by Lee Hollis
“Yeah. I get that. But I went through Rhonda’s tweets during that time, and she was clearly excited about doing the movie and couldn’t stop talking about what a juicy role it was, and how grateful she was to be given such a fantastic opportunity to do a film of substance. I mean, she didn’t hold back. This was huge for her.”
“Then why would she drop out?”
“Exactly. I called her agent and manager and they never got back to me. I tried getting hold of anyone who worked on The Chat who might have an inkling about what happened and got nothing. But then I did a search on When the Cows Come Home and that’s when I hit pay dirt.”
“When the Cows Come Home?”
“Yeah, that’s the movie’s working title. The story is all about the evils of the meatpacking industry. It’s a downright exposé. Remember when Oprah Winfrey lambasted the beef industry on her show and they sued her? Imagine how they would feel if a national spokesman for one of the leading meat companies in the world was to play a major part in a movie that basically indicted their business practices?”
“That would not be kosher, so to speak,” Hayley said.
“I called the producers and once again they refused to talk to me. But then I e-mailed the director, who is this wunderkind talent, very young and brash and not afraid of controversy, and he called me right away after I sent him my phone number. He told me he wanted to cast Rhonda because of her connection to Redmond Meats. He wanted to stir things up. Make a statement. The studio backed him one hundred percent, and Rhonda was thrilled to be given such a meaty part—pardon the pun.”
“I can’t pardon that, Bruce. I just can’t.”
Bruce smiled. “He told me Redmond Meats threatened to sue Rhonda for breach of contract if she did the film. Lawyers were brought in. It became a real standoff. But then Rhonda blinked first. She pulled out. The part was rewritten and they cast Naomi Watts and they wrapped shooting about a month ago. And now there is all this Oscar buzz for Watts. The director told me Rhonda was just devastated. She’s never gotten over it, and now that there’s all this adoring press for Watts even before the film’s release, it’s got to be killing her all over again. The director heard through mutual friends that Rhonda blames Olivia personally for sabotaging her chance for a real acting comeback, especially now with all the Oscar talk. She’s still mad as hell, probably even more so now.”
“Mad enough to kill Olivia?”
Chapter 27
A loud crash startled Rhonda Franklin, and she jumped and spilled white wine all down the front of her blouse. “What the hell was that?”
Hayley bolted from the couch and ran into the kitchen where she found Pork Chop sitting innocently next to the coatrack, which he had somehow knocked to the floor. Blueberry was backed into a corner, hissing and baring his teeth, while Leroy ran behind Hayley’s leg, shaking, scared he might be blamed for Pork Chop’s antics.
“How did you get out of the basement?” Hayley asked, spinning around to see the door leading down into the cellar wide open, the flimsy latch that hooked into the lock lying on the rug. “Did you bust the lock? Bad pig! Bad pig!”
“Is that my baby?” Rhonda cooed as she hustled into the kitchen and squatted down to pet the snorting animal. “I just love this pig. He’s the most darling thing I’ve ever seen. I didn’t know you were still looking after him.”
“It seems Red doesn’t want anything to do with him,” Hayley said, taking Rhonda’s wineglass and refilling it with some more Chardonnay. “I’m sorry Mona didn’t make it tonight. One of her kids has the sniffles and it’s her husband’s poker night, so she’s stuck at home.”
“Well, I’d be lying if I told you Mona wasn’t a big reason I accepted your kind invitation for cocktails this evening. She’s so warm and kind and thoughtful.”
“Are you sure we’re talking about the same Mona? Mona Barnes?”
“Yes. I’ve never met anyone quite like her, and let me tell you, I’ve been around.”
“Well, Mona likes you too. Sorry. I know I’m a poor substitute.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m having fun. And now that my little rascally, adorable pig is here, the night just got even better!”
Unable to squat anymore, the rotund Rhonda Franklin scooped the pig up in her arms and let him nestle against her bosom as she tried climbing back up to her feet, using her hip against the dishwasher to give herself an extra heave-ho.
