Death of a Christmas Caterer (4 page)

Chapter 5
“Now, given the time constraint, Hayley, don't expect too much from me. I was thinking, though, I could throw together a few apps tomorrow, like my very popular smoked trout and garlic cream on rye toasts and amaretto-bourbon punch,” Garth said as he stood at a large wooden table in front of a giant stainless-steel oven in the warehouse at the far end of town that he recently converted into a kitchen/office.
“Garth, that sounds absolutely delicious,” Hayley said, practically drooling.
“And maybe a baked Brie with pecans, with my homemade crackers, of course, and some ginger nuts, my artichoke turnovers, and rosemary vodka tonics. Oh, and I could roast some chestnuts because, after all, it is the holidays.”
“My mouth is watering, Garth,” Hayley said, petting the head of Garth's beloved bloodhound, Bagel, who stood at her side. The dog was also drooling, with most of it landing on Hayley's L.L.Bean boot.
“He likes you,” Garth said, grinning.
“He's a real sweetheart,” Hayley said, still rubbing the top of Bagel's head. The dog's jowls were flapping, and his mouth was slobbering. “I sure do appreciate your helping me on such short notice, Garth.”
“Don't worry, Hayley. I will take your little office Christmas soiree and turn it into a magnificent night to remember. Did you know I catered the Rockefellers' Fourth of July party last summer on their estate?”
“No, I didn't know that.”
“And Martha Stewart was there and she said my crab cakes were the best she'd ever had the pleasure of eating. I'm not lying, Hayley.
Martha Stewart!

“Well, it looks like I came to the right place.”
“Normally, a little nothing event like yours would be way too small potatoes for me. Did I mention I flew to New York last Labor Day weekend to deliver personally my homemade out-of-this-world Jamaican jerk sauce to Anderson Cooper for his backyard barbecue? I'm not lying, Hayley.
Anderson Cooper!

