Page 49 of Death of a Grill Master

She nodded in agreement. “And I don’t think they’re done yet.”

Chapter 18

The post–Labor Day lull had officially descended on Bar Harbor, casting a sleepy hush over the town’s usual bustle. At Drinks Like A Fish, the only customers were a cluster of animated College of the Atlantic students playing darts. They were all fleeces and messy buns, with that particular brand of theatrical energy Hayley associated with theater majors or over-caffeinated podcasters. From her spot behind the bar, filling in while Chelsea was out, Hayley could hear snippets of their conversation: ocean currents, ecosystem shifts, something about algae—and a woman named Tina Whitmore.

Hayley poured herself a ginger beer and leaned against the bar, pretending to study the cocktail specials. The kids were loud enough to eavesdrop on without being too obvious.

“She was definitely off after that swim,” one girl with purple streaks in her hair was saying. “I asked how it went, and she just kind of stared through me. Like she’d seen something.”

“Came back dripping wet, pale as a ghost,” a guy with a backward baseball cap added. “Didn’t even towel off—just grabbed her stuff and left.”

“She was supposed to take us out to Thunder Hole the next morning, remember?” another chimed in. “Never showed.”

“Did you report this?” Hayley asked gently, moving closer with a practiced, disarming smile.

They looked up in surprise. One girl blinked. “Do you work here?”

“Just filling in,” Hayley said. “I write the Island Food and Spirits column for the Island Times.”

“Oh,” the guy in the cap said slowly. “Isn’t that a cooking column?”

Hayley nodded. “Technically. But I also occasionally investigate crimes.”

This time, there were full-on blank stares.

“You probably haven’t heard of me,” Hayley said with a grin. “That’s fine. My glory days peaked with the lobsterman who tried to fake his own death using a mannequin in foul-weather gear. The Coast Guard’s still laughing.”

A tentative laugh from one of the girls.

“I’m Hayley Powell,” she said. “And what you were just talking about? This missing Tina woman? It could be really important.”

A girl with a septum ring hesitated. “Tina Whitmore. One of our professors. We told the dean. She said it was being handled.”

“Is it?” Hayley asked, her tone soft but serious.

They exchanged uneasy glances.

“Professor Whitmore never showed up for her field class,” the boy said. “She was supposed to take us to Thunder Hole to collect algae samples and track ecosystem changes. Nobody’s seen her since.”

Before Hayley could ask more, the back door swung open with a bang, and Chelsea marched in, muttering under her breath and looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“You’re back early,” Hayley said, stepping behind the bar.

“Don’t ask.” Chelsea groaned. “He spent the first twenty minutes explaining how he was building a wellness app for cats. I asked what it did, and he said, ‘Meditation meows and purring loops.’” She plopped her purse on the counter. “I think I’m officially done dating.”

“Been there,” Hayley said.

Chelsea noticed Hayley’s expression. “What’s wrong?”

“I think a professor from the college, Tina Whitmore, is missing.”

Chelsea blinked. “Tina? Oh, wow. She hasn’t been in lately, but she used to stop by on Fridays for a sauv blanc and kale chips. Always wore those sea-glass earrings. What happened?”

Hayley lowered her voice. “She went for a swim the night of the fireworks. Came back rattled. Then she didn’t show up for her algae class. The kids over there say no one’s seen her since.”

Chelsea looked past Hayley toward the students. “That’s awful. I just thought she was busy doing professor things. You know, tide pools and ocean lectures.”

“I’ve got to follow up on this,” Hayley said, wiping her hands. “You’re back in charge.”