by Lee Hollis
Hayley recognized the woman instantly.
Who wouldn’t?
It was Stacy Jo Stanton, Wade Springer’s ex-wife.
She leaned over the table and took a big whiff of the chili.
Her boobs nearly crushed the buttermilk cornbread.
“Tex Mex chili. My favorite.”
Hayley could barely move.
She was so surprised to see Stacy Jo in person after years of reading about her. But she wasn’t thrilled by any means.
She was angry.
And jealous.
And feeling all the things she knew she shouldn’t be feeling.
“Darling, the table should be set for two,” Stacy Jo purred.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were coming.”
“It was a last minute decision. Wade’s obviously going through a lot right now, and even though we’re not married anymore, we’re still very, very close and I wanted to be here for him. You know, show him my support.”
“I’m sure he appreciates it,” Hayley said, forcing a smile.
“I keep in touch with Billy Ray,” Stacy Jo said, picking up a piece of cornbread and looking it over. “He keeps me in the loop about what’s going on. I arrived last night at the Bar Harbor Airport from New York and took a taxi straight here.”
Stacy Jo took a bite of the cornbread. She chewed on it a moment, tasting it, and then set it back down on the table and pushed it away.
“You don’t like it?”
“Oh, it’s fine, darling. Just a little bland for me. I like to put jalapeño in my cornbread. Spice it up a bit. Because I’m not sure if you know this or not, but Wade likes things spicy. Real spicy.”
She thrust her giant breasts out for emphasis on this last point.
“I’ll be sure to remember that,” Hayley said, glancing at the door, wishing Wade would get back soon.
Hayley was still holding the ladle. She resisted the urge to bop Stacy Jo over the head with it.
Stacy Jo stared at her for a moment, a fake smile on her face, and then walked over and took the ladle from her. She scooped out some chili and took a small taste. Chewed and tasted again.
Crinkled her nose.
“You know what, darling,” Stacy Jo said. “I’m going to give you my recipe for Tex Mex chili so you get it right next time. How long have you been cooking for Wade?”
“Just a few days.”
“Interesting. I’m surprised he hasn’t said anything to you about the way he likes his food prepared.”
“He seemed to really love my fried chicken.”
“Honestly, darling, a complete idiot couldn’t screw up fried chicken!”
Stacy Jo laughed. Her cheeks jutted out and her eyes got big and her face became red and splotchy.
Hayley took some comfort in the fact that at least Stacy Jo was ugly when she laughed.
“I’m sure I can teach you a few things. Give you some pointers,” Stacy Jo said. “Trust me, darling, I know what I’m talking about. I’ve been braising Wade’s meat for a long, long time. I know just how he likes it.”
Hayley wasn’t sure they were talking about food anymore.
She just knew she didn’t want to be near this awful woman much longer.
“I can see why Wade hired you. You’re cute. Like a cream puff. And we all know Wade’s got one hell of a sweet tooth. But don’t start getting any big ideas about becoming the first lady of Nashville, you hear? Because Wade and I are in a good place, and we’re on the path to reconciliation, and I will not have some small-town Martha Stewart wanna-be getting in my way.”
“I’m just an employee,” Hayley said.
“Good answer, darling,” Stacy Jo said. “Because we southern girls are like lionesses protecting our cubs when it comes to other women moving in on what’s ours.”
She raised her hands to show off her perfectly manicured sharp lavender nails. “And with claws like these, we can sure mess up the face of a wily predator from up north.”
Hayley nodded. Her eyes focused on Stacy Jo’s killer nails.
“And if that doesn’t work, darling,” Stacy Jo said, pointing one of her nails at Hayley’s face. “I’m always packing. So tread lightly. Northern girls sometimes make us southern gals do crazy things.”
North versus South?
Stacy Jo was threatening to reenact the Civil War right here in Bar Harbor?
And Hayley could tell from Stacy Jo’s wild, crazy eyes that she was dead serious.
