Page 70 of Death of a Grill Master

Hayley narrowed her eyes, then crossed the street. She was about to knock when the door creaked open and Mrs. Dunphey emerged, one hand adjusting a comically thick pair of glasses that looked like they could pick up satellite signals. The other hand was pressed against the chest of a hyperactive pug, who was barking and snorting like he was on a one-dog mission to protect the homestead.

“Oh, Mona, I thought that was you!” Mrs. Dunphey called out cheerfully, squinting.

“It’s Hayley, Mrs. Dunphey,” Hayley said, offering her most patient smile. “You almost ran me down in the street the other day.”

“I thought that was Mona.”

“No, it was definitely me. Hayley. Hayley Powell.” She took a deep breath. “You’ve known me since I was a little girl.”

“I have? Well, I’ll be dipped in chowder.” She gave the pug a firm heel command. “Martin, hush now, it’s just Mona’s friend.”

“Hayley,” Hayley repeated, enunciating.

“Right, right. Haley Joel Osment. You were great in that ghost movie.” She cackled at her own joke and waved Hayley to a wicker chair on her porch. “Come sit.”

Hayley stepped cautiously past Martin, who immediately latched on to her ankle with his teeth—not biting so much as mouthing, like a baby testing out teething options.

“He’s harmless,” Mrs. Dunphey said, patting the dog’s head. “He just has trust issues. Like his mother.”

“Good to know,” Hayley muttered, carefully prying Martin off with the toe of her shoe. “I assume you saw me peering in the dive shop window across the street looking for Zane?”

“I saw someone milling about, but I couldn’t quite make out who it was. I would have opened the window and waved hello if I knew it was you, Mona.”

“Hayley.”

“Right. Hayley.”

“Do you happen to know when he left today?”

Mrs. Dunphey beamed. “Oh, I don’t see much anymore. My eyes are mostly decorative at this point. Don’t tell the DMV. But I heard him. Loud and clear. Arguing with someone last night.”

Hayley perked up. “Arguing?”

“Ugly tone,” Mrs. Dunphey said, lowering her voice dramatically. “And not from him, either. The other one did all the yelling. Zane was quieter. Defensive.”

“Did you hear what they were saying?”

“Well, I’d already taken my hearing aids out for the night,” she said with a sheepish shrug. “But I caught a few things. Something about ‘ruining everything’ and ‘you’ll regret this.’ Then Martin started howling—he’s very sensitive to tension—and I lost the rest of it.”

Hayley tried not to glance down at the pug, who was now licking her shoelaces with mournful resolve.

“Did you recognize the other voice?”

“Could’ve been Jesus himself for all I know. Like my eyes, my ears are practically ornamental, too.” She leaned closer. “But it didn’t sound like a friend, I’ll tell you that much.”

Hayley nodded, filing it away.

“I hope he’s okay,” Mrs. Dunphey added, almost wistful now. “Zane’s a nice boy. Got a permanent whiff of low tide about him, bless his heart, but he always offers to carry my groceries.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Dunphey. This was helpful.”

“Tell Mona I said hi,” the old woman called as Hayley stepped off the porch. “And that her weight loss has not gone unnoticed.”

Hayley stared at her. “Weight loss?”

“When I saw her the other day crossing the street, it looked as if she’d lost thirty, maybe forty pounds.”

“That was—” Hayley stopped herself. Why keep this conversation going ad nauseam? “I will,” she said. Martin barked twice, as if issuing a formal goodbye.