Death of a Cookbook Author

by Lee Hollis

  And neither was Penelope.

  Island Food & Spirits

  BY HAYLEY POWELL

  What kid doesn’t look forward to summer vacation? I know my brother Randy and I sure did! Especially since it meant going to our grandparents’ house and staying longer than just the weekend and a few nights over school vacations. Mamie and Grandpa lived in Trenton, Maine, which was located just on the other side of the bridge that connects Mount Desert Island to the mainland about twenty-five minutes out of town.

  The lure for us, of course, was our kind loving grandparents spoiling us rotten! But we also enjoyed the make-believe adventures we played on their sprawling farm with a large barn complete with hidden rooms and horse stalls. They didn’t own any horses anymore, but we always pretended there were some there for when we created make-believe scenes from the Old West.

  There was also a large upper loft that housed secret treasures inside old rusted trunks, including hundreds of old black-and-white photos, newspaper clippings, and assorted documents—basically a history of our family dating back to the first settlers in Maine in the mid-1600s. We also played in the two large old-fashioned horse sleighs that were over a hundred years old but had held up remarkably well.

  Grandpa had even tied a long thick rope from one side of the loft to the other inside the barn and carved a swing seat for the rope so we could swing to our hearts’ content all day long, even when it was snowing or raining outside.

  Behind the farmhouse was a huge field with acres upon acres of open land and woods. We would spend hours exploring, and every year, without fail, one of us would get lost, and Grandpa would have to gather a search party of neighboring kids to come find us.

  So you can imagine our excitement when our mother Sheila suddenly announced that she was meeting some old childhood school friends in Boston to go on a cruise through the Caribbean for a girls-only getaway, and that we would be staying at Mamie and Grandpa’s for two whole weeks, from late June right through the Fourth of July holiday weekend!

  That meant Randy and I would be front and center at our grandparents’ annual Fourth of July Barn Party that they held every year for their close friends and neighbors, which also included a few kids close to our ages so we were guaranteed an army of playmates for our made-up adventures.

  As usual, Mamie would be making her now famous Tomato Casserole Pies with her fresh-from-the-garden tomatoes that she had been carefully watering and tending to all summer, waiting for just the right moment to pick for her pies. Everyone in the town of Trenton just swooned over Mamie’s mouthwatering tomato pies!

  The day before the party, after almost two weeks of sharing the same bedroom, Randy and I were on each other’s last nerves. We had endured way too much togetherness, and we spent the day picking at each other to the point where we couldn’t stand being in the same room with the other anymore. The last straw was in the barn when Randy selfishly refused to put on the horse halter and pull me around the yard in an old wheelbarrow. He told me in no uncertain terms that he was not there to amuse me by pretending to be a horse and dragging me around all day.

  As the older sibling who should be rightfully in charge of all the fun activities, I thought his obstinacy was inexcusable! Both of us kept running to the kitchen to complain about the other to Mamie, who was desperately trying to get her pie dough made for the ten or so pies she was planning on serving the next day at the party. After my third trip to the kitchen to trash-talk my little brother, Mamie threw her flour-covered hands up in the air in exasperation and told us that it was time for us to stop arguing with each other and time to be put to work.

  Work?

  What had happened to spoiling us rotten?

  Had we just pushed our usually easygoing grandmother to the breaking point?

  It sure seemed that way, because at that moment she handed each of us a large bucket and ordered us out the back door to pick the tomatoes with a stern warning for us not to fool around because she was on the clock to get all the pies prepared in time for the party.

  While stuck outside plucking the tomatoes and dropping them in the bucket, we actually began to joke around and get along and nearly called a truce. But lo and behold, as the intense heat of the July sun started making us feel hot and sticky, and when the bugs started feasting on our sweaty skin, our moods quickly soured, and we started blaming each other for having to pick tomatoes in the god-awful heat.

  Randy suddenly stood up, placed his hands on his hips, and informed me that this misery was all my fault because I was too bossy, and he was through being around me. He was going to go inside and watch game shows on TV, leaving me out in the sweltering sun to fill both buckets with tomatoes myself!

  I don’t know what possessed me, but his irritating tone got the best of me, and before I knew what I was doing, I found myself reaching into my bucket of ripe juicy tomatoes, grabbing a big fat one, and hurling it straight at Randy! It hit him square on the forehead, exploding in a wet, sloppy mess.

  Randy’s eyes popped open in surprise and he glared at me, still in shock as bits of the juicy tomato dripped down his face.

  We both froze for a moment and stared at each other like two gunslingers, fingering the weapons in their holsters, about to draw in a duel. And then all hell broke loose.

  Randy reached into his bucket and yanked out another big tomato and fired it off at me. I didn’t duck in time, and it hit me in the nose, bursting apart, tomato juice blinding me as I frantically tried wiping it away. Before I had a chance to reach into my own bucket again, another one lodged in my mouth and I couldn’t breathe. Randy was hurling them so fast and with such an impressive aim I could hardly keep up! The local Little League team surely lost a star pitcher the day Randy refused to go to the ball field and try out because practices were going to be held on Saturday morning during his favorite cartoons.

