by Lee Hollis
“What kind of crime?”
“A murder.”
“What?” Sergio gasped. “Where are you?”
“I’m at Penelope Janice’s estate in Seal Harbor.”
“Who is the victim?”
“Penelope Janice, I think.”
“You think? Did you see the body?”
“No. She’s not dead. Yet.”
“Hayley, you are not making any sense.”
“I know! I’m just really nervous. I overheard Penelope’s husband and her assistant talking in the hallway last night, and I believe they are going to try and kill her.”
“So this crime you want to report hasn’t happened yet?”
“That’s correct.”
“But you’re sure it was Penelope’s husband and assistant you heard in the hallway.”
“Yes. Absolutely. I think.”
“What do you mean you think? You cannot call me at six in the morning and report a murder conspiracy and not be one hundred percent certain about your information.”
“Well, you see, I had some bad mussels last night at dinner and I was running a fever and not thinking clearly, and so there is a slight chance I imagined the whole thing, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t because the memory is so vivid and the pipe smell was so strong.”
“Pipe smell?”
“Conrad smokes a pipe.”
“I see.”
“I know this sounds crazy, Sergio, and I apologize for dragging you into this, but if I’m right, and what I overheard actually happened, then Penelope’s life could be in danger and I would never forgive myself if something happened to her and I didn’t say anything.”
“I understand your concern. You did the right thing by calling me. You’re being a concerned Cinnabon.”
Hayley paused, chewing on that one.
Cinnabon.
The baked goods chain that sold various kinds of frosted cinnamon rolls.
What did that have to do with . . . ?
“Oh, you mean citizen! Concerned citizen!”
“That’s what I said,” Sergio said, annoyed.
Sergio’s first language was Portuguese, so on rare occasions he had a habit of mixing up his words.
Okay, full disclosure, it wasn’t so rare.
It happened all the time.
“So what do you think I should do?” Hayley asked.
“Did you talk to Penelope?”
“No. I decided to call you first. I mean, I don’t even know what I would say to her! Something like, ‘Good morning, Penelope, may I have a little cream for my coffee? And oh by the way, your husband of twenty-six years wants to kill you!’ It sounds so absurd!”
“Let me get dressed and drive over there. I can be there in half an hour. Wait for me outside and then we will go speak to Penelope together.”
“Thank you, Sergio. You’re a peach.”
“I know I am gay, Hayley, but you do not have to call me a fruit.”
“No, it’s just a term of endearment, it doesn’t mean anything derogatory.”
“Crazy Americans,” he barked as he hung up.
* * *
True to his word, thirty minutes later Sergio was pulling up in front of the main house in his police cruiser where Hayley waited for him outside in the morning cold.
He stepped out, the two of them hugged, and then they went to find Penelope. It was still early and the house was eerily quiet, but they did happen upon one of the household staff, who pointed them in the direction of the kitchen.
When they arrived, they found Penelope in jeans and a blue plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a white apron tied around her waist, chopping vegetables, while her devoted cook Clara spiced some meat at a food station behind her.
Penelope looked up at Hayley and smiled. “My, you’re up early, Hayley!”
She suddenly noticed Sergio hovering behind Hayley in his police uniform. “Good morning, Chief.”
“Morning, Mrs. Janice,” Sergio said grimly, nodding.
“Since when do you require a police escort, Hayley?” Penelope asked, curious as Clara glared at her just behind Penelope’s left shoulder.
“I was hoping we might be able to speak privately,” Hayley whispered, glancing at Clara, who sneered before pounding the slab of meat harder with her fist.
“I’m sorry, Hayley, I have a houseful of guests, a TV show to get in the can, and a lunch menu to prepare. Every minute is precious so whatever you need to talk to me about, you’re just going to have to do it here.”
Hayley hesitated, glancing at Sergio, who nodded, encouraging her to just spit it out.
Hayley cleared her throat and said softly, “I had food poisoning from a bad mussel last night and—”
Penelope nearly sliced off her finger with the knife she was using to chop her vegetables. “What did you say?”
“I had food poisoning . . .”
Penelope whipped her head around and glared icily at Clara.
The suddenly nervous cook raised her wet oily hands from the meat and stammered, “I inspected all the mussels myself before serving them! I swear there wasn’t a bad one in the batch!”
Penelope stared daggers at Clara and hissed, “Well, obviously you missed one if that’s what made Hayley sick!”
Clara glowered at Hayley, who shifted uncomfortably.
Penelope turned back to Hayley, her face full of concern. “Are you sure it was food poisoning, dear, and not just some horrid stomach flu?”
“Well, I can’t be sure, but no one else seems to have been affected that we know of, and I was the only one who ate that last plate of mussels.”
“You’re right about one thing,” Clara hissed. “You can’t be sure!”
“Clara, please,” Penelope sighed, signaling her cook to shut up and get back to work.
Clara pounded her meat some more, keeping a watchful eye on Hayley, her disdain painfully obvious.
“I am mortified that anyone would get food poisoning dining at my house. I would appreciate your discretion, Hayley, because if anyone were to find out . . .”
