Page 50 of Death of a Grill Master

Chelsea gave a mock-salute. “Glad I left my date when I did. Could’ve been stuck watching feline yoga demos on his phone until midnight.”

Hayley left through the front, stepping out into a brisk night. Instead of heading home, she walked the three blocks toward the police station, passing shuttered galleries, dim shop windows, and a pair of raccoons fighting over a discarded sandwich wrapper near the recycling bins.

Both Earl’s cruiser and Chief Maddox’s sleek black SUV were parked out front. That wasn’t a good sign.

Inside, Earl was behind the front desk, flipping through papers on a clipboard and humming to himself.

“Be right with—” He looked up and groaned. “Oh, no. Why is it always you?”

“I need to speak with the chief,” Hayley said.

“Nope. No way. He’s not in the mood tonight, and I am not your sacrificial lamb.”

“It’s important. Tina Whitmore—”

“Go home,” Earl hissed, leaning forward. “If he sees you here after hours—”

“Is that Hayley Powell I hear?” came a voice from the hallway.

Earl closed his eyes. “And so it begins.”

Maddox emerged from his office holding a steaming mug of coffee and his usual air of reluctant patience. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I just came from Drinks Like A Fish,” Hayley said. “A group of COA students told me that one of their professors, Tina Whitmore, went for a swim the night of the fireworks and came back rattled. Then she disappeared. She missed a scheduled class at Thunder Hole the next day. They say no one’s seen her since.”

Maddox raised an eyebrow. “We’ve had a missing persons report open on Professor Whitmore since the third,” he said. “But this is the first we’ve heard about her being upset after a swim that night.”

Hayley exhaled. “So you’re investigating?”

Maddox nodded. “We are. But there’s no body. No eyewitnesses. Just a professor who went to collect algae samples and never returned.”

“She saw something,” Hayley said. “Maybe something she wasn’t supposed to see.”

“We’ll follow up with the students,” Maddox said. “Thanks for the tip.”

With that, he disappeared into his office, leaving Hayley standing there.

Earl gave her a long-suffering look. “I’m not going to lecture you about boundaries because Mona has already knighted you as the town’s official amateur sleuth. But if I lose my job because of your Murder, She Wrote routine—”

“I prefer Nancy Drew,” Hayley said sweetly. “Younger and hotter.”

She exited into the crisp night air and followed the slope of Newton Street to the Shore Path. The tide was high, and the rocks glistened under the moonlight as she turned the corner toward Randy and Sergio’s seaside home. The windows glowed from within, casting warm, golden light over the front garden.

Sergio answered the door in an apron streaked with saffron and parsley.

“Querida,” he said warmly, kissing her cheek. “You just missed Randy. He’s out walking the Shore Path, getting his steps in after my paella.”

“I knew I smelled saffron,” Hayley said, stepping inside.

She could see boxes were stacked along the living room walls. Bubble Wrap, packing tape, and a half-filled suitcase littered the floor.

The air had that strange, heavy quiet of a home in transition.

“This isn’t a social call,” she said. “I think something bad has happened. To Tina Whitmore.”

Sergio’s smile faltered. “She’s missing?”

“I think she witnessed something the night Hank Desmond was killed.”