  Once I caught my breath, I started firing back like Annie Oakley, hitting him in the chest, arm, legs, until both of our buckets were completely empty and we were covered in tomato skins and juice from head to toe.

  We stared at each other for a long moment, and then collapsed onto the ground in an uncontrollable fit of giggles.

  Unfortunately, we were so engaged in our tomato battle that we hadn’t heard Mamie poke her head out the kitchen window and scream at us to stop! Grandpa did, however, and he ran around as fast as he could from the front of the house where he was mowing the lawn, to see what all the ruckus was about. As he rounded the corner, he failed to see the stack of buckets filled with tomatoes that Mamie had picked herself earlier that morning and plowed right into them, knocking them over, tripping over his own two feet. He fell facedown on the grass, crushing most, okay all, of the remaining tomatoes.

  This was a disaster of epic proportions since there were only a handful of tomatoes left to pick. So poor Mamie had to rush to the IGA market for store-bought tomatoes in order to finish the pies. Store-bought tomatoes, of course, were a big no-no for the barn party, and we were sworn to secrecy.

  The next day, luckily nobody seemed to notice the difference, except for Mamie’s chief rival Vera Leland, with whom she competed every year at the annual Trenton Fourth of July pie baking contest. Vera clearly knew something was up when she tasted the pie, but Mamie kept giving her the evil eye, and Grandpa plied Vera with plenty of his signature highballs to the point where she must have made the smart decision to keep her mouth shut or she was just so drunk from the highballs she forgot where she was.

  Despite all the drama, the annual barn party was a rousing success, and much to our relief, so were Mamie’s delicious Tomato Casserole Pies. Grandpa’s highball cocktail recipe was also a big hit with the adults because I don’t remember the barn party ever getting so loud and out of control.

  Randy wanted to try a highball for himself, but he was told by both Mamie and Grandpa that he would have to wait until he was grown up before he would be allowed to taste one. Well, eventually we both did a highball, and I must say Gra
ndpa’s recipe has remained a lifelong favorite. A good time is always had by all when serving Mamie’s Tomato Casserole Pie and Grandpa’s Whiskey Highball!

  Grandpa’s Whiskey Highball

  2 ounces of your favorite whiskey

  Ginger ale

  Ice

  Place 2–3 ice cubes in a highball glass, add two ounces of your favorite whiskey, and top off with ginger ale.

  Needless to say, this is most refreshing on a hot summer’s day—and not just the Fourth of July!

  Mamie’s Tomato Casserole Pie

  1 pie crust, homemade or store-bought

  3 large fresh tomatoes

  8 grape tomatoes, sliced in half

  1 cup shredded mozzarella cheese

  ½ cup shredded cheddar cheese

  ½ teaspoon salt

  ½ teaspoon freshly ground pepper

  ½ teaspoon garlic powder

  ½ teaspoon oregano

  ⅓ cup fresh basil leaves

  Preheat your oven to 450°F.

  Slice your tomatoes about a quarter of an inch thick and place them on paper towels. Lightly salt them and set aside to dry a bit.

  Prick some holes in your pie crust with a fork and add ¼ cup of the mozzarella evenly over the crust. Bake 10 minutes. Remove and let cool completely.

  Combine half your cheddar cheese and ¼ cup of the mozzarella in a small bowl.

  Sprinkle the tomato slices with the garlic, oregano, and black pepper.

  Layer half the tomatoes in the pie crust, then half of the cheese mixture and half of the fresh basil. Repeat with the rest of the ingredients and top with the sliced grape tomatoes.

  Reduce the oven to 350°F and bake 35 minutes. Remove and cool before serving.

  This casserole pie is best served at warm temperature so it is great for parties and when having friends over!

  Chapter 20

  Hayley could tell that Lex was surprised to see her standing in the doorway of the small caretaker cottage where he had been living since he was hired to work on the estate.

  Hayley smiled. “I hope I’m not waking you up by dropping by so early, Lex.”

  “No,” Lex lied, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “I was already up and just about to make some coffee. Come on in.”

  Lex waved her inside. He was wearing the same smoky jeans he had worn the night before when he and his men had put out the pantry fire, a ratty old T-shirt hung on his lean frame, and on his head was a Boston Red Sox ball cap that went a long way in covering his unruly dirty blond hair. He had obviously dressed in a hurry when she knocked on his door.

  Hayley walked into the small kitchen, followed by Lex, who snatched the coffeepot off the stove, rinsed it in the sink, and set it into the maker, adding some ground coffee beans and pressing the start button. She felt awkward, not sure if she had made the right decision to just swing by when the sun had only just risen, but she wanted to catch him before he started working on the grounds with his crew.

  “I just want to make sure you are all right after last night. You must have inhaled quite a lot of smoke yourself rushing in like that to save Lena,” Hayley said looking him over, though he appeared to be fit and healthy.

  “I’m fine,” he said, smiling slightly, clearly happy she was so concerned.

  “That was very brave of you, you and your men,” Hayley said, sitting down at the kitchen table.

  Lex shrugged, and Hayley remembered he was a modest man, not one to easily accept compliments. They made him supremely uncomfortable so he usually just quickly changed the subject.

