Death of a Christmas Caterer (6 page)

Chapter 9

“Hayley Powell, stop right there!”

The booming voice startled Hayley, who nearly dropped the avocado she was squeezing in the produce section of the Shop 'n Save.

She spun around, instantly recognizing the voice.

It was Garth Rawlings. He was dressed in all white, including a crisp white apron and a sporty little chef's hat. He was like a walking billboard for his catering business. He held a sack of sugar underneath one arm and was waving a bunch of bananas at her, which he had just picked up off the pile before spotting her.

Hayley was in no mood to be scolded again for causing him to quit on her, so she tossed the avocado on top of a bag of radishes and pushed her cart briskly in the opposite direction.

“Where are you going? I want to talk to you!” Garth snarled, shocked that someone was trying to get away from the Great Chef of Bar Harbor.

Hayley knew it was pointless trying to outrun him, so she stopped and slowly turned to face the kitchen nightmare.

“Garth, I'm sorry about yesterday. I truly am—”

“What the hell are you talking about? What happened yesterday?”

“I could only pay you a hundred dollars and you hung up on me.”

“Oh, that,” Garth said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. “Ancient history. I need to talk to you about tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?”

“Midnight Madness, my dear. Surely, you know it's tomorrow night.”

Midnight Madness was an annual local event held every year around the holidays. All of the businesses in town keep their doors open until midnight, hosting locals and offering a variety of snacks, free champagne and wine, gift cards, and a lot of heavy discounts. It was a nice way of giving back to the community and to show their appreciation to all of their loyal customers. Hayley and her two best friends, Mona and Liddy, always made it a tradition to hop from one store to another, starting promptly at eight and taking full advantage of those plastic cups of wine along the way until the town clock struck midnight. Luckily, taxi driver Larry Shaw, who was in her brother Randy's class and had a huge crush on Mona when they were kids, was on call every year and ready to serve as their designated driver.

“Yes, Garth, I'll be out with my friends tomorrow night and we look forward to stopping by your warehouse to taste a few of your scrumptious delicacies.”

She turned away from him and began perusing the butter lettuce being sprayed with water from tiny hoses lining the bin.

“Forget your friends. You're working for me tomorrow and tonight.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do you have any idea how much you're blowing up on Twitter?”

“I'm what?”

“Well, not like ‘blowing up' blowing up. I mean, not like some brainless twit of a pop star shagging a life-size stuffed animal on some music video awards show and now the whole world's talking about it. More like blowing up locally. I've noticed a lot of tweets from my Maine followers about how you killed it last night at your little office Christmas party.”

“Really? People are saying they liked my food?”

“
Liked
it? They're fawning! Yes,
fawning.
And, frankly, I regret quitting on you because now I'm burning up inside with jealousy. Last night I sat at home watching my archrival, Gordon Ramsay, bitch-slap some incompetent sous chef while you
totally
caused a sensation with your jumbo lump crabmeat and Boursin dip!”

Garth shoved his phone in front of Hayley's face. She read the tweet on the screen: Totally dying for Hayley's Crispy Ham & Cheese Balls. Check out pic of food table friend sent from Islander party. #yummy Sent by a foodie in Hulls Cove.

“You just can't buy this kind of publicity. It's all about the buzz, Hayley. Please don't tell me you're going to open up a catering business to compete with me or I'll have a heart attack right here on the spot.”

“No, Garth. I can barely get my column in on time these days, let alone think about opening a business.”

“Big sigh of relief. Although I may still have that heart attack, because my wife says I put too much butter in my dishes and that I am close to sharing type two diabetes stories with Paula Deen. Now, about you working for me—”

“As much as I need a second job, I just can't right now—”

“Just two days. That's all I need you for. Two days.”

“I really can't—”

“I'll pay you a thousand bucks.”

Hayley nearly choked. She grabbed her chest and sputtered and coughed until her throat finally cleared and she was able to speak. “A thousand bucks? For two days?”

“Yes.”

That much money would certainly make up for her lackluster work bonus. It would also go a long way in paying off that maxed-out credit card she had used at the Bangor Mall to buy her kids the Christmas presents on their lists.

“When were you thinking of having me start?”

“Today. Like right now.”

“Are you serious?”

“I have three parties I'm catering this weekend and I'm way behind. I haven't even been able to think about Midnight Madness, and suddenly this morning I realized I have nothing to serve people who stop by my warehouse tomorrow night. So after reading the deluge of tweets singing your praises this morning, I got the idea to hire you to handle it.”

“But I worked all day cooking for the Christmas party after you bailed on me yesterday, and I was there very late cleaning up after everybody, and I'm exhausted—”

“Twelve hundred.”

Hayley's mouth dropped open.

She had no idea she was even negotiating.

And then there was Aaron.

