Death of a Country Fried Redneck (Hayley Powell Food and Cocktails Mysteries)

by Lee Hollis

  The sun had just started coming up.

  The waves crashed violently against the rocks, and Hayley and Wade let Leroy and Delilah off their leashes to go explore the seaweed and snails and starfish that had come in with the last tide.

  Delilah was so exited to be off her leash, she nearly knocked Hayley off her feet as she broke into a run.

  Hayley lost her balance and nearly fell flat on her face before Wade caught her around the waist to keep her steady.

  Another shiver shot up her spine.

  And then she noticed a flash.

  Just like the one at the Balance Rock Inn.

  There he was.

  Darrell Rodick. That obnoxious pint-size paparazzi.

  “Darrell Rodick, stop taking pictures!”

  He was about thirty feet away.

  She could see him checking his digital camera.

  “Awesome!” he cried. “It looks like you’re hugging! I’ll get at least fifty dollars for this one!”

  And off he went.

  Hayley was not going to let the little runt get away with this again.

  She started chasing him.

  Wade called after her, “Hayley, relax! It’s no big deal!”

  But there was no way she was going to let herself be plastered all over the front page of both papers again.

  She huffed and puffed and ran as hard as she could.

  Hayley had maybe run for about thirty seconds before she began sweating and heaving, and her feet ached.

  Darrell was already out of view, having ducked into a wooded area, and it was painfully clear that he was a wiry little kid with boundless energy and she was a woman in her thirties who hadn’t been out for a healthy run in months. Ever since someone took a potshot at her in the park. But that’s another story.

  She slowed down and was about to turn back toward the shore when a man jumped out of the bushes and grabbed her.

  Hayley spun around in his arms and slammed the palm of her hand into the bridge of his nose, a trick she had learned in a self-defense class she had taken with Mona.

  The man threw his hands in front of his face and yelped. “Jesus Mary!”

  She recognized him immediately.

  “Bruce, what the hell are you doing?”

  “I think my nose is broken.”

  “Serves you right for scaring me like that.”

  “I was staking out Jesse DeSoto but he spotted me and took off running. I thought you were him. I wanted to question him.”

  “By leaping out of the bushes?”

  “He’s a slippery little bugger and I figured it was the only way to get him to talk to me,” Bruce said, fumbling for some Kleenex in his jeans pocket. “My nose is bleeding. Thanks, Hayley.”

  “I’m sorry, Bruce.”

  “What are you doing out here so early?”

  “Walking Leroy.”

  Bruce pressed the tissue to his nostrils and moaned and then said, “I see you’ve got company.”

  Hayley turned to see Wade walking toward them, both Leroy and Delilah back on their leashes.

  The two dogs were brushing against each other flirtatiously.

  “You never cease to amaze me, Hayley,” Bruce said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I never thought you to be the type to get all girly-girl giggly over the first overrated singing cowboy that looks at you twice.”

  “And I never thought you to be the type to be jealous of anyone who pays me a little attention because you’re too much of a coward to admit you like me.”

  There.

  She said it.

  And she’d been waiting a long time.

  Without another word, Bruce turned on his heel and stalked off, the wad of blood-soaked tissue pressed to his nose.

  “And when did you ever hear me giggle once?” Hayley yelled at him.

  But he was already out of earshot.

  Why didn’t she have this many men interested in her in high school?

  She would have had a much better experience.

  Island Food & Spirits by Hayley Powell

  Just the other day as I was leaving the office, I decided to pick up a few items at the grocery store because, as most of you have probably heard by now, I am currently Wade Springer’s on-tour personal chef (insert squealing!). But enough of that right now. Back to my point.

  As I was walking toward the front doors of the store, which are made of glass, I happened to see a reflection of a person I knew. I couldn’t quite place the name, but she looked so familiar. I spun around to get a better look and say hello. But, strangely, no one was there.

  Which is a miracle since it was 5 P.M. and we all know how crowded the store gets when people get off work. I looked up and down the parking lot. No sign of her. So I turned back around and, wouldn’t you know, there she was again!

  That’s when it hit me. The slightly chubby, out-of-shape person who looked vaguely familiar to me in the reflection of the glass was me!

  I let out a horrified scream at the exact moment poor Mrs. Crowley chose to exit the store. I shocked her so badly with my screaming, she threw her grocery bag straight up in the air! It turned upside down, and the next thing I knew, it was raining cans of cat food from the sky! They all began hitting the ground around us and rolling wildly all over the parking lot. I felt so awful for scaring this poor woman half to death that I started running around gathering the runaway cans. I was huffing and puffing and waving my arms like a madwoman so no one would hit me with their car while I was bending over collecting all the cans.

  I had to stop because I was completely out of breath. That was the moment I decided to take matters into my own hands and get rid of some of my unwanted pounds. First thing in the morning I was going to call the local gym and make an appointment with a personal trainer for some exercise tips that would help me get into better shape. But, first, I had to get into the store for my groceries and pick up one of those delectable black forest cheesecakes at the bakery. I know what you’re thinking, but in the immortal words of my personal heroine Scarlett O’Hara, “Tomorrow is another day.”

