Death of a Christmas Caterer (5 page)

Chapter 7

“Sal, you can't be serious!” Hayley said, staring at the hundred-dollar bill he had just slapped down on her desk.

“It's been a rough year, Hayley,” Sal said, shrugging. “I have to cut corners where I can, and one way to do that is to scale back on the Christmas party. I'm sure people will be just fine with some spiked fruit punch and a few cans of Planters Mixed Nuts. It's really about being together to celebrate the holidays, right?”

“But you put me in charge. I already hired a caterer. I was expecting five times this amount.”

“Then I'm afraid you're way over budget. Just call this chef guy and tell him this is the amount he has to work with,” Sal said, not quite understanding the severity of the situation.

“But I'm sure he's already at the market buying ingredients!”

“Then why are you still sitting here, talking to me? You should be trying to get him on the phone.”

Sal ambled back to his office as Hayley grabbed the receiver and looked up Garth Rawlings in her list of contacts on her desktop computer.

She punched in the number on the office phone. It rang a few times before Garth answered, distracted and irritated. “What?”

“Garth, it's Hayley Powell.”

“Hayley, I can't talk right now. I'm going up and down the spice aisle looking for cayenne pepper, which I need for my sweet and spicy sesame walnuts, and I think they're out. Why would I expect this store to even carry the basic spices? Do you know how hard it is for a master chef to live in a rural, backwoods hick town?”

“I wouldn't exactly describe Bar Harbor as ‘backwoods'—”

“They don't even have cayenne pepper, Hayley!”

“Point taken.”

“Now I'm going to have to improvise and figure out a decent substitution. Can I call you back?”

“Garth, wait. I really need to talk to you. It turns out I don't have as much money to spend on the party as I originally thought.”

There was dead silence on the other end of the phone.

“So you may have to dial it back a bit,” Hayley said.

“How much are we talking about?” Garth finally said, his tone colder than an Alaskan ice cap.

“A hundred bucks,” Hayley said, swallowing hard.

There was a click.

“Garth? Hello? Garth?”

She called him back.

It rang four times.

She got his voice mail.

She waited a minute and called him again.

This time he picked up.

“What?”

“I know it's not a lot of money, but how about we spend fifty of it on a nice fruit punch and the rest on one or two of your signature Christmas appetizers?”

“And what about my fee? I don't cook for kicks! What do I look like? A fat man with a white beard in a red suit? We're done here, Hayley!”

“Garth, please. We can work something out.”

“Forget it! I am so tired of you cash-poor local yokels taking advantage of my talents!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

There was a loud crash and sudden commotion on the other end of the phone.

“Garth? Is everything all right?”

“No, everything's not all right! You've wasted my morning and now there's someone here threatening to call the police.”

“Police? Why?”

“It's your fault! You're the one who made me so mad I hurled my grocery cart down the aisle and hit the box boy stocking some Malabar Black Peppercorn Grinders on the shelf!”

“Omigod! Is he okay?”

“He got knocked down, but he's still conscious,” Garth said before screaming, “Stop being a baby! It's not like you're bleeding or anything!”

“Garth, you need to make sure he's okay.”

“Good-bye, Hayley! I never want you to call me again!”

There was another click.

Hayley sighed. She knew it was now her responsibility to prepare everything for the last-minute office Christmas party.

She mentally ticked off the ingredients in her cupboard and spice rack. She knew she had a block of Brie and some onions in her fridge. If she picked up a package of puff pastry shells, she could whip up some onion-and-Brie palmiers. She was also fairly certain she already had what she needed to bake her crispy ham and cheese balls. And if she could thaw some frozen crabmeat in time, maybe she could prepare some jumbo lump crabmeat and Boursin dip.

She checked her watch: 9:30
A.M.

The clock was ticking.

Sal would have to agree to give her the rest of the day off to cook. Otherwise, he would have to weather the blows from his disappointed and hungry staff and accept the fact that this year's office Christmas party was a major bust.

Hayley called Sal's line and told him she was running to the store. Then she grabbed her bag from underneath the desk and stuffed the hundred-dollar bill in her pocket when the phone rang.

