Page 83 of Death of a Grill Master

Lacy nodded and pulled out her phone. “I saved it. I don’t know why, but … something about it gave me the chills.”

She tapped a few times, then handed the phone across the table.

Hayley read: I went swimming during the fireworks last night. The cold water clears my head. I set my phone on the rocks to catch the show—you’ll see the clip. Someone surfaced near Hank’s boat, pulling something from a satchel. What you won’t hear is the shot. It was quick, sharp—not a firework. And in the bursts of light I saw him climbing onto the rocks in a wet suit. I know him. He saw me, too. The way he looked at me … it wasn’t friendly. It felt like a warning. I can’t stop shaking.

The message ended there. No signature. No follow-up.

Hayley stared at the screen, her heart thudding. Tina had recognized someone. Someone she hadn’t expected to see. Someone she feared. And now she was dead.

She passed the phone back slowly. “She didn’t just feel unsettled. She was terrified.”

Lacy nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “And she didn’t tell me who it was. I wrote her back immediately to find out more, but I heard nothing from her after that. And then …” Her eyes welled up with tears. “The worst possible thing happened …”

Hayley reached out and took Lacy’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”

“Excuse me for a moment.” Lacy sniffed, snatching up her napkin to dab at her eyes as she hurried off to the bathroom.

Hayley looked out at the harbor.

Although she still didn’t have the name of this mystery man, one thing was certain.

Whomever Tina saw—it was the same person who had killed Hank Desmond.

And they’d made sure Tina never spoke again.

Chapter 28

Bruce had already left for the Island Times newsroom—he was tracking down a lead on a rash of vandalism at local heritage sites, including someone rearranging lawn flamingos at the Historical Society into anatomically inappropriate positions. That was the kind of story Bruce lived for: a crime with character.

Hayley, however, had more pressing crimes in mind. Her plan was to stop by the Desmond house again—see if Kylie had heard from Zane or if Chase had made any new power moves—but as she turned onto Main Street, something caught her eye.

Kylie’s white Lexus—recognizable by the vanity plate KDESMOND and the glittery decal that read BAR HARBOR BARBIE—was parked crooked in front of Portside Bridal & Formalwear. The boutique wasn’t open for walk-ins until noon, which meant this was a private appointment.

Hayley parked across the street, curiosity piqued. She peeked through the window and saw Kylie inside, standing in front of a three-way mirror in what looked suspiciously like a second-wedding dress. Ivory satin, off the shoulder, tasteful sparkle. Hayley’s stomach turned.

Inside, the boutique was a chilly perfume box of chiffon and tulle. Maureen, the owner—a bustling woman with red glasses on a chain and the vocal discretion of a megaphone—lit up when she saw Hayley.

“Oh, are you here to help the bride choose?” She beamed. “I was just about to bring out the mermaid-cut with the illusion neckline—very popular with younger second wives!”

Kylie’s eyes widened in horror. “Maureen!”

Hayley blinked. “Second wife?”

Kylie, catching her reflection, turned coy. “I’m just … trying things on. Nothing official.”

“Yet,” Maureen chirped, bustling off to fetch another gown. “But she’s glowing like a woman about to lock down her next retirement plan!”

Kylie stepped off the riser, holding up the train of the dress as she moved. “It’s for a charity gala.”

Hayley raised an eyebrow but kept her tone neutral. “In a dress like that?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Kylie said, slipping behind the curtain. “Okay, maybe it is. But Chase and I … it’s been a hard few weeks. He’s been supportive. He’s been there.”

Hayley hesitated, unsure how far to push. She’d questioned Kylie before—twice, in fact—and come away unconvinced she was involved in Hank’s murder.

But still—this?

So soon?