Death of a Kitchen Diva (Hayley Powell Food and Cocktail Mysteries) (6 page)

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Authors: Lee Hollis

BOOK: Death of a Kitchen Diva (Hayley Powell Food and Cocktail Mysteries)
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Chapter 9
 
Hayley kept her head down while running errands in town, hoping all the drama involving Karen Applebaum and the identical recipes would just die down by the time the next issue of the twice-weekly paper hit the stands. In hindsight, that was just wishful thinking.
Things quickly went from bad to worse.
Hayley had completely forgotten about the Library Bake Sale, an annual event she had long participated in to raise funds for new books. The city council had continually slashed the library’s budget year after year and they were no longer capable of buying the latest John Grisham or Stephanie Meyer best-sellers and were increasingly facing complaints from locals and tourists alike, who wanted something a little more contemporary than Jane Austen or Oscar Wilde. So every September, the library hosted a bake sale, and as she did every year, Hayley made her delectable almond fudge brownies.
She had been up late the night before baking because Gemma and Dustin didn’t see the “Do Not Touch” note scotch taped to the batch she had made the previous night that was sitting wrapped in cellophane on the kitchen counter. Or at least she chose to believe they didn’t see the note. There was probably a fifty-fifty chance they did see it and just ignored it. But she opted to give them the benefit of the doubt.
So Hayley didn’t get to sleep before 1
A.M.
, and was groggy the next morning when she bolted out of bed just after dawn to shower, slip into some jeans and a red print sleeveless blouse, comb out her hair, and get the brownies to the library before the doors opened for the sale at 8
A.M.
There were several ladies already setting up on the main floor of the library when Hayley arrived. Agatha Farnsworth, the librarian since the early 1960s, was barking orders like a drill sergeant. Two strokes and a replaced hip had done little to dampen the eighty-year-old’s controlling nature.
Hayley always shuddered at the sound of Agatha’s booming, intimidating voice. It brought back a lot of memories from her childhood of that same bellowing voice ordering her to hush up or get kicked out of the library permanently. Time hadn’t really made Hayley less afraid of Agatha and she always had a tendency to stutter when she was forced to have a conversation with her.
“Brownies? You brought brownies, Hayley? Didn’t you get my e-mail?” Agatha said, a put-out expression on her face.
“Y-Y-Yes, I always bring b-b-brownies. It’s sort of a t-t-tradition,” Hayley said.
“Keep your voice down, Hayley. Don’t forget this is a library.”
“S-S-Sorry,” Hayley said, looking at all the other women who were talking in normal voices.
Maybe it was just her that Agatha didn’t want to hear talking in the library.
“If you had bothered reading my e-mail, you would have known I have too many people bringing brownies this year. Peanut butter brownies, blonde brownies, five different kinds of fudge brownies. We need some variety. I was hoping you would make cupcakes, or blueberry squares, or hell, at this point I would take marshmallow Rice Krispie treats,” Agatha said, sighing.
“You sent me an e-mail?” Hayley said, trying to keep her voice to a whisper.
“I sent it to your office. You didn’t get it? I find that rather strange. I’ve sent you e-mails before and there was never an issue,” Agatha said, folding her arms, eyes filled with judgment.
Hayley remembered she had been so thrown by the whole dueling divas with identical New England clam chowder recipes crisis, she never bothered to check her account before leaving the office yesterday. And she missed it in the morning because the computers were down.
Well, it was too late now. She couldn’t very well run home and whip up another dessert in forty-five minutes.
“Do you think you could run home and bake something else before we open the doors?” Agatha asked, not even cracking a smile.
She wasn’t joking.
“Ummmm, I-I-I really don’t think that’s possible,” Hayley said in a tiny whisper. “It’s already a quarter past seven and by the time I get home ...”
“Oh, forget it, Hayley. I’m not interested in excuses. I just assumed you were a miracle worker in the kitchen because of all the brouhaha surrounding your new column in the
Times
,” Agatha said, practically drooling sarcasm.
Hayley suddenly felt an evil presence in the library, like some dark force casting a shadow over her.
“Here we are, Agatha. Four cherries jubilee pies, priced at ten dollars apiece,” Karen Applebaum said as she placed a cardboard box down on a table right next to Hayley and began unloading her bright red desserts. “I just want to add a little whipped cream along the sides before we put them up for sale. As if they could possibly look more delicious.”
“I knew I could count on you, Karen,” Agatha said, turning to Hayley. “At least somebody got my e-mail.”
Hayley was steaming mad and wanted to tell both Agatha and Karen off, but held her tongue. Now was not the time to cause a scene.
Hayley was grateful to see Liddy sweep into the library, dressed to the nines, wearing a giant floppy pink hat to protect her light complexion from the intense sun, and carrying a matching bag. She marched right over and gave Hayley a hug. The tension drained out of her. Finally, she had an ally.
“Thank God you’re here,” Hayley said.