The caller ID was Dr. Aaron Palmer.

She quickly picked up. “Aaron, I'm so sorry, but I can't talk right now. I'm having a bit of an emergency—”

“Mom, it's me.”

Gemma.

Gemma was on a work-study program and spent two and a half days a week helping Aaron out by answering phones at his office. It was the perfect way for the aspiring young vet to get hands-on experience and extra credit, plus make a few extra bucks to go Christmas shopping.

“Is everything okay?”

“No! Guess who came in here today with her grandson's hamster!”

“Honey, I really don't have time—”

“Missy Anne Higgins!”

Hayley's heart sank.

“Apparently, the hamster isn't eating and her grandson is all upset that he's going to die, so she rushed in here, begging Dr. Palmer to save him!”

Hayley knew where this was going.

“Let me guess. She barely set the cage down before asking you if Lex and I are back together?”

“Yes! I said no, because you're not, right?”

“No, we're not.”

“And that's when she said she was confused because she saw the two of you kissing in his hospital room. Which is a total lie, right, Mom?”

Hayley sighed.

“Mom?”

“Not exactly.”

“What?”

“It's a long story. I'll explain everything later.”

“Mom, you can't break Dr. Palmer's heart. He might not write me a good college recommendation if he hates you.”

“Well, I'm happy you're not making this about you, Gemma. Now can I talk to him, please?”

“No. He's with a Napoleon Longhair cat with an ear infection.”

“Okay, fine. I'll try him later. I have to go, Gemma. I have a lot to do today.”

Hayley hung up and immediately fished her cell phone out of her bag.

She texted Aaron: Need to talk to you. ASAP.

Hayley then grabbed her coat and headed out the door. She was fairly certain she would not hear back from Aaron until he was good and ready. After hearing Missy Anne Higgins's breathless recounting of how Hayley and her former beau were lip-locked at the local hospital, Aaron would probably need some time to cool down.

Chapter 8

Hayley could barely keep her eyes open after she finished setting up for the party at the
Island Times
office. She felt as if she had been through the grinder competing on some Food Network cooking show where speed and endurance, as well as talent in the kitchen, were required in order to win the grand prize. Only, there was no grand prize. Just the satisfaction of knowing she had pulled off a successful holiday office party on a shoestring budget.

As the employees of the paper filed into the front office and poured themselves some fruit punch and dove into her assortment of Christmas appetizers, which she had slaved over in her kitchen all afternoon, Hayley surreptitiously checked her cell phone.

Still, no word from Aaron.

And it was already past 5:00
P.M.

She decided she had to put Aaron out of her mind, at least for now, and focus on mingling with her coworkers. At least until she could put in enough face time so no one would be insulted when she slipped out early and went straight home to bed.

Eddie Farley, who headed up the paper's sales department, rushed up to her, his mouth filled with one of her onion-and-Brie palmiers. “Amazing, Hayley! The Barefoot Contessa's got nothing on you! These are amazing!”

“Thanks, Eddie.”

He washed it down with some punch. “Punch is a little weak, but Bruce is taking care of that!”

Hayley glanced over to see crime reporter Bruce Linney emptying a bottle of rum into the fruit punch. He was already swaying from side to side, having stretched his late lunch with some fellow reporters into an all-afternoon happy hour.

Bruce put a winter cap with reindeer antlers sticking out from each side on his head and cranked up the volume of the Christmas songs playing on Hayley's computer. Then he began belting out “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)” with Cher and grabbing any woman in sight as a dance partner.

At least, Cher was singing in tune.

It was going to be one of those parties.

“Congratulations, Hayley, I knew you could do it!” Sal shouted, trying to be heard over Bruce's earsplittingly awful singing.

He handed Hayley a red envelope.

Hayley couldn't help but smile.

It was her Christmas bonus.

“Don't spend it all in one place,” Sal said, winking before shuffling off toward the punch bowl.

Hayley clutched the envelope.

Her heart was pounding.

She had been waiting for this check all year.

