Page 121 of Death of a Grill Master

Chapter 38

It was a clear, bright late-September afternoon—crisp but calm. The College of the Atlantic had chosen the perfect spot for Tina Whitmore’s memorial. The folding chairs formed gentle arcs on a grassy bluff overlooking the bay, with the afternoon sun glinting off the water like scattered coins. Beyond the driftwood arch stood the ocean—vast, silent, eternal. It was the place Tina had loved best, and the one that had taken her.

Hayley stood in the back row, one of Liddy’s shawls wrapped around her shoulders, borrowed last-minute because Hayley claimed she didn’t have anything “respectful” that wasn’t covered in flour or lemon zest. Beside her, Bruce stood with his hands in his coat pockets, eyes fixed on the horizon.

Students filed in quietly, many wearing sea greens and soft blues. Professors arrived in somber clumps, some in academic robes, others in Bar Harbor–appropriate fleece and jeans. Townspeople showed up, too—people who’d seen her organizing beach cleanups or teaching kids about tide pool life, others who knew Tina through volunteer work or marine conservation talks at the public library.

The service was simple and sincere. A professor from the marine biology department spoke first, describing Tina’s fierce intellect and unfailing kindness. A few students shared memories—a funny one about Tina diving into the harbor to untangle a lobster trapline from a motorboat, another about her correcting a guest speaker’s misstatement about cephalopods with both tact and glee.

Then came a haunting string quartet performance of “The Water Is Wide,” and when the last note faded into the wind, no one spoke for several minutes. The surf said enough.

Hayley didn’t cry, but her throat ached with the effort of holding everything back—the guilt, the relief, the rage, the sense of something unfinished.

When the service ended, the crowd began to disperse.

Hayley and Bruce lingered.

“Look, it’s the Baked Goods Bloodhound!” someone shouted.

Hayley turned to find three familiar faces from her recent cooking class: Sage with her usual sardonic look, Whisk Taker Guy now in a sports coat and fish-printed tie, and the earnest student who’d lobbied for Natasha Lyonne to play Hayley in the inevitable streaming series.

“You’re kind of a campus legend now,” Sage said. “You should teach a class in crime-solving with leftover kitchen tools.”

“I hear the whale swing is now part of COA folklore,” said the guy in the tie.

“I’m just glad it wasn’t bolted down,” Hayley said, managing a smile.

“So, what’s next?” the Poker Face fan asked. “Cold case? Political scandal? Missing mascot?”

“I think my sleuthing days are officially behind me,” Hayley replied.

None of them believed her.

She could tell.

“Sure. And I’m switching to a business major.”

They moved on, calling her Professor Powell as they went.

Bruce, still standing beside her, arched an eyebrow. “‘Professor’?”

“I’ll explain later,” Hayley muttered.

They moved to the far edge of the bluff, where the crowd was thinner and the air quieter.

“You still mad at me?” she asked.

Bruce looked out at the waves. “No. I’m just … relieved. And a little shaken. This time was different, Hayley. You almost didn’t come back.”

Hayley nodded. “I know. I didn’t plan for it to get that close.”

“You were nearly drowned. Then nearly stabbed. You really want to make that a habit?”

She gave a small laugh. “You’re right. I promise to stick to food and drink from now on. And maybe some light gossip.” She reached for his hand. “I’ll rein it in. I promise.”

Bruce didn’t speak, but he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

That was something.