Chapter 16
Hayley was still a bit shaken up by her run-in with Wade’s ex, Stacy Jo, when she left the Harborside, so she made a beeline for her brother Randy’s bar for a relaxing glass of red wine before heading home to check up on the kids.
When she arrived at Drinks Like A Fish, Randy was tending bar and Mona sat on her usual corner bar stool complaining about her husband and kids, sipping on a Diet Sprite and not too happy about it.
There were a couple of bank tellers from the First National at a corner table nursing Cosmos and gossiping about their evil branch managers.
And, in the back, there was no missing the giant African-American man, in a bright yellow windbreaker that made him look like Big Bird, playing darts.
It was Wade’s bodyguard, Curtis King.
Hayley slid on top of a stool next to Mona and put her arm around her and gave her a tight squeeze. “Heard you had a sonogram today.”
“Yeah,” Mona groaned. “Kid’s healthy. I’m grateful for that. And I’m more grateful I’m not having twins.”
“Usual, Hayley?” Randy asked, reaching for the Jack Daniels.
“No, school night. I’m just having one glass of red wine and then I have to head straight home. I’ve just missed you all since I’ve been working these two jobs.”
Randy poured a glass full of merlot and set it down in front of Hayley. “Missed you, too, sis. It’s been crazy busy in here the last few nights. At least until the murder. Now business has ground to a halt. No more of Wade’s crew coming in to blow off steam.”
Mona chuckled and pointed to Curtis, who had just nailed a dart in the center of the board. “Except him.”
“What’s so funny?” Hayley asked.
“Wait. You’ll see,” Mona said, grinning.
Curtis downed the last of his beer and ambled over to the bar, slamming the mug down in front of Randy. “Fill ’er up, sunshine.”
Randy took the mug and poured him a cold one from the tap and slid it back over to him.
Curtis scooped it up and took a generous sip, which left a foam mustache on his upper lip.
He winked at Randy and returned to the dart board.
“Sunshine?” Hayley said, her mouth opened in shock.
“He’s got a huge, and I mean HUGE, crush on your brother,” Mona laughed.
“Ladies, please, let’s not, okay?” Randy said, wiping down the bar with a rag.
Hayley glanced over at Curtis, who nailed the center of the board again and then casually glanced over to see if Randy was noticing his prowess with darts.
“He’s looking over here, Randy,” Mona said.
“Don’t encourage him,” Randy said in a quiet but urgent voice.
“I didn’t even know he was gay,” Hayley said.
“He came here the first night with a few of Wade’s musicians, and got pretty drunk, and started getting a little randy. I told him I was taken, but that hasn’t exactly discouraged him. He’s been back every night. Won’t take no for an answer.”
“Did you tell him your boyfriend is the chief of police?” Hayley asked.
“Yeah, that didn’t really do the trick.”
“And Mickey Pritchett’s murder hasn’t kept him from coming around like the rest of Wade’s crew,” Hayley said, eyeing Curtis, who was busy chugging down his mug of beer.
“Well, there was no love lost between those two, believe me,” Randy said. “Curtis was here the other night, slurring his words a bit after more than a few, but making it very clear he
hated Mickey’s guts. Seemed Mickey was a homophobe and really gave Curtis a hard time after he found out macho Curtis was a girly pansy boy. Mickey’s words, not mine.”
“I heard the guy tell Wade’s drummer he wanted to put Mickey down for good,” Mona said, stirring her Diet Sprite with a straw before pushing the glass away from her. “God, I miss beer. I can’t wait for this kid to pop out.”
“Mona, why didn’t you mention this to me before?”
“You didn’t ask,” Mona said matter-of-factly.
“So Curtis had a motive to kill Mickey. They hated each other,” Hayley said, her mind racing. “Randy, think. Was Curtis in here with the boys from the tour the night Mickey was murdered?”
“Yes, I’m certain of it, because he kept asking me out to dinner and I kept saying no,” Randy said.
“But he was the first one to leave, around nine-thirty, don’t you remember? Because that was around the same time my babysitter called me threatening to sue my kids for emotional abuse and I had to get home,” Mona said. “We walked out of the bar together.”
