Death of a Christmas Caterer (7 page)

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Authors: Lee Hollis

BOOK: Death of a Christmas Caterer
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Chapter 11
Hayley left the office at the end of the day and rushed home to heat up the dishes she had prepared for Garth. Just before 6:00
P.M.
, she received a text from him instructing her to bring everything over to the warehouse promptly at 7:00
P.M.
to set up. He asked if she could stay and help, since he was busy cooking a Dijon pork roast with cranberries for a party he was catering on Sunday.
Hayley instantly texted him back, telling him not to worry. She would be there on time with the dishes he requested. Hayley had made an additional garlic ham for the kids to have for dinner; that was the last thing she put in the oven to heat up. Gemma was still at the church rehearsing the Nativity play, and Dustin was with his math tutor.
Once the food was boxed and loaded into her car, she drove over to the warehouse.
As she parked the car in front of the building and got out, Hayley decided to let Garth know she was there so he could help her carry the boxes inside. She cautiously walked up to the entrance to the warehouse and knocked on the door to Garth's kitchen.
She could hear music playing next door.
Classic rock.
Aerosmith or ZZ Top.
Obviously, Nick the foreman's choice.
It was more from his generation.
She assumed Lex's construction crew was having a few beers and kicking back after a long day sawing plywood and pounding nails.
The music wasn't too loud, so Garth would have no reason to complain.
What was she thinking?
Garth would always find a reason to complain.
No one came to the door.
She knocked again. Louder.
Then tried the handle.
It was locked.
Hayley waited a few more moments and then plucked her phone from her coat pocket and texted him: Garth, I'm outside. Need help with the food.
She waited five more minutes, blowing into her winter gloves because the cold winds were gusting and the temperature outside was dropping.
She heard laughing coming from Lex's office.
The crew was probably on their third or fourth six-pack.
Hayley checked her watch.
It was going on ten past seven.
They really needed to set up before people began showing up looking to get fed by the Great Chef of Bar Harbor.
Hayley crinkled her nose. There was a smell in the air. A burning smell.
Then she heard a dog barking. It was coming from inside the warehouse. Behind the door. It was Bagel, Garth's devoted bloodhound.
Something was wrong.
Seriously wrong.
Hayley raised her phone and punched in three numbers.
“911, what's your emergency?”
“I'm at Garth Rawlings's kitchen warehouse at the corner of Center Street and Main. I think the building may be on fire!” Hayley yelled. “Please hurry!”
The burning smell was getting stronger.
She noticed small puffs of smoke coming through the bottom of the locked warehouse door.
More barking. This time more frantic.
Hayley tried the door handle again, knowing it was locked, but feeling as if she had to do something.
A siren blared in the distance, getting closer by the second.
Hayley shoved herself hard against the door, trying desperately to bust it open, but only succeeding in almost dislocating her shoulder.
A fire truck pulled up to the warehouse and two firemen jumped down and raced over to join Hayley. Another one was uncoiling the hose as two more were turning on the water pump.
“Please step aside, Hayley,” one deep-voiced fireman said, gently taking her by the arm and moving her to his right.
He was so young. Hayley thought she might have babysat him when she was a teenager, but she couldn't quite place the name.
After he assessed the situation, Fire Captain Dean Kendrick ordered his men to unlatch a long battering ram. Within thirty seconds four of the firemen were charging the door.
It took two tries, but the door finally gave. As it collapsed inside the warehouse, smoke poured out.
Three of the firemen raced inside, armed with fire extinguishers. The other two remained outside, ready with the hose.
Hayley hugged herself, praying Garth and Bagel would be rescued unharmed.
One of the firemen, the deep-voiced one, emerged, carrying Bagel in his arms. The poor dog looked shell-shocked but otherwise fine.
After what felt like an eternity, Captain Kendrick and one other fireman walked out. The captain was on his cell phone.
“Building's okay—just some burning food in the oven. Fire's already out. But you better get down here, Chief, because we found a body.”
Hayley's heart skipped a beat.
“There wasn't enough smoke for him to die of inhalation. I'm guessing he was dead before the food started burning. Heart attack, maybe? Who knows? I'll let you do your job and decide what happened to him.”
Hayley knew the answer, but she had to ask anyway. “Is it Garth Rawlings?”
“He was facedown when we found him, so I can't be sure,” Captain Kendrick said. “All I can tell you is he was wearing a white apron and a chef's hat.”
Island Food & Spirits by Hayley Powell
Every year around the holidays I always wax nostalgic and recall memories of Christmas past. That was certainly the case the other night when I was turning off the lights on the Christmas tree. I thought about an incident that happened years ago when I was still married and my kids were very small. It was early December and my then-husband, Danny, announced that the family was going to drive to Gilley's Christmas Tree Farm, outside of town, to pick out our Christmas tree. The kids screamed with delight. I could only manage a low groan. It's not that I didn't want a tree. It was the agony of us having to choose one. Or should I say,