“I wouldn’t miss it. Well, actually I would, but I want to butter up Aggie and rent this place next spring for my birthday party. I want to throw a costume party and have everyone show up as their favorite literary characters. I’m going to come as Scarlett O’Hara. Big shock, right? I’ve already ordered the dress.”
“What’d you bring for the sale?” Hayley asked.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” Liddy reached into her pink bag, fished around, and pulled out a bag of Pepperidge Farm oatmeal cookies. “Here you go, Aggie.”
She tossed the bag to Agatha, who managed to catch it. Agatha stared at the label, an irritated look on her face.
“I can’t sell these to people. They’re store bought. Everything at the sale is supposed to be homemade,” Agatha said.
“It says homestyle, right on the bag. Close enough,” Liddy said dismissively before turning back to Hayley. “Such a bitch.”
“You sure you want to tick her off? What about your birthday party?”
“Please. I’ve got dirt on her. Remember last year’s sale? She served rum balls so soaked with booze, five twelve-year-olds tested over the legal limit.”
Suddenly there was a squirting sound and Hayley heard a tiny giggle from behind and someone said, “Oops.”
She turned around to see Karen holding a canister of whipped cream. A couple of her friends from her coven of witches were covering their mouths and trying not to laugh.
“What?” Hayley asked, her eyes narrowing, suddenly a little suspicious.
“Just a small accident,” Karen said. “Nothing, really.”
Hayley decided to ignore them and continued unpacking her brownies from her Tupperware when Liddy stepped behind her to take a look.
“She just nailed you in the ass with whipped cream,” Liddy said.
There was a wall mirror next to the mystery section, and Hayley spun around to see for herself.
Sure enough. Her entire backside was covered with frothy whipped cream.
“Seriously, Karen, is this what it’s come to?” Hayley said, wiping the cream off the butt of her jeans. “What are we, back in the third grade?”
“It’s not like I did it on purpose,” Karen said, eyeing her friends, who were all now trying their hardest to stifle their laughter. And not succeeding.
“No, of course not. First you threaten me in the supermarket, and now you go out of your way to make me look foolish.”
“I never threatened you, so stop making things up. And as for looking foolish, darling, you’re doing a bang-up job all by yourself,” Karen said with a self-satisfied smile.
Oh, no, she didn’t.
Liddy saw what Hayley was about to do and hurried over and put a comforting but firm hand on Hayley’s shoulder. “Honey, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
But Hayley was through being nice. She picked up one of her almond fudge brownies, walked over to Karen, and mashed it on the front of her white cashmere sweater. There was utter silence in the library.
For once.
“Oops. Sorry. Accident,” Hayley said.
Karen looked at the chocolate stains on her sweater, then picked up one of her cherries jubilee pies and reared back. But Hayley saw what was coming and just as Karen flung it, Hayley ducked, and the pie sailed across the library and splattered all over Agatha Farnsworth’s face.
Liddy howled with glee, only making Agatha madder than a wet hornet. Agatha picked up a white chocolate bundt cake and hurled it at Liddy. Liddy grabbed the sides of her big floppy pink hat and ran screaming for the front door as the flying cake chased her. It missed its target by two inches and went crashing to the floor. But Liddy slid on the frosting and her legs flew up into the air and she landed flat on her ass.
The coven of witches rushed to Karen’s defense and started pelting Hayley with some vanilla bean scones. She fired back with a plate of no bake cookies, which were hard and would probably hurt if her throwing arm was as good as it was when she played softball in high school.
It was a free-for-all, and the few locals who showed up early to get their pick of the best desserts in the sale stood motionless outside the glass windows of the library, staring in awe at the food fight that was in full swing inside.
Finally, there was a lull because the only dessert left to throw was a lone fruit cake and nobody really liked fruit cake.
Everyone was covered with bits of brownie and cream and frosting and cake, and there was a feeling in the room that they had just done something that would go down in the annals of Bar Harbor history.
And it was something nobody should be proud of.
Karen Applebaum was still in a state of shock as she stared at the damage to her three-hundred-dollar white cashmere sweater. She dropped the last small piece of pecan pie she had scooped up to use as a weapon, and glared at Hayley, who was picking bits of angel food cake out of her hair.
“This is all your fault, Hayley Powell. You’ve ruined the bake sale for everyone,” Karen spit out.
Every last instinct told Hayley to keep her mouth shut and just walk away. But Karen insisted on egging her on, and she had finally reached her breaking point.
So she stepped over Liddy’s crushed bag of Pepperidge Farm oatmeal cookies, and, fists clenched, approached Karen, who slowly stepped away from her, now regretful for stirring Hayley up into such a fit of anger.
“I’m done playing games with you, Karen. So back off,” Hayley said, her voice seething. “Or else.”
“Or else what?” Karen scoffed.
“Or else I might just have to kill you,” Hayley said.
She didn’t really mean it. She just wanted to show Karen how pissed off she was. And nobody there actually took her seriously. But the words were now out there and they were words that would soon come back to haunt her.
In a really big way.
Chapter 10
 