“Nine-thirty,” Hayley said. “That gave Curtis plenty of time to go back to the hotel and force Mickey into the tour bus, shoot him dead, then drive it to Albert Meadow and set it on fire to try and cover his tracks.”
“Doesn’t he watch CSI? That never works,” Randy said. “They always find evidence in the wreckage.”
“I wish there was some way for me to search his hotel room to see if there’s some clue that places him at the scene,” Hayley said, spinning around on her stool and staring at Curtis.
“He isn’t staying in the hotel,” Randy said. “He’s staying in the other tour bus. It serves as his office and makeshift sleeping quarters. He likes to keep an eye on the hotel from outside to monitor all the comings and goings. Part of his security process, I guess.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Believe me, he’s invited me back there every night he’s been here for a quote, unquote, drink,” Randy said.
Curtis strolled back over, wiped some remaining foam from his mouth, and placed his mug down in front of Randy.
Randy refilled it again.
“Honestly, Randy, you work too hard,” Hayley said suddenly, loud enough for Curtis to hear. “I’m worried you’re going to make yourself sick. You need to take a break every once and a while. As your younger sister . . .”
“You’re two years older and what are you talking about?”
“Don’t interrupt me. Let me look after the bar. Go get something to eat. Relax. Enjoy life for once, instead of working your fingers to the bone. You’re so cute and I don’t want you aging prematurely. Isn’t he cute, Curtis?”
Curtis perked up and smiled. “Oh, yes. Very.”
“You know what? I just had the craziest idea,” Hayley said, fishing for something in her bag. “I got this gift certificate from Havana that I’m never going to use.”
Havana was a quiet little Cuban restaurant on the other side of town.
And very romantic.
Candles on the table.
Impressive wine list.
The whole shebang.
Randy opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, Hayley was shoving the gift certificate in his hand. “Why don’t you call Sergio and have a nice quiet dinner. Oh, darn, I just remembered, he’s working tonight, isn’t he?”
“Yes, there’s this very big murder case . . .”
“Curtis, have you eaten?” Hayley was not going to let Randy get a word in edgewise and Randy knew it and was already looking resigned to the situation.
“No, ma’am,” Curtis said, beaming.
“Why don’t you go with Curtis? As friends. I’m sure Curtis has been working like a dog, too, looking after Wade. He deserves a tasty meal at one of our local hotspots,” Hayley said.
“As long as Randy doesn’t mind,” Curtis said, eyeing Randy curiously, not sure if he was going to go for this plan.
Hayley was eyeing Randy, too, her back to Curtis. She was silently pleading with him.
Randy sighed. “No, Curtis, dinner sounds nice. Why don’t you wait for me outside?”
Curtis upended his mug and swallowed the beer in one gulp. He nodded to Hayley and Mona. “You ladies have a nice evening. I know I sure will.”
And he was out the door.
Randy glared at Hayley. “I swear, if Sergio ever finds out about this little undercover assignment . . .”
“He’s not going to. I promise. I only need an hour. You don’t even have to stay for dessert.”
“I can’t just close the bar,” Randy said.
“Mona can take care of the bank tellers and anyone else who comes in. Any reason to avoid going home to her husband and kids, right, Mona?”
“She’s got a point,” Mona shrugged. “Besides, they’re all out at the movies.”
“Then it’s settled. Let’s do this,” Hayley said.
“Why are you so obsessed with getting involved in all this?” Randy asked. “Is it because of Wade?”
“No. Wade’s already been cleared. He has an air-tight alibi. You know me. I just can’t help myself. I still have all my first edition Nancy Drew books. That’s why I work at a newspaper.”
“But you’re not an investigative journalist. You write a cooking column,” Randy said.
“Please don’t turn into another Bruce Linney. I couldn’t take two of him. Now go! Curtis is waiting.”
Randy took a deep breath and sighed again. Then he came out from behind the bar and went over to the table with the bank tellers. “I have to go, ladies. But Mona will be here to take care of you.”
The women nodded and went back to their gossiping.
