by Lee Hollis
“Yes. I’m still in shock over Conrad’s death too, and maybe I’m pushing to proceed as if everything’s normal in order not to think about it, or talk about it, or figure out what I’m going to do now. If I do, I’m afraid I’ll just crumble, and I can’t allow that right now. I have responsibilities to the show, the network, and my fans. And I know Conrad would agree.”
“But the circumstances—”
“Hayley, my husband has a long history of being a clumsy drunk,” she said, placing a hand on top of Hayley’s, which gripped the brass rail of the boat. “He was always staggering around and breaking things and falling down whenever he guzzled too much liquor. Did you know he recently had his hip replaced because he got so blotto on whiskey he fell off the porch and landed on his side, smashing his hip and his pelvis to pieces? That’s just one example of the consequences of his behavior.”
“I understand, but based on what I heard the other night, or what I think I heard, and then his sudden death the very next evening . . .”
“You’re conflating the two incidents. You were suffering from a wretched case of food poisoning, and you were stumbling about the house unsure of where you were. And quite frankly you cannot even say definitively that what you heard actually transpired. Conrad’s fall had nothing to do with any of that. It was just a tragic coincidence.”
“Maybe I should just pack up my things when we get back to shore and—”
“Nonsense. Please, we still have some shooting to do for my Fourth of July holiday special and I need you to be very much involved in that, especially when we as a group attend the fireworks in town on Sunday night. It’s a must for the episode’s teaser.”
“Aren’t you worried about blowback from just powering through this shoot instead of making funeral arrangements for your husband?”
“I’ve always been a multitasker. I’m already in contact with McFarland’s Funeral Home, and I have an appointment to pick out a casket and order flowers once we’re back on shore. I also just got off the phone with your paper about the obit before we all piled on this boat and set sail. Trust me—I’ve got everything covered. Journalists will write what they’re going to write. Probably that I’m a cold bitch more worried about her career than losing her spouse of twenty-six years. But those jackals have been writing nasty things about me ever since I made a name for myself, so I’m used to it. I’m just adding to the myth of Penelope Janice,” she said with a smirk. “So promise me you will see this through, Hayley. For me. As a personal favor. I will have Gerard come back here and apologize.”
Hayley shook her head. “No, there is no need for that. I’ll stay.”
The truth was, she didn’t want to have any more contact with that pompous, egotistical jackass.
“Thank you,” Penelope said. “I guarantee if you just play along and help me out with this special, when it’s all over, I will make you a household name.”
Penelope gave Hayley a quick peck on the cheek, and then turned and strolled back up the starboard side to join the others.
Hayley watched her go, and slowly turned around and leaned against the cold chrome rail fitting, staring out at the vast ocean behind them as they slowly motored toward the dock, navigating past scores of moored boats bobbing up and down in the choppy current.
Hayley wondered why Penelope was so determined not to believe her story of Conrad and Lena Hendricks conspiring against her. How could she be so sure that what Hayley heard was just a simple hallucination caused by a bad mussel?
It didn’t make any sense.
Anyone would be disturbed by it, especially the person who was the supposed targeted victim in the malevolent plot. But Penelope had remained so disturbingly calm and unusually skeptical, and she made no secret of her desire for Hayley to just stop talking about it.
Why?
What was she missing?
What else was going on here?
Hayley couldn’t hide in the back of the boat forever so she decided it was time to be brave and join the others for the remainder of their voyage.
Insults and attacks be damned.
But before she had the chance to turn around, she suddenly sensed someone rushing up fast behind her. Something hard slammed into her back, knocking the wind out of her before she could let out even a yelp. She lost her balance and stumbled as someone bent down, grabbed her by the legs, and forcefully heaved her up and over the railing.
She splashed into the ocean, sinking below the surface, and swallowing seawater. Her first thought was the fear of getting caught in the sailboat’s fast-spinning propellers, so she frantically flapped her arms and legs with all her might to push herself away from the boat and the whirlpool of water its motor was stirring up.
When her head broke the surface, she coughed and sputtered, trying desperately to suck in air. She caught a glimpse of the boat moving away from her toward the shore.
“Help!” Hayley cried, swallowing more salty water, trying to stay afloat.
She didn’t see anyone in the stern of the sailboat.
The passengers were all up front in the bow and the crew were at their stations for docking, unable to hear her calls for help. And her screams were drowned out by the running motor.
There were no other people on the moored boats in the harbor, nor were there any other boats sailing in the vicinity.
She was all alone.
At least she prayed she was all alone, and there were no sharks down below swimming up to feed off her kicking legs as she tried treading water.
Hayley was still about a mile out from shore and hardly an expert swimmer. It would be another ten minutes before The Foodie reached the dock and anyone noticed that she wasn’t on board. Then, more time would be needed to get the boat back out to search for her.
She wasn’t sure if she could keep her head above water for that long.
She started swimming, dog-paddling, toward shore, which she deemed closer than the nearest moored boat, but after a few minutes she stopped, exhausted.