“Wow, that's amazing,” Hayley said, having no idea what else to say.
There was a mouthwatering aroma in the air wafting from the giant oven behind Garth.
“What is that yummy smell, Garth?”
Garth winked at her, thrilled she had noticed. “Just a little treat I'm preparing to take home to my wife tonight for a little late-night snack. It's my world-famous Grand Marnier soufflé with crème anglaise. Play your cards right and I'll give you a taste once it rises.”
Hayley had to admit she was dying to try a bite—mostly because she was ravenous from having to skip out on dinner with Aaron.
Suddenly there was a loud banging.
“What is that?” Hayley asked.
Garth rolled his eyes, annoyed and frustrated. “It's coming from next door. I swear those guys are going to drive me into an early grave.”
“What are they doing?”
“Nailing plywood together or something equally stupid and useless. The owner of this building put up a wall so he could divide this warehouse space into two sections. That way he could charge two rents for one space, essentially doubling his money. I needed a lot of space for my ovens and freezer, and this space was perfect, but I had no say in who would rent the other half.”
“Who's in there?”
“Some contracting business. All day long, drilling and sawing and hammering and sandblasting. I've complained a hundred times and the owner doesn't do a damn thing about it.”
Garth turned to his see his giant stainless-steel industrial oven shake. His eyes nearly popped out of his head as he rushed over and opened the door to check on his Grand Marnier soufflé.
“Oh, dear God, no! They've really done it this time! They've caused my soufflé to collapse! Those savages!”
Garth pulled the soufflé dish out of the oven and slammed it down on the wooden table; then he flew across the warehouse and out the door. Hayley heard him pounding on the door to the contracting business. After a few seconds the door opened, followed by angry shouting and a slew of four-letter words. Most of these were coming out of Garth's mouth.
Bagel seemed completely undisturbed by the yelling. His eyes were fixed on the soufflé sitting on the edge of the table. He was undoubtedly trying to figure out a way to get the soufflé off the table and onto the floor so he could lap it up.
Hayley walked over and poked her head out the door to see Garth wagging a finger at three men. They were all in plaid work shirts, torn jeans with paint stains, and tan work boots. She instantly recognized Billy Parsons, a local handyman in his early thirties. Billy was a real charmer, with a scruffy beard and easy smile, who had rescued Hayley with his home repairs on many occasions. Just behind Billy was a teenage kid around Gemma's age, whom Hayley didn't know. He was cute and wiry, with tousled brown hair that fell just below his eyes. He hung back a bit, more than a little intimidated by Garth's loud bellowing. The tallest of the three was Nick Ward, midforties, gruff, beefy, dark eyes, and a permanent sneer on his face. He worked on Lex's crew when Lex was a caretaker at the Hollingsworth summer estate before the family patriarch, billionaire frozen-food magnate Arthur Hollingsworth, died, which prompted Lex to move away from Bar Harbor for a short time looking for work. Nick was clearly the leader of this pack and was not afraid of going toe-to-toe with Garth. He was also gripping an electric drill and held it aimed at Garth's stomach like a pistol.
“You can call the cops all you want, Rawlings, but we have a permit to conduct our business here—and that means using our equipment, so get used to it!” Nick hollered.
“But it's after nine in the evening!” Garth wailed.
“Exactly. We thought you'd be long gone by now. We were trying to be courteous,” Nick growled.
“Maybe we can work out a schedule with Mr. Rawlings so we're not using the power tools when he's cooking in his kitchen,” Billy offered, trying to be helpful.
“That's not our problem! We're behind enough, as it is, and the boss is going to be laid up in the hospital with some broken bones for a few more days, so I'm in charge. As the acting foreman I'm telling you right now, keep your mouth shut, Billy!”
Hayley gasped.
Of course.
Nick Ward had lost his job at the Hollingsworth estate right around the same time Lex had and had been unemployed for months. It made perfect sense that he would go to work for Lex again after he blew back into town. Hayley had heard Lex was starting a contracting business, but she had no idea they had set up shop here.
Garth was practically blowing smoke out of his ears—he was so angry.
Hayley felt uncomfortable just standing there by the door.
Garth and Nick were nearly bumping chests, like a pair of hairy Neanderthals grunting and pushing and trying to mark their territory.
The testosterone levels were off the charts.
“I'm going to go now, Garth, and let you guys talk this out,” Hayley said. “Everything you mentioned for the party tomorrow sounds scrumptious!”
Garth didn't hear her. He was yelling at Nick, threatening an expensive lawsuit and severe bodily harm. Nick just kept sneering, almost enjoying the arrogant chef's meltdown.
Hayley rushed past the angry scene and slammed into someone, knocking them both back.
“Oh, I'm sorry. Are you all right?”
“Yes,” the woman said. She was young, early twenties, with bright red hair and the cutest dimples Hayley had ever seen. She was bundled up in a lime-green parka and had her arms folded to keep herself warm.
It was Connie Sparks, the daughter of Phil and Liz Sparks, restaurant owners who flew south for the winter. Connie worked as a waitress for her parents during the busy summer season and then spent the winters painting pictures of wildlife on canvas at the family cottage.
“Connie?”
“Oh . . . hi, Hayley,” she said, shifting uncomfortably.
“What are you doing here?”
She hesitated, which Hayley found odd.
“I . . . I . . . uh . . . I'm here to see Garth. That's right. I'm planning a little holiday party for a few friends and I want to hire him to bake a Christmas ham or something.”
“Well, you can't go wrong with Garth, that's for sure,” Hayley said, noticing how Connie refused to make eye contact with her.
By now, the argument next door had dissipated and the prizefighters had apparently returned to their corners. Garth passed by, stopping suddenly at the sight of Hayley with Connie conversing outside by the front door.
“You two know each other?” Garth said, eyeing both of them.
Connie nodded and then added hastily, “Yes. And I told her I'm here to hire you to cater my holiday party I'm planning to throw at the cottage. Isn't that right, Garth?”
