Page 84 of Death of a Grill Master

Kylie’s voice was muffled as she wriggled out of the dress. “Hank and I—were complicated. You know that, Hayley. We’ve talked about it.”

Hayley nodded slowly. “I’m just surprised how quickly you’re moving on.”

Kylie peeked her head around the curtain. “Grief doesn’t have a schedule. And Chase has been … kind.”

Not a word Hayley would ever use to describe the man.

Maureen returned with a blush-toned gown and began hanging it on the door. “Kind and handsome! And generous. He insisted on the rush order himself!”

Hayley gave her a look.

Maureen smiled, completely unbothered. “This one’s got a bit of sparkle in the train—very flattering for aisle photos.”

Hayley turned back to Kylie. “What about Zane? Have you heard from him since we last spoke?”

Kylie exhaled, leaning on the fitting-room door frame. “No. I told you. Not since he closed up his shop and disappeared. The only person I know who might have seen Zane is Rufus.”

“Rufus?”

“Rufus Bickford. They’ve been inseparable since middle school. Zane’s little sidekick. Rufus is a total burnout, but Zane always looked out for him. Gave him jobs, kept him from completely going off the rails. If anyone knows where Zane might’ve gone, it’s Rufus. Go talk to him.”

“Why didn’t you mention this to me before?”

“You didn’t ask.”

Kylie’s patience with Hayley was at an end.

“Where can I find him?”

“Try the back of a bait shack,” Kylie muttered. “Or anywhere that smells like bong water.”

Rufus Bickford was exactly where Kylie had predicted—behind a bait shack at the edge of the marina, perched like a sunburned gremlin on a plastic bucket and mid-debate with a seagull over a half-eaten Whoopie Pie. He wore mismatched flip-flops, swim trunks with cartoon sharks on them, and a ripped hoodie that read I PAUSED MY GAME TO BE HERE.

Hayley approached cautiously, trying to avoid stepping in fish guts.

“Hey, Rufus?”

He squinted up at her, red-eyed and smiling. “Whoa. You’re the food lady.”

“Among other things. I’m looking for Zane.”

“Me, too, man. We were supposed to meet for a drink at Drinks Like A Fish a few nights back. I even showered for it. He never showed.” He pulled a vape pen from his hoodie and took a long drag that smelled like mango and gasoline.

“Have you heard from him since?”

Rufus shook his head. “Total radio silence. But that’s Zane, you know? He gets into these moods—off-grid, brooding, like Batman but with less money and more unpaid bar tabs.”

Hayley blinked. “Try to focus, please. Did he say where he was going?”

“He mentioned his storage unit. Said it needed purging. He gets sentimental about stuff—dive logs, gear, even his old surfboards. It’s out on Crooked Road, next to that bait distributor with the dead pelican sign.”

Hayley made a note. “Thanks, Rufus.”

“You got it, lady. If you see him, tell him I’ve got his vape charger.”

Mona was up to her elbows in scallops when Hayley burst into the lobster shop. Earl was already there when Hayley arrived—wearing a faded T-shirt with rubber boots and peeling potatoes like he was auditioning for Downeast Downton Abbey. It was his day off, but he’d dropped in to help Mona fill a bulk order for a tourist clambake party—ten pounds of scallops, two dozen live lobsters, and enough mussels to make her swear off seafood for good.

When Hayley launched into her latest theory, Earl’s face did something between a wince and a sigh. “You want to break into a storage unit?”