Danny
choosing one. He always insisted on having the perfect tree to show off to the neighbors, and every year it had to be bigger and better than the previous tree.
The prior year he had picked a tree that he swore would fit in our living room. However, after three tries of trying to shove it through the door, he was forced to trim half its branches and saw off the bottom four times in order to get it to fit into the tree stand and not hit the ceiling.
There was no getting out of Danny's tree trip. So the next morning, after filling my Crock-Pot with one of our favorite Christmas stews for our supper that night, we bundled up the excited kids and packed them into the car and embarked on the hour ride to Gilley's while singing Christmas carols at the top of our lungs.
Sounds like the idyllic beginning of a fun family road trip holiday adventure? Well, it was—for about the first five minutes. That's roughly the attention span my kids have singing Christmas carols. Especially since they didn't really know the words to any yet. The singing in the backseat quickly devolved into whining: “Are we there yet?” “I'm hungry!” Plus the perennial favorite, “I've got to pee!”
Danny started grumbling from the driver's seat that he had asked everyone to use the bathroom before leaving the house so he wouldn't have to stop until we arrived at our destination. The angry sound of their father's voice immediately caused the kids to cry, which just got Danny even more frustrated. He pulled into the Hulls Cove General Store and huffily unloaded the kids from the car so they could use the restroom and grab a snack. It's normal to make pit stops on any road trip, but the Hulls Cove General Store is only ten minutes from our house!
Finally, after returning the chocolate reindeer, which Dustin didn't seem to think he had to pay for, we were back on the road. Danny said if he heard any more complaining, he would turn the car around and we would go straight home with no Christmas tree.
Of course this was met with more tears and crying. I was silently praying he would make good on his threat so we could skip this grueling tradition of searching for the perfect tree in the woods on a farm in the bitter cold with whiny children. I yearned for the day when Danny would be too tired and we could just drive over to the True Value hardware store and purchase a tree right from the lot next door, run by the local Boy Scout troop. But as we crossed the Trenton Bridge, I knew that was just a dream. Danny was more determined than ever to see this “Christmas Tree Mission” through.
We finally arrived at the Christmas tree farm and piled out of the car while Danny collected an axe and a sled from Mr. Gilley, who, I swear, hadn't changed a bit since I was a kid. He looked eighty years old then. He looked eighty years old now. Must be the rough Maine winters.
I looked at what seemed like miles and miles of perfect-looking Christmas trees and could have picked one out right then and there. But that would be too easy. I knew in my heart we had a long day ahead of us.
I will not force you to endure the five-hour search for the perfect tree, but I will try and briefly sum it up for you!
On the twelfth day of Christmas, my family gave to me . . . twelve crying jags, eleven “stop that fighting”s, ten “Mommy, I'm starving”s, nine “Daddy, I'm tired”s, eight “Just pick a damn tree”s, seven “I can't feel my toes”s, six “I've got to pee now”s, five almost-perfect trees, four people shivering, three frozen noses, two broken saws, and one perfect Powell family Christmas tree!
After paying for the tree, loading the kids into the car, and tying the tree on the roof, we began our journey home. We had barely pulled into the driveway when the kids began complaining that they were hungry. I silently congratulated myself for having the foresight to put our supper in the Crock-Pot before we left the house that morning. Soon we would be warming up with big bowls of my delectable Christmas stew. As we piled out of the car, I realized Danny wasn't following us. I turned to find him just staring at the car with a shocked expression on his face. It took a moment for it to sink in that there was no Christmas tree tied to the car roof!
Apparently, the rope Danny used to tie it down with had come loose. Somewhere between Gilly's Christmas Tree Farm and our house, there was a perfect Christmas tree lying in the middle of the dark road, waiting there for someone to rescue it and take it home.
Well, Merry Christmas to that lucky someone who was now in possession of that perfect tree! I was not about to turn around and go search for it, since it was pitch-black by 4:00
P.M.
in December. I guess losing the tree was just too much for Danny that year. He said there would never be a perfect tree like that one ever again. I finally got my wish to pick out a tree right in town at the Boy Scout tree lot. And I've been doing that every year since.
When winter arrives, I always whip up my world-famous Powell family Christmas stew recipe. Well, “world-famous” might be an overstatement. Mostly, I make it for friends and family. There is nothing more comforting, especially in December, than filling our bowls with this scrumptious beef stew and filling our mugs with hot apple cider. (The adults get an added bonus of a shot of rum!) Try these holiday recipes and you too will be giving thanks!
 
