Page 128 of Death of a Grill Master

“Because you haven’t missed a single social gathering in Bar Harbor since the Obama administration. And because I asked around and your name wasn’t on the guest list.”

Liddy shrank a little behind her desk. “Technically … I wasn’t invited.”

Hayley’s eyes narrowed. “Liddy …”

“I crashed it, okay? This was long before Doug and I started seeing each other. Before he knew who I was. I’d seen him around, thought he was cute in that ‘divorced dad who collects barware’ kind of way. I figured if I showed up with a nice bottle of wine and a plunging neckline, no one would kick me out.”

Hayley blinked. “And?”

“And I got trashed. Like, sangria-in-a-sippy-cup trashed.”

“You remember anything useful?”

Liddy rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Let’s see … the shrimp was warm, the punch was flat, and I think someone stole my lipstick. Possibly me. Honestly, it was chaos. As you know, Doug didn’t even remember me being there. We officially met at Betty and Kelton’s wedding reception in your backyard.”

“What else do you remember?”

She closed her eyes and began to reconstruct the night like a psychic channeling foggy spirits.

Hayley kept her voice light. “Did you see Kylie there with Hank?”

Liddy nodded slowly, remembering. “Yeah. They arrived separately, though. I remember Hank showing up late and slapping a lot of backs and introducing himself like nobody knew who he was.”

“And Chase Wingate?”

“Oh, lurking. Definitely lurking. He was pretending to talk to everyone but kept floating near Kylie like a frat boy playing musical chairs. She was trying to keep a safe distance from him whenever Hank was around.”

“Anything else?”

Liddy closed her eyes, thinking hard. “Roger Larkin did karaoke in the living room with an unplugged mic, which was excruciating. Betsy Klein tried to body-block Nancy Everett away from the deviled eggs, which devolved into what I’d call a passive-aggressive standoff over hors d’oeuvres. And Chuck Alley told everyone he was on a juice cleanse but kept sneaking whiskey from the bar area.”

Hayley gave her a look.

Liddy shrugged. “People get weird when there’s free booze and bad cheese. I do remember Kylie brought these amazing maple-glazed tri-tips—people were raving. Said it was Hank’s mother’s recipe.”

Hayley perked up.

“Anyway,” Liddy went on, “she disappeared down the hall at one point. Said she needed the bathroom, but Doug only has one and it’s by the kitchen. I think she was snooping. Or crying. Who knows? I can’t count the number of times I’ve wept at a party.”

Hayley leaned forward. “Do you remember Doug showing off his gun?”

Liddy blinked, then slowly nodded. “Yeah. He opened a safe at one point and did this ‘oh, what’s this?’ routine. Doug was bragging about how manly he was for owning it. I think the exact phrase was ‘burglar deterrent and conversation starter.’ Of course, in my condition, I found it all incredibly sexy.”

“Was Chase hanging around him when he had the gun out?”

Liddy struggled to remember. “Yes, I think so. I remember because he spilled sangria on Doug’s ‘Persian’ rug, which I’m pretty sure is from IKEA. But I’m fuzzy on the details of what happened next.”

Hayley stood. “That’s all I needed. Oh—and thank you for remembering the tri-tips.”

Liddy pointed at her bottle. “This stuff works wonders. Memory, skin, metabolism. Probably makes you less judgmental, too, but I can’t be sure.”

Hayley rang the Desmonds’ doorbell with a mason jar of homemade BBQ sauce in hand and her phone recording in her purse.

Kylie answered the door wearing linen culottes and a gauzy top that smelled faintly of vanilla lotion.

She sighed, deadpanning, “Hayley. What a surprise.”

“I hope I’m not intruding,” Hayley said with a practiced smile. “I’m doing a little tribute piece for my food column—Hank’s favorite BBQ recipes. Liddy mentioned the maple-glazed tri-tips you brought to Doug’s party were his mom’s.”