Page 40 of Death of a Grill Master

Hayley nodded. She could already see where this was going.

“Somehow,” Doug said, voice tightening, “Hank ends up entering the contest with my rub. Slaps his name on it, wins a damn award, and does a whole press thing about his signature spice mix. I confronted him; he laughed it off. Called it ‘business.’ Said I should be flattered.”

Liddy made a face.

“I was so demoralized I left the industry. Went into accounting. I was humiliated.”

Hayley winced. “So you’re telling me Hank Desmond stole your recipe?”

“Yes. And the glory. And then parlayed that into his brand, his sauce line, the whole damn empire.”

Hayley leaned back. “That’s quite a motive.”

Doug shrugged. “The man made enemies like he made ribs. Slow and messy.”

Just then, Evan returned with the drinks. His hands were shaking as he set the martini down in front of Doug. A splash sloshed over the rim. Hayley quickly reached over, steadying the glass and setting it safely on the table.

“Thanks, Evan. We’re good for now,” she said softly.

He nodded, beet red, and backed away like he was leaving a crime scene.

Doug took a long sip. “Listen, I know how this looks. I had a reason to hate Hank. I had the means. But I swear, I didn’t do it. I had no idea my gun was even missing. I keep it locked up in a safe at the rental I’m staying in—an Airbnb on Strawberry Hill Road.”

Hayley tilted her head. “So, you didn’t report it stolen?”

Doug shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t even notice it was gone until the police told me they found it on Hank’s boat.”

“Doug,” Liddy said gently, “you need to be honest. If you’re lying now—”

“I’m not,” he said, eyes steady. “I swear.”

Hayley studied him. His posture was open. His expression calm. A little too calm? Maybe. But his story rang with that odd little bell of truth, even if it came with warning chimes.

Doug excused himself to use the restroom, and once he was gone, Hayley leaned in.

“So. Thoughts?”

Liddy stared into her coffee. “Either he’s telling the truth … or I’m about to end up in one of those Netflix documentaries. You know the ones. The Tinder Swindler, The BBQ Grifter …”

Hayley chuckled, but then grew serious. “Do you trust him?”

Liddy didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know. I want to.”

They both watched as Doug crossed the room, waving politely at Betty, who gave him a thumbs-up.

Hayley sighed. “Well, for what it’s worth, I believe he’s not lying. But I also believe there’s a lot more to this story.”

Liddy swirled her bellini, lost in thought. “If someone really did steal his gun and use it to frame him …”

Hayley nodded. “Then we’re dealing with someone smart. And calculating. And close enough to know exactly where that gun was kept.”

As the restaurant buzzed around them—silverware clinking, laughter bubbling from the corner booths, the kitchen doors swinging open and closed like a heartbeat—Hayley felt the familiar itch return.

It was always like this when she was knee-deep in one of her amateur sleuthing adventures. A tingling along the back of her neck, a low hum in her blood. There were more secrets to uncover.

She could feel it.

She always could.