Pork Chop closed his eyes, his expression euphoric as Rhonda lowered her face and nuzzled his snout with her nose.
“How could Red not want to cuddle with you all night? Because he’s a stupid dolt, that’s why, and he doesn’t deserve you. No, he doesn’t. You are a VIP! A very important pig!”
Boy, Rhonda sure did love this pig.
It was honestly a tad disconcerting.
Blueberry, tail high in the air, marched out of the room in a snit, obviously jealous he was garnering zero attention from Hayley’s guest. Leroy remained hidden behind Hayley’s leg until she moved to make herself another cocktail, and then he followed closely behind on her heel.
Rhonda downed her wine and casually held out her glass, indicating she was ready for yet another. Pork Chop settled into the crook of her arm and snorted contentedly as Rhonda scratched his belly while Hayley emptied the rest of the Chardonnay into her glass and tossed the empty bottle into her recycle bin.
“He really mellows out when he’s around you, Rhonda. You should see him when you’re not here. He’s like a tornado!”
“We just have a special bond. Ever since Olivia first got him. She saw how I instantly fell in love with him at a barbecue on Olivia’s estate in the Hamptons last summer, and she offered to find me a potbellied pig just like him, but I didn’t want just any pig. This pig is the one who stole my heart,” she said, kissing him on top of his head between his ears and then gratefully accepting more wine from Hayley.
After another sip, Rhonda cleared her throat. “So why did you really invite me here tonight, Hayley?”
“What do you mean?”
“I got the feeling when I arrived there was something you wanted to talk to me about. You kept waiting for the right moment to bring it up, but so far there hasn’t been one. I don’t like playing games, so why don’t you just get to it?”
“Rhonda, I really thought Mona was going to come here tonight, and I know how fond of her you are, so this wasn’t some ruse. . . .”
“Hayley, I was raised on Long Island and I know when someone’s feeding me a line of bull, so if you have something to say, just say it.”
“I heard you and Olivia were not on the best of terms when she was murdered and I want to know—?”
“You want to know about the movie I was offered,” Rhonda said.
“Yes. I know it caused a rift between the two of you.”
“And so you want to know if I killed her?”
“If we’re getting right to the point, then yes.”
Rhonda set Pork Chop down on the floor, but he didn’t take off to wreak more havoc. He stayed right by her side. Leroy glared at him from behind Hayley’s leg but kept his faint growling in check.
“I admit I fantasized about killing her. When she forced me to drop out of that movie that would have changed my career, my whole life even, yes, I was bitter and angry. And there were days when my mind went to very dark places, and I wished she wasn’t around to stop me from playing a once in a lifetime role. But they were just thoughts, Hayley. I would never seriously act upon them.”
Hayley nodded, trying to read Rhonda’s face, unable to tell if she was lying.
“I’m sure you read some of the filth in the supermarket tabloids. Saying how I’m twice Olivia’s size, how I could have easily overpowered her and snapped her neck with my chubby hands. Those rags have always hated me, ever since I came out as a lesbian. They’ve been desperate to dig up dirt on me and sometimes they’re right. I drink too much, I’m loud and obnoxious and can be a real ballbuster on the set of The Chat. Bu
t that’s the extent of my obvious faults. I’m not a murderer. And the reason those stories faded is because the mainstream press actually bothered to check out my alibi. I wasn’t even here when Olivia was murdered. I was in Delaware on the doorstep of a seventy-five-year-old fan, a grandmother, who won our Queen for the Day sweepstakes. I was personally delivering her a check for twenty grand and two free tickets for a seniors cruise to Alaska. I had a camera crew with me willing to testify I was there. I was out having fajitas at an Applebee’s near Wilmington when I got word that Olivia was dead. . . .”
Her voice trailed off. Her eyes filled with tears.
“I miss her, Hayley. I really do. Despite what went down between us, she was my best friend.”
Rhonda Franklin was an actress.