“Yes. Well, don't just stand there. You'll catch a cold. Come on in. Hayley, I'll call you tomorrow and we can discuss my fee and what time you want the food delivered.”
Hayley nodded.
Garth and Connie exchanged a cursory glance before he hurriedly ushered her inside the building. He briefly turned back to look at Hayley and she swore she saw a flicker of fear on his face.
Fear was certainly not a word she would ever associate with the “Great Chef of Bar Harbor,” Garth Rawlings.
Something strange was going on between those two, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what.
Chapter 6
Hayley set her alarm clock to go off an hour earlier than usual because she had made the decision the night before to prepare Lex a hot breakfast and drop it off at the hospital before work. She knew it was probably a bad idea, given that she and Lex were no longer together. Truthfully, the last thing she wanted was to send her dashing ex-boyfriend mixed signals. But after delivering a heaping bowl of her turkey chili to his bedside the night before, she felt bad for him. Lex was confined to a lumpy hospital bed, unable to move, stuck watching
Steve Harvey
and
Judge Judy
on TV all day. The least she could do was cheer him up with some of her home-cooked food. After all, breakfast was the most important meal of the day, and she was just being a concerned
platonic
friend. If Liddy or Mona were laid up, she would do the same for them.
So there was nothing to feel guilty about.
Besides, Aaron would never have to know.
She foraged through the refrigerator to see what she had for ingredients, convinced scrambling some eggs and frying a few strips of bacon would be good enough. However, she quickly found herself going all out, toasting pecans to add to a pancake batter and slicing fruit for a caramel-apple topping. Well, to be fair, it was the holiday season, so eggs and bacon just seemed so bland.
She squeezed some fresh juice, brewed coffee, adding some cinnamon, and sealed the pancakes in a Tupperware container; then she bundled up in her winter coat and carried everything to the car.
When she arrived at room 502 at the Bar Harbor Hospital, she could hear Lex inside complaining. The remote he was trying to use to raise his bed up so he could watch television wasn't working properly. Nurse Tilly was stabbing the buttons on the remote with her index finger, but nothing was happening.
“I'm going to get a crick in my neck if I have to watch the damn TV like this,” Lex bellowed.
“Maybe it just needs a new battery. Let me go check and see if we have any. If not, I can run to the store after my shift is over.”
“What time do you get off?”
“After lunch, around two.”
“I'll need a heating pad by then to dull the pain!”
Hayley sailed into the room with a big smile on her face. “Lex Bansfield, if you don't stop abusing the overworked nursing staff, there's going to be a mutiny, and somebody's going to break your other leg.”
Lex's face lit up. “Hayley, what are you doing here?”
She set the Tupperware container down on the tray table next to the bed and took the juice and coffee out of a paper bag. “Rescuing Tilly. I have some extra batteries in my glove box in the car. I'll go get them. And the reason he's being so impatient is because the
TODAY
show is on and he's got a big crush on Savannah Guthrie.”
Tilly giggled.
“Tilly, if you don't mind, would you call the cafeteria and tell them they don't need to bring breakfast to room 502? Mr. Bansfield is already taken care of.”
“Yes, I'll do it right now,” Tilly said, grateful for finally having an excuse to escape Lex's grousing. She flew out the door.
Hayley lifted the top of the Tupperware container to reveal the pecan pancakes with their caramel-apple topping.
Lex inhaled through his nose to take in the intoxicating smell. “Last night your kick-ass turkey chili and this morning pancakes. What have I done to deserve such a feast?”
“Well, don't get used to it. It's only because I feel sorry for you.”
“I have no problem being pitied if it means I get to eat your cooking.”
Hayley snapped the top back into place, sealing the food inside the container. “But before you take one bite, you have to promise me you will stop being the patient from hell. I know this is hard for you—and you hate being inactive and unable to work—but these nurses work their tails off and do the best job they can, so give them a break, okay?”
Lex nodded, properly chastised. “Okay. I promise.”
She reopened the container and handed Lex a plastic fork and knife. He dug in immediately, cutting a big piece of pancake and making sure to get a slathering of the caramel-apple topping before shoving it into his mouth.
Lex closed his eyes, with a euphoric look on his face. “Oh, man, this is better than sex.”
Hayley smiled.
Lex opened his eyes again and winked at Hayley. “Almost better than sex.”
He reached over and took Hayley's hand.
She felt slightly uncomfortable.
And yet, it felt good.
Warm memories of their time together flooded back.
Lex squeezed her hand more tightly.
He didn't want to let go.
“I'm already late for work. Sal's going to bust a gut if I'm not there soon. I better go,” Hayley said.
Lex still held her hand. “Thank you, Hayley. You're a good friend.”
He gently drew her closer to him with his hand, turning his cheek slightly to the right so she could kiss him.
She took the bait.
Hayley decided a friendly kiss on the cheek—between two good friends—was relatively harmless.
But then Lex blindsided her.
He quickly turned his face back so her lips landed on top of his.
He let go of her hand and cupped her neck, pulling her closer.
His lips devoured hers.
Her whole body tingled.
Lex had always been an expert kisser.
He was practically dragging her whole body into the hospital bed with him before she realized this had to stop.
Now.
But it was too late.
She heard the singing.
Coming from the doorway to room 502.
“‘Hark! the herald angels sing, Glory to the newborn King. . . .'”
Hayley wrenched herself free from Lex's grip and spun around to see four Christmas carolers, all wide-eyed, watching what appeared to be Hayley mauling a hapless patient.
“‘Peace on earth . . .'”
The singing trailed off.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
One of the carolers, a pudgy white-haired woman dressed like Mrs. Claus, complete with a red velvet dress and granny glasses, cleared her throat to break the silence. “Maybe we should come back.”
The carolers shuffled off to the next room.
Mrs. Claus was actually Missy Anne Higgins, a retired widow who lived off her late husband's air force pension.
And Missy Anne was quite possibly the biggest gossip in town.
The news of what went on between Hayley and Lex in room 502 was about to spread faster than the zombie plague in that