This was not going to end well.
But then, a miracle.
She saw Tommy, the quiet, shy young deckhand with the shaggy hair, in the back of the boat, looking around for her. She waved her arms and screamed at the top of her lungs. She could see him standing at the railing in the stern, staring out to sea, a hand cupped above his eyes to block out the blazing sun.
And then she saw him react and spring into action. He grabbed an orange-and-white lifesaver and dove headfirst into the deep frigid water.
As he swam like an Olympian toward her, Hayley finally relaxed a little, still coughing up water and wary of winding up shark food, but a little more confident that she would make it out of this ordeal alive.
Chapter 14
Hayley’s eyes were puffy and red and she had been coughing for the better part of an hour. She felt the nasty cold coming on just minutes after being hauled out of the ice-cold water and back aboard the yacht. Her rescuer Tommy valiantly raced belowdecks and instantly reappeared with a pile of warm blankets, wrapping them around her as she shivered so hard she had to sit down on the floor of the deck.
Penelope and her guests had now gathered at the stern of the boat to watch as she hacked and sputtered and pulled the blankets tighter around herself.
None of them said a word.
In Hayley’s eyes, they all looked guilty.
The captain gently put a hand on Hayley’s shoulder and asked, “How did you fall, dear?”
“I didn’t fall. Somebody pushed me,” Hayley whispered.
But it was loud enough for everyone to hear.
Penelope rolled her eyes, but resisted the urge to challenge her again. Her face clearly betrayed what she was thinking. That Hayley was a klutz who had obviously had too many mimosas, tripped over something, and tumbled overboard accidentally.
And now, like the boy who cried wolf, she was once again claiming foul play.
Penelope wasn’t alone in her opinion.
Gerard,
Carol, and Tristan all exchanged skeptical looks, Gerard even suppressing a smile.
“Who do you think pushed you?” Carol asked, trying her best to maintain a straight face. “We were all up in the front of the boat, the captain was at the wheel, so that only leaves Tommy.”
“And he was the one who jumped into the freezing water to save you! Why would he do that if he was the one who pushed you?” Gerard asked pointedly. “Unless his evil plan was to shove you overboard and then dive in to rescue you in order to make himself out to be the big hero!”
Tommy’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open as he was filled with fear that the group might actually start taking this wild theory seriously.
He need not have worried.
None of them were buying it.
And neither was Hayley.
Tommy was a good kid.
And she would forever be grateful to him for saving her from drowning.
Hayley didn’t believe for a second that Penelope, Gerard, Tristan, and Carol had all been glued to the front of the boat, chatting amiably. One of them had obviously slipped off for a few seconds, snuck up behind her, and shoved her over the railing. She was dubious about wispy Carol’s physical strength despite her devotion to yoga. Her assailant had physically hoisted her off the ground before chucking her overboard. Penelope was stronger and more stouthearted. But the more likely suspects were Gerard or his son Tristan, both strapping, able-bodied men, both of whom could have effortlessly lifted her up like a sack of potatoes and launched her into the sea.
* * *
When they arrived back at the estate, Hayley immediately retreated to her room, where she crawled into bed with a box of Kleenex to recuperate. After an hour of blowing her nose and taking shots of cough syrup, she was feeling slightly better.
Hayley was just about to doze off when she heard a scratching at the door.
It had to be Sebastian.
Her feline roommate.
Hayley threw back the comforter and slipped out of bed, padding over to open the door.
Sure enough, Sebastian was outside, looking up at her, tail flapping, annoyed she took so long to answer.
Directly behind him was a pair of men’s brown work boots.
She jumped back, startled.
The sudden move spooked Sebastian and he flew into the room and scooted underneath the bed.
Hayley looked up to see Lex Bansfield standing in the doorway.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Lex said.
“No, it’s fine. I’ve just been a little jumpy ever since I got here,” Hayley said, smiling. “Please, come in.”
“With good reason. A lot’s been happening this weekend,” Lex said, casually entering the room and looking around.
“That’s putting it mildly,” Hayley said, kneeling down to see Sebastian glaring at her with his glowing copper eyes under the bed, not ready to venture back out anytime soon.
She stood back up and faced Lex, who appeared slightly nervous.
“I heard about your midafternoon swim earlier today,” Lex said. “It’s all anyone is talking about around here.”
Hayley sneezed and wiped her nose with a wad of Kleenex. “Well, I’m sure Penelope is selling her official version. Her bungling clown of a guest is just trying to make a name for herself by spinning wild stories about secret affairs and murder conspiracies.”
“Yes, but for what it’s worth, the kitchen staff believes you. But then again, they still watch daytime soap operas religiously between preparing and serving all the meals,” Lex said, chuckling.
“I didn’t make anything up,” Hayley said quietly.
“I know,” Lex said somberly, taking a step forward and putting his hands on her still shivering shoulders. “And I want you to know that I am here, and if you feel alone, or need someone to talk to, or even if you feel the slightest sense of danger, you can come to me.”
“Thank you, Lex.”