  I called Abbey at the local gym, and made an appointment to drop by during my lunch hour. Maybe start with a little running on the treadmill. Nothing too taxing. As I breezed through the doors with newfound determination and a very high energy level, I felt my jaw drop to my chest as I stood there surveying the room in my ratty sweats and baggy, stained sweatshirt. Apparently this was where all of the beautiful people in Bar Harbor hung out. Where did they all come from? And what the hell happened to their body fat? Had any of them ever touched a plate of biscuits and gravy in their lives? Standing there slack-jawed, looking at their perfectly toned bodies, I suddenly felt every biscuit and gravy plate I had eaten in my entire lifetime just clinging to my whole body!

  Seriously, some of them were actually wearing spandex! I hadn’t seen spandex since those old MTV videos of Olivia Newton-John singing “Physical.”

  So much for the gym. I turned around and hightailed it out of there.

  No, tomorrow I will just start walking to work. And I’ll need everyone’s help. No matter how many of you I try to flag down, yell for you to stop, or try jumping in front of your car begging for a ride, please just smile and wave to me as you drive right past me, and be happy in the knowledge that you are, in the end, helping me. And just ignore any curse words I may scream out as you drive away. I’m sure I will get used to the seven-minute walk to the office in no time!

  But now for today’s recipes. Of course, I haven’t been able to get biscuits and gravy off my mind since my ill-fated trip to the gym. But I told myself that it is totally fine for me to make them because how else will I know if they will be the perfect accompaniment to Wade’s country fried chicken if I didn’t whip up a test batch to try ahead of time?

  But, first, a nice cocktail should set the right tone, allowing you to relax before you begin your baking. So mix, shake, pour, and enjoy!

  Cranberry Martini


  1 ounce vodka

  ½ ounce Cointreau

  3 ounces cranberry juice

  Ice

  Lemon slice for garnish

  Combine all of your ingredients in a cocktail shaker and shake for 20 seconds. Strain into a chilled martini glass and squeeze a little lemon juice in, then garnish and forget your troubles.

  Homemade Country Biscuits

  2 cups of all purpose flour

  4 teaspoons baking powder

  ¼ teaspoon baking soda

  Pinch of salt

  3 ounces cold butter, diced

  8 ounces buttermilk

  In a bowl, combine the dry ingredients and knead in the butter with your fingers. Add buttermilk and gently knead on a floured surface only until the dough is mixed together.

  With a floured rolling pin flatten out to about an inch thick and use a 3-inch round biscuit cutter or a glass right from your cupboard to cut out the circles. Place on a greased baking sheet.

  Place in a preheated 400 degree oven for 15 to 20 minutes or until golden brown. Remove and brush melted butter on them if you like.

  Country Gravy

  1 pound ground pork sausage

  2 tablespoons butter

  ¼ cup all purpose flour

  Salt and pepper to taste

  3 cups milk

  Brown the pork sausage in a large skillet over medium high heat. Remove cooked sausage to a paper towel–lined plate, leaving drippings in pan.

  Melt butter into the sausage drippings.

  Reduce heat to medium. Add flour, stirring constantly until mixture turns a golden brown.

  Gradually whisk the milk into the skillet. Once the milk mixture is thickened and begins to bubble, return the sausage to the skillet.

  Season with salt and pepper and reduce heat and simmer for 15 minutes. Spoon over warm buttered split biscuits and let the feasting begin!

  Chapter 9

  After spending most of the day running errands, Hayley raced home so she could prepare Wade’s dinner. There really wasn’t any question what he wanted for his first meal.

  Hayley’s blue ribbon country fried chicken.

  She hauled a picnic basket out of the downstairs hall closet and found a red-checkered tablecloth to line the bottom. Then she carefully placed the still piping hot chicken fresh from the fryer onto a plate and put it inside the basket before covering it up with the cloth.

  She had already prepared some macaroni and cheese, and sautéed carrots for a vegetable, and some fresh biscuits during her lunch hour, which were already in the trunk of her car. She also prepared a separate plate of chicken for the crew and placed that in the backseat.

  She would have just enough time to drive the meal over to Wade at the hotel and get back home in time to make dinner for the kids.

  When Hayley pulled into the parking lot, Billy Ray Cyrus, Wade’s publicist, was pacing back and forth in front of the entrance.

  She smiled and waved at him as she got out of the car and retrieved the picnic basket from the back seat.

  Billy Ray rushed over to her.

  “Hayley, do you have a moment?” he asked breathlessly.

  “Sure, if you help me carry Wade’s dinner inside.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Hayley popped open the trunk, put the picnic basket down on the ground, and started handing Billy Ray plastic cartons of food. She was planning on arranging the food personally on Wade’s plate.

  Presentation was important to her.

  “Wade posted Mickey Pritchett’s bail,” Billy Ray said. “We’re expecting him back here anytime.”

  “Mickey who?” Hayley had no idea who he was talking about.

  “One of our roadies. I believe you met him last night at one of your local bars,” Billy Ray said, sniffing. “Smells delicious.”