Capable of putting on a powerhouse performance.
But Hayley’s gut told her this wasn’t a Rhonda Franklin acting exercise.
She was hurting.
Deeply.
And Hayley at that moment knew Rhonda had nothing to do with what had happened to Olivia Redmond.
The killer was still out there.
Chapter 28
Hayley couldn’t recall Bruce Linney ever begging for anything. He prided himself on being a cool, unflappable reporter. Emotional outbursts were not a part of his DNA.
And yet, here he was in the office of the Island Times, on his knees, his hands clasped in front of his face, pleading with Hayley.
Hayley couldn’t deny she was enjoying being in the power position.
Just a little bit.
And Bruce knew it.
But that didn’t stop him from this valiant effort to enlist Hayley’s help in following a lead for his story on the murder of Dr. Alvin Foley.
“Hayley, please, I need you. She likes you.”
“I’m sorry, Bruce. I want to go with you, but I’m way behind on my column, and Sal will kill me if I miss my deadline . . . again.”
“It’ll just take twenty minutes. I promise. I called Sherman’s Bookstore and she’s working there right now.”
He wanted to question Carla McFarland.
But Carla despised Bruce.
He’d made the fatal mistake of remarking that Carla’s double fudge brownies tasted like they came out of a box instead of made from scratch when he was judging a baking contest at the Blue Hill Fair three years ago.
Bruce had been dead to her ever since.
And there was no way she would actually talk to him if he showed up at the local bookshop where she worked part-time to ask her a few questions.
Which was why he needed Hayley.
He was able to confirm through conversations with a couple of Dr. Foley’s colleagues at the Jackson Lab that he had been casually dating a local woman.
And after some more digging, Bruce had finally come up with a name.
Carla McFarland.
His heart sank.
He knew how Carla felt about him.
She’d told him so to his face when they ran into each other at a dinner party shortly after the Blue Hill Fair incident. Carla had let loose with a litany of expletives, causing so much tension Bruce had to excuse himself and leave before dessert was served.
A halfhearted apology e-mail did little to repair the damage. So Bruce just wrote her off. When was he ever going to have use for Carla McFarland anyway?
Famous last words.
But as luck would have it, Carla and Hayley were friends. Their sons, Dustin and Spanky, had been close pals and hung out after school all the time. The two mothers had also cochaired a PTA committee and chaperoned a junior high school dance when their sons were in the eighth grade.
Of course Carla would be open to talking to Hayley.
Just not Bruce.
“I’ll buy you lunch afterward. Anywhere you want. You like the mac and cheese at the Side Street Café. We can go there.”
It was tempting. Bruce was pulling out all the stops.
Hayley was obsessed with the mac and cheese at the Side Street Café.
“I’ll even order us the spinach artichoke dip!”
It was sad that Hayley could be bribed with food. But she couldn’t resist the spinach artichoke dip.
She grabbed her coat and followed him out the door to his car. Her column was just about finished anyway, and Sal was out of the office covering a local court case. There really was no reason why she couldn’t slip out of the office for a little while.
She just loved seeing Bruce beg.
When Hayley and Bruce arrived at Sherman’s Bookstore on Main Street, they found Carla stocking the mystery section.
“Hi, Hayley!” Carla said in a cheery voice as Hayley rounded the corner.
Her smile quickly faded as Bruce fell in behind her. “Hello, Bruce,” Carla said, her voice suddenly grim.
Carla pulled three copies of the new Joanne Fluke mystery out of a box and added them to the shelf.
“I love that blouse you’re wearing,” Hayley said, buttering her up.
“You do? I got it on sale at JC Penny. I thought the colors might be too bold to wear at work, but the girls here love it. I’ve been getting compliments all morning.”
“It’s really nice,” Bruce said, jumping in with a smile that looked more like a dog baring its teeth at an intruder.
“Who asked you?” Carla said coldly.
“Don’t mind Bruce. He just gave me a ride here. Carla, I came here because I just found out you had been personally involved with Dr. Foley. . . .”
