing. She walked over to him and gently put a hand on his shoulder.

“I'm so sorry about everything, Nacho. I know this must be a very difficult time.”

He nodded, wiping a finger across his nose and then blotting the tears running down his cheek with the sleeve of his jacket.

“I know what people think of me. I hear all the stories. But I loved her, Hayley. Truly I did. I loved Olivia deeply.”

He was trying to convince her.

Desperate for someone to believe his intentions were honorable when he married a billionaire bacon heiress.

Hayley wasn't quite sold on that yet, but didn't let it show.

“All those people in the restaurant staring at me and judging me. Do you think they believed those terrible lies Red was shouting?”

“You shouldn't care what people think,” Hayley said.

“You didn't answer me directly. That means you do.”

“I don't know anything about you or your relationship with Olivia. I may have formed an opinion about her son and his girlfriend, but I'd rather not share it at this time. Now, why don't we go to my brother's bar and I'll buy you a drink? It looks like you could use one right about now.”

“That sounds much better than spending the rest of the night licking my wounds,” Nacho said, sniffling. “I'll drive.”

“No. It's only a few blocks from here. Leave it here and we can walk.”

They headed up the hill from the town pier along Main Street, veering left onto Cottage Street and arriving at Drinks Like A Fish in less than five minutes. The place was packed and there were no tables or stools at the bar available, so after picking up a Jack and Coke for herself and a vodka on the rocks for Nacho, the two of them retreated to the back near the dartboard. They huddled in a free corner where Nacho ranted for the next twenty minutes about how Red and Peggy were vultures and, if left to their own devices, would surely run Redmond Meats into the ground in less than a year. His whole face flared when he talked about Red, the wannabe actor with no clue how hard his mother had worked to keep the company in the black.

Nacho downed his vodka in one gulp and excused himself to go buy another one since Hayley had only taken a couple of sips of her cocktail and was hardly ready for a second round.

She noticed several women ogling Nacho as he waited to place his order with Randy, who was helping out his loyal bartender Michelle because the bar was so busy.

There was no denying it. Nacho was one fine specimen of a man. And the whole Argentinean polo-playing backstory just added to his allure.

Wait until those local Maine girls on the prowl heard that one. There might be a stampede to talk to him.

One particularly drunk girl in formfitting jeans and a cream-colored sweater so tight she might as well have gone topless was all googly eyed and giggling as her friends pushed her forward, encouraging her to go talk to him.

Nacho was still patiently waiting at the bar for someone to take his order when she weaved her way through the crowd of fishermen, who had just stumbled through the door and were anxious to get mugs of beer in their hands. She slid in next to Nacho. She then casually turned and said something. He smiled politely at her before turning his attention away from her. She waited a few seconds and then leaned in and whispered something in his ear. Nacho shook his head, his smile a little tighter, and he spoke again. Randy suddenly appeared to serve him. The girl, crestfallen and embarrassed, scooted back to her friends, tail between her legs, having been resoundingly rejected.

When Hayley shifted her gaze back to Nacho she was surprised to see him beaming from ear to ear as he leaned forward to shout his order in Randy's ear above the noise in the bar. He also nimbly placed a hand over Randy's hand, which rested on the bar.

Randy was too busy to notice.

But Hayley did.

A few minutes later Nacho was back with two vodkas on the rocks.

“I did not want to have to wait in line again,” he said before downing one and picking up the other.

He was loosened up real good now and talking nonstop. Several times he slipped into his native Spanish but caught himself and pivoted back to his second language, English. He kept one eye on the bar, watching Randy race back and forth as more customers poured in and placed their drink orders. Nacho was definitely not admiring Michelle, who was a stunning girl even with her hair pulled back and her face sweating from all the running around. The happy and by now inebriated fishermen all jockeyed to flirt with her, but Nacho didn't pay her any mind.

He was too focused on Randy.

Hayley was sure of it.

One of the garbage bins overflowed from trash, so once the line for drinks dwindled, Randy seized the opportunity to secure the bag with a zip tie and carry it out back to the bin in the alley.

Nacho excused himself to go to the bathroom.

Hayley wasn't surprised when he walked right past the men's room and breezed directly out the back door.

She couldn't resist.

She had to follow him.

By the time she reached the door and stepped out into the alley, Randy was shoving Nacho away from him, the garbage bag dropped next to his feet.

“Buddy, I told you, I'm a married man,” Randy said, trying hard to diffuse the situation without causing a scene.

Nacho came at him again. “Why are so many Americans obsessed with monogamy? Especially men. You know as well as I do the male species was not designed to sleep with just one person.”

“Well, this one is, so let's just cool down, okay?” Randy said, pushing him back again, this time firmly enough for Nacho to get the message.

He put his hands up in surrender, swaying a little from side to side, clearly fuzzy from all the vodka, and then turned around to see Hayley watching the scene from the doorway.

That sobered him up a bit.

But just a bit.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he slurred. “It doesn't mean anything. I'm just a little drunk. You want another drink?”

“No, I'm good,” Hayley said as he pushed past her and stumbled back inside the bar.

Hayley turned to Randy, who deposited the plastic garbage bag in the bin and wiped his hands off.

“He just told me not even an hour ago how much he was in love with his wife,” she said.

