Page 33 of Death of a Grill Master

Hayley exchanged a look with Bruce. “That sounds like Hannah Holloway’s kayak.”

Bruce rubbed his chin. “You think she just took it out to watch the fireworks?”

“Maybe,” Hayley said, already forming her next move. “And maybe she saw something.”

They finished their meal—Bruce humming over his pancakes, Hayley poking thoughtfully at her sandwich. When they rose to leave, Nancy waved them off with a grunt, and Roger handed them each a foil-wrapped slice of coconut cream pie “for the road.”

As they stepped onto the sidewalk, Bruce turned to her.

“You going to talk to Hannah next?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“You’re relentless.”

Hayley adjusted her bag on her shoulder. “You love that about me.”

Bruce smiled. “That—and your terrifying interrogation skills.”

Chapter 12

Hayley wasn’t much of a kayaker, but she was excellent at pretending to be one. Dressed in Bruce’s old windbreaker and a pair of leggings she’d once bought for a “yoga phase” that lasted all of two classes, she marched into Tide and Trail Adventures with faux confidence and a reusable water bottle clipped to her belt loop for extra authenticity.

The shop was small but efficiently arranged, with waterproof maps pinned on corkboards and stacks of glossy brochures promising eco-excursions and “mindful paddling.” A bamboo diffuser in the corner emitted the gentle scent of eucalyptus.

Behind the counter stood Hannah Holloway, dark-blond hair tucked into a braid, wearing a kayak club tank top that revealed deltoids capable of cracking walnuts.

“Let me guess,” Hannah said, not even looking up from the clipboard she was marking. “You’re here to reconnect with nature.”

“Isn’t that what we’re all doing these days?” Hayley replied breezily. “Disconnecting from phones, reconnecting with ponds.”

“Eagle Lake’s not a pond.”

“Close enough.”

Now Hannah did look up. One eyebrow cocked so high it nearly vanished under the brim of her weather-beaten Acadia ball cap.

“You don’t look like a kayaker.”

“Well, I used to be one,” Hayley said, tossing her hair. “Back when I was a teenager. I was practically a pro.”

Hannah leaned against the counter. “And then?”

“Life got in the way.”

“Right. And now you’re here, trying to cram serenity into one afternoon.”

“Exactly,” Hayley said with a nod, ignoring the sarcasm. “While the weather’s still cooperating.”

Hannah narrowed her eyes. “You’re here to ask about the fireworks night.”

Hayley blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I know Zane sent you to the Larkins, who probably told you they saw me out in the harbor that night,” Hannah said. “He called me as soon as you left his shop. Told me I should expect a visit from Bar Harbor’s resident crime-fighting recipe writer or whatever.”

“Island Food and Spirits columnist,” Hayley corrected automatically. “There’s a difference.”

“Right. My bad.”