by Lee Hollis
Hayley gasped.
There was no question who it was, judging by the inconsolable behavior of Pork Chop, who continued wailing and snorting.
This was bacon heiress Olivia Redmond.
And she was very much dead.
Island Food & Spirits by Hayley Powell
My grandmother used to make my brother and me the most delicious Bacon Strip Pancakes when we were kids. I carried on this tradition, whipping them up for my own kids as soon as they could eat solid food.
Because, after all, who wouldn’t love a crispy strip of bacon covered with a little pancake batter, then grilled to perfection before being dipped in a bowl of warmed real maple syrup?
Am I right, people?
One time I tried to impress the Ladies Auxiliary by serving them at their 2010 Mount Desert Island Hospital breakfast benefit, but things didn’t exactly go according to plan. I cringe at the memory.
I was home relaxing one evening after work with a nerve-calming orange-juice-cranberry vodka cocktail when my phone rang. It was the Ladies Auxiliary president, Mrs. Cunningham, calling to ask if I would be so kind to contribute a dish to their fund-raiser breakfast the following Saturday. Of course I was flattered and immediately accepted, and perhaps fueled by the strong cocktail in my hand, heard myself volunteering to make my grandmother’s Bacon Strip Pancakes for everyone who attended if I could have access to the hospital’s kitchen. Mrs. Cunningham was thrilled. She offered to provide all the bacon, which was a relief since the price of bacon had recently spiked at the Shop ’n Save.
Ever the organized chef, I prepared my batter the night before and poured it into a large container. With a black marker I wrote my name on the side and also labeled it “pancake batter” and then drove it over to the hospital kitchen where I placed it in the fridge overnight. I would return in the morning at 6:00 AM to get a head start frying the bacon before the breakfast at 8:00 AM.
The perfect plan. If I had remembered to set my alarm clock when I went to bed that night. By the time I opened one eye to see the clock, it was already past 7:00 AM! I jumped out of bed and ran around the bedroom, grabbing clothes, slapping on makeup, tying my hair in a ponytail, grabbing my keys, and hightailing it to the car.
I arrived at the hospital in record time, squealing into a free parking space, berating myself for nearly blowing my first chance to participate in one of the town’s favorite hospital fund-raisers. Racing into the kitchen out of breath, I did a quick survey. Pounds and pounds of bacon were already sizzling on the giant flattop grill manned by a few of the auxiliary women volunteers. A big sigh of relief! After a quick apology, I hurried to the refrigerator, proud of myself for having the foresight to prepare the pancake batter ahead of time. But then I swung open the refrigerator door and just stared at the empty shelf. The batter wasn’t there. I spun around and spotted the marked container sitting on the counter. Another sigh of relief! But when I scurried over to pick it up, I realized the container was empty!
At that moment, Rosie, the weekend breakfast cook, sailed through the door into the kitchen.
“Rosie!” I shrieked, probably a tad too loud as the poor woman nearly jumped out of her skin. I asked about the pancake batter, and with a big grin, Rosie thanked me profusely. She saw my name marked on the side of the container, so she knew who was responsible for dropping off such a delicious treat for the children in the sick ward, at least those who didn’t have special dietary needs. The kids loved them and she made sure they all knew I was the one who had so generously donated the batter.
My heart sank. I covered, of course, by plastering a big smile on my face and telling Rosie it was my pleasure. Anything to brighten the day of those sick kids!
Well, I may have been Saint Hayley in the eyes of Rosie and the kids, but that certainly wasn’t going to help me with the Ladies Auxiliary. I asked the volunteers to start loading the cooked bacon in the waiting chaffing dishes as I ran to the pantry and scanned the shelves. And then I saw my salvation! A whole shelf completely stocked with those little boxes of prepackaged breakfast cereals! I snatched as many as I could and dumped them into a wheeling cart, and then burst through the swinging doors, pushing the cart, and started hurling the boxes of cereal in the air to the startled people who were trying to catch them. It was as if I was on a Fourth of July parade float in the middle of summer tossing candy to the kids!
But in the end, it all worked out, and thankfully no one asked for their money back. And the bacon, by the way, was delicious!
Here’s the good news! I was asked to help out at the 2011 benefit breakfast, but I was only allowed to serve the juice and coffee. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that eventually I may be able to work my way back up to actually serving a dish one day! Never stop dreaming!
Before sharing my grandmother’s Bacon Strip Pancakes recipe, let’s enjoy a wonderful cocktail recipe I used to have all the time when I was a young single gal! Yes, the same one who got me into that whole mess!
Madras Cocktail
Ingredients
1½ ounces of your favorite vodka
3 ounces of cranberry juice
1 ounce orange juice
In a cocktail glass filled with ice, add the vodka and cranberry juice. Top off with the orange juice and stir. Then just sit back and remember the good old days!
My Grandmother’s Bacon Strip Pancakes
Ingredients
12 slices of your favorite bacon cooked crisp on a medium-high heat electric griddle.
