Page 112 of Death of a Grill Master

“Was he there most of the night?”

Kylie nodded. “Yes. I mean, he did disappear for twenty minutes. Maybe more.”

“You remember that specifically?”

“Uh-huh. I remember spilling red wine on Doug’s rug. I looked around for club soda—Peter’s usually the one who hovers and insists red wine binds to fabric the way barnacles cling to a hull. But he was just … gone.”

“And the gun?” Hayley asked.

Kylie’s brow creased. “What gun?”

“Doug’s missing handgun. He kept it in a safe at the rental, right?”

Kylie shifted in her seat. “Yes. He hauled it out once—at that party. Wanted to show it off. Like some kind of cowboy.”

“Who handled it?” Hayley pressed.

“Chase did. A couple of Doug’s friends, too. He even passed the bullets around like they were party favors.”

“And who was standing there when he opened the safe?”

Kylie hesitated. “I was. Chase. Some others. And Peter Baird.” She gave a sharp exhale. “Doug didn’t exactly shield the combination. Stood there spinning the dial in plain sight. Anyone watching closely could’ve caught it.”

Hayley’s eyes narrowed. “So whoever went back later didn’t stumble onto that gun. They knew exactly where it was—and exactly how to get it. Which means Peter Baird walked out of that party with more than free cocktails.”

Kylie flinched at the precision of the accusation but didn’t argue.

From somewhere upstairs came the unmistakable sound of furniture being dragged across a hardwood floor. Then a thud.

Kylie rolled her eyes. “Chase is reorganizing the guest closet. He thinks we need more space for his golf clubs. Because he’s the one living out of a suitcase, apparently.”

Hayley didn’t comment.

The only thing louder than Chase upstairs was the awkward silence hanging between them. She watched as Kylie topped off her drink from a crystal pitcher and added a sprig of rosemary.

“So. Does that help?”

“It does,” Hayley said carefully, her mind already racing ahead.

She rose. “Thanks for making things clear.”

Kylie gave her a polite, practiced smile. “Anytime.” Then thought better of it. “Scratch that. You dropping by with more questions every other day is starting to feel like a bad habit.”

As Hayley crossed back through the immaculate rooms, another muffled thud upstairs suggested Chase was still lurking in the background. She didn’t slow.

Outside, she pulled the door shut behind her and drew in a steadying breath. Kylie hadn’t told her anything she didn’t already suspect—but she had confirmed it.

Peter Baird.

If the gray hair from the wet suit matched his, Hayley had him dead to rights. He’d taken the gun. He’d shot Hank. He’d silenced Tina. And now she was going to prove it.

Later that evening, Hayley stood at the stove, warming up the leftovers from her COA cooking demo while Leroy circled her feet like a shaggy, persistent shark.

Bruce sat at the kitchen table, scrolling on his laptop with one hand and sipping a bourbon with the other. His reading glasses were perched low on his nose, and he hadn’t said more than five words since she walked in the door.

She plated the food, refilled his glass without asking, and sat across from him with a sigh. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Just listening.”