He finally texted her late last night, saying he wanted to see her, so she had invited him over for dinner tonight, which was why she was at the grocery store before work, picking up some veggies for a nice salad and some fresh tomatoes and garlic for a simple pasta dish. If she was cooking all day and night for Garth's Midnight Madness spread tomorrow night, she would have to cancel.

“And I also have plans with Aaron, the man I've been seeing, and I really don't want to cancel because a situation has arisen that I need to address with him, and, well, it's personal and I don't feel comfortable telling you—”

“Fifteen hundred.”

“Okay, yes! I'll do it! Just let me call my boss, Sal, and take a personal day and text Aaron to see if he's okay with me postponing.”

“Great. We can shop together and I can tell you the kind of menu I'm thinking about, and then you can take the ingredients home and do all of the cooking in your own kitchen and bring it over to the warehouse tomorrow evening.”

Hayley was bubbling over with excitement. Suddenly the idea of pocketing fifteen hundred dollars for just two days' work infused her tired bones with a renewed energy.

She knew Sal would be fine with her taking the day off. It was the week before Christmas and a slow time at the office. Plus she was ahead of schedule on all her office manager duties. Not to mention, Sal owed her for pulling off a memorable Christmas party. She could easily spend the rest of the day and night cooking and then punch in for half a day tomorrow before rushing home after work to heat up the food before Midnight Madness.

Aaron was not going to be so easy.

They still hadn't discussed what went down in Lex Bansfield's hospital room.

She grabbed her cell phone and began typing a text: Aaron, I am so sorry.

“Hayley! I need you over here pronto to help me pick out apples to roast for the Christmas ham!” Garth hollered from across the produce section.

Hayley kept typing as fast as she could: Have to cancel dinner tonight. Will call later to explain.

“Hayley!” Garth was red-faced and now screeching.

He didn't like to be kept waiting.

Hayley hit send.

She prayed Aaron would understand.

And later she would give him fifteen hundred reasons why he should forgive her.

Hell, forget cooking him dinner.

She would treat him to a fancy meal at a five-star restaurant after this unexpected payday.

Chapter 10

The following morning as Hayley sat at her desk, she was downing coffee and slapping herself a couple of times to keep from nodding off to sleep. She was up cooking for Garth until four in the morning and only had managed to get three hours of sleep before her alarm clock buzzed and she was forced out of bed to get ready for work. She was operating on fumes after slaving over a hot stove for the Christmas party and Midnight Madness. But finally there was a light at the end of the tunnel. All she had to do was deliver her food to Garth's warehouse after work and then go home and collapse into a coma.

It had been a particularly rough night and not just because she was chained to the kitchen whipping up dishes for Garth. She was feeling blue over a return text from Aaron acknowledging her canceling their dinner.

 

Okay.

Simple.

To the point.

No fuss.

No mess.

Still, it bugged her. It would've been easier if he wrote back an angry message: how he was pissed that she promised to cook dinner for him and then wound up disappointing him; how this was not the end of it and they were going to sit down and discuss why she canceled at the last minute, and why Missy Anne Higgins saw her smooching Lex Bansfield in his hospital room.

She desperately wanted a long, impassioned text from Aaron.

She wanted him to be infuriated.

Enraged.

That would mean on some level he wasn't giving up on her.

But all she got was
Okay.

And that frightened her. Because she didn't want to lose him.

Hayley also had to deal with her drama queen daughter, Gemma, who was home rehearsing the role of the Virgin Mary for Reverend Staples's Nativity pageant. Gemma made the mistake of asking her brother, Dustin, to run lines with her and he proceeded to make fun of her stiff acting; then all hell broke loose. Gemma was already nervous over the prospect of playing a leading role, and her brother's teasing was only fueling her insecurities. So while rolling her walnut-size bourbon balls in coconut, Hayley also had to play referee with her kids.

Christmas was always one of Hayley's favorite holidays, but this year she just wanted to hide under her bedcovers and wake up after New Year's.

Hayley stood up and crossed to the coffeepot and poured herself another cup. She added a little sugar and milk and was stirring it with a spoon when the door to the office blew open and Bruce Linney charged inside. He shook off his coat, stomped the snow off his boots, and tossed the coat on the rack.

He never once glanced at Hayley.

“Good morning, Bruce,” Hayley chirped. “Feeling better?”

Bruce grunted a reply and headed to the back bull pen.

As he passed Hayley, she said, “Don't you think it might be a good idea to talk about it?”

Bruce stopped, looking straight ahead. “Talk about what?”

“What happened at the Christmas party. I was going to bring it up yesterday, but I took a personal day.”

“I was out sick, so I wasn't here anyway. But I have no idea what you're babbling about.”

Hayley suspected as much.

He didn't remember a thing.

