Page 56 of Death of a Grill Master

Bruce stood and extended his hand. “Okay. Discussion over. It’s time for the next phase of date night.”

She let him pull her into the living room, where the fire was already crackling in the fireplace. Leroy padded after them, plopping into his usual spot on the throw rug with a satisfied grunt. Bruce dimmed the lights, and they collapsed onto the couch, the kind of old, overstuffed furniture piece that remembered all their seasons together.

“You cooked,” she whispered, pulling Bruce close. “Now I clean.”

“Not tonight.” He kissed her neck. “Tonight, you just … relax.”

They kissed slowly, melting into each other. Hayley closed her eyes, letting go of everything but the warmth of Bruce’s hands, the soft jazz playing in the background, and the rhythmic crackle of the fire. The world narrowed to that moment.

Until the police scanner on top of the fridge jolted them back into reality.

“All units respond—Otter Cliffs. Female, partially submerged. Possible drowning victim. DOA. Repeat, female, wet suit—”

Hayley sat up, heart pounding. “Oh, no.”

Bruce was already grabbing his coat. “Let’s go.”

Hayley turned to Leroy, who barked at the rising tension. “Stay. Good boy. We’ll be back soon.”

She scooped him up and set him gently in his favorite doggie bed, giving him a treat and a scratch behind the ears. He whined but settled.

The drive to Otter Cliffs was a blur of winding roads, sea mist, and sirens growing louder with every turn. When they arrived, the cliffs were illuminated by a staccato of red and blue lights. Park rangers and first responders buzzed around the scene like a swarm of hornets. Yellow tape fluttered at the perimeter, barely holding back the chaos.

Hayley jumped out before Bruce had even parked. She rushed toward the commotion, but Chief Caleb Maddox intercepted her.

“No.”

“Caleb, I’m press—”

“You’re a food and cocktail columnist.”

“With a long history of investigating crimes in this town!”

“I’m not playing this game with you tonight.”

Bruce jogged up behind them, flashing his press badge. “Bruce Linney, Island Times.”

Maddox exhaled sharply. “Fine. You can cross.”

Hayley gaped. “Oh, come on!”

“He’s the crime reporter,” Maddox said, lifting the tape. “You are not.”

Bruce gave her a sympathetic look and ducked underneath.

Hayley clenched her fists. “Sexist p—”

Maddox arched an eyebrow. “I’d be real careful about what word you say next.”

Hayley mimed zipping her lips shut.

Earl appeared beside her, exhaustion evident in every line of his face. “Don’t do it.”

“Do what?”

“Whatever plan you’re forming. Stop it. Maddox will fire me, and Mona will dump me.”

Hayley sighed and stepped back.