  “You hungry? I may have some bacon and eggs I can fry up in a pan,” Lex said, throwing open his fridge and browsing his shelves and bins.

  “No, thank you, I need to catch up on the sleep I missed last night from all the excitement. I don’t know how you do it, up all night playing the dashing hero, and now about to work a long eight-hour shift.”

  “It’s just a busy weekend. I’ll have more downtime after the holiday,” Lex said, pulling a package of bacon wrapped in plastic and a half carton of eggs out of the refrigerator, before closing the door shut with his back.

  Hayley stood up to leave.

  “You’re not at least staying for coffee?”

  Hayley shook her head. “Bruce is probably wondering where I am.”

  Lex nodded. “I see.”

  She hesitated, debating with herself whether to leave it alone or not, but she couldn’t. She felt she owed him something given their past history.

  “Lex, Bruce and I are not together.”

  “What do you mean? He’s your boyfriend . . .”

  “No, he’s not. That’s just a cover story.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The only reason Bruce is here at the estate is because he smells a big story involving famous people and wants a front-page headline that might possibly go viral and help him get a better job at a big-city news organization.”

  “That may be so, but I’ve known Bruce a long time, and I’m betting that’s not the only reason he talked his way into sharing a bed with you.”

  Hayley giggled. “Oh, come on, Lex . . .”

  “I think there’s more to it than Bruce just wanting a big story, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “Seriously, there is nothing going on between us, and trust me, there never will be, and that you can take to the bank.”

  Lex smiled tightly.

  She could tell by the expression on his face that he was not believing a word of it.

  “No, really, Bruce and I are just work colleagues. That’s it. I mean, yes, we dated for something like five minutes back in high school, but that was over twenty years ago. I have zero interest in dating Bruce now—”

  “Hayley . . .”

  “The very idea of us dating is hysterical. We couldn’t be more polar opposites, and quite frankly, ninety percent of the time he’s driving me up the wall—”

  “Hayley . . .”

  “I don’t even find him all that good-looking anyway, not in the traditional sense like you, or Aaron my last boyfriend, after you, but Bruce? No, he’s way too goofy and self-centered. I mean, can you imagine how high maintenance he would be if he was actually my boyfriend . . . ?”

  “Hayley! Stop! You don’t have to convince me. I’ll take your word for it.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what just happened there,” Hayley said, embarrassed by her unexplainable nonstop prattling about why Bruce Linney was not, and could not be, her boyfriend.

  Was she trying to convince Lex or herself?

  Hayley turned to go. “I’ll see you later, Lex.”

  Something lying on the small coffee table in the living area suddenly caught her eye as she walked toward the front door.

  It was a pipe.

  Hayley stopped in her tracks, startled.

  She had no clue Lex smoked a pipe.

  He certainly had never touched one when the two of them were together.

  “Anything wrong?” Lex asked, turning around from his sizzling bacon frying in the pan on the stove to see her still standing there, nowhere nearer to the front door.

  “No, not a thing. Have a good day!” she chirped as she raced out the door and fled across the property toward the main house.

  Hayley had believed that Conrad was the only one on the entire estate who regularly smoked a pipe, which would have explained why one was found lying on the ground near the scene of Conrad’s fall.

  But what if that pipe didn’t belong to Conrad?

  What if somebody else dropped it after pushing him off the cliff?

  Could it have been Lex?

  But that made absolutely zero sense.

  Why would Lex have any reason to want Conrad dead?

  Lex seemed perfectly content working for him and Penelope.

  And what about Lena?

  He certainly could not have had anything to do with locking her in the pantry, leaving her at the mercy of a roaring fire, because he was the one who gall
antly led the team that heroically broke in and pulled her out.

  When Hayley arrived back at her room, Bruce was there waiting impatiently for her.

  “Where have you been? You had me worried!”

  “Sergio and I had a talk with Penelope . . .”

  “Great! Bring me up to speed. What did she say?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, all ears.

  “And then I stopped by Lex Bansfield’s cottage . . .”

  “Whoa. Wait. Why did you go there?”

  “Because he risked his life last night to save Lena and I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

  “And was he?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why do you have that weird look on your face?”

  “I don’t have a weird look on my face!”

  “Yes, you do. You always get it when you’re holding something back from me,” Bruce said. “So what is it?”

  It bothered her that Bruce could tell when she was hiding something. It meant that he had been carefully observing her over the years, and that was, well, that was more than a little disturbing.

  Hayley sighed and told Bruce about the pipe.

  Bruce thought about it for a spell, maybe thirty seconds, then declared, “We should call Chief Alvares and have him arrested!”

  “Bruce, don’t be ridiculous! There is absolutely no proof to warrant an arrest. Just because he smokes a pipe, and a pipe was found at the scene, that doesn’t mean Lex was the one who pushed Conrad off that cliff!”

  “But you told me years ago he has a criminal record,” Bruce said, springing to his feet while wagging an accusing finger at her.

  “Yes, but it was all for juvenile offenses, and maybe one or two drunken bar fights, nothing serious, and they were a long time ago! You’re just allowing the fact that you don’t like Lex to cloud your judgment.”