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Synopsis
Apparently, the mouthwatering new ice cream flavors on the menu in coastal Bar Harbor, Maine, are really just to die for . . .
Food and cocktails columnist Hayley Powell doesn't know what to believe when Lydia Partridge, the put-together owner of gourmet Bar Harbor Ice Cream, suddenly reveals fears that her husband may be having an affair. There's no other way to explain why Jamie, a respected professor, was spotted in a remote part of town with a much younger woman. But instead of learning the truth about the secret meeting, Lydia opens her freezer truck to find another surprise—the dead body of a summer employee . . .
The shock continues as photographic evidence proves Jamie was spending time off campus with the victim, one of his students. Now, Lydia desperately needs Hayley to discover if Jamie really is a cheater—and, worse, a ruthless killer. With her own complicated family issues to address, can Hayley make sense of a popular college girl's love life and out the true culprit before the case, or another person, goes cold?
Release date: July 26, 2022
Publisher: Kensington Books
Print pages: 320
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Death of an Ice Cream Scooper
Lee Hollis
Please have the Sea Salt Caramel, Hayley silently prayed to herself. Please, please, please have the Sea Salt Caramel.
Hayley was well aware that she was praying for an ice cream flavor. If she were a more noble person, someone with loftier, more far-reaching goals, she probably would have focused her thoughts on praying for world peace or a solution to the climate change crisis. But alas, in the tiny town of Bar Harbor, Maine, there wasn’t much she could do about all that.
However, when Lynette Partridge, the enterprising, whip-smart owner of Bar Harbor Ice Cream, pulled her white delivery truck into the gravel parking lot of Hayley’s restaurant, aptly named Hayley’s Kitchen, Sea Salt Caramel was without apology in the forefront of her mind.
Lynette, blond and beautiful—a potent combination that led people to constantly underestimate her business acumen and creative spirit—hopped out of the driver’s side of her beat-up truck. She wore a bulky royal blue sweatshirt with her company logo on it, which somewhat disguised her curvaceous figure, and a pair of tight jeans, which decidedly did not. As if reading Hayley’s mind, Lynette flashed her a beatific grin and chirped, “I brought two cartons of Sea Salt Caramel for you today, Hayley.”
Her prayers had been answered.
Although Lynette’s ice cream business had exploded over the last five years, appearing in international tourist magazines as a must-stop destination when visiting Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park, and mentioned in endless “Best Of” articles and blogs for her delectable, wholly original ice cream flavors such as Lemon Poppy Seed Blackberry Jam, or Blackstrap Molasses Banana, or Bay of Figs, it was her more traditional offerings, like Butter Mint, or Pralines and Cream, or Hayley’s personal favorite, the aforementioned Sea Salt Caramel, that sent her taste buds into a state of euphoria.
“You’re too good to me, Lynette,” Hayley spouted, following Lynette like a loyal beagle as she circled around to the freezer in the back of her truck. Lynette slipped a key in the lock, clicked it to the right, and then whipped open the door, as a torrent of steam billowed out from the cold air. Lynette donned a pair of gray work gloves and began effortlessly unloading a half dozen large containers like a longshoreman working the docks.
Hayley’s was one of several local restaurants that had cut a deal with Lynette to feature her award-winning ice cream products on their dessert menus. It was a win-win for Lynette. By offering Bar Harbor Ice Cream, the businesses were basically giving her free publicity; plus, as part of the bartering arrangement, the restaurants in exchange would serve limitless free meals to Lynette and her husband, Jamie McGibbon, a history professor at the College of the Atlantic, during the summer season. They would only have to cough up their own money for alcohol and the server’s tip.
Hayley was more than happy to have Lynette and Jamie in her restaurant, because she liked them both immensely. She had known the couple for years, long before they had even met each other, fell in love, and got married. However, they’d never really socialized all that much over the years. But ever since Hayley had opened the doors of her new eatery, she and Lynette had found themselves in the same orbit, and now, Hayley wanted to make it a top priority to get to know this vibrant, fun, successful woman, hoping some of Lynette’s moxie and business know-how might somehow rub off on her as she tried to get her own fledgling endeavor up and running.
As Lynette hauled the large cartons out of the truck, Hayley leaned over and read the labels. “Oh, good, you brought some more of the Blueberry Sour Cream Crumble. My customers love that one.”
