Page 1 of Death of a Grill Master

Chapter 1

Hayley Powell was in her element—or at least doing a very convincing impression of someone who had things under control.

From the makeshift cocktail station beside the lilac bushes to the trellises draped in dollar-store fairy lights, her backyard had been transformed into a proper wedding reception venue for the afternoon.

Sort of.

It wasn’t Martha Stewart perfection, but it had charm—Maine charm. There were mason jars of wildflowers on every table, the scent of grilled seafood hung thick in the salty air, and a boom box was playing a Bluetooth playlist titled “Betty + Kelton 4EVER” that alternated between sappy love songs and upbeat classics. Currently: “You Make My Dreams,” by Hall & Oates.

Somewhere between the champagne toast and the spontaneous limbo contest with a garden rake, Hayley had lost track of how many guests were technically invited versus how many just wandered in from the neighborhood. But she wasn’t about to kick anyone out, not today.

Bruce, ever the faithful husband and occasional fire hazard, was manning the grill near the back fence. Hayley watched with a mix of amusement and mild panic as he tried to flip shrimp skewers with the confidence of a man who had never once read the words flammable and cotton blend on a clothing label.

“Bruce,” she called over the hum of conversation and a rogue kazoo, “your shirt!”

Bruce looked down, eyes widening as he spotted a small but determined flame licking at the hem of his vintage Red Sox T-shirt.

“Dammit!” he yelped, batting at the fire with his tongs. Hayley’s brother, Randy, raced over with a bucket of cold water left over from chilling white wine and doused him without hesitation.

Steam erupted.

Guests cheered.

“Hey, who ordered the shrimp flambé?” someone yelled.

Hayley sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Only in Bar Harbor.”

But despite the literal sparks flying, the afternoon had turned out beautifully. Betty, her beloved hostess at her restaurant, Hayley’s Kitchen, looked radiant in her retro lace dress, now speckled with a bit of strawberry glaze from the slightly leaning, lovingly homemade wedding cake. Kelton, Hayley’s chef and Betty’s new husband, was beaming beside her, sleeves rolled up, eyes misty, as they mingled with friends and family.

Hayley found herself oddly emotional watching them. They were young—well, younger—and in love, and starting out. And despite the chaos, this was their day. It was imperfect, heartfelt, and brimming with joy.

She was reaching for a mini crab roll when she felt a gentle tug on her elbow.

It was Betty.

“Hayley, can I steal you for a second?”

Hayley turned, taking in Betty’s flushed cheeks, her eyes wide and brimming with happiness.

“Of course, sweetie. Everything okay?”

Betty nodded, then pulled her aside, down the short flagstone path that led to the herb garden.

“I just wanted to say thank you,” Betty said earnestly. “For letting us do this here. For everything. It means so much.”

Hayley smiled. “Of course. I love you two. I’d host your vow renewal, too, but I draw the line at theme weddings unless it involves lobsters.”

Betty laughed, then her face turned a little more serious. “Actually … Kelton and I have been talking about something. A dream, really.”

Hayley tilted her head. “Okay …”

“We want to open our own place someday,” Betty confessed. “A little spot in town. Something casual and fun, maybe a brunch bistro or small plates. You know, still cozy. Still us.”

Hayley blinked. “Wow.”

“I mean, not tomorrow,” Betty said quickly. “We love it at Hayley’s Kitchen. We owe you everything. We’re just … thinking about the future.”

Hayley laughed, a little too forcefully. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to throw you out of the restaurant in a jealous rage. That’s not my style.”