 
Powell Family Hot Apple Cider and Rum
 
Ingredients
1 apple
2 teaspoons whole cloves
1 orange, thinly sliced with peel
2 quarts your favorite apple cider
½ cup light brown sugar
1 teaspoon allspice
Pinch of grated nutmeg or half teaspoon ground nutmeg
1 cup of your favorite dark rum or more, if you prefer
Cinnamon sticks for garnishing
 
Poke your whole cloves into the apple. In a saucepan combine the apple with the cloves and all of your ingredients, except the rum. Slowly bring to a simmer over low heat. Simmer for 10 minutes. Remove from the heat and add your favorite rum. Discard the apple. Ladle the mixture into mugs and garnish each one with a cinnamon stick. Serve immediately for the full and tasty results!
 
 
Powell Family Crock-Pot Christmas Stew
 
Ingredients
2½ pounds beef stew meat, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 28-ounce can stewed tomatoes with the juice
1 cup chopped celery
4 sliced carrots, cubed potatoes
3 onions, chopped
3½ tablespoons cornstarch
2 beef bouillon cubes
½ teaspoon dried rosemary
½ teaspoon dried thyme
½ teaspoon dried marjoram
¼ favorite red wine
½ cup flour
2 tablespoon oil
1 teaspoon each salt and pepper
 