Lynette smiled proudly. “It’s a classic.”
When she was finished unloading, Lynette slammed the door of the freezer shut, then began lifting and carrying the cartons into the restaurant. Hayley was amazed by Lynette’s physical strength and stamina. Hayley was practically out of breath just watching her. Feeling guilty, Hayley bent down and grabbed one of the Sea Salt Caramel cartons, and then, huffing and puffing, lumbered after Lynette, who was already in the back, in Hayley’s walk-in freezer, sliding two big cartons onto the shelf. She used one of her gray-gloved hands to wipe wisps of her blond hair away from her face. “How has your summer been so far, Hayley?”
“I certainly can’t complain. I’m a new business, so I know there are going to be a lot of unexpected crises to deal with, like a busted water pipe, a leaky roof during that last rainstorm we had, and a delay in a fresh fish delivery that put the kibosh on my salmon special one night, but overall, things have been pretty good. I’m lucky things have been steady.”
“I admire you for making such a big change, leaving the security of your job at the Island Times to start a new business. Not many people have the guts, especially when so many ventures fail. But you’ve done it—this place is already a staple in town; you should be very proud.”
“It helps to have a very loyal and experienced staff helping me. I wouldn’t have stood a chance without Kelton working in the kitchen, Betty up front handling all the reservations, and my waitstaff, most of whom I’ve known for years.”
Lynette shivered from the chilly air in the walk-in freezer, then marched out and headed back to her truck for another load, Hayley close on her heels.
“You’re smart to have mostly locals working for you,” Lynette remarked, with more than a hint of envy. “I have to rely on a bunch of party-animal college kids from all over the country on my payroll. I swear, I thought I was bad at that age, but kids these days have just gotten so much worse with their TikTok videos, showing up late nursing hangovers, or calling in sick after all night binge drinking, not to mention their endless relationship dramas that they feel the burning need to discuss, dissect, and analyze instead of scooping ice cream, which is the only reason I hired them.”
Hayley chuckled. “Is it that bad?”
Lynette stopped at her truck, turned to Hayley, and folded her arms. “Yes, actually it is. Last week, one of my girls had to leave her shift because some tourist ordered a double scoop of the Thai Chili Coconut. Apparently, that’s what her ex-boyfriend always ordered, and she said it was a triggering event, and she broke down in a puddle of tears, right there behind the counter. I had to serve ice cream on the house to everyone in the shop, because they were so disturbed by her wailing and sobbing. Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous? What’s wrong with this generation? No one’s got any grit or backbone anymore!”
“I do have a couple of college kids busing tables for me, but the older waiters tend to keep them in line,” Hayley said, laughing.
“Yeah, unfortunately for me, not a lot of, shall we say, seasoned people, want to scoop ice cream. Too many sore arm muscles at the end of the day, I guess. I suppose it’s more of a young people’s game,” Lynette said.
After hauling the last two cartons inside, Lynette jumped back behind the wheel of her truck. “Don’t forget to shoot me a text when you start to run low on supply.”
“Of course. Thank you so much, Lynette.”
“And we still need to get together for a drink, maybe even allow the husbands to tag along?”
“Sounds like fun!”
Lynette hit the gas and roared away, waving her arm out the window, on the way to her next delivery.
Hayley watched her zip down the street, peel around the corner, and disappear down Cottage Street. She hoped they could make that date happen sooner rather than later. As she wandered back into the empty restaurant, still hours away from opening for dinner, Hayley heard a ringing sound. It wasn’t her phone. It was coming from her little office off the kitchen.
Hayley suddenly gasped.
Gemma.
She had made plans with her daughter to FaceTime on the computer at noon. It was already five minutes past twelve. Hayley dashed across the dining room into the kitchen and to her office, where she plopped down in her swivel chair, in front of her laptop, and answered the call.
Her daughter’s gorgeous face appeared on the screen.
“Hi, Mom!”
“Hey there; sorry, Lynette Partridge was here, and I lost track of time . . .”
“Did she bring Sea Salt Caramel?”
“Two cartons.”
Gemma sighed heavily. “It’s excruciating to not be able to come home this summer. New York is so gross and smelly this time of year, everyone flees the city, all the rich people have decamped to the Hamptons, but Conner and I are going to be stuck in our fourth-floor walk-up with a very spotty air-conditioner unit.”
