Page 65 of Death of a Grill Master

They drove to Mona’s house, where the porch light was on and they could hear Alanis Morissette’s voice wailing through the speakers in the house like an anthem for women who’d had enough. Hayley understood how she felt.

Mona answered in sweatpants and a lobster bib, clearly mid-dinner, but ushered them in without question. Earl appeared behind her, flannel shirt unbuttoned over a T-shirt that read LOBSTER: THE OTHER WHITE MEAT.

Hayley launched into her story again—Zane, the cave, the sabotage.

Earl whistled. “You sure the line was cut?”

“Clean slice. No fray. Someone used a blade.”

“Could’ve been a fishing boat nearby,” Mona offered.

“I didn’t see one. And the diver was waiting.”

“What diver?” Earl said.

“I saw someone. In a wet suit, full gear. Too tall and broad to be Zane. I don’t think it was him.”

“But Zane knows something,” Bruce added.

Mona sat, brow furrowed. “It rules out Kylie. Hannah. Mrs. Larkin.”

“Unless they’re hiring help,” Hayley said.

“Which means we’re missing someone,” Earl muttered. “Someone hiding in plain sight.”

Hayley reached into her coat and pulled out the waterproof phone case. “I found this in the cave. Maybe there’s something inside.”

Earl examined it. “We’ll get it opened and scanned. Carefully.”

Mona snatched it out of his hand. “Allow me to take a crack at it before we go handing it over to Chief Grumpy.”

Hayley raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you could hack into phones, Mona?”

“My sons taught me everything I need to know.”

Hayley nodded, suddenly exhausted. “I’m scared, Earl. For the first time, I really think I might be in over my head.”

“You’ve been in over your head before,” he said gently. “You always manage to kick your way to the surface.”

Bruce reached over and took her hand. “You’re not alone in this.”

Hayley glanced at them—Bruce, Mona, Earl—and felt a shaky breath escape her lips.

“Good,” she said. “Because we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

Because the next time, she might not be so lucky.

Chapter 23

Hayley had dried off and changed hours ago, but she still felt chilled to the bone. Not from the water—but from what she had seen inside that cave.

Now she stood with Mona and Bruce in the warm glow of Mona Barnes’s kitchen, clustered around her butcher-block island, where the waterproof phone case lay like an artifact pulled from the deep. It looked like a rubber brick. Opaque. Sealed tight. Potentially holding the last clues Tina Whitmore might have left behind.

Earl hovered nearby, arms crossed, clearly conflicted. “I should take it to Maddox,” he said. “Chain of evidence, proper channels—this is important.”

“I want a crack at it before it disappears into the evidence locker forever,” Mona repeated evenly, giving him that flinty-eyed stare that had stopped grown men—and nine unruly children—in their tracks for decades.

Earl hesitated. “Mona, you know I’m already on thin ice with the chief. He’s suspicious of me just for being around Hayley when she opens her mouth.”