“Yes. He loved my double fudge brownies,” she said pointedly in Bruce’s direction.
“Well, I am so sorry for your loss,” Hayley said.
“I still don’t believe it. I mean, I’m used to men leaving me. Spanky’s deadbeat dad, that Irish bartender last summer . . . So when Alvin disappeared I just assumed he got a better job somewhere else and didn’t have the guts to dump me properly. But then, when his body turned up in the park . . . It’s just so awful.”
Carla moved to hug Hayley, and as she did she knocked the box of books she was stacking off the wooden stool it was resting on, and it crashed to the floor.
Bruce knelt down to pick up the books. “Here. Let me help.”
“I don’t want your help,” she said, her tongue dripping with venom.
“Let him, Carla. It’ll keep him busy while we talk,” Hayley said.
Carla nodded and they stepped over Bruce and walked to the back of the store to the children’s books section where they had more privacy.
“Why would anyone want to kill Alvin? He didn’t have a mean bone in his body. He was so gentle and sweet, and I thought he might finally be the one. . . .” Carla said, her voice trailing off, her eyes watering.
“Was he stressed out at work? Was he working on some kind of big project that might have put him in danger?”
“Not that I know of. Just the usual research. He didn’t talk about his job much. I think he liked to put it out of his mind when he wasn’t working at the lab.”
“Did you notice any strange behavior before he disappeared? Or see him with anyone you didn’t recognize?”
“No. The week he disappeared everything seemed so normal. We chatted on the phone a couple of times. We talked about driving to Kennebunk and booking a bed and breakfast for a romantic weekend in June. Then a couple of nights before he vanished, we went out to dinner. But it was just all so ordinary. He gave no indication anything was wrong.”
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“The day after we had dinner. I dropped off some of my homemade chicken soup.”
“Is that something you did regularly?”
“No. He wasn’t feeling well and my soup is very medicinal. It can cure anything!”
“What was wrong with him?”
“I’m not sure. He was convinced he got food poisoning at the restaurant the night before. Bad oysters, I think. He was so sick he was ready to call the Health Department and have the restaurant shut down, but I talked h
im out of it because we weren’t one hundred percent sure it was the restaurant and the owner is a friend.”
“Where did you dine that night?”
“The Blooming Rose.”
Felicity Flynn-Chan’s bistro.
Olivia Redmond had also dined there the night before she was murdered.
And in Hayley’s mind, that was too much of a coincidence.
Chapter 29
If your idea of a memorable culinary experience is to find yourself slumped over the toilet all night hurling your guts out and your whole body shaking uncontrollably, then by all means make a reservation at the Blooming Rose in Town Hill. After hearing great things about the menu from some colleagues at the Jackson Lab, I took my girlfriend for dinner there last night. I ordered the oyster appetizer and must have gotten a bad one, because by the time I got home I was already feeling nauseous. I hold owner Felicity Flynn-Chan personally responsible for not properly inspecting the food she serves. Diners beware! I’m giving this place zero out of five stars!—Dr. Feel Bad
It didn’t take a crack detective to deduce the author of the review on TasteTest, a user friendly Web site where consumers could post write-ups about their various dining experiences. Dr. Feel Bad gave the Blooming Rose a zero-star rating, dragging down the bistro’s overall average. The date the review was posted was two days after Carla had gone to dinner with Dr. Foley at the restaurant, when he’d been feeling slightly better but was still furious over being served bad oysters. Dr. Foley disappeared just two days after posting the review.
Hayley had rushed home to scroll the Blooming Rose reviews on the site after Carla had casually mentioned that Alvin considered himself a food connoisseur and often wrote reviews whenever they dined out. Most of his other reviews were positive and upbeat. This was the only scathing one.
Hayley scrolled down for more recent reviews. There was a long list of four- or five-star ratings.
If she had thought to write her own review after dining at Felicity’s establishment, she certainly would have given the place five stars.