Gemma’s fiancé Conner had been appearing in a Broadway play, a revival of A Few Good Men, for six months now, and Gemma was working hard as a producer for the Food Network. There was a lot of talk, however—given her pretty face, sharp sense of humor, and culinary talent—of transitioning her to a position as an on-air personality, with her own show, which Hayley thought was a no-brainer. But of course, Hayley would also readily admit to having a supremely biased opinion.
Hayley hesitated, then asked, “How are the wedding plans coming?”
Gemma shrugged. “Fine. We’re still going back and forth. Maine or Long Island. His parents have launched a pressure campaign to have the whole thing in New York, and you know how Conner is with his parents; he won’t stand up for himself, even though he really wants to get married in Bar Harbor, but we’re still negotiating, so stay tuned.”
Hayley had decided not to insert herself in the middle of all the planning for once, much to the shock of her BFFs Liddy and Mona, as well as her husband Bruce.
No, this was Gemma’s day, not hers.
And although she had her own strong opinions, preferring the magnificent views of Frenchman Bay from the majestic lawn of the Bar Harbor Motor Inn, a fantasy wedding she had always dreamed about for her daughter, she was keeping her mouth firmly shut.
Stay out of it, she had told herself countless times.
“I am so bummed I’m not going to get to see Dustin,” Gemma whined.
Gemma’s younger brother Dustin was flying in from California this week with his girlfriend, whom Hayley had never even met. Her son had moved to Los Angeles to work as an animator after art school, and was currently working on a show airing on the Cartoon Network. Hayley had tried to watch it, but it was loud and frenetic, having something to do with talking food; a very jokey eggplant was in the mix, and lots of constant toilet humor. Definitely not her cup of tea. But she dutifully watched episodes occasionally, so she could talk to him about his work, and was nevertheless extremely proud of him.
“Has he told you yet?”
Hayley suddenly snapped to attention. “Told me what?”
Gemma registered a look of surprise, which she quickly covered. “Oh . . . nothing.”
“Gemma, you obviously know something. What is it?”
“I promised not to tell you.”
“Well, you brought it up, so now you have to tell me.”
“I can’t.”
She normally had no trouble getting Gemma to talk.
Her daughter was a chatterbox who loved to gossip.
An easy mark.
But as she had gotten older and had matured, she was now irritatingly intractable when it came to spilling a juicy secret, if she had made a commitment not to share it.
It was both admirable and frustrating at the same time.
“Gemma, you can’t just leave me hanging like this,” Hayley pressed.
“I’m sorry, he wants to tell you himself, so I have to respect that.”
“Can you at least give me a hint?”
Gemma sighed again. “No, Mom. He’s going to be there in like two days.”
“Just tell me, is it something big?”
Gemma paused, weighing her response, not wanting to inadvertently share any detail too revealing, before her eyes widened and she leaned in closer until her face filled up the entire computer screen. “Is it ever!”
“Gemma, please . . .”
“Gotta go, Mom. Conner’s home!”
Her face suddenly froze and then disappeared.
The call was over.
Hayley strongly suspected that Conner had not suddenly arrived home.
That it was just an excuse to cut short the call.
And now, Hayley was left stewing and wondering.
What was Dustin going to drop on her this time?
Liddy Crawford could barely contain herself as she ran the numbers through her head. “Let’s say I get my asking price of just under three million. At a six-percent commission, that’s roughly a hundred and eighty grand. Assuming I split that fee with the buyer’s agent, I’m still walking away with almost ninety-thousand dollars. Do you know what I can do with that kind of money?”
Hayley waited for Liddy to continue before realizing her question wasn’t rhetorical. “Oh. What?”
“A lot!”
They were standing on the upper deck of the Seagull House, a sprawling seven-bedroom, five-bathroom, six-thousand-square-foot estate with magnificent, breathtaking ocean views from nearly every room in the house. Liddy had recently been hired as the sales agent for the owners, who were very eager to sell.
Hayley had been on the grounds before—recently, in fact—when they had installed a swimming pool in the expansive backyard the previous summer. She had stopped by to see the contractor working on the project, but had never stepped inside the house, and so she gladly accepted Liddy’s offer to give her the grand tour. Liddy was the closest thing Bar Harbor had to a real estate mogul, and so no one was surprised that she had been the one chosen to represent the owners, Jim and Rachel Nash, despite some furious competition.
