Thanksgiving season brings murder most fowl to Bar Harbor, Maine, as food writer and restaurateur Hayley Powell investigates a farmer felled at a turkey shoot . . .
The relationships between bad-tempered Tom Farley and his neighbors are as bitter as a bowl of raw cranberries, but would one of them have taken it far enough to replace birdshot with a real bullet and make him a target at a shooting competition? That’s what the injured turkey farmer is claiming from his hospital bed—in between terrorizing the nurses—and he insists it’s because a property developer is looking to buy them all out for big money. But Tom says he was born on that land, and he intends to die on it. Sadly, that happens sooner than he expects.
Now an inquisitive Hayley has a cornucopia of suspects to consider, from an agoraphobic therapist to an ex-Army sniper, while also preparing for Thanksgiving. But with the strange twists and dark secrets still to be revealed, this case will not be as easy as pie . . .
Includes delectable recipes from Hayley’s kitchen!
Release date:
September 30, 2025
Publisher:
Kensington Books
Print pages:
336
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The annual turkey shoot hosted by the Bar Harbor Volunteer Fire Department was the highlight of the town’s pre-Thanksgiving festivities. This year, like every other, the event promised a large turnout. Crisp autumn air filled with the scent of pine and distant woodsmoke greeted the attendees as they gathered at the fire department’s open field, a sea of plaid flannel and bright orange hunting vests.
Hayley Powell adjusted her woolen scarf, glancing at her husband Bruce Linney, who was practically vibrating with excitement. Bruce, a crime reporter for the local paper, the Island Times, had been bragging about his shooting skills for days.
“You’ll see, Hayley,” Bruce said, patting the stock of his gleaming rifle. “First prize is as good as ours. I’m a natural marksman.”
Hayley, a food columnist at the Island Times and owner of the popular local restaurant Hayley’s Kitchen, chuckled at her husband’s overconfidence.
“Yes, dear, I’m sure you are,” she replied with a wink.
She had only come along for the fun, not expecting to participate seriously.
The event was well underway, and the field was buzzing with activity. Hayley watched as families gathered around picnic tables, sharing hot apple cider and homemade pastries from the local bakery, Morning Glory. The smell of roasting chestnuts mingled with the crisp air, creating a cozy atmosphere that was quintessentially Bar Harbor post-tourist season.
Bruce took his turn at the firing line, his bravado on full display. He puffed his chest out as he raised his rifle. A few spectators gathered around, curious to see if he was as good at shooting as he boasted.
Bruce squinted, aimed, and fired.
His shot was good, but not great—certainly not the bullseye he had predicted.
A few scattered cheers and polite applause followed his attempt.
Although he had not scored a bullseye, he still had scored the closest shot over the other entrants in this contest so far.
Bruce grumbled good-naturedly, stepping aside as Hayley took her place. She had not planned on competing, but the gleam in Bruce’s eye spurred her on. With a deep breath, she raised the rifle, aimed, and squeezed the trigger.
The shot rang out, and the crowd fell silent for a moment before erupting into cheers.
Hayley had hit the bullseye.
Bruce stared; his mouth open in disbelief. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Looks like Randy’s not going to have to go foraging at the Shop ‘n Save for a good turkey. We can just drop off your first prize.”
Randy, Hayley’s brother, was hosting Thanksgiving dinner this year. Hayley’s two grown children, Gemma and Dustin, were celebrating the holiday in New York and Los Angeles respectively, and so Randy had invited Hayley’s whole gang, including besties Liddy and Mona, to join him and his husband Sergio, the chief of police, at their sprawling seaside home.
As Hayley collected her prize—a plump turkey that was so big she suspected it would feed half the town, she could not help but feel a swell of pride. She held up the turkey for Bruce to see, a wide grin on her face.
“I guess I’m the sharpshooter in the family,” she said, winking at him. “Maybe I missed my calling. I should’ve become a Delta Force assassin, or a spy, oh I love that, Jane Bond! When Liddy, Mona and I played Charlie’s Angels when we were kids I was always the one pretending to have the gun.”
