Page 81 of Death of a Grill Master

Hayley frowned. “No names? Not even a favorite student or coworker?”

“Not a one. She kept that part of her life completely walled off. And she rarely visited us in Freeport. I mean, she’d send birthday cards to my kids, but that’s about it. I’d invite her every Thanksgiving, every Christmas, but she rarely ever showed.”

Before Hayley could press further, there was a heavy knock on the screen door. A man stood on the porch in an ill-fitting windbreaker and khakis, holding a clipboard and looking more annoyed than mournful.

“Speak of the devil,” Lacy muttered under her breath.

Hayley opened the door with a half smile. “Terry Osgood. Still squeezing every nickel out of every rental in town?”

Terry Osgood, class of ’93, had once been voted “Most Likely to Charge His Grandma Late Fees.” His sandy hair was thinning, and his forehead was deeply etched from decades of frowning at other people’s belongings.

“Hayley Powell,” he grunted. “Didn’t expect to see you playing moving company.”

“I’m here for moral support,” she said sweetly. “But I see you’re still allergic to compassion.”

He ignored her. “You wrapping this up today?” he asked Lacy.

“I told you I’d be out by this afternoon,” Lacy said calmly. “We’re on track.”

“I’ve got painters scheduled,” Terry replied. “And an eager tenant waiting. Just want to keep things moving.”

Hayley stepped between them. “You ever hear of giving someone five minutes to grieve?”

Terry frowned. “I’m not stopping her. Just checking in.”

“You live across the street, right?” she asked.

Terry squinted at her. “Yeah. Why?”

“I’m just wondering—what kind of relationship did you have with Tina?”

He snorted. “Didn’t really have one. She kept to herself. Always acted like she was above the rest of us.”

Hayley tilted her head. “Above you how?”

“Wouldn’t say hi. Never came to the block cookout. Even ignored the town’s Fourth of July potluck last year—brought out a folding chair and sat in her yard like she couldn’t be bothered. One of those types who thought just ’cause she worked at the college, the rest of us were bumpkins.”

Hayley nodded slowly. “But she paid her rent on time?”

“Every month,” he admitted. “Didn’t make noise, didn’t complain about repairs. But she kept her distance.”

She studied him. “So she never caused you any problems … but she rubbed you the wrong way?”

He crossed his arms. “What are you getting at?”

“I’m just asking questions.”

“Well, maybe ask ’em to someone who knew her better,” he snapped. “I didn’t do anything to her, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Hayley raised a hand. “Relax. I’m not pointing fingers. I just figured since you live nearby, you might’ve noticed something. Visitors. Arguments. Anything strange.”

Terry exhaled, shoulders still tight. “Only strange thing was that guy.”

Hayley’s eyes widened. “What guy?”

“Just a guy. I don’t know, tall, maybe mid-thirties, early forties. Broad shoulders. Came around late one night knocking on her door.”

“When?”