Page 90 of Death of a Grill Master

Or slipup.

Something that might prove Chase was the man in the wet suit and on the security footage.

Her phone buzzed.

Bruce.

She answered, trying to keep her voice casual. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself. Where are you? You said you had a book group tonight.”

“I do.”

“Uh-huh. Are you there now?”

Hayley hesitated. “Um, yes?”

There was a pause on the other end.

She could never lie to Bruce.

He could always tell.

“Right. I just passed you. You’re parked outside Kylie Desmond’s house, aiming your camera like a PI on a Netflix docuseries.”

Hayley slumped lower. “You’re supposed to be covering copper theft.”

“You’re supposed to be at Caroline Pryor’s house discussing Where the Crawdads Sing.”

She sighed. “Touché.”

Suddenly a sharp knock on the driver’s-side window made her jump.

Chief Caleb Maddox.

Of course.

She rolled it down halfway.

“Evening, Chief.”

“What are you doing, Hayley?”

“Research. For my column.”

He peered into the car. “This part of your culinary tour? Scoping out suspects between appetizers?”

“It’s for a piece called ‘Ten Great Spots to Catch a Killer Between Courses’.”

“Cute.”

He leaned on the door frame. “I’m going to say this once. You’re not subtle. And I know you’re getting information from inside the department.”

Hayley blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t mind you playing detective, Hayley. But when you start quoting things from autopsy reports? That’s not guesswork. That’s a leak. Which makes me wonder who is setting your place at the evidence table.”

She crossed her arms. “Maybe someone is. But it’s definitely not Earl.”