The Nashes were nationally famous as the married hosts of a cable TV news program, Morning Politics, he representing the conservative point of view and she leaning more liberal. Both were blessed with telegenic good looks and had created a party-type atmosphere over cups of coffee every morning from seven to nine, which had resulted in impressive ratings. Rachel’s family had roots on the island, having summered in Northeast Harbor for decades, and so when she married Jim, she wanted a connection to the summer home she had lived in since she was a little girl, running around the rocky beaches collecting seashells. They had purchased the Seagull House in 2015, trying to recreate that same idyllic lifestyle for their own two teenaged daughters.
Hayley glanced down at the massive swimming pool that at the moment was covered by a big blue tarp. It was an odd addition to the property, in Hayley’s opinion, given the limited amount of weeks one could make use of a pool. This was Maine, after all, not California. “Why are they selling now? They just put that pool in last summer.”
“Well, they just bought a new mansion in the Hamptons, twice the size of this one, with their own private beach. Apparently, they just signed a huge multi-year eight-figure contract with the network, so they can afford to splurge. So much for staying connected to the island! But who cares? All that really matters is these people are primed to sell. And I’m the lucky one who gets to unload this place. Do you realize that even if I only get half the asking price, that’s still something like forty-five grand in my pocket?”
“Yes, Liddy, I know I was a screwup in school, but I can still do the math.”
“Come on, let me show you the library. It’s bigger than the public one we have on Mount Desert Street!”
Hayley followed Liddy back inside the main bedroom suite, from the deck and out to the second-floor hallway, where they walked past a few more bedrooms and down the staircase to the library, with its tall ceiling, and along the back wall, row after row of dusty old books, most from a bygone era. Hayley, an avid reader, lit up. “I could curl up with a good book in that old velvet armchair over there and just while away the hours.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Liddy piped in. “I have to remember to say something like that when I’m showing the house.” She cleared her throat and waved her arm with a flourish. “And here, you can curl up in that antique chair and crack open a Dickens or Austen or Dostoevsky, and escape into another world, leaving all your day-to-day worries far behind.” She excitedly turned to Hayley. “How does that sound?”
“I’m ready to make an offer,” Hayley joked.
“You know, this place has such a long history, there could be a lot of super-rich people interested in buying it. I could conceivably have a bidding war on my hands. Can you imagine? If I could play potential buyers off one another, you know, entertain multiple offers, I could jack up the price closer to four million, and half of six percent . . .”
“Which is three percent, just so you know,” Hayley said.
“Right, that’s a hundred and twenty thousand!”
Hayley could almost see dollar signs in Liddy’s eyes. “I’m so happy for you, Liddy; it’s a great listing, and I know you will sell it in no time. You’re the best of the best.”
“Thank you, Hayley; your support has meant so much to me these past few years, especially after that whole nightmare with Sonny.”
Sonny Lipton was Liddy’s former fiancé, who had left her at the altar, which as it turned out was the best thing he could have done for her, given the multitude of secrets he was hiding about himself.
“But now, finally, things are on a total upswing,” Liddy said, leading them out the front door and locking it before walking across the front lawn to adjust the FOR SALE sign that included her name and contact information. “Business is booming, I’ve never been busier, I’m dating someone, there’s just a lot of positive things happening in my life right now . . .”
“Wait, back up. You’re dating someone?”
Liddy smiled coquettishly. “Yes, Hayley, I must have told you!”
“Um, no, you didn’t. I would have remembered something like that. Who is he? How long have you been seeing him?”
“You know I don’t like to go on and on about my romantic relationships . . .”
“Since when?” Hayley scoffed.
Liddy flashed her a little side-eye before continuing. “Okay, I know I didn’t say anything before, but I didn’t want to make a big deal about it, or divulge too many details before I was absolutely certain this was something that might last beyond a couple of dates, but it’s been almost a month now . . .”
“Who? Who?”
“Hayley, please, it sounds like you’re doing an owl impression. His name is George.”
Hayley’s eyes widened in surprise. “George Emory?”
Liddy scrunched her face. “George Emory! No, of course not! He’s ninety-three years old!”
