Page 45 of Death of a Grill Master

“No,” she said. “But I am persistent. I just find it odd that you failed to write down any names like all the other entries.”

“It was a busy day, what can I say?”

His eyes flicked to a framed photo on the wall. Hayley followed his gaze—Zane and Kylie in wet suits, arms slung around each other, all sun-kissed smiles and summer flirtation.

“Happier times, I imagine,” she said lightly.

“That was ancient history,” Zane muttered. “She moved on. I moved down.”

“Into her favorite hangout, stared at her for a summer, and tried to sell her new husband smoked haddock barbecue sauce?”

Zane didn’t laugh. He opened a drawer and pulled out a waiver form, setting it on the counter in front of her. “You want to dive or not?”

Hayley glanced at the paper. “What’s included in the beginner’s lesson?”

“Intro pool session, then a shallow dive in the cove. Some practice with your regulator. You’ll love it.”

She hesitated, then slowly reached for a pen. “Let’s do it.”

The pool behind the dive shop was surprisingly well-maintained, a rectangular stretch of turquoise bordered by cracked concrete and plastic patio chairs. Zane walked her through the basics—how to clear her mask, purge her regulator, signal when something was wrong.

Hayley bobbed in the water, bubbles rising around her as she practiced breathing slowly through the regulator. She wasn’t a natural, but she got the hang of it, and Zane said she passed the beginner’s test with “barely enough grace to keep a flounder afloat.”

By late afternoon, they loaded the gear into Zane’s beat-up Jeep and drove out to a secluded cove near Schooner Head. The trail down to the water was narrow and steep, flanked by scrub pine and wild rosebushes. Hayley carried her wet suit in one hand, mask and fins in the other. Zane had the tanks and gear loaded in a duffel.

“You’re lucky,” he said as they descended. “It’s calm today. Visibility should be excellent.”

“Great,” Hayley said, trying to sound more enthusiastic than she felt. “What are the chances I run into a jellyfish the size of my torso?”

“Zero,” he said. “But if one shows up, I’ll be sure to push you toward it.”

“Thanks!”

Zane winked at her. “Kidding. You’ll be fine.”

They suited up on a flat stretch of rock overlooking the cove. Zane helped secure her tank and adjusted the straps on her buoyancy vest.

“Regulator’s here,” he said, pointing. “Purge valve, alternate air source, pressure gauge. You’re good to go.”

Hayley took a deep breath. “And we’re staying shallow?”

“Fifteen feet, tops. I’ll be right beside you.”

The water was cold but breathtaking. Once submerged, the world above vanished—replaced by a dreamscape of shifting blues and greens. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the surface, illuminating schools of tiny fish darting like silver confetti. Seaweed swayed like underwater dancers. A crab scuttled across a rocky ledge. For a moment, Hayley was enthralled.

She forgot everything—Hank Desmond, Kylie, even the air tank strapped to her back.

Then came the sputter.

Her regulator choked. Her lungs met resistance.

She tried again—nothing.

Panic surged.

She tapped the pressure gauge. It was flatlined.

Impossible.