“Yeah, well, I'm sure he meant it. Like I love you. You're my sister. He probably loved Olivia the same way. Because, honey, if there's one thing we can be absolutely sure of at this point . . .”

“That man is an honest to goodness one hundred percent homosexual.”

“Amen, sister.”

The rain pounded the windows and lightning flashed, illuminating the ornate staircase as Hayley helped Nacho up to the master bedroom at the Redmond Estate. He was still conscious but barely coherent, prattling on about what a Casanova he was back in the central Córdoba wine region where he grew up, a strapping young lad charming all the local daughters of the wine merchants. It was obvious he was desperately trying to cast doubt on Hayley's presumed assumption regarding his sexual orientation after spying him making unwanted advances toward her brother.

After Hayley and Randy had returned to the bar, Nacho was already enjoying another vodka on the rocks bought for him by a group of swooning college girls. He held court for nearly an hour, pawing them and stealing kisses in a blatant attempt to reassert his heterosexuality.

As successful as his efforts had been, especially with the girls, who were all quite smitten with the swarthy Latin lothario, for Hayley it had been honestly painful to watch.

Outside it had started to rain.

The roads would be slick driving home and visibility low, and Nacho at this point had been probably four times the legal limit, so there was no way she was going to allow him to drive himself home. At first he had resisted, but she had managed to snatch his keys away from him during last call, and with Randy's help, walked him back to his car at the restaurant and got him strapped into the passenger seat.

It had been a treacherous journey to Seal Harbor, but Hayley kept her eyes glued to the road. She could call for a taxi to get herself home once she got him back to the Redmond Estate. Nacho had spent the entire car ride with his face off to one side against the headrest, snoring.

She had to shake him awake when they arrived, and it took great effort to get him unstrapped and out of the car, but the wind and rain had finally seemed to arouse him and he started chattering again about life back in Córdoba and all his girlfriends and how American girls on television like the pretty young rich ones on
Gossip Girl
had inspired him to come to America and stake out his fortune.

By marrying one?

Hayley's neck ached by the time they had reached the king-size bed, and she gave Nacho a shove forward.

He had flopped face down on the bed and within four seconds was snoring again.

She turned him over and unbuttoned his shirt. He had abs to die for.

Then she got him out of his shoes and wriggled his pants off. The muscled legs of a star athlete.

She couldn't help but marvel at his flawless physique.

After placing his shoes by the bedside and folding his clothes and leaving them in a rocking chair by the window, she was about to snap off the light and close the door and call for a taxi home.

She stopped as Nacho started talking, his words slurred. He mumbled something about Red and Peggy telling him at dinner that they had checked in to a hotel in Bar Harbor because they refused to stay at the house as long as he was living there.

The servants had gone home for the night.

There was no one around to catch her if she did a little snooping. She started by searching the drawers of the night tables on each side of the bed.

Nothing of importance. Just some operating manuals for the television and stereo system. A compact hair dryer. Some receipts for a couple of meals in town.

She crossed to the closet and peered inside. There was a chain hanging from a light fixture on the ceiling of the closet. She yanked it and had to close her eyes, momentarily blinded by the high-wattage bulb. Once her vision readjusted she noticed all of the clothes belonged to Nacho.

A couple of suits. Lots of polo shirts in assorted bright colors. Some pressed shorts.

On the floor in the corner next to some very expensive-looking Gucci crocodile horse-bit loafers was a Nike gym bag. She knelt down, unzipped it, and rummaged through it.

She found a stack of used United Airlines tickets to exotic destinations around the world. An Argentine passport.

A birthday card from Olivia. She wrote lovingly about how her life had changed the day she met him. How his kindness gave her a new lease on life after years of a cold, distant father, an alcoholic, absent mother, and a long road littered with bad relationships with bad men ill-equipped to handle her immense wealth or too eager to exploit it. In Nacho, she had found her soul mate, her best friend, the man she knew in her heart would never betray her.

If only she could have seen him at the bar tonight hitting on Randy.

But then again, love wasn't always entwined with sex.

Hayley knew plenty of marriages where one of the spouses was closeted, but still loved their husband or wife.

She was definitely not one to judge any marriage, given how her own had ended in tatters.

There was another birthday card tucked in a side pocket. This one was still stuffed in its envelope, although it had been opened and she presumed read. She pulled the card out. On the cover was a lean, blond, devilish-looking stud in a bulging jockstrap and nothing else. Written on the top was, “The Best Gifts Come in Big Packages.”

Hayley chuckled. Someone had a sense of humor.

She opened the card. Inside was printed “Happy Birthday.”

Scrawled underneath that was the following message.

 

 

Hayley flipped the envelope over to see the return address. It was a local residence, on Greeley Avenue. The name above the street number was Hawkins.

Andy.

Andy Hawkins.

Hayley knew exactly who that was. A young artist type in his midtwenties. He'd moved to the island as a child with his parents from out west. Arizona maybe.

He'd been an aspiring photographer. He had interned at the
Island Times
one summer when he was home from college, shooting pictures of the Fourth of July parade and the lobster festival and various band concerts in the village green. Now he was a freelancer working for both local papers whenever they needed an event photographed. If they both wanted him to cover the event, he'd go with the highest bidder.

Although they had never discussed it, Hayley always assumed he was gay.

Her instincts appeared to be right.

And apparently he was also the secret lover of Olivia Redmond's grieving husband.