“Of course. I have no intention of telling anybody. That’s not why we’re here.”
Penelope smiled at Sergio, almost flirtatiously. “Good. I would hate to think the chief was here to arrest me for serving a bad mussel.”
“The mussels weren’t bad! I checked every shell before I put them in the steamer!” Clara cried, agitated her reputation was now on the line.
“That’s enough, Clara!” Penelope said sternly before adopting a more cheery tone. “Now what seems to be the problem?”
Hayley recounted what she heard.
All of it.
Every last detail.
Penelope listened, her face a mask of calm though the veins in her neck began to noticeably pop out. She was obviously a master of controlling her emotions, but it was inevitable a few clues to how she was really feeling on the inside would manifest themselves.
When Hayley finished, there was absolute silence in the kitchen.
Clara had stopped pounding her meat and just stood there, mouth agape.
Sergio stood quietly next to Hayley.
Hayley held her breath, waiting for Penelope to do something, say something, start crying or screaming, maybe throw a few pots and pans at the wall as the enormity of her husband’s shocking betrayal began to sink in.
But she did none of that.
She just stood there, staring into space, mulling over what she had just heard.
And then she began to laugh.
Really hard.
Her face turned beet red, and she doubled over, howling, gripping the side of her kitchen island so she wouldn’t collapse to the floor and roll around in a fit of unabated giggles.
This was not exactly the reaction Hayley and Sergio had been expecting.
When she finally got control of herself, she scooped up a dish towel from the counter and used it to wipe the tears away from her eyes.
“I take
it you don’t believe Hayley’s story,” Sergio said, a stoic look on his face.
“Believe it? It’s the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard!” Penelope wailed, making eye contact with Clara, who had a tight smile on her face, not sure what she should do at this point.
“I know I was sick and not completely in my right mind at the time, but it felt very real to me—”
“It was a dream, Hayley,” Penelope said, shaking her head. “You woke up with a fever and you were disoriented.”
“I considered that possibility, really I did, but there was that horrible smell, the same odor that came from Conrad’s pipe, it was so heavy, and I know I didn’t imagine that,” Hayley said.
“I take it you believe her fantastical story?” Penelope asked Sergio pointedly, almost implying that she might not be sending her annual check to the police department’s charitable foundation this year.
“Well, Hayley is a very reliable witness, and I would be remiss if I did not follow up on every report I receive . . . although this one did sound a little far-fetched, I must admit,” Sergio said, throwing Hayley an apologetic look.
Hayley wasn’t mad at Sergio for practically throwing her under the bus. She knew Penelope wielded a lot of influence, and there was the matter of town politics to be considered.
“Well, I appreciate you coming all the way out here, Chief Alvares, but let me assure you, there is nothing to her story. Conrad was with me in our bedroom all night. He never left. I’m a very light sleeper. I wake up when he stirs even slightly next to me. I would have known if he tried to sneak out for a secret rendezvous.”
“I see,” Sergio said, eyeing Hayley.
“But if it would make you both feel better, I think we should go talk to Conrad directly, just to clear up this whole matter now so there are no further misunderstandings this weekend,” Penelope said firmly.
“Yes, I think that would be a good idea,” Sergio said. “And I want to personally thank you for your cooperation.”
“Well, you know I’m a big fan of the police department, and specifically you, Chief. You have such an inspiring life story. Traveling all the way here from Brazil with just the shirt on your back, working your way up from dispatcher to chief of police. Very impressive,” she said, touching him on the arm like a high school cheerleader trying to snag the star quarterback. “Let’s go find my husband, shall we?”
Sergio took her gently by the arm like a military escort serving as a consort at a debutante ball, and the two of them glided out of the room, leaving Hayley behind.
It was official.
She had now lost the whole room.
Nobody believed her.
Hayley glanced over at Clara, who stood there, grinning, relishing Hayley’s utter humiliation.
Chapter 7
“This is outrageous!” Conrad spit out, his cheeks red with fury, his eyes blazing. “How on earth did you come up with that wild story, Ms. Powell? I thought you only wrote recipes! Are you some kind of aspiring author hoping to pen the next Fifty Shades of Grey or something silly like that?”
Hayley stood silently by as Conrad berated her and tried to embarrass her in front of Penelope and Sergio on the back porch of the main house with sweeping views of the quiet harbor and dark blue Atlantic beyond.
He was taking Hayley’s accusation about as well as she had expected.
It didn’t help that Penelope had barged in on him sunning himself while having his coffee and browsing headlines on his mini iPad on the porch, and without any sort of gentle run-up, simply announced “Hayley thinks you’re going to murder me! What do you have to say for yourself?”
His wife’s sudden and unexpected pronouncement had caused him to spill his coffee all down the front of his white polo shirt. After angrily wiping himself off, Conrad clamored to his feet to face his accuser.
“Murder? What are you talking about?”
“Are you conspiring to do away with me with your secret lover in order to take charge of my affairs and become the de facto head of my company?”
Conrad was speechless, eyeing Sergio nervously, assuming the police chief was there to place him under arrest.
But then Penelope burst into laughter, guffawing so hard, tears streamed down her cheeks.