She hugged him tightly, resting her head on his broad chest.
Hayley had done this countless times when they had been together as a couple, but now, years later, she found herself still drawn to the safety of his strong arms.
And it felt good.
They stood there embracing for almost a minute.
Sebastian finally inched out from underneath the bed, jumped up on the bedcovers, and kneaded the comforter with his paws until he found a satisfactory napping spot. He plopped down, his eyes half-closed as he purred, and watched Hayley and Lex’s rekindled affection for one another.
Hayley fought back tears. She couldn’t believe that she was suddenly getting so emotional. She certainly did not want to dissolve into a blubbering mess in front of Lex. But the last couple of days had taken quite a toll on both her psyche and her physical stamina, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could endure it all.
But knowing Lex was around improved her spirits. She was now determined to see this whole crazy weekend through, and she was not going to allow anyone, least of all a pompous ass like Gerard Roquefort or his lying, sniveling, butt-kissing son to drive her away.
Hayley gently pulled away from Lex, who kept his hands firmly on her shoulders, almost as if he was unwilling to let her get away again. They stared at each other for a few seconds, both shyly smiling, their minds racing with the various possibilities of how this awkward yet tempting moment could go.
Lex snapped out of it first. He yanked his hands back to his side, and gave Hayley a nod. “Let me know if you need anything.”
He hustled out of the room leaving Hayley shaken.
And not from her dramatic dunk in the ocean.
She had been so certain, up until this very moment, that this chapter in her life, her relationship with Lex, had been over for a long, long time.
But now she was not so sure.
Island Food & Spirits
BY HAYLEY POWELL
“The Ladies Who Lunch” was a popular song from the Broadway show Company, which Liddy went to see with her family in New York during its 1995 revival. When she arrived home, she sang the song in front of me over and over to the point where it just stuck with me. I’d find myself humming it over the years, not as good as the defining Elaine Stritch version, may she rest in peace, but I can at least carry a tune. Since the title of the song fed into, pardon the pun, my obsession with food, I even considered calling my food and cocktail column here at the Island Times “The Lady Who Lunches,” but Sal thought it was too weird and artsy for our local paper so he suggested I stick with something a little less fancy, hence the far more staid and straightforward “Island Food & Spirits.”
For years there have been rumors and gossip floating around Bar Harbor that during the summer months there exists a secret society of very chic, very wealthy women, who arrive on the island every year like clockwork to spend the summer months at their various sprawling estates, and who call themselves, coincidentally enough, “The Ladies Who Lunch.”
Now to be perfectly honest, no one can really say that they have met or even seen this clandestine group of women, but rest assured, just about everyone on the island has heard a story or two about them.
I know I have. This coterie of hush-hush billionaires supposedly boasts a long list of impressive last names such as Rockefeller, Stewart, and Ford to name a few, and even one summer the name Kennedy (gasp!) was whispered in certain gossip circles. Well, what all these wealthy private women shared in common besides oodles of money was a pure passion for dining on the delicious mouthwatering local seafood and farm-fresh ingredients that our island and other places around Maine have to offer.
Rumor also has it that a summer tradition for the “Ladies Who Lunch” is to choose one lucky local chef to cook for them in the privacy of one of their stately manors. But none of us yokels have ever been able to officially offer any proof of this, or even the existence of the group, for that matter.
However, the stories continue to swirl, and we do hear every so often about one favorite c
hef in town who suddenly went off the grid for a few days only to reemerge with vague excuses and a self-satisfied look on his or her face like a cat who swallowed a canary. Eager to talk, but bound by either promise or even a contract to remain tight-lipped. All of this just fired up the town gossips, and even yours truly, about how those ladies had struck again and claimed another favorite chef around town as their own.
The rumor mill did bring a lot of young chefs with stars in their eyes and dreams of hosting their own Food Network show to town with the hope that the ladies might pluck them from obscurity and request a sit-down meal, firmly cementing their desire to be “a top chef to the fabulously rich and famous!”
Of course, I’ve never been a gossip, and yes I say that with a straight face, nor have I ever known anyone who was ever contacted by this secret society.
That is, until they reached out to me personally!
On Monday, August 22, 2016 at 7:45 A.M. I arrived at the Island Times office to find a beautiful cream-colored envelope with gold trim all around the sides and my name printed on the front lying in the middle of my desk. Since I was the first one to arrive at the office, I had no idea where this fancy envelope could have possibly come from, but I immediately plopped down at my desk and carefully opened it, my heart pounding with anticipation.
Inside was an engraved invitation.
My eyes nearly popped out of my head as I read it.
Was this Liddy and Mona pulling some kind of prank?
Or was this actually real?
Dear MS. POWELL,
We would like to request that you prepare for us
a favorite dish of yours
for this Friday, August 26th, 2016,
using of course a local ingredient(s) of your choice.
A car will arrive at your residence at promptly 12:00 P.M.
We ask that you keep this request to yourself,
and if you would like to accept our invitation,
please take this card outside and hand it