  “Thank you. Oh, right. Him,” Hayley said, scowling. “That guy’s a jerk.”

  “I know. He can be a handful when he’s been drinking. Wade’s given him so many chances.”

  “Why does he keep a guy like that around?”

  “Wade was very close with Mickey’s father, Buddy. They grew up together in the Louisiana bayou. When Buddy died, Wade became a father figure to Buddy’s sons Mickey and Clarence. Clarence worked through his grief and got a scholarship to college but Mickey became lost and started rebelling. Caused all sorts of trouble. Whoring, thieving, vandalizing. His mother finally couldn’t take it anymore and, with a heavy heart, kicked him out. Poor Mickey had nowhere to go. So Wade took him in, and tried to teach him the value of hard work. He was hoping that by hiring him for this tour, well, it might straighten Mickey out. But obviously that hasn’t happened,” Billy Ray said, shaking his head.

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  “Well,” Billy Ray said, taking Hayley gently by the arm, “I heard the man he assaulted was your brother, and I was wondering if you would consider talking to your brother and asking him to drop the charges. So long as Mickey makes restitution and pays for any damage he caused to the bar. We’ll deduct it from his paycheck every week until he’s all paid up.”

  Hayley wasn’t inclined to help a foul-mouthed drunken idiot like Mickey.

  “Wade sure would appreciate it,” Billy Ray quickly added.

  The magic word.

  Wade.

  “Sure. I can talk to Randy. I’m sure he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of this anyway.”

  “Oh, thank you, Hayley, thank you,” Billy Ray said, relieved. “Mickey’s not such a bad kid. He just doesn’t know how to hold his liquor.”

  “No problem,” Hayley said, filling Billy Ray’s arms with a tray of biscuits.

  “Why don’t I run this inside and come back and help you with the rest,” Billy Ray said, turning on his heel and running into the hotel, balancing the Tupperware and trays piled high in his arms.

  Hayley decided to get the basket of chicken inside quickly before it got cold. Leaving the car’s hatch open, she picked up the picnic basket off the ground and turned around, slamming into someone.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you . . . ,” Hayley said, her words trailing off as she looked up into the man’s face.

  It was Mickey Pritchett.

  “Howdy, ma’am,” Mickey said with a drawl.

  “Hello,” Hayley said coldly, liking him even less now that he called her ma’am.

  “I just wanted to apologize for my behavior at the bar the other night,” Mickey said, taking off his hat in an effort to be more sincere.

  “That’s all right, Mickey,” Hayley said, just wanting to get past him.

  She made a move, but Mickey stepped in front of her, blocking her escape.

  “There’s just no excuse for acting that way. I don’t know what got into me,” Mickey said.

  “I’m sure it was at least eighty-proof,” Hayley said.

  Mickey laughed. “Well, yes, ma’am, I reckon you’re right. I do love my whiskey.”

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me . . . ,” Hayley said, making another attempt to get around him.

  Mickey stepped in front of her again.

  He stared down at her with those coal black eyes.

  His smile was forced and unconvincing.

  “Something sure smells good.”

  “It’s Wade’s dinner. Fried chicken.”

  “I’m not talking about the chicken, ma’am.”

  Hayley shuddered.

  She glanced around.

  There was no one around in the parking lot that she could see.

  He pushed in a little closer.

  “Get away from me,” Hayley spat out under her breath.

  “Now what happened to that small-town Yankee hospitality I’ve heard so much about?” Mickey asked, and then laughed.

  He gripped her shoulders with his big hands. “Tour bus is parked right over there. Got a nice bed for two. Why don’t you and I go lie down and get acquainted over some of your fried chicken?”

  Hayley pushed
him back with all her might. But he was so much bigger than her, he barely budged.

  He grabbed her wrist and she dropped the basket of chicken. He wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her into him so hard he nearly crushed her face against his chest.

  She could barely breathe.

  She tried nailing the heel of her shoe into his foot, but he anticipated the move and she missed and smashed her ankle against the pavement of the parking lot. Hayley struggled as Mickey started dragging her toward the bus. His giant, long thin fingers pressed over her mouth before she could scream. She started pounding him with her fists to no avail.

  She was like a rag doll in his arms because he was so damned tall and strong.

  And then, suddenly, he let her go.

  Hayley stumbled back, nearly falling to the ground.

  That’s when she saw Wade.

  He spun Mickey around and delivered a roundhouse punch across his face. The sudden impact took Mickey by surprise.

  His nose spurted blood.

  He just stood there, in a state of shock.

  Wade looked like he was going to explode, his face was so red. “That’s it, Mickey. Strike three! You are fired! You hear me? Fired! Pack up your stuff and get the hell out of here!”

  “But, Wade, let me explain,” Mickey pleaded.

  Wade charged him. “Don’t make me hit you again, Mickey. I said get out of here! Now!”

  Wade turned to Hayley and said softly, “Are you all right?”

  Hayley nodded.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Wade said to Hayley. “I knew Mickey could be a dumb ass, but I never thought . . . I never imagined he would ever try anything like this.”