Walking Dead
TV show Dustin was so obsessed with watching.
Island Food & Spirits by Hayley Powell
Last weekend, while I was whipping up a batch of my mouthwatering pecan pancakes with caramel-apple topping for my daughter and a couple of her BFFs, who were spending the night for her birthday, it totally brought me back to that fateful evening seventeen years earlier when my lovely Gemma first arrived in this world. Of course it couldn't have been a quiet, normal birth. No, she had to show up in true dramatic Powell-family style!
My ex-husband had decided that he would drive up to Ellsworth to do a little Christmas shopping after work one evening, which thrilled me to no end, seeing as he was thinking ahead instead of waiting until the last minute as usual. He had only been gone a couple of hours when I noticed how hard the snow was coming down outside. But living in Maine, he was used to driving in plenty of snow. Plus his truck had four-wheel drive.
My stomach had been a bit upset since dinnertime, which was to be expected, since I had devoured four good-size pecan pancakes with extra caramel-apple topping. I was eight months pregnant and expecting right after the New Year holiday, so I was having serious sweet and savory food cravings for the last three months. Normally, I wouldn't be eating so much. Yeah, let's go with that. I sat down to catch my breath and watch the weather on the news when I suddenly realized we were right in the middle of a severe blizzard warning. Six inches of icy snow and sleet had already fallen outside, and we were expected to get at least six to eight inches more. The wind outside howled and the snow was coming down hard and fast. Just like the pain that was building in my stomach. Probably just the baby kicking or moving around. I didn't want to panic, so I called my friend Mona, who was expertly trained in calming me down. After describing my increasing discomfort, she suggested I might be in labor. I laughed and told her she was crazy because I wasn't due for another three more weeks. Mona wanted Danny to take me straight to the hospital to be safe, but I told her he wasn't there. Suddenly there was a loud crash outside. I jumped and screamed. The phone went dead. I went to the window and saw that a giant tree had fallen on the power line right outside and everyone's electricity had gone out in the neighborhood.
I didn't bother to light any candles and decided just to lie on the couch and try to get comfortable with my aching belly and wait for the electricity to come back on and my husband to arrive home. The pain, however, kept getting worse. Maybe I
was
in labor.
No. Don't even think about that,
I told myself. How would I ever get to the hospital with no car and a raging storm outside? By dogsled?
I lay there for maybe twenty minutes, when suddenly my front door burst open and a bright light blinded me. A giant shadow covered in ice and snow came bursting through the front door. I screamed again. It appeared I was being attacked by the Abominable Snowman! As the monster stepped into the light, grabbing at my arm and yelling at me to stay calm, I realized it was Mona, her wet hair standing straight up in the air like frozen icicles.
She hauled me up off the couch and threw my boots on my feet. Wrapping my winter coat around me, she then half carried, half dragged me. She pulled me right out the front door, the whole time shouting at the top of her lungs about how she had already called Liddy, who was contacting the Bar Harbor Hospital to put them on high alert, and how Liddy was about to call the Bar Harbor Police Department and have them intercept Danny on his way home so he could drive immediately to the hospital.
I glanced around for Mona's truck, but it wasn't there. Apparently, she couldn't back her truck out of the driveway because of all the snow. Instead, she had jumped on her trusty snowmobile with her ice-fishing sled attached to the back and immediately snowmobiled over to my house. She ignored my protesting as she lowered me into the sled, threw a blanket over me, and screeched for me to hold on. Then she jumped on the snowmobile and we roared off like a bat out of hell, slipping and sliding all the way to the hospital while I held on for dear life to the sides, praying that I wouldn't fall out of the sled and deliver the baby in a snowbank on the side of the road!
As Mona sped into the hospital driveway, I lifted my head to see the sliding glass doors to the emergency room ahead of us. I prayed we wouldn't smash right through them. I saw Liddy jumping up and down inside by the admitting desk while waving her arms, frantically warning Mona to slow down. She mercifully let up off the throttle and began applying the brakes and skidded to a stop.
Behind us I heard police sirens blasting full force as a squad car squealed into the driveway, followed by Danny's truck. He had gotten a police escort all the way to town after crossing the Trenton Bridge.
The next thing I knew, Mona was running out the doors, pushing an empty wheelchair, and screaming at the top of her lungs, “Make way for mother and child!” as she pushed past poor Nurse Tilly and knocked her flat on her butt. I was still lying on my back in the sled, thinking to myself what could possibly happen next, when a flash went off in my eyes. It was a local reporter with the
Island Times
hanging around the emergency room on a stormy night, hoping for a story. I guess it was meant to be that I would wind up working for the paper since we always seemed to be in it.
After hoisting me to my feet and setting me down in the wheelchair, I was rushed inside, thinking,
Please don't let this be a false alarm after a fiasco like this!
Well, it wasn't. Gemma Mona Liddy Powell was born at 9:53
P.M.
, three weeks early, with her beaming dad and proud godmothers by her side—and these women, to this day, still fight over who will raise her when I'm dead, which I hope isn't any time soon! A week later, as you can probably guess, the Powell family graced the front page of the local newspaper with the headline
LOCAL COUPLE GET EARLY CHRISTMAS PRESENT!
Before we get to those pecan pancakes, I find it's always helpful for the chef to clear her mind with a cocktail first. A neighbor of mine gave me this drink recipe when I was pregnant with my daughter. It was very frustrating having to wait until I gave birth before I could try it; but when I did, it became an instant favorite. And since the odds of me getting pregnant now are about as high as me winning the Maine Mega Millions, there's no harm in warming up tonight with a lemon whiskey sour on a cold winter evening.
 
