Page 105 of Death of a Grill Master

“We need Maddox to request a hair sample from Peter Baird so the lab can test it and see if it’s a match.”

“Baird’s not even on his radar at this point for the Hank Desmond murder.”

“Then I need to get him pointed in that direction.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

Hayley looked at the forensics report again, fingers resting on the page. “The cave wasn’t empty. Not completely. They missed something once. What else did they miss?”

“You’re not seriously thinking of going back out there—”

“I have to,” she said. “There could be something else. Something bigger. Something that proves irrefutably it was Peter Baird who wore that wet suit. And why.”

Earl muttered, “You know what else you need? Supervision.”

“Too late for that.”

She patted his shoulder, tucked the folder under her arm, and turned toward the parking lot.

Earl called after her. “Just don’t die. It’d be hard to explain to Maddox!”

Hayley glanced back with a grin. “Then don’t wear the hat.”

And with that, she strode off, her mind already back in the cave, retracing every step, every missed shadow—hoping the next one would finally give her the truth.

Chapter 34

Bruce stood barefoot in the kitchen, sipping coffee and scribbling in a reporter’s notebook with the manic focus of someone determined to finish a deadline piece before breakfast. Leroy, bored with the lack of attention, had decided to root through the recycling bin and was now parading a crushed Diet Dr Pepper can around the living room like it was a trophy from the Westminster Kennel Club.

Hayley tightened the strap on her shoulder bag and called out, “If I don’t make it back, tell the world I died heroically. Possibly surrounded by seaweed.”

Bruce didn’t look up. “Noted. Just be sure to return the new kayak. I have plans for Eagle Lake tomorrow.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “Unlike the last one, you’ll have it back in one piece. Can’t promise the same for myself.”

He glanced at her then, eyeing her sneakers and windbreaker. “You’re really going back to that cave?”

“I need to see it again. Earl says the hair the forensics guy found didn’t come from the first sweep—it showed up later, tucked behind some coral shelf in the back.”

Bruce finally set the notebook down. “You sure about doing this alone?”

“No, actually I’m not. I’m bringing backup. Hannah Holloway.”

He blinked. “Hannah Holloway? The one who still resents you for not writing about her eco-tour business in your ‘Hidden Gems of Bar Harbor’ column?”

“Yes, she didn’t buy my explanation that I only write about food and cocktails,” Hayley said, grabbing Leroy’s leash and tethering him to the banister. “I’m banking on the fact that she’s got a thing for Zane. I saw them last summer—kayaking around Bar Island at sunset, laughing like a pair of teenagers on a first date. She claims they’re just dive buddies, but I’ve seen less chemistry in a bottle of seltzer. I’m hoping her crush outweighs her mild hatred of me.”

Bruce smirked. “You’re a master manipulator.”

“Flattery will get you dessert when I test recipes tomorrow.” She opened the door, then paused. “If I’m not back by dinner, investigate my murder. And when Netflix calls, make sure they cast someone at least ten pounds lighter to play me.”

Bruce gave her a deadpan look. “You know I’m going to be the first person they arrest, right?”

Hannah Holloway was tightening a life vest on a mannequin near the front window of her kayak shop, earbuds in, bobbing her head faintly to music Hayley could only assume was something instrumental and vaguely Scandinavian.

When Hayley walked in, she didn’t look thrilled.

“Oh,” Hannah said flatly. “It’s you.”