Page 129 of Death of a Grill Master

Kylie blinked, flattered and hesitant. “Oh … yes. They were her specialty.”

“Mind if I ask a few questions? You could be the emotional heart of the article.”

Kylie opened the door wider. “Uh, sure. Come in.”

Kylie led her to the kitchen, where Hayley sat with her notebook out, doing a convincing impression of a food writer not on the scent of a criminal conspiracy.

She asked about the tri-tips, Hank’s preferences—did he like spicy? Smoky? Kylie warmed to the topic, reminiscing about backyard cookouts and Fourth of July sauces that burned your eyebrows off.

Then Hayley pivoted.

“Doug’s cocktail party—you mentioned before that Doug showed off his gun. Just so I’m clear, who was right there when he opened the safe?”

Kylie’s expression hardened. “We’ve been over this. Chase was nearby. So was I. And Peter Baird. And now that everyone in town knows Peter pulled the trigger, why are you still circling me?”

Hayley held her gaze. “Because confirmation matters. And because someone had to see that safe combination before the gun disappeared.”

Kylie let out an exasperated breath. “Well, it wasn’t me. If you’re still chasing ghosts after Baird’s confession, that’s your problem.”

Hayley stayed quiet, letting the irritation hang in the air until a new voice broke in—

“What’s going on?”

Chase.

He appeared in the doorway, rumpled and pale. His eyes darted to Hayley, then to Kylie. “What is this?”

“Just a quick interview for the Island Times,” Hayley said smoothly. “Reminiscing about Hank.”

Chase’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe now’s not a good time.”

Hayley stood, gathering her things. “Understood. I’ll get out of your hair.”

She made it to the foyer before turning back.

“You know,” she said lightly, “it’s funny how things work out. Someone takes Doug’s gun. Someone brings it aboard the boat the night of the fireworks. Maybe they meant to scare Hank. Or worse. But maybe they lost their nerve. But then someone else got there first.”

Kylie’s lip trembled.

Chase went stone-still.

“Maybe someone panicked. Maybe someone passed out drunk. Maybe someone else swam up in a wet suit with murder on his mind.”

Kylie opened her mouth—but no sound came out.

“And maybe,” Hayley added softly, “if things had gone according to plan, Peter Baird wouldn’t have beaten you to it.”

The room was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

Hayley let it hang a moment longer.

“The prints were interesting,” she said. “Doug’s were on the gun. Of course—he owned it. But the bullets? Only Chase’s prints were there. Not Peter’s. Not yours. Everyone at the party knew Chase had handled the bullets, so that would explain why your prints were on them, right, Chase?”

He nodded warily.

Hayley tilted her head, eyes fixed on Kylie. “So if someone else on that boat handled the gun or the bullets, where were their prints? It was a chilly night. Gloves would explain a lot. Especially if someone only fired once.”

Kylie’s lips parted, then closed again. She drew a shaky breath, her gaze darting toward Chase, then back to Hayley. “You’re twisting things,” she said weakly. “You don’t know what happened that night.”