“But he’s worth about twenty million!”
“Hayley Powell, are you saying, as my best friend, I would only date a man for his money? What kind of person do you think I am?”
“The kind of person who has spent the last half hour constantly recalculating the amount of your commission based on various sale prices,” Hayley responded dryly.
“Well, that’s business; this is love!”
“Love? You love him?”
“I meant, this is my love life, I didn’t say I love him, yet! Don’t put words in my mouth,” Liddy scolded before softening. “But he really is a sweet guy. His na. . .
Hayley was well aware that she was praying for an ice cream flavor. If she were a more noble person, someone with loftier, more far-reaching goals, she probably would have focused her thoughts on praying for world peace or a solution to the climate change crisis. But alas, in the tiny town of Bar Harbor, Maine, there wasn’t much she could do about all that.
However, when Lynette Partridge, the enterprising, whip-smart owner of Bar Harbor Ice Cream, pulled her white delivery truck into the gravel parking lot of Hayley’s restaurant, aptly named Hayley’s Kitchen, Sea Salt Caramel was without apology in the forefront of her mind.
Lynette, blond and beautiful—a potent combination that led people to constantly underestimate her business acumen and creative spirit—hopped out of the driver’s side of her beat-up truck. She wore a bulky royal blue sweatshirt with her company logo on it, which somewhat disguised her curvaceous figure, and a pair of tight jeans, which decidedly did not. As if reading Hayley’s mind, Lynette flashed her a beatific grin and chirped, “I brought two cartons of Sea Salt Caramel for you today, Hayley.”
Her prayers had been answered.
Although Lynette’s ice cream business had exploded over the last five years, appearing in international tourist magazines as a must-stop destination when visiting Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park, and mentioned in endless “Best Of” articles and blogs for her delectable, wholly original ice cream flavors such as Lemon Poppy Seed Blackberry Jam, or Blackstrap Molasses Banana, or Bay of Figs, it was her more traditional offerings, like Butter Mint, or Pralines and Cream, or Hayley’s personal favorite, the aforementioned Sea Salt Caramel, that sent her taste buds into a state of euphoria.
“You’re too good to me, Lynette,” Hayley spouted, following Lynette like a loyal beagle as she circled around to the freezer in the back of her truck. Lynette slipped a key in the lock, clicked it to the right, and then whipped open the door, as a torrent of steam billowed out from the cold air. Lynette donned a pair of gray work gloves and began effortlessly unloading a half dozen large containers like a longshoreman working the docks.
Hayley’s was one of several local restaurants that had cut a deal with Lynette to feature her award-winning ice cream products on their dessert menus. It was a win-win for Lynette. By offering Bar Harbor Ice Cream, the businesses were basically giving her free publicity; plus, as part of the bartering arrangement, the restaurants in exchange would serve limitless free meals to Lynette and her husband, Jamie McGibbon, a history professor at the College of the Atlantic, during the summer season. They would only have to cough up their own money for alcohol and the server’s tip.
Hayley was more than happy to have Lynette and Jamie in her restaurant, because she liked them both immensely. She had known the couple for years, long before they had even met each other, fell in love, and got married. However, they’d never really socialized all that much over the years. But ever since Hayley had opened the doors of her new eatery, she and Lynette had found themselves in the same orbit, and now, Hayley wanted to make it a top priority to get to know this vibrant, fun, successful woman, hoping some of Lynette’s moxie and business know-how might somehow rub off on her as she tried to get her own fledgling endeavor up and running.
As Lynette hauled the large cartons out of the truck, Hayley leaned over and read the labels. “Oh, good, you brought some more of the Blueberry Sour Cream Crumble. My customers love that one.”
Lynette smiled proudly. “It’s a classic.”
When she was finished unloading, Lynette slammed the door of the freezer shut, then began lifting and carrying the cartons into the restaurant. Hayley was amazed by Lynette’s physical strength and stamina. Hayley was practically out of breath just watching her. Feeling guilty, Hayley bent down and grabbed one of the Sea Salt Caramel cartons, and then, huffing and puffing, lumbered after Lynette, who was already in the back, in Hayley’s walk-in freezer, sliding two big cartons onto the shelf. She used one of her gray-gloved hands to wipe wisps of her blond hair away from her face. “How has your summer been so far, Hayley?”
