Page 86 of Death of a Grill Master

“You drove them here?” Maddox turned on him, incredulous. “Earl, you’re supposed to be a law enforcement officer, not the president of the Hayley Powell Fan Club.”

Earl looked like he wanted the gravel to open up and swallow him. “It’s her. You try saying no when she gets that tone.”

“You’re on probation,” Maddox snapped. “One more ride-along stunt like this, and you’ll be directing traffic at the turkey trot.”

Hayley stepped forward. “This wasn’t Earl’s idea. It was mine. Don’t punish him.”

“I told him to keep you out of this,” Maddox shot back. “And instead he plays Uber driver to your felony field trip.”

Hayley held up the pink fin. “Please. Just check the security footage. If I’m wrong, I’ll leave. If I’m right, then Zane’s being framed—and this is the smoking gun.”

Maddox exhaled, nostrils flaring. “Fine. One look. But after that, we’re done.”

Inside the cramped office, the manager cued up the footage. The time stamp blinked: 12:03 a.m., three nights earlier. A tall man wheeled a black suitcase over to Zane’s unit. He moved with practiced ease, kept his head turned, wore a cap pulled low. Opened the lock with a key. Disappeared inside. Reemerged empty-handed.

“Not Zane,” Hayley said. “This guy’s taller. Broader frame.”

Maddox grunted. “Could be anyone.”

Hayley leaned forward. “I told you I saw someone in a wet suit in that sea cave the other day. Broad shoulders, same build. Could be him.”

“Yes, and we searched that cave,” Maddox said. “Found nothing. No dive bag, no gear. Are you sure you didn’t imagine it?”

“I didn’t imagine the man standing ten feet from me,” Hayley snapped. “He moved like this guy. Same size. Same confidence. He wasn’t hiding. He was checking something.”

Mona added, “He’s built like Roger Larkin. Or Chase Wingate. Doug Marsh, maybe.”

Maddox crossed his arms, watching the screen. “None of them have rock-solid alibis.”

“Exactly,” Hayley said. “Any one of them could’ve done this. Any one of them could’ve planted that evidence. You need to stop treating this like it’s random. This was deliberate. Whoever this is—he planted that evidence. To sink Zane.”

Maddox stared at the screen a moment longer, the edges of his jaw tight.

Hayley didn’t say it, but she could tell: She’d finally gotten his attention.

Chapter 29

Hayley stood on the dock pretending to take scenic shots for her next Island Times column—a piece about Maine’s most picturesque clam chowder pairings—but her real focus was the gleaming yacht tied up just ahead.

The Daily Catch.

As if summoned by tension alone, Nancy Larkin appeared on the gangplank, jangling her pearls and waving a tall glass of something icy and orange.

“Well, if it isn’t Bar Harbor’s busiest busybody,” she called cheerfully. “Come aboard, darling. We’re setting sail for the sunset booze cruise.”

Hayley hesitated. Roger followed Nancy onto the deck in mirrored sunglasses and a breezy button-down. He raised his glass. “Plenty of room and plenty of rum.”

“I was just—uh—taking photos.”

“You can photograph your cocktail,” Nancy said, already ushering her aboard. “That counts, doesn’t it?”

Hayley climbed the gangplank, uneasy. The sun was still bright, but shadows had started to stretch across the water. Something about this invitation felt … off.

Forced.

Or rehearsed.

Once onboard, Nancy pressed a glass of bubbly into her hand. “Mimosa? Or do you need something stiffer? We’ve got everything but scruples.”