It may come as a surprise, but the annual library bake sale turned out to be a smashing success. The spectators standing outside the library were so entertained by the food fight, they wrote checks for new books on the condition the women repeat the same show next year.
Hayley also wound up forking over a nice chunk of change out of her own pocket, in an attempt to make things right, and as an apology for her own participation in trashing all the treats before the official sale opened to the public.
By the end of the day, after all the checks and donations were counted, Agatha proudly announced that this year’s earnings were on par with last year’s, although they did fall short when she subtracted the cost of the cleaning supplies the women used to mop up the mess. And there was one first edition Mark Twain that got smeared with peanut butter fudge, so restoring the binding might cut into the final take as well.
Hayley was exhausted when she pulled into the driveway later that night. After making some macaroni and cheese and salad for the kids, she plopped down in her rocker on her outside deck, and sipped a cocktail while staring up at the shiny stars that dotted the black sky.
What a day.
At least she had tomorrow off, and could regroup, and then hit the ground running on Monday doing damage control over her very front and center role in the disastrous scandal that would surely be the talk of the town.
After finishing her cocktail and wrapping herself in a comfy shawl her grandmother gave her, Hayley fell into a deep sleep.
When she woke up twenty or thirty minutes later, she went inside and sat down at her computer to check her e-mail. There was one delivered at 10:15
P.M.
It was from Karen Applebaum.
That caught Hayley’s attention. She opened the e-mail and read it.
Hello, Hayley, I know I’m the last person you expected to hear from, especially after what happened today, but I’ve thought about everything, and I owe you an apology for my appalling behavior today and at the supermarket this past week. I really think it is in both our best interests to bury the hatchet. There is absolutely no reason there can’t be two food and wine columns in town, and I was hoping you could come over to my house to talk. I know it’s late, and it’s a Saturday, and I was going to call you, but I’m embarrassed and it’s easier for me to write you. I’m sure you might be out with friends or on a date ...
 