“I certainly can’t complain. I’m a new business, so I know there are going to be a lot of unexpected crises to deal with, like a busted water pipe, a leaky roof during that last rainstorm we had, and a delay in a fresh fish delivery that put the kibosh on my salmon special one night, but overall, things have been pretty good. I’m lucky things have been steady.”
“I admire you for making such a big change, leaving the security of your job at the Island Times to start a new business. Not many people have the guts, especially when so many ventures fail. But you’ve done it—this place is already a staple in town; you should be very proud.”
“It helps to have a very loyal and experienced staff helping me. I wouldn’t have stood a chance without Kelton working in the kitchen, Betty up front handling all the reservations, and my waitstaff, most of whom I’ve known for years.”
Lynette shivered from the chilly air in the walk-in freezer, then marched out and headed back to her truck for another load, Hayley close on her heels.
“You’re smart to have mostly locals working for you,” Lynette remarked, with more than a hint of envy. “I have to rely on a bunch of party-animal college kids from all over the country on my payroll. I swear, I thought I was bad at that age, but kids these days have just gotten so much worse with their TikTok videos, showing up late nursing hangovers, or calling in sick after all night binge drinking, not to mention their endless relationship dramas that they feel the burning need to discuss, dissect, and analyze instead of scooping ice cream, which is the only reason I hired them.”
Hayley chuckled. “Is it that bad?”
Lynette stopped at her truck, turned to Hayley, and folded her arms. “Yes, actually it is. Last week, one of my girls had to leave her shift because some tourist ordered a double scoop of the Thai Chili Coconut. Apparently, that’s what her ex-boyfriend always ordered, and she said it was a triggering event, and she broke down in a puddle of tears, right there behind the counter. I had to serve ice cream on the house to everyone in the shop, because they were so disturbed by her wailing and sobbing. Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous? What’s wrong with this generation? No one’s got any grit or backbone anymore!”
“I do have a couple of college kids busing tables for me, but the older waiters tend to keep them in line,” Hayley said, laughing.
“Yeah, unfortunately for me, not a lot of, shall we say, seasoned people, want to scoop ice cream. Too many sore arm muscles at the end of the day, I guess. I suppose it’s more of a young people’s game,” Lynette said.
After hauling the last two cartons inside, Lynette jumped back behind the wheel of her truck. “Don’t forget to shoot me a text when you start to run low on supply.”
“Of course. Thank you so much, Lynette.”
“And we still need to get together for a drink, maybe even allow the husbands to tag along?”
“Sounds like fun!”
Lynette hit the gas and roared away, waving her arm out the window, on the way to her next delivery.
Hayley watched her zip down the street, peel around the corner, and disappear down Cottage Street. She hoped they could make that date happen sooner rather than later. As she wandered back into the empty restaurant, still hours away from opening for dinner, Hayley heard a ringing sound. It wasn’t her phone. It was coming from her little office off the kitchen.
Hayley suddenly gasped.
Gemma.
She had made plans with her daughter to FaceTime on the computer at noon. It was already five minutes past twelve. Hayley dashed across the dining room into the kitchen and to her office, where she plopped down in her swivel chair, in front of her laptop, and answered the call.
Her daughter’s gorgeous face appeared on the screen.
“Hi, Mom!”
“Hey there; sorry, Lynette Partridge was here, and I lost track of time . . .”
“Did she bring Sea Salt Caramel?”
“Two cartons.”
Gemma sighed heavily. “It’s excruciating to not be able to come home this summer. New York is so gross and smelly this time of year, everyone flees the city, all the rich people have decamped to the Hamptons, but Conner and I are going to be stuck in our fourth-floor walk-up with a very spotty air-conditioner unit.”
Gemma’s fiancé Conner had been appearing in a Broadway play, a revival of A Few Good Men, for six months now, and Gemma was working hard as a producer for the Food Network. There was a lot of talk, however—given her pretty face, sharp sense of humor, and culinary talent—of transitioning her to a position as an on-air personality, with her own show, which Hayley thought was a no-brainer. But of course, Hayley would also readily admit to having a supremely biased opinion.
Hayley hesitated, then asked, “How are the wedding plans coming?”