Hayley struck the iconic Charlie’s Angels silhouette pose, her fingers forming into the shape of a pistol.
Bruce feigned a scowl, but she could tell he was proud of his wife for slaying the competition, himself included.
“Okay, Annie Oakley, let’s get that turkey over to Randy’s freezer,” Bruce said.
Their playful banter was interrupted by a sudden commotion nearby. Raised voices and the sound of a scuffle drew the attention of everyone around them.
“What’s going on over there?” Hayley asked, craning her neck to see.
Local crank Tom Farley, known for his smelly and nasty turkey farm that his neighbors were constantly complaining about, was in a heated argument with one of those neighbors. Retired Army Major Reid Norton, whose property lay to the north of Tom’s farm, was red-faced and shouting.
“Oh, boy. Not this again,” Bruce sighed, recognizing the familiar scene.
Tom’s turkeys had a habit of crossing over onto Reid’s property, wreaking havoc on his garden. This past summer, the birds had destroyed Reid’s meticulously tended vegetable patch, and it seemed Reid had finally had enough.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Reid yelled, his face inches from Tom’s. “Those damn birds ruined my garden! You need to keep them contained, Farley!”
Tom dismissed Reid’s fury with a dismissive wave of his bony hand. “Oh, give it a rest, Norton. It’s November, your garden is just mulch now anyway. Why don’t you take up an indoor hobby like needlepoint or crocheting, something a little more your speed.”
Reid’s nostrils flared.
Hayley closed her eyes.
She knew what was coming.
It was the last straw.
Reid swung a fist, and the fight erupted. The crowd gasped, some stepping back while others moved forward to get a better look.
Before Bruce could make a move to stop them, Hayley’s best friend, Mona Barnes, a tough-talking, gruff bruiser of a lobster woman and a close friend of Reid’s, charged forward. With her strong arms from a life hauling heavy lobster traps, and her typical no-nonsense attitude, Mona physically intervened, yanking the two men apart with ease.
“Break it up, you two!” Mona barked, standing between them like a human barricade. “This is supposed to be a community event, not a boxing match! Who do you think you are, Oleksandr Usyk and Tyson Fury? They could be your grandsons! Chill out!”
Neither man budged.
Mona ripped off her Maine Guide wool cap and hurled it to the ground, fists raised, ready to take them both on, if necessary.
Tom and Reid glared at each other but reluctantly stepped back, muttering under their breaths. The tension in the air was palpable, but Mona’s presence kept the situation from escalating any further.
Hayley, still holding her prize turkey, exchanged a concerned glance with Bruce. “Why does this always happen? Those two are natural born enemies. I wish they could just find a way to bury the hatchet. Life is too short to be at each other’s throats all the time.”
Bruce shook his head. “It’s not just Reid. None of Tom’s neighbors appreciate his smelly turkeys and lack of landscaping. Can you imagine living next to his property? The town dump has more charm. I feel bad for all of them.”
“Well, the more they complain about him, the more defensive and intractable he gets,” Hayley said. “They should all just try to get along.”
“I think they’re way past that,” Mona interjected, brushing herself off, having successfully sent the two feuding men to their respective corners. “I heard the Murdocks, his neighbors to the south, tried to sue him to clean up his property, and lost. If the Murdocks, with all their power and money and influence, can’t win in court, then Tom and his turkeys are untouchable, in my opinion.”
Bruce observed Tom and Reid still glaring at each other, Tom firing off a smattering of four-letter words loud enough to be heard, as military-trained Reid, with his imposing physique and buzz cut, his face red with rage and his contempt flagrant, shook his head in disgust.
“Sergio should keep an eye on those two,” Bruce acknowledged. “Something tells me this isn’t over.”
As the turkey shoot continued and the commotion died down, Hayley could not shake the feeling that Bruce was right, and the events of the day were just the beginning of something much bigger.