She hoped and prayed that her hard work would finally pay off and Sal would recognize and reward the crucial role she played as office manager and local food and cocktails columnist at the
Island Times.

She knew deep down she was setting herself up for disappointment. She had heard all of Sal's excuses throughout the year. Traditional newspapers were on the wane. The competing daily, the
Bar Harbor Herald,
was enjoying a resurgence in readership. Local advertisers just weren't ponying up the usual ad rates anymore. And then there was Sal's ominous warning the day before, which downgraded her expectations. And yet she believed that in the end, somehow, she would receive a decent bonus.

Hayley resisted the urge to rip open the red envelope on the spot and stare at the check amount stuffed inside the jokey Christmas card.

That would be tacky.

But she couldn't wait until after she left the party.

She would die of curiosity long before that.

She remembered her winter jacket.

Hayley had moved it to the copy room to make more room on the coatrack for the employees' spouses, who were now showing up to the party.

That was her perfect excuse.

“Be right back, everybody. I'm just going to go put this envelope in my coat pocket so I don't lose it.”

As she turned to go, Eddie Farley scooted up to her, waving his cell phone. “I've got everybody here tweeting about your out-of-this world apps, Hayley. I think hashtag Chef Hayley may be trending!”

“Thank you, Eddie. That's sweet,” she said.

Twitter.

Tweeting.

Hashtag.

Trending.

It hardly made sense to her. Her kids tried to explain it to her, and she pretended to understand, but she really didn't.

Hayley slipped into the copy room and shut the door. She tore into the envelope and yanked out the card. She took a deep breath before opening it.

She closed her eyes and removed the check.

Visualizing a number in her mind.

She opened her eyes.

Barely enough to cover her next car insurance payment.

It was a crushing disappointment.

She was so dazed by the low number that she didn't even hear someone opening the door to the copy room and stumbling inside.

As a pair of thick arms circled around her waist, she snapped to attention and spun around.

“Hey, beautiful, Merry Christmas,” Bruce Linney slurred, still swaying from side to side.

“Merry Christmas to you, Bruce,” Hayley said, trying to free herself gently from his grasp.

“I'm sure there's some mistletoe around here somewhere. . . .”

Hayley noticed that he had replaced his cap with reindeer antlers with another cap wired with fake mistletoe dangling off the top of it.

Bruce's glassy eyes glanced upward at the mistletoe perched between them on his hat. “Oh, look at that. Now you have to kiss me.”

He puckered his lips.

Unable to escape his grip, Hayley finally relented and turned his face to one side to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

“That's not a kiss! I want a real kiss!” Bruce protested, pulling her closer.

“Bruce, you're blisteringly drunk right now, and I think it might be a good idea if someone drove you home.”

“Don't you feel it, Hayley? We've always had this sexual enemy . . . sexual enema . . . sexual Energizer . . . Bunny . . . ,” Bruce said, struggling through his inebriation.

“‘Sexual energy,'” Hayley said before instantly adding, “And, no, I don't feel it. Especially right now.”

It was true that they had a history.

But anything beyond a mutual tolerance between them had long since evaporated.

“I do.... I feel it. . . ,” Bruce mumbled.

Bruce had her backed up against the copy machine. He went in for another kiss and Hayley ducked out of the way. He lost his balance and fell forward; his lips landed on the glass of the copier. Hayley pressed the copy button and the flashing light blinded Bruce long enough for Hayley to dash out of the room and right into the belly of her boss, Sal, who was on his phone.

“Everything all right in there?” Sal asked, glancing at Bruce, who was covering his eyes with one hand while feeling around for a wall to steady himself with the other.

“Yes, everything's great,” Hayley said.

She had zero interest in discussing Bruce's inappropriate behavior. He was hammered and would probably not remember anything in the morning. Hayley certainly didn't want to ruin the party by making a scene.

Her only thought at the moment, besides her paltry Christmas bonus, was leaving this party and calling the man she actually did want to kiss.

Dr. Aaron Palmer.

Her fear was, however, that he was no longer interested.