Death of a Christmas Caterer (15 page)

Chapter 25

When Hayley took Leroy on his nightly walk around the neighborhood, she couldn't shake the feeling that Hugo knew more about what had happened that night at the warehouse than he was letting on. What if Lex's crew, which was supposedly partying next door and didn't hear a thing, was lying? What if their drinking and carousing led to Garth flying off the handle again? It could have spiraled out of control, and one of the construction guys—Nick Ward or Billy Parsons—flew into a drunken rage and beat Garth to death? The only problem with that theory was there were no obvious signs of a fight or struggle either outside the warehouse or inside, where the body was found, or even in Lex's shop, where the three men were at the time of the murder. Sergio had searched the place thoroughly during his initial investigation. Also none of the men appeared particularly drunk when questioned by Sergio that night. There was also the nagging detail of the locked door and security footage. How did they get in or out? How did anybody get in or out unless there was another key, besides the one Connie Sparks had? A key that everyone who knew Garth said didn't exist—unless they were all lying. But why?

Still, the look on Hugo's face when he realized he had probably said too much was very revealing. In Hayley's mind, in order to take the suspicion off Ken Massey, the hapless Hugo only had managed to direct it toward himself.

Leroy stopped by a fire hydrant and lifted his leg as Hayley admired a neighbor's “Candy Cane Lane” Christmas display. Rows of giant illuminated candy canes led to a giant tethered balloon of Frosty the Snowman. Ridiculous. Garish. Over the top. Hayley absolutely loved it! It was much more impressive than the simple Christmas wreath hanging on her front door, with a red envelope taped to it containing a holiday bonus for the postman.

Leroy was just about finished, and ready to resume the sprint back to the house, when Hayley noticed someone following her.

Walking toward her.

His face in the shadows.

Picking up speed.

Closing in.

She cursed herself for not calling Sergio and reporting him right away for pouncing on her on her own property.

Hayley yanked Leroy's leash and the poor little guy dropped his leg and yelped as she dragged him into the neighbor's yard, where she hid with him behind one of the biggest plastic candy canes on the snow-covered lawn. She poked her head around to see if the man was still there, lurking, but he was gone. She waited a few moments, just to be safe, and was about to come out of hiding, when she heard a crunching sound. Like the heel of a boot grinding into the hardpacked snow. Hayley grabbed the first weapon she could find: a plastic red candle with white wax and a yellow flame. It was the size of a baseball bat. It would have to do.

Just as the man came around the candy cane and on top of Hayley, she reared back with the candle and let him have it. She pounded him mercilessly. The man ducked and covered his head.

“Stop it! Stop it, Hayley!” he begged. “It's me! Bruce Linney!”

“Bruce! What the hell are you doing skulking around my neighborhood and scaring me half to death?”

“‘Skulking around'? I don't
skulk,
Hayley! I came over to your house to talk to you! I saw you walking Leroy, so I was just trying to catch up to you.”

“Whatever it is you need to say, couldn't it have waited until the morning?”

“No. It's impossible to talk discreetly in that office. The place is filled with reporters with big ears and even bigger mouths!”

“What, Bruce? What's so important that you had to stalk me and nearly stop my heart from fright?”

“I'm worried Sal is going to fire me!”

“Fire you? For what?”

“Sexually harassing you at the Christmas party!”

Hayley burst out laughing.

“I fail to see what's so funny!”

“Bruce, I'm reasonably confident your job isn't in jeopardy. You just had a little too much to drink. We all do things we regret when we're under the influence.”

More than she was willing to spill to Bruce, that's for sure.

“In two weeks' time, nobody is going to even remember your grossly inappropriate behavior,” Hayley said.

“Are you calling me ‘gross'? I mean, wow, Hayley, I may not be your type, but do you have to be so mean?”

“I'm not calling
you
‘gross,' Bruce! I'm saying
your behavior
was
gross.
There's a difference. Seriously, just forget it.”

“But Sal has the evidence recorded on his phone to use against me. I've been worried sick about it. I need this job, Hayley.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

“You would do that for me?”

“Yes. If you were to get fired, it would be weird not having you around irritating me. I'll go to Sal tomorrow and tell him we sorted it all out and it's over and done with. Maybe I'll even get him to delete the recording.”

“Thank you, Hayley, thank you! If there is ever anything you need from me—”

“Good night, Bruce,” Hayley said, smiling and shaking her head, tugging on the brown leather strap leash to get Leroy, who was sitting on the pavement staring up at them, back up on his feet to make the short journey home.

She stopped suddenly. “Wait. There is one thing.”

“Anything, Hayley. Just name it.”

“You can share your notes on the Garth Rawlings case.”

Bruce flinched slightly. He was hypercompetitive and loathed sharing any kind of information he was gathering for one of his columns. However, he knew he owed Hayley big-time, and he had just made a big show of doing her any favor.

“Just this one time?”

“Of course, Bruce. Once the recording on Sal's phone is sent to the trash bin, it's your word against mine and you can go back to shutting me out so I don't horn in on your glory as Bar Harbor's top—and might I add ‘only'—crime reporter.”

“Okay,” Bruce sighed, resigned to discuss his current working theory. “Chief Alvares let me take a look at the security camera footage at the convenience store across the street from the warehouse, and he was right that no one was seen coming or going that night. So I have been focusing on the people in nearest proximity to Garth right before he died.”

“Lex Bansfield's contracting crew.”

“Yes. Nick Ward. Billy Parsons. And the kid, Hugo something.”

“I've gone down this road already, Bruce. There are no secret doors or hidden tunnels from their shop into Garth's kitchen. The only way in there was through the front door and it was locked. There was no way for them even to get to him.”

“I know. Nothing makes sense. But I've been hammering away at Nick Ward and Billy Parsons, trying to get a complete picture of what happened that night. Nick was very straightforward with his story, never wavered. He repeated the same details over and over. They were just hanging out and drinking beer the whole time. Never left the office until they heard the sirens outside. I interviewed Billy separately, and he basically told the same story. Backed up everything Nick said. He was adamant that they never argued with Garth that night or even saw him. Maybe it was his body language, I don't know, but my gut told me he was not telling me everything. So I pressed him, not knowing where it might lead, and Billy suddenly got very nervous. Then he just said he had to get back to work and asked me to leave. I have a hunch he's hiding something, Hayley. I showed up at his apartment this morning to let him know I had a few follow-up questions and his truck was gone. Landlord said she saw Billy toss a suitcase in the back of his truck at dawn this morning and drive off like he was in a real hurry.”

“He blew town?”

“Looks like it.”

Maybe Gemma's soft-spoken pageant costar wasn't so off the mark.

Ken Massey had motive and opportunity, and he clearly was unhinged at the terrifying thought of being arrested, which was why he jumped Hayley and begged her to believe he was innocent. But motive and opportunity did not add up to hard evidence.

And now, thanks to Bruce sucking down too much rum-spiked punch and losing all sense of propriety in the copy room, Hayley had a fresh lead to follow.

Hugo was trying to dissuade Hayley from assuming Ken Massey's guilt because he knew the real story of what happened that night.

Hugo knew the identity of the real killer.

And perhaps the real killer, fearing intrepid crime reporter Bruce Linney might eventually coerce the truth out of the two men he was with that night, decided to flee the scene of the crime.

Billy Parsons was on the run.