And more dangerous.
Little did she know, the annual turkey shoot might have been a highlight of Bar Harbor’s calendar, but this year, it marked the start of a disturbing chain of events that would change everything.
Permanently.
The crisp November air was now filled with the aroma of fried dough and maple syrup as Hayley made her way back to the booth where Bruce was nursing a thermos of coffee. The volunteer fire department’s Thanksgiving turkey shoot was still in full swing, with laughter and cheers punctuating the otherwise serene Maine morning. Hayley’s thoughts drifted back to the scuffle between Tom Farley and Reid Norton. The tensions between the two men were simmering just as hot as the turkey fryer on the other side of the field.
Hayley’s musings were interrupted by the unmistakable voice of her other BFF, Liddy Crawford, who arrived with a large wicker basket. Liddy’s usual polished look was even more dazzling today, thanks to the extra effort she had put in to impress the influential Murdock family, her latest real estate clients, who would no doubt be attending the turkey shoot at some point today.
“Hayley!” Liddy’s voice carried over the crowd as she waved. “Good lord, woman, you are the hardest person to find. Where have you been hiding yourself?”
“No one’s hiding, Liddy. I’m standing right here in plain view.” Hayley laughed.
“She just beat the pants off me in the turkey shoot,” Bruce piped in. “She won a twenty-five pounder!”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Bruce. I know what a number that must have done on your fragile male ego!” Liddy cackled before quickly pivoting back toward Hayley. “Did you get my text?”
“No, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just need your help today, talking me up, telling everyone what an incredibly talented and award-winning real estate genius I am, loud enough for everyone who might happen to be within earshot to hear.”
“Okay, what do you want me to say?”
“Just what I told you. Talented. Award winning. Genius. In your own words, of course. But don’t go overboard.”
“You don’t think genius is a little overboard?” Bruce cracked.
Liddy chose to ignore him and raised her basket. “Look what I’ve brought for everyone!”
Liddy unveiled a batch of homemade blueberry pancakes, their golden edges and plump blueberries making all their mouths water instantly. Liddy’s culinary skills had come a long way from the days when she could barely boil water.
“I see someone’s been practicing,” Hayley teased, nudging Liddy.
Liddy beamed, but Hayley knew her friend well enough to see the ulterior motive beneath that bright smile. Sure, she was here to serve the firemen and their families, but Liddy was also here to curry favor with the Murdocks, whose mansion purchase she was overseeing. A hefty commission was on the line, and Liddy was determined to seal the deal.
“Where are they?” Hayley asked, scanning the crowd for the Murdocks.
“Over by the shooting range, of course,” Liddy said, rolling her eyes. “Lester’s probably making a scene about something trivial as usual. He’s not the easiest client I’ve ever had to deal with. Not by a long shot.”
Bruce hung back to chat with some buddies as Hayley and Liddy made their way to the shooting range, where they found Lester Murdock gesticulating wildly, his face red with annoyance. His wife Melody, already clutching a plastic cup filled with a suspiciously pink liquid, swayed slightly as she laughed at something only she found amusing. Their two sons, both in their late teens, Alan and Bo, stood nearby, looking bored and entitled.
As they approached, Lester’s bluster became clearer. “I’m telling you, this range isn’t regulation! How am I supposed to practice my aim with all these distractions?”
The two firemen in charge of the range just stared blankly at Lester, unsure what they could do about it.
Hayley bit her tongue, but Liddy stepped forward with her best professional smile. “Lester, Melody, boys! So glad you all could make it. I brought some of my famous blueberry pancakes.”
Lester’s eyes lit up, not with appreciation, but with the same calculating look he always had. “Ah, Liddy! Always thinking ahead. Maybe these pancakes will bring some luck to my aim today.”
He winked, making Liddy’s skin crawl.
