Page 4 of Death of a Grill Master

Hayley winced even before she turned.

Strutting up the gravel path from the driveway, cigar clenched in his teeth, gut preceding him like a parade float, was Hank Desmond. His thick white hair was slicked back to an oily shine and he wore a black shirt with red flames curling up from the hem—the closest thing a grill master gets to island wear. Clinging to his arm was Kylie, his much younger wife, who looked like a porcelain figurine placed on the wrong shelf. Hank was the owner of one of the most popular restaurants in town, the Slaughterhouse Smoke Shack. Best barbecue east of the Mississippi. He got even more business than Hayley’s place.

Hayley forced a smile and elbowed Bruce. “Wedding crasher at three o’clock.”

Bruce sighed. “Of course it’s Hank.”

They both stepped forward to intercept.

“Hank. Kylie,” Hayley said warmly, always the hostess, even if the guest had not exactly been invited. “You made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Hank boomed, slapping Bruce on the back with such force the tongs flew from Bruce’s hand and landed in the bushes. “Heard there was food. I came running. And I needed to talk to Chase before he disappears back to his little millionaire’s lair.”

Kylie gave a soft wave, then immediately turned her face away, wincing slightly as Hank exhaled a plume of cigar smoke over her shoulder. Up close, Hayley could see she was pale—paler than usual—and her lipstick had smudged at the corners of her mouth, like she’d reapplied in a hurry with shaky hands.

“Didn’t mean to crash,” Hank added with a grin that suggested he absolutely had. “But I just came from the bottling plant and couldn’t wait to share the good news.”

He pulled a bottle from the back pocket of his pants—how he had managed to stuff it in there without cracking the glass was a mystery—and held it aloft.

“Desmond’s Devil Fire Barbecue Sauce,” he announced like he was toasting the Queen. “National distribution. Starting next quarter. We’re talking supermarket shelves from Bar Harbor to Boise, baby.”

“Oh, boy,” Hayley muttered.

“I knew it!” Mona Barnes hollered from across the yard. “I always said this town would produce one world-class condiment!”

Hank laughed, the sound echoing over the fence.

“Where’s Chase Wingate?” he bellowed. “I heard that big spender was lurking around here somewhere.”

As if on cue, Chase Wingate materialized near the drink station, sipping from a crystal tumbler he’d probably brought from home. Tall, silver-haired, and radiating old money vibes, Chase had the demeanor of someone who owned half the Eastern Seaboard—and the tan to prove it.

He wasn’t technically on the guest list, either, but his connection to Kelton’s late father—a long-ago college friend and fishing buddy—made his appearance a welcome surprise for the couple.

Hank spotted him, marched over, and clapped him on the back so hard Chase nearly dropped his drink.

“Chase, my man! You’re coming aboard my boat this weekend, right? Labor Day fireworks cruise, best view in the bay, booze and brisket guaranteed.”

Chase smiled politely, the way rich people do when trying not to make a scene. “Of course, Hank. Wouldn’t miss it.”

Hayley glanced at Kylie. She was standing just behind them, motionless, eyes trained not on her husband, but on Chase. Her face was blank, except for the forced smile. Her hands clutched the hem of her sundress so tightly the fabric twisted in her fists.

“Excuse me,” Kylie murmured, ducking toward the bar.

Hayley watched her go, heart twinging. Something about the look in that woman’s eyes—too wide, too glassy, too alert—set off internal alarm bells.

And the way she kept stealing glances at Chase Wingate?

Something was brewing.

And it wasn’t just cocktails.

Across the yard, Liddy squealed and flung her arms around Chelsea Mahoney, who was still tending bar.

“He asked me out to dinner!” Liddy cried. “Doug Marsh. Actual Southern gentleman. I’ve been working on this one for weeks.”

Chelsea cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you just met him today.”

“Technically. And technically I crashed his cocktail party last week but never managed to get close enough for him to notice me. But today he finally did! I’m going to need an entirely new outfit.”