“So you have no memory of being drunk and groping me in the copy room and trying to kiss me while you were wearing that ridiculous mistletoe hat?”

Bruce's whole body tensed. “No.”

Hayley shrugged. “Okay.”

She was about to let the whole thing go and let him off the hook.

But then Bruce had to go and open his mouth.

And when Bruce opened his mouth, he was always his own worst enemy.

“I don't know what you
think
happened in that copy room, Hayley, but you and I both know you're awfully fond of your cocktails too, and maybe you're just remembering what you
want
to remember.”

Hayley stepped back, aghast. “Are you suggesting I'm making this up?”

“No. Maybe I got a little too friendly. It was a party. Everybody was drinking. I'm merely suggesting you may be embellishing the story just a tiny bit given how you feel about me.”

“How I
feel
about you?”

“Come on, Hayley, everybody knows you have a crush on me. Ever since we were in high school.”

“No, Bruce. Nobody knows that, because I
don't
have a crush on you. I have the furthest thing from a crush on you. I have an anti-crush! I am repelled by you. And you do not get to tell me I'm embellishing what happened, because I'm not. I didn't have a drop of punch the other night. I was stone-cold sober. Actually, I wish I had been drinking, so I wouldn't have such a crystal clear memory of your sweaty hands on my ass and your puckered lips attacking my face!”

“Prove it,” Bruce spit out.

“She doesn't have to,” Sal said, storming out of his office. “I can.”

Sal's sudden presence surprised both of them.

Bruce suddenly clammed up as Sal held his iPhone in front of Bruce's face.

There was a video of the party playing on the screen: reporters laughing and conversing; somebody's kid sneaking some spiked punch.

“I thought it might be fun to record some of the party,” Sal said.

The video swung around toward the copy room, where there was a clear view of Bruce pinning Hayley up against the copier.

Bruce's face blanched. It was all there for him to watch in horror:

The video stopped and Sal pocketed the phone. “Satisfied, Bruce?”

Bruce nodded. He glanced furtively to Hayley and then back to Sal. “I'm not feeling very good, Sal. I may be having a relapse.”

He grabbed his stomach as a wave of nausea apparently swept over him.

“Well, you best be getting home then, Bruce,” Sal said flatly.

Bruce, humiliated, turned and hightailed it out the door after grabbing his coat off the rack.

Sal turned to Hayley. “It's okay if you want to make an issue out of this.”

“He was plowed, Sal. It was a Christmas party. These things happen.”

Sal nodded. “Good. Let's get back to work.”

The phone rang as Sal pivoted and returned to his office.

Hayley sat down behind her desk and scooped up the receiver. “
Island Times.
This is Hayley speaking.”

“Hey, sis. You will never guess what Sergio got me for Christmas!”

It was Randy, Hayley's younger brother.

“I hate playing this guessing game with my kids. Just tell me, please,” Hayley said, rubbing her eyes.

“I was snooping around the attic, you know, peeking around to see what I could find—”

“You're worse than Dustin,” Hayley said, laughing.

“Anyway, I stumbled across this giant box wrapped in this fabulous paper with pictures of all these hot, bare-chested muscle dudes wearing Santa hats, and I thought it might be that fifty-two-inch flat-screen TV I've been begging for all year. But when I picked it up, it was really light. I mean, it felt like this huge box was just full of air. Well, needless to say, I was dying of curiosity—”

“Tell me you didn't open it.”

“I did—but very carefully. I mean, peeling that Scotch tape off without tearing the paper was no small feat. It takes years of practice. I felt like I was performing surgery.”

“Randy!”

“I know, I know. It's wrong, and I am going to hell, but I just couldn't help myself. Inside was an envelope. And opening that was even harder than the box. I had to be really careful with the letter opener, but I managed to leave enough of that sticky stuff to seal it up again so he'd never know.”

“I'm at work, Randy. I need you to get to the point before Christmas Eve.”

“Tickets for a gay cruise! Through the Mediterranean next June! Spain, Italy, and France! Can you believe it?”

“Omigod, Randy, that's fantastic!”

“Did you know about this?”

“No. You know Sergio doesn't trust me. I tell you everything. Listen, put everything back the way you found it. Sergio is a cop. He's an expert at examining the evidence. If he suspects you tampered with that gift, he might not give it to you.”

“That's the same threat you use on your kids.”

“Yes, but Sergio's not the pushover I am. He could actually mean it!”

“You're right. I better go. Oh, one more thing. Can I tag along with you and your gal pals tonight for Midnight Madness? I'm closing the bar early and Sergio's hosting an open house at the police station, so I'm on my own.”

“I'm skipping Midnight Madness this year, but I'm sure Mona and Liddy would love having you join them. If I don't get some sleep soon, I'm going to drop dead.”

In hindsight Hayley would soon realize “drop dead” was a severely unfortunate choice of words.