Hayley could not help but notice the way Melody’s gaze sharpened at the mention of luck, her drunken haze lifting momentarily. “Luck? Lester, darling, you need more than luck,” she slurred. “You need a miracle to hit anything today.” She burst into peals of laughter, almost spilling her drink.
“Thank you, dear,” Lester seethed. “I can always count on you as an unwavering pillar of support.”
Melody snorted into her cup then downed the rest of her drink in one gulp. She pouted as she turned the cup upside down to indicate it was empty.
Lester sighed and turned to his son Alan. “Go get your mother another Rose Kennedy, would you, son?”
“Dad!” Alan whined. “That’s like pouring gasoline on a brush fire.”
“It’s better than having to deal with her sober, or worse, hung over,” Lester muttered as Alan, resigned, trotted off toward the family’s truck.
Liddy handed out plates of pancakes to the remaining Murdocks, trying to ignore Lester’s lingering touch on her arm. She caught Hayley’s eye and subtly rolled her eyes, signaling her discomfort.
Hayley gave her a sympathetic smile, wishing there was something she could do to help her friend endure Lester’s unwanted attentions.
Liddy’s efforts paid off, though. The Murdocks were too busy enjoying the pancakes to cause more trouble for the moment. But then came the next shooting competition, and the peace was short-lived.
Liddy also turned out to be a crack shot, much to everyone’s surprise, including Hayley’s.
Bruce, slack-jawed, just shook his head. This was the second time today he had been reminded that his shooting skills were not as sharp as he had convinced himself they were.
When the dust settled, Liddy was declared the winner of the round and was awarded a large, succulent ham. The crowd cheered, but the victory did not sit well with everyone.
Bo Murdock, his face twisted into a sneer, approached Liddy. “Nice shooting, Ms. Crawford. But maybe next time, it might be in your best interest not to do so well. My dad likes to win, and he doesn’t take kindly to being shown up.”
Hayley bristled at the veiled threat, but Liddy remained unfazed. “Thank you for the advice, Bo. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”
Hayley and Liddy exchanged a knowing look. It was clear that the Murdocks were a force to be reckoned with, but Liddy was not one to back down from a challenge. As they walked away from the range, the tension lingering in the air, Hayley could not shake the feeling that this Thanksgiving turkey shoot was just the beginning of an intense drama about to cast a shadow over Bar Harbor.
Hayley’s fork clattered against her plate as she pushed her half-eaten pancakes away. Her appetite had vanished, and the once-appealing stack of golden-brown blueberry flapjacks now seemed like an insurmountable challenge.
“I can’t finish these,” she muttered, putting a hand to her mouth.
Liddy was at her side in a flash. “Why? What’s wrong with them? Did I add too much salt?”
“No.”
“Sugar?”
“No.”
“Baking powder?”
“No, Liddy. They’re perfect. I’m just stuffed,” Hayley moaned, preparing to scrape them into the garbage bin.
“Hold on, Hayley,” Liddy said, catching her just in time. “Use the green bin on the other side of the food tent. We use the leftover scraps to feed the pigs on the farm next door. Chief Grady appreciates the extra slop for his hungry hogs.”
Hayley nodded, grateful for the redirection. She carried her plate to the designated bin, trying not to think too much about the sour turn her morning had taken. The turkey shoot was supposed to be a fun event, but something about it felt off to her today, especially after the unpleasant altercation between Tom Farley and Reid Norton.
As she scraped her pancakes into the green bin, Hayley’s younger brother Randy’s voice boomed across the field, capturing everyone’s attention. She turned to see him approaching with a broad smile, a couple trailing behind him.
“Hey, everyone!” Randy called out, his tone as lively as ever. “I want you all to meet Daniel Sweet and his lovely wife, Hannah. They’re new in town, and Dan iel’s just joined us at Drinks Like A Fish.”
Hayley found herself smiling at the young couple. Daniel looked to be in his mid-twenties, tall and lanky, with a friendly demeanor that matched his bright eyes. His wife, Hannah, stood beside him, her hands resting on a small but noticeable baby bump.