Easy Homemade Pancake Batter
1 egg
1¼ cup buttermilk (I almost never have buttermilk, so just add one tablespoon of vinegar to the 1¼ cup milk, stir, and let stand five minutes before using in recipe.)
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda
½ teaspoon salt
In a mixing bowl add the egg and beat with a fork. Mix in the buttermilk and vegetable oil. Set aside.
In a large mixing bowl add the flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, salt and mix together.
Add the egg mixture to the flour mixture and mix until just blended together.
When you make your batter use a little less water or milk than you usually do to make a thicker batter; this will prevent the batter from running all over the place.
After bacon is cooked, remove from griddle and wipe the grease from the griddle. Return half the bacon back to the griddle and place it about two inches apart, then carefully pour batter over each slice of bacon. Once browned, carefully flip the pancake over and brown the other side. Serve with butter and warmed maple syrup.
You’re welcome.
Chapter 11
“Olivia Redmond didn’t have a heart attack from eating greasy bacon all her life,” Sergio said as he walked through Hayley’s back door into the kitchen. She and Randy were sitting in her high back chairs next to the counter sipping Mexican Martinis. “She died from a broken neck.”
Hayley slammed down her cocktail glass. “Somebody killed her?”
“Snapped it like a tooth,” Sergio said, closing the door behind him as he eyed the scrumptious looking cocktails that were now half gone.
“Twig, honey. Snapped her neck like a twig,” Randy said, jumping down off the chair and reaching for the bottle of vodka. “Here, let me make you a martini.”
“Thank you. It’s been a long day.”
Poor Sergio had just spent the last six hours securing the crime scene and launching his investigation into Olivia’s untimely death.
It was already half past midnight.
After being questioned at the scene, Hayley had been allowed to drive back to Bar Harbor. She had called her brother on her cell to meet her at the house because she did not want to be alone at this time, and she knew with Sergio busy at the scene and his bar manager, Michelle, handling business at Drinks Like A Fish, Randy would otherwis
e be at his house all by himself.
Randy rushed right over to find Hayley in a shell-shocked state. Her hands shook as she tried to make them a drink, so Randy gently directed her to a chair and took over. They had been downing Hayley’s Mexican Martinis since nine-thirty and had no intention of stopping. Still, though loopy with a slight slur in her voice, she was very alert because she was still haunted by the image in her head of Olivia sprawled out dead in her own garden.
They had been waiting for Sergio to swing by when he was done and pick his husband up to take him home.
“Who would do such a thing?” Hayley wondered as she finished off the last of her martini just as Randy handed Sergio a full one and scooped up Hayley’s empty glass to make her another.
“I’m sure there is no shortage of suspects,” Randy said, measuring out vodka in a shot glass before giving up and just pouring directly from the bottle. “Olivia Redmond had a lot of money. And people with a lot of money usually have a lot of enemies. That’s how they got so rich.”
“We’re looking into everybody who knew her. Her business associates, her family and friends, the people who worked for her at the estate. It’s a long list,” Sergio said, yawning.
After one last round so Sergio didn’t have to drink alone, Hayley didn’t have to hint that she was tired and wanted to go to bed because she was literally nodding off at the kitchen table, exhausted from the traumatic events of the day.
Randy and Sergio polished off their drinks and each gave her a kiss good night before heading out the door. On his way out, Sergio promised to call and keep her informed with any new developments in the case.
Having a brother-in-law as chief of police certainly had its privileges.
She dragged herself upstairs to her bedroom where she found Leroy curled up and nestled into a pillow by the headboard. As she began to undress, she suddenly heard the doorbell ring downstairs.
She checked the clock on her nightstand.
It was 1:16 AM.
Who would show up on her doorstep at this hour?
She threw on some gray sweatpants and a ratty old T-shirt and padded down the stairs in her bare feet, flipping on a light switch that illuminated the foyer. She paused at the door, unsure if she should open it. Sergio had just told her Olivia Redmond was murdered, so she was understandably jumpy and on edge.
“Who is it?” Hayley called out, loud enough to stir Blueberry, who was stretched out on a recliner in the living room. He gave Hayley a sleepy, annoyed look before closing his eyes again and resting his chin on his paw.
Leroy was still snoozing soundly upstairs.
So much for having a guard dog.
She heard someone talking but couldn’t make out the words.
It sounded like a woman’s voice.
Finally, she unlatched the lock and opened the door a crack.
Standing on the porch was a wide-eyed, rather rotund woman no more than five feet tall with dull gray frizzy hair. She wore a Japanese print kimono and sandals that barely fit on her pudgy feet. She was heavily made up with too much rouge and smeared lipstick. She looked like one of those scary dolls in a horror movie that moves back and forth in a rocking chair just staring at you.
Hayley hated those movies and the sight of this woman made her shudder.
“I’m so sorry to bother you. But I must speak to you,” the woman said, her squeaky, innocent, nonthreatening little girl voice putting Hayley at ease.
Just a little bit.
“How can I help you?”
“I’ve seen you around town but we’ve never been formally introduced. I’m Madame Flossie.”
Madame Flossie. Hayley had heard of her. She was a local eccentric.