Conrad failed to see the humor.
“I don’t understand what’s going on here,” he growled.
Penelope was happy to bring him up to speed.
The bad mussels.
A nauseated Hayley wandering about in the dead of night in search of a bathroom and accidentally stumbling upon the hushed voices of a pair of wicked lovers scheming to free themselves of the harpy wife who was the only thing keeping them apart.
Conrad listened with rapt attention, eyes wide, horrified, his bottom lip quivering.
He finally raised his hand and bellowed, “I’ve heard enough!”
“It’s a rather intriguing tale, wouldn’t you say, Conrad?” Penelope said, watching her husband and loving the fact he was so discombobulated.
“It’s pure fantasy! She’s obviously making the whole thing up!” he cried, after finishing his tirade against Hayley.
“Why would she do that, dear?” Penelope said, sighing.
“I don’t know! Maybe to get attention for herself or a juicy headline for that local rag she works for! Frankly I don’t care why she did it, I just want her gone!”
Conrad moved menacingly in Hayley’s direction as if he was going to eject her from the premises himself, and got so close to her Sergio casually stepped forward to send a clear message to Conrad to not even think about laying a hand on her.
Taking the hint, Conrad retreated. He fumbled in his pants pocket and pulled out his pipe. He flicked a lighter a few times before it finally lit up, and then he calmed down after taking a few laborious puffs.
He collected himself and then quietly said to his wife, “Did you tell them you’re a light sleeper and that if I tried to sneak out you would have heard me?”
“Yes, I did,” Penelope said calmly.
Conrad raised his eyes to face Hayley, who defiantly stood her ground.
She knew what she had heard, and she had no intention of backing down.
He stared menacingly at her, never blinking once.
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, Ms. Powell,” he seethed. “But I refuse to allow you to besmirch my reputation. I want you packed and out of this house in five minutes!”
“Darling, don’t be such a drama queen!” Penelope cracked, before turning to Hayley and smiling. “He uses big words like besmirch when he’s really angry.”
Hayley tried hard not to smile.
But she couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth from curling up just a bit and Conrad unfortunately caught it. She could almost see the steam blowing out of his ears as he stormed into the house, slamming the screen door behind him.
“Maybe he’s right. I should go . . .” Hayley said softly.
“Nonsense. You’re already part of my Fourth of July special and it’s too late to replace you. I need you here. Besides, I believe you.”
“You do? You believe Conrad wants to kill you?”
“God, no! Conrad isn’t capable of planning a picnic let alone a murder. He’s too stupid. And I say that with all the love in my heart. But I do believe you ate some bad mussels and were in a foggy state from the food poisoning and you heard something in that hallway, just not what you think. A feverish mind can sometimes play tricks on you.”
“I’m just not sure I’m going to be comfortable around Conrad for the rest of the weekend . . .”
“I’ll talk to him and make sure he behaves. Don’t you worry about that. And if anyone tries to mess with you, I want you to come directly to me.”
Hayley nodded. “Thank you for giving me the benefit of the doubt, Penelope.”
Penelope gently touched Hayley on the arm and said warmly, “Anything for my number one fan.”
And then she breezed inside t
he house, leaving Hayley on the porch with Sergio.
“Do you know what I think?” Sergio asked, ready to tell her whether she wanted to hear him or not.
“You think I should just go home and forget this whole thing.”
“Yes! You’re asking for trouble staying here. Penelope can not protect you twenty-four hours a day and that man now holds a grudge, and he is not going to make things easy on you. Why put yourself through that? Come over to our house instead. We will celebrate the holiday together and barbecue some steaks. Doesn’t that sound like a lot more fun?”
“It’s certainly tempting. Randy grills the most perfect steaks,” Hayley said, wistfully picturing herself outside of this tornado of tension she was suddenly caught up in at this swanky estate.
She seriously thought about throwing in the towel but then she turned to Sergio. “I’m staying. What if what I heard wasn’t a fever dream? What if it was real and Conrad is lying and once I’m out of the picture he and Lena manage to carry out their plan and Penelope winds up dead? I can’t have that on my conscience, Sergio. I’m going to tough it out.”
“Tuxedo yourself,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
“I’m sorry, what?” she asked, a puzzled look on her face.
“Do whatever you want.”
“Yes, but that’s not what you said. You said . . .”
It suddenly dawned on her.
“You mean suit yourself ! It’s suit yourself ! But tuxedo is really close, Sergio. It totally makes sense when you think about it.”
Sergio shook his head. “You confuse me, Hayley.”
He ambled down the porch steps and around the side of the property toward the front where his police cruiser was parked.
Hayley headed back inside the house, mentally preparing herself for whatever trials were ahead of her, determined to prove that she was not some kind of crackpot conspiracy theorist.
She was convinced the pompous pipe-smoking Conrad was a bona fide would-be killer.
Chapter 8
Later that afternoon, Hayley was still feeling a bit under the weather. She was no longer battling nausea, but had been hit with a throbbing headache, probably from the overabundance of tension she had endured all morning confronting Penelope and then her tightly wound husband Conrad over what she had overheard the previous evening.