“Nice to meet you,” Hayley said, extending her hand. “Welcome to Bar Harbor!”
“Thank you,” Hannah replied with a warm smile. “We’re excited to be here and thrilled to be starting our family soon.”
Hayley sized up Hannah’s tummy. “Congratulations. When are you due?”
“Early January,” Hannah replied.
“A New Year’s baby!” Randy gushed.
Bruce introduced himself to Daniel, shaking his hand. “Where did you folks move here from?”
“North Conway, New Hampshire. That’s where I was born and raised. Hannah and I met when she moved there senior year and we’ve been together ever since.”
“I told him I wanted to raise our family near the ocean and so Bar Harbor was a natural choice,” Hannah said.
Randy clapped Daniel on the back. “Daniel here has been a godsend. My bar manager Michelle went off to Florida indefinitely with her boyfriend, so Daniel’s taken her place and he’s doing a bang-up job.”
“That’s great to hear,” Bruce said. “Whereabouts are you living?”
“Tom Farley’s neighbors to the west,” Daniel said, nodding. “A double-wide on a small strip of property. It’s all we could afford for now, but we’re hoping to save enough to buy a bigger place to raise our family.”
“It’s a start,” Hayley said encouragingly. “And you’ll make it work.”
“I sure hope so,” Hannah said, her eyes sparkling with optimism. “We had no idea how expensive Bar Harbor would be, but Daniel’s job at the bar is a big help.”
“And we’re excited to make new friends,” Daniel added.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place. Just about everyone in town shows up at the annual turkey shoot,” Hayley said, smiling.
“Speaking of which,” Daniel said, glancing at his watch, “I’ve got to head to the firing line. My turn’s coming up. Nice meeting you all!”
As Daniel jogged off toward the line of shooters, Hannah stayed behind, striking up a conversation with Hayley. They talked about the town, the upcoming baby, and the adjustments of moving to a new place. The exchange was light and pleasant, a welcome distraction from Hayley’s earlier unease.
But their conversation was abruptly interrupted by a sudden commotion. A collective gasp rose from the crowd, followed by screams and shouts. The head of the fire department’s voice cut through the chaos, urgent and commanding.
“Cease fire! Cease fire!”
Everyone who was lined up at the firing line immediately stopped shooting, their attention snapping to the source of the disturbance. All eyes fell on Tom Farley, lying face down on the ground, moaning in pain. Blood was pooling beneath him, staining the grass.
“Oh my God!” Hayley cried, her hands flying to her mouth.
“Tom!” someone shouted, rushing to his side.
Bruce quickly pulled out his phone and dialed 911, his voice steady despite the panic around them.
Hayley rushed over as a man inspected Tom then cranked his head around to address the onlookers. “He’s been shot!”
“What?” Hayley gasped.
By a real bullet?
Impossible.
All the guns were loaded with bean bags.
Sock-shaped pouches filled with lead.
They’re specifically designed not to penetrate skin.
Within minutes, the distant wail of an ambulance siren could be heard, growing louder as it approached. The police were not far behind.
As the ambulance arrived, paramedics jumped out and sprinted over to Tom, barking orders and pushing through the gathering crowd.
Police Chief Sergio, Randy’s husband and Hayley’s brother-in-law, strode onto the scene, his presence commanding immediate attention. At his side were two of his most loyal officers, Lieutenant Donnie and Sergeant Earl.
“Alright, everyone, stay where you are!” Chief Sergio ordered, his voice carrying over the crowd. “No one leaves until I’ve had a chance to question everybody.”
Donnie and Earl fanned out to gather up all the guns on the scene and to corral the still stunned crowd, plucking them one by one and escorting them over to where Chief Sergio was waiting.
The paramedics worked swiftly, assessing Tom’s injury and preparing him for transport.
The crowd watched in stunned silence as they loaded him . . .
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