Randy shot Hayley one last look of annoyance and walked out the door to where Curtis was waiting.
The two strolled off down the street.
“I’ll be back soon,” Hayley said to Mona, who was already behind the bar washing glasses, before she shot out the door and raced down the street in the other direction.
When she arrived at the Harborside Hotel, Hayley was amazed to find the tour bus unlocked, especially given recent events. But once she was inside, it quickly became apparent there was really nothing of value to steal.
Just a lot of empty food containers and beer bottles. There was the nauseating smell of unwashed sheets and dirty clothes. She found discarded candy wrappers and a crumpled issue of Health and Fitness magazine.
Which Curtis probably flipped through while chowing down on junk food.
Hayley moved to a steamer trunk in the back of the bus hidden under a pile of clothes. She snapped it open and looked inside.
Mostly personal items. Shaving kit. A Dallas Cowboys ball cap. An autographed photo of Curtis flanked by Wade and Tim McGraw. Curtis was beaming at being in the middle of the two strapping sexy singers.
Well, it looked like Curtis and Hayley had the same taste when it came to men.
Hayley smiled and was about to put the photo back in the trunk when something suddenly caught her eye.
Sticking out from a pile of DVDs—mostly Adam Sandler comedies—was a glinting piece of metal.
Hayley knew what it was immediately.
A gun.
Hayley grabbed one of Curtis’s dirty stained socks from the floor and used it to pick up the Smith and Wesson .38.
Was this the murder weapon that killed Mickey Pritchett?
Chapter 17
When Hayley called Sergio to tell him about the Smith and Wesson she found on the tour bus that served as Curtis King’s makeshit office/crash pad, she neglected to mention that she had essentially committed the crime of breaking and entering.
Well, not breaking.
Just entering.
The bus was unlocked.
That somehow made her feel better.
She just told Sergio that she had heard rumors among the crew that Curtis was packing, and even though it wasn’t unusual for a bodyguard to be carrying a weapon, it might be wort
h checking out.
Sergio agreed, given Curtis’s feelings toward the victim (which Hayley also told him about), and went about obtaining a warrant to search the bus.
When Hayley got to the office the following morning, she hadn’t even put her bag down when the phone on her desk rang.
Hayley scooped up the receiver. “Island Times, this is Hayley.”
“Sergio had the gun sent up to Bangor to see if it’s the same one that killed Mickey Pritchett.”
It was Randy.
“Did Sergio arrest Curtis?” Hayley asked, waving to Sal, who blew in through the front door with a coffee and bagel and a pained expression on his face.
Probably another fight with his wife.
“No,” Randy said on the other end of the line. “Sergio hauled him in for questioning, but apparently Curtis was very calm and cooperative. Said he was happy to answer any questions and do whatever he could to assist in the investigation.”
“Could be covering,” Hayley said. “He really despised Mickey.”
“Or it could’ve been someone else.”
“But who? Who else on the tour had a problem with Mickey? Wade certainly did, but luckily that little pain in the butt Darrell Rodick provided him with an alibi. I need to talk to the entire crew. Mickey was a loud-mouthed, mean-spirited bastard. I’m sure he ticked off more than a few people he worked with.”
“And I’m sure Sergio will question all of them,” Randy said. “Let him do his job, Hayley. For both our sakes.”
“You’re right,” Hayley said. “I’ve really got to reign in this curious nature I have.”
“Like that’s ever going to happen,” Randy said, snickering.
The front door flew open again, and Liddy breathlessly swept into the office, her eyes wide and arms flapping. “Hayley! Hayley! Hang up! We have to talk!”
“I’ll call you back, Randy,” Hayley said, hanging up, and then turned to Liddy. “Someone’s already had too much caffeine this morning.”
Liddy sat down in a chair next to Hayley’s desk, opened her bag, and fished for a compact. She flipped it open and studied herself as she adjusted her hair. “I just came from the salon. How do I look? Too matronly? They always make me look like someone’s spinster aunt. I really need a trip to New York to see a serious stylist.”