Gemma shrugged. “Fine. We’re still going back and forth. Maine or Long Island. His parents have launched a pressure campaign to have the whole thing in New York, and you know how Conner is with his parents; he won’t stand up for himself, even though he really wants to get married in Bar Harbor, but we’re still negotiating, so stay tuned.”
Hayley had decided not to insert herself in the middle of all the planning for once, much to the shock of her BFFs Liddy and Mona, as well as her husband Bruce.
No, this was Gemma’s day, not hers.
And although she had her own strong opinions, preferring the magnificent views of Frenchman Bay from the majestic lawn of the Bar Harbor Motor Inn, a fantasy wedding she had always dreamed about for her daughter, she was keeping her mouth firmly shut.
Stay out of it, she had told herself countless times.
“I am so bummed I’m not going to get to see Dustin,” Gemma whined.
Gemma’s younger brother Dustin was flying in from California this week with his girlfriend, whom Hayley had never even met. Her son had moved to Los Angeles to work as an animator after art school, and was currently working on a show airing on the Cartoon Network. Hayley had tried to watch it, but it was loud and frenetic, having something to do with talking food; a very jokey eggplant was in the mix, and lots of constant toilet humor. Definitely not her cup of tea. But she dutifully watched episodes occasionally, so she could talk to him about his work, and was nevertheless extremely proud of him.
“Has he told you yet?”
Hayley suddenly snapped to attention. “Told me what?”
Gemma registered a look of surprise, which she quickly covered. “Oh . . . nothing.”
“Gemma, you obviously know something. What is it?”
“I promised not to tell you.”
“Well, you brought it up, so now you have to tell me.”
“I can’t.”
She normally had no trouble getting Gemma to talk.
Her daughter was a chatterbox who loved to gossip.
An easy mark.
But as she had gotten older and had matured, she was now irritatingly intractable when it came to spilling a juicy secret, if she had made a commitment not to share it.
It was both admirable and frustrating at the same time.
“Gemma, you can’t just leave me hanging like this,” Hayley pressed.
“I’m sorry, he wants to tell you himself, so I have to respect that.”
“Can you at least give me a hint?”
Gemma sighed again. “No, Mom. He’s going to be there in like two days.”
“Just tell me, is it something big?”
Gemma paused, weighing her response, not wanting to inadvertently share any detail too revealing, before her eyes widened and she leaned in closer until her face filled up the entire computer screen. “Is it ever!”
“Gemma, please . . .”
“Gotta go, Mom. Conner’s home!”
Her face suddenly froze and then disappeared.
The call was over.
Hayley strongly suspected that Conner had not suddenly arrived home.
That it was just an excuse to cut short the call.
And now, Hayley was left stewing and wondering.
What was Dustin going to drop on her this time?
Liddy Crawford could barely contain herself as she ran the numbers through her head. “Let’s say I get my asking price of just under three million. At a six-percent commission, that’s roughly a hundred and eighty grand. Assuming I split that fee with the buyer’s agent, I’m still walking away with almost ninety-thousand dollars. Do you know what I can do with that kind of money?”
Hayley waited for Liddy to continue before realizing her question wasn’t rhetorical. “Oh. What?”
“A lot!”
They were standing on the upper deck of the Seagull House, a sprawling seven-bedroom, five-bathroom, six-thousand-square-foot estate with magnificent, breathtaking ocean views from nearly every room in the house. Liddy had recently been hired as the sales agent for the owners, who were very eager to sell.
Hayley had been on the grounds before—recently, in fact—when they had installed a swimming pool in the expansive backyard the previous summer. She had stopped by to see the contractor working on the project, but had never stepped inside the house, and so she gladly accepted Liddy’s offer to give her the grand tour. Liddy was the closest thing Bar Harbor had to a real estate mogul, and so no one was surprised that she had been the one chosen to represent the owners, Jim and Rachel Nash, despite some furious competition.
The Nashes were nationally famous as the married hosts of a cable TV news program, Morning Politics, he representing the conservative point of view and she leaning more liberal. Both were blessed with telegenic good looks and had created a party-type atmosphere over cups of coffee every morning from seven to nine, which had resulted in impressive ratings. Rachel’s family had roots on the island, having summered in Northeast Harbor for decades, and so when she married Jim, she wanted a connection to the summer home she had lived in since she was a little girl, running around the rocky beaches collecting seashells. They had purchased the Seagull House in 2015, trying to recreate that same idyllic lifestyle for their own two teenaged daughters.