In a Ziploc bag combine your flour and salt and pepper, add the meat, and shake until all of the meat is coated. In a large frying pan add the 2 tablespoons oil and bring up to medium-high heat. Add your floured beef to the pan and sear on all sides by stirring until all of the meat is browned and then add to the Crock-Pot.
Add your cornstarch to the wine and whisk and add to the pot. Then add all the rest of your ingredients, give a quick stir to combine, and turn the Crock-Pot on low and leave alone for 8 to 10 hours until the meat is tender and you're ready to eat.
As always, feel free to add your own touches, such as a bag of frozen peas the last couple of hours of cooking.
Chapter 12
The police chief, Sergio Alvares, was on the scene in less than five minutes. He stepped out of the squad car—looking tall and dreamy in his blue flak jacket, sporting a shoulder holster with a gun—and took full command. He was like a Brazilian version of Ryan Gosling playing a brooding detective in some indie feature. Sadly, for most of the women in town, Sergio was also gay.
He consulted with fire Captain Kendrick outside the warehouse before heading inside to take a look at the corpse. There were no other officers on the scene yet, so nobody was holding back the small crowd of onlookers, which had undoubtedly heard about the fire on their home police scanners.
Hayley casually followed Sergio inside. Even though he was her brother-in-law, she guessed he still might object to a civilian sticking close to him while he investigated the scene. But Hayley had gained a reputation in town as an amateur crime-solver, so perhaps she might get lucky and be allowed to watch. Sergio was distracted and it would be difficult to ask for his permission while he was working, so she decided just to take matters into her own hands and sneak inside, undetected, to steal a glimpse of what was happening.
Hayley crept closer to the kitchen, poking her head in to hear Sergio conversing with Captain Kendrick.
“Looks like he was in the middle of cooking when he died. Maybe a heart attack. Could have killed him instantly. Food was still in the oven and started burning, which caused the fire,” Sergio said.
It made perfect sense. Garth had told her he was busy preparing some dishes for a couple of weekend parties he was catering.
Sergio continued, scanning the scene. “No signs of a break-in.”
“Door was locked, presumably from the inside,” said the dashing captain, who removed his hard hat to scratch an itch on the top of his head. “Took all four of my men to bust it down with a battering ram.”
Sergio nodded and knelt down next to the body.
Hayley knew it was definitely Garth. She could see his face, cold and still. His eyes were closed.
Sergio noticed a pipe still lodged between Garth's fingers. He withdrew a white rag from his back pants pocket and used it to pick up the pipe and examine it. “A few of the tobacco embers are still burning. He was obviously smoking when he died.”
He then searched Garth's pocket and found his wallet. He opened it and looked inside. It was filled with bills. He pulled them out and fanned through them. “Must be close to nine hundred bucks here. I think it's safe to say someone didn't barge in here and rob him. Especially since the door was locked when you guys got here.”
Sergio took another look around. “So all we've got is a barking dog and some burning food in the oven.”
“Excuse me, Hayley,” a voice said from behind her.
It was loud enough to alert both Sergio and Captain Kendrick, who spun around to catch Hayley eavesdropping on their conversation.
The voice belonged to Rusty Wyatt, a young, energetic, and adorable paramedic in his twenties, with tousled blond hair and cheeks you just wanted to squeeze like an overenthusiastic grandmother. Rusty also had a killer smile and was flashing his pearly whites at a chastised Hayley, who kept glancing back at the stern expression on Sergio's face.
“You get prettier every time I see you,” Rusty said, giving her a subtle wink.
“Thank you, Rusty,” Hayley said, surprised this kid was shamelessly flirting with her under such serious circumstances.
“You mind if we slip past you with this gurney, honey?” Rusty said, still with the killer smile.
“Oh . . . no! Excuse me! I'm sorry . . . ,” Hayley said, stepping aside as Rusty and another paramedic, whom she didn't know, passed her with the gurney and lugged it over to Sergio, fire Captain Kendrick, and Garth's body.
“You can take him straight to the morgue, boys. County coroner can decide whether or not to do an autopsy,” Sergio said.
Rusty was staring back at Hayley. He had a lascivious look on his face, as if imagining the two of them skinny-dipping together on some tropical island in the South Pacific. Like Brooke Shields and that long-forgotten curly-haired blond boy in
Blue Lagoon,
a movie Hayley loved as a child.
She was now officially dying of embarrassment.
“Rusty, did you hear what I said?” Sergio asked.
“Yes, sir! We'll take care of it right away.”
They lifted the body up off the floor and set him down on the gurney and went about strapping him in.
Sergio walked toward Hayley, mumbling to her as he passed. “You can go home, Hayley. This isn't a crime scene.”
Hayley nodded and followed him out.
Outside the warehouse there was now a larger crowd, which was being kept at bay by Sergio's two junior officers, Donnie and Earl, or as Hayley preferred calling them, “Officers Dumb and Dumber.” She knew the reference dated her, but it was too perfect not to use. Sergio was stopped by Lex's foreman, Nick Ward, the handyman Billy Parsons, and the quiet, withdrawn young man who always seemed to be tagging alongside them. Nick wanted to know what was going on and Sergio filled him in. The three men seemed genuinely rattled by the news that Garth Rawlings was dead.
“Did you guys see or hear anything?” Sergio asked.
“No, Chief,” Nick said, holding a can of beer. “We were inside having our own little holiday party. The kid here, Hugo, thought he smelled something funny, a burning smell, but we didn't think too much about it until we heard the sirens and saw the trucks pull up.”
“So you had no interaction with Mr. Rawlings at any time tonight? Did he complain about the music you guys were playing next door?”
“No, sir,” Nick said, shaking his head.
Nick glanced over and spotted Hayley, who was watching him closely. She had been there two days before to witness the argument the three men had with Garth over the noise from their machinery.
And he knew it.
“We did have a minor altercation with him just the other day. Some of our equipment caused one of his soufflés to collapse and he was not too happy about it. But we smoothed things over, and Billy here even knocked on his door to invite him over to have a beer with us earlier.”
“What time was that?”
“Around five. I knocked a few times, but he didn't answer,” Billy said. “I thought maybe he didn't hear me, so I tried the door, but it was locked.”
Nick lowered his head and asked quietly, “Does Tiffany know yet?”
Sergio shook his head. “I'm heading over there in a few minutes to break the news before she reads about it on Facebook.”
Hayley noticed all three men appeared visibly saddened by the circumstances, especially Hugo, who looked as if he was about to cry.
“Okay,” Sergio said. “I may have some more questions for you later, so I'd appreciate it if you could make yourselves available.”
“Absolutely, Chief,” Nick said. “Whatever we can do to help.”
Sergio turned and walked to his squad car.
Hayley ran to catch up to him.
“What are you thinking?” Hayley asked.
“No pills or drugs were found at the scene. Doesn't appear to be any kind of overdose. I'm inclined to believe Garth Rawlings died of natural causes.”
“Natural causes? Sergio, Garth was only in his midforties.”
“We know he smoked a pipe and we all know the dangers of smoking. We also know he's high-strung and prone to tantrums, which can lead to high blood pressure. Maybe his habits and behaviors finally caught up with him.”
Something inside Hayley told her that pipe smoking and a boorish personality were not what killed Garth Rawlings.

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