Boy, she really didn’t know Hayley at all.
But if you do get this e-mail, please, please, just come on over. I’m only a few blocks away. I feel awful and I want to hash things out and nip this escalating feud in the bud. Thank you, Hayley. Yours, Karen.
 
Hayley was leaning toward dealing with all of this tomorrow, or even on Monday. Maybe Karen was setting her up. Maybe she would show up at Karen’s house and Karen would greet her with a twelve gauge shotgun. She watched enough true crime shows on cable to know that was a very distinct possibility.
Finally, Hayley decided she didn’t want to wait until Monday. Why not clear the air now? Both of them could just move on with their lives, acknowledge each other with a smile if they happened to dine at the same restaurant, compliment each other’s columns publicly while trashing them in private, and just live a peaceful coexistence with no more drama.
Yes, that was the best course of action, and Hayley was going to do her part and drive over to Karen’s. She’d resolve the situation and be back home before the kids even realized she was gone.
It was getting chilly, the temperature dipping below fifty, so Hayley threw a coat over the torn sweats she was wearing (she certainly wasn’t going to gussy up for Karen Applebaum), fired up the wagon, and drove the four blocks to Michigan Avenue where Karen lived.
Hayley pulled the car up front and was surprised that all the lights were off in the house. She got out of the wagon and walked up the steps to the front door and rang the bell.
No one answered.
Had Karen gone out? Hayley rang the bell again. Nothing. She could just wait in the car until Karen got home. But what if she was there half the night waiting? What if Karen never came back?
Hayley tried the door. It was unlocked. She poked her head in.
“Karen, are you home? It’s me, Hayley Powell,” she said.
Still nothing.
Hayley stepped inside.
“Karen?”
Hayley had the urge to bolt back outside, jump in the car, drive straight home, and just pretend she never got Karen’s message.
But curiosity was getting the best of her.
She looked around in the dark but couldn’t see much. There was a glow coming from the den and the faint sound of a woman’s voice. Probably the TV.
Just to double check, Hayley made her way through the living room to the den and there on the screen was a repeat episode of the
Barefoot Contessa
on the Food Network. Figures. Hayley watched the show regularly and knew Karen stole half her recipes from that show. There was a quilt balled up on the sectional couch. Someone had been lying there recently watching TV. Suddenly something big and furry jumped at her and she screamed. It was a cat. A really fat cat. But its hefty size didn’t slow him down when he scampered up the stairs to hide. Hayley calmed down. She continued looking around.
Still no sign of Karen.
Hayley was about to leave when the thought occurred to her that Karen might be upstairs sick or incapacitated. She decided to make a quick check of the bedroom before she left. She rounded the corner into the kitchen and was heading back to the hallway to head up the stairs when she slid on something and fell facedown, smashing her forehead on the hardwood floor.
Ouch.
Hayley felt for blood on her forehead. There was none, but she knew a nasty bruise was sure to follow.
What had she slipped on? She felt around on the floor. Hayley’s hands suddenly felt wet and sticky. She felt some more and picked up a small rubbery object in her hand.
She crawled to her knees. She didn’t know where the switch to the overhead lighting was, so she opened the oven door. The light inside came to life, and illuminated a body sprawled out on the floor.
Hayley gasped.
It was a woman’s body.
Hayley shook the left shoulder. “Karen, is that you? Are you okay?”
Then she remembered the wet and sticky substance on her hand.
Dear God. Please let it not be blood.
But it wasn’t. It was milky and white. She smelled her palm. It was clam chowder. The rubbery object she had picked up was a clam.
Hayley placed her palm down on the stovetop and pulled herself up to her feet. The light from the oven was bright enough so that she could see the light switch next to the range. She reached over and snapped it on. A blinding light flooded the room, and Hayley, squinting, stepped back away from the body.
She recognized Karen Applebaum instantly.
Even though the poor woman was facedown in a turquoise-colored porcelain bowl of New England clam chowder.
She was still wearing the dessert stained white cashmere sweater.
And she was very much dead.

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