Hayley glanced down at the massive swimming pool that at the moment was covered by a big blue tarp. It was an odd addition to the property, in Hayley’s opinion, given the limited amount of weeks one could make use of a pool. This was Maine, after all, not California. “Why are they selling now? They just put that pool in last summer.”
“Well, they just bought a new mansion in the Hamptons, twice the size of this one, with their own private beach. Apparently, they just signed a huge multi-year eight-figure contract with the network, so they can afford to splurge. So much for staying connected to the island! But who cares? All that really matters is these people are primed to sell. And I’m the lucky one who gets to unload this place. Do you realize that even if I only get half the asking price, that’s still something like forty-five grand in my pocket?”
“Yes, Liddy, I know I was a screwup in school, but I can still do the math.”
“Come on, let me show you the library. It’s bigger than the public one we have on Mount Desert Street!”
Hayley followed Liddy back inside the main bedroom suite, from the deck and out to the second-floor hallway, where they walked past a few more bedrooms and down the staircase to the library, with its tall ceiling, and along the back wall, row after row of dusty old books, most from a bygone era. Hayley, an avid reader, lit up. “I could curl up with a good book in that old velvet armchair over there and just while away the hours.”
“Oh, that’s good,” Liddy piped in. “I have to remember to say something like that when I’m showing the house.” She cleared her throat and waved her arm with a flourish. “And here, you can curl up in that antique chair and crack open a Dickens or Austen or Dostoevsky, and escape into another world, leaving all your day-to-day worries far behind.” She excitedly turned to Hayley. “How does that sound?”
“I’m ready to make an offer,” Hayley joked.
“You know, this place has such a long history, there could be a lot of super-rich people interested in buying it. I could conceivably have a bidding war on my hands. Can you imagine? If I could play potential buyers off one another, you know, entertain multiple offers, I could jack up the price closer to four million, and half of six percent . . .”
“Which is three percent, just so you know,” Hayley said.
“Right, that’s a hundred and twenty thousand!”
Hayley could almost see dollar signs in Liddy’s eyes. “I’m so happy for you, Liddy; it’s a great listing, and I know you will sell it in no time. You’re the best of the best.”
“Thank you, Hayley; your support has meant so much to me these past few years, especially after that whole nightmare with Sonny.”
Sonny Lipton was Liddy’s former fiancé, who had left her at the altar, which as it turned out was the best thing he could have done for her, given the multitude of secrets he was hiding about himself.
“But now, finally, things are on a total upswing,” Liddy said, leading them out the front door and locking it before walking across the front lawn to adjust the FOR SALE sign that included her name and contact information. “Business is booming, I’ve never been busier, I’m dating someone, there’s just a lot of positive things happening in my life right now . . .”
“Wait, back up. You’re dating someone?”
Liddy smiled coquettishly. “Yes, Hayley, I must have told you!”
“Um, no, you didn’t. I would have remembered something like that. Who is he? How long have you been seeing him?”
“You know I don’t like to go on and on about my romantic relationships . . .”
“Since when?” Hayley scoffed.
Liddy flashed her a little side-eye before continuing. “Okay, I know I didn’t say anything before, but I didn’t want to make a big deal about it, or divulge too many details before I was absolutely certain this was something that might last beyond a couple of dates, but it’s been almost a month now . . .”
“Who? Who?”
“Hayley, please, it sounds like you’re doing an owl impression. His name is George.”
Hayley’s eyes widened in surprise. “George Emory?”
Liddy scrunched her face. “George Emory! No, of course not! He’s ninety-three years old!”
“But he’s worth about twenty million!”
“Hayley Powell, are you saying, as my best friend, I would only date a man for his money? What kind of person do you think I am?”
“The kind of person who has spent the last half hour constantly recalculating the amount of your commission based on various sale prices,” Hayley responded dryly.
“Well, that’s business; this is love!”
“Love? You love him?”
“I meant, this is my love life, I didn’t say I love him, yet! Don’t put words in my mouth,” Liddy scolded before softening. “But he really is a sweet guy. His na. . .
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Death of an Ice Cream Scooper
Lee Hollis
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