 
Lemon Whiskey Sour
 
Ingredients
1½ ounces whiskey
1 ounce freshly squeezed lemon juice
½ ounce simple syrup
Maraschino cherry for garnish (optional)
Place all your ingredients in a cocktail shaker filled with ice. Shake and pour into a cocktail glass and garnish with a cherry.
 
 
Pecan Pancakes with Caramel-Apple Topping
 
Ingredients
1 cup all-purpose flour
cup finely chopped pecans, toasted
1 teaspoon granulate sugar
1 teaspoon brown sugar
½ teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon cinnamon
¼ teaspoon baking soda
Pinch of salt
1 cup nonfat buttermilk
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 large egg
 
Stir together the first 8 ingredients. Whisk together your buttermilk, oil, and egg in a bowl. Add to the flour mixture; stir until just moistened.
Pour about ¼ of a cup batter for each pancake onto a hot, lightly greased griddle. Cook 2 to 3 minutes or until the tops have bubbles and the edges are crispy. Turn and cook other side. Top with the caramel-apple topping.
 
Caramel-Apple Topping Ingredients
2 (12 oz) packages frozen spiced apples, thawed
½ cup packed brown sugar
2 tablespoons butter
1 teaspoon vanilla
¼ teaspoon salt
 
In a saucepan, bring all of your ingredients to a boil over medium heat, stirring occasionally. Reduce heat to low and simmer, stirring occasionally, 2 to 3 minutes or until thoroughly heated.

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