Page 28 of Death of a Grill Master

Hayley shrugged. “Not yet. Just instincts.”

He smirked. “You and your instincts.”

“They’re usually right.”

He leaned back with a sigh. “Don’t let the new chief hear you say that.”

“I’m not planning on telling that man anything,” Hayley muttered. “Not until I can prove him wrong.”

Earl pushed his empty plate away. “You know this is exactly the kind of thing he warned you about.”

“Too bad,” Hayley said brightly, reaching for her own fork. “Because it’s exactly the kind of thing I do best.”

Chapter 10

Hayley pulled into the cracked-shell driveway in front of the Desmond house and killed the engine. The house sat back from the road, neat behind a row of clipped hedges and a broad, well-kept lawn. Hank Desmond had been the big man in Bar Harbor—his restaurant packed year-round, his barbecue sauce lining grocery store shelves across the state. The place wasn’t ostentatious, but it had that polished, new-money shine, the kind that said success without needing to shout.

Hayley climbed the front steps and was just about to knock when she heard faint movement inside—quick footsteps, a thump of something being set down. The kind of scramble you made when you weren’t expecting company. She knocked twice and waited.

The door creaked open slowly.

Kylie Desmond stood barefoot in the doorway in a loose gray cardigan and faded yoga pants. Her hair was pulled into a haphazard ponytail, and her eyes were puffy, rimmed red, but dry.

“Oh,” Kylie said, blinking. “Hi, Hayley.”

Hayley offered a soft smile. “Hi. Thought I’d check in on you.”

Kylie nodded and opened the door wider. “Come in.”

The living room was dim, all the blinds drawn. The only light came from a single lamp in the corner and the flickering screen of a muted TV playing a true crime docuseries. A half-empty mug of coffee sat on the edge of the coffee table, beside a box of tissues and a TV remote.

“Sorry about the mess,” Kylie mumbled, gathering a blanket off the couch. “I haven’t really been … motivated.”

“No need to explain,” Hayley said, perching on the armchair across from her. “You’ve been through a lot.”

Kylie dropped onto the couch and wrapped her arms around a throw pillow, clutching it like a life preserver. “I can’t stop seeing it. His body in the water. Just … floating. That apron …”

Hayley didn’t say anything, just let the silence settle around them. She wasn’t acting at all how Earl had described her cool, detached demeanor down at the station.

“One minute he’s on deck, grilling pork butt, joking around, passing out beers … the next, he’s gone.” Kylie shook her head. “How does that happen?”

Hayley studied her. The red eyes were there, yes. But the voice was steady. The posture calculated. Her performance had a polish to it—less like a grieving widow, more like a woman who’d watched enough Dateline to know the part she needed to play.

“Have you been able to sleep?” Hayley asked gently.

Kylie shrugged. “Not really. Mostly I just stare at the ceiling all night and guzzle coffee all day.” She gave a brittle laugh and sipped from her mug. “Cold again. I never seem to finish a cup lately.”

Hayley let a few beats pass. “Do you want to go over what happened again? I know you told the police, but sometimes saying it out loud helps.”

Kylie gave her a look. “You mean for your husband’s column?”

“I mean for you,” Hayley said. “I may not write the crime stuff, but I do like to get to the bottom of things.”

She hesitated, then looked down into her mug. “We’d been drinking. Well, Hank had been drinking more. We grilled all afternoon. The ribs were practically falling off the bone. He was in a good mood. Loud. Happy. He was talking about that big distributor deal for the sauce. Huge potential. Big money, big future.” She swallowed hard. “Then, later that night, right before the fireworks started … he went below to get more beer, and when he came back up … everything suddenly changed. He said someone had sent photos of me and Chase to his office.”

Hayley waited. “And he confronted you?”

“Yes, it was like he had been setting us up all day. Waiting for the right moment to attack. He exploded. Screaming. Called me a slut. Said he was going to bury me and Chase, ruin us both. He said Chase would lose everything and I’d be out on the street.” She shook her head. “But he didn’t mean it. He was just blowing off steam. That was Hank. Big threats. Bigger bark than bite.”