A self-professed animal psychic.
And resident crank.
Madame Flossie had set up shop in her tiny apartment above one of the summer tourist shops on Main Street and welcomed pet owners visiting the island from all over who wanted to know why their cat refused to eat dry food or why their dog decided to chew the corner of a brand new area rug.
No one took her psychic readings seriously, but her business was thriving because there was entertainment value in her conclusions. People loved her speculating on what their pet was thinking.
And she made enough money to pay all her bills.
Hayley shook her hand. “Yes. Hello, Flossie. I mean Madame Flossie.”
“I would never disturb you at such a late hour, but I’ve been listening to all the reports on my police scanner at home about the awful events that happened at the Redmond Estate.”
“Yes. It’s very tragic,” Hayley said, still clueless why this woman was standing on her doorstep at one in the morning.
“Is he here?”
“Who?”
“The potbellied pig.”
“You mean Pork Chop?”
“Yes.”
“No. I’m afraid the police took him over to Dr. Palmer’s vet clinic for an examination earlier this evening and he’s being kept there until they can figure out what to do with him.”
“I see. It’s vitally important I speak with him.”
“Doctor Palmer?”
“No. The pig.”
“You want to . . . talk to Pork Chop?”
“Yes. He may have witnessed Olivia Redmond’s murder. He may be able to give me a description of her killer.”
Hayley just stood there, dumbfounded.
She was skeptical to be sure. But she was also intrigued.
“So can you help me get access to the pig so I can question him?” Madame Flossie asked, wringing her hands, her eyes as big as saucers.
It was the silliest idea Hayley had ever heard.
And yet she found herself saying yes.
She was going to help Madame Flossie have a psychic sit down with a murder witness who just happened to be a potbellied pig.
Chapter 12
Aaron couldn’t stop laughing on the other end of the phone.
Hayley sighed. “Fine. Get it out. I’ll wait.”
She had called him the moment she got to the office the following morning, and after explaining how Madame Flossie wanted to come by his clinic to have a psychic chat with Pork Chop, the potbellied pig, the giggles erupted and had yet to subside.
“Look, I know it sounds ridiculous, but the woman was pretty adamant, and who knows, she may find out something valuable.”
“From the pig?” Aaron asked, his voice cracking as he let loose with another machine gun spurt of laughter.
“Look, she may very well be a kook, but what do we have to lose?”
“Oh, I don’t know, my reputation, perhaps? Especially if word gets out I’m having séances at my practice and talking to the animals like Dr. Dolittle!”
“Nobody has to know.”
She could see Aaron shaking his head in disbelief on the other end of the phone, probably raking a hand through his wavy brown hair as he considered the risk he was taking if someone were to be tipped off about Pork Chop’s psychic interrogation at his vet clinic.
She had been waiting for the right moment to call him, perhaps reconnect again after he brushed her off when she showed up at his office earlier in the week. So why on earth had she chosen this harebrained scheme to get him on the phone so she could hear his voice?
“If it’s too much, maybe I can just check him out of the clinic and take him over to my house after work and do it there?” Hayley said, now embarrassed she had even called him.
“No, he’s been very stressed and skittish since the cops brought him in here, and his blood pressure is off the charts. I want to keep him here so I can monitor his vitals. He’s clearly traumatized by what happened to Ms. Redmond.”
“So your answer is no?”
There was a long pause as he considered.
Aaron chuckled. “I guess there’s no harm in letting this Madame Flora . . .”
“Flossie. Madame Flossie.”
“Whatever. Tell her she can come by around lunchtime.
I’ll let her use my spare exam room, and she has no more than twenty minutes with him.”
“Thank you, Aaron.”
“And I want you here to make sure she doesn’t do anything too nutty. Up until today, this has been a respectable business. I’m going to be busy with other patients and won’t be able to keep an eye on her.”
“I’ll be there,” Hayley said.
“If Pork Chop in any way gets upset or anxious, I want you to shut it down.”
“Got it.”
“Oh, and Hayley?”
“Yes.”
“You owe me.”
He hung up before explaining what exactly that meant. She would happily repay this favor with a home-cooked meal or a night out at the movies. She missed their dates.
She still couldn’t fathom Liddy’s notion that Aaron was getting ready to propose.
It was too preposterous.
They hadn’t been seeing each other all that long.
No. Impossible.
But Hayley also knew that most times when she made her mind up so firmly about something not happening there was a strong likelihood that it actually would happen.
She was a terrible psychic. Hopefully Madame Flossie would be a better one.
If only she could read people and not just animals. Maybe Hayley would be clued in to what was in store for her immediate future.
But the question of who killed Olivia Redmond was a far more important question than whether or not Dr. Aaron was about to ask her to marry him.
She picked up the phone and called Madame Flossie at the number she had given her the night before to set up the appointment.
When Hayley pulled up in front of Aaron’s office across town a couple hours later, Madame Flossie was already outside the door waiting for her, pacing back and forth, a lost look in her eye, like her mind was somewhere else.
Hayley got out of her car and slowly approached her. “Madame Flossie?”
