Death of a Bacon Heiress Read online

  “Have you talked to him about it?” Mona asked.

  “I’m working up the courage. I think I’m avoiding a conversation because I dread how it might end.”

  “Honey, you could be misreading this whole thing,” Liddy said. “Sometimes when a man suddenly pulls away, it could mean a number of things. He could be telling the truth and he’s just busy, or he’s dealing with a personal problem he doesn’t want to drag you into. . . .”

  “Or he really is getting ready to dump you. . . .” Mona offered.

  Liddy grimaced and shook her head. “Or . . . there is another reason he may be avoiding you, and I have seen this happen so many times. There is the possibility that he’s getting ready to . . .”

  Her voice trailed off.

  “What, Liddy, what? Getting ready to what?” Hayley cried, unable to take the suspense.

  “Propose!” Liddy screamed at the top of her lungs.

  She was so loud the gaggle of fishermen stopped their heated discussion about Chinese and Russian spies invading Maine and turned to see what all the fuss was about at the other end of the bar.

  “Now, that’s just ridiculous. . . .” Hayley said, laughing it off.

  “Think about it. You’ve been dating a while now. You’ve both expressed your feelings to one another. Gemma’s already at college and Dustin has one foot out the door, so there’s no awkward stepfather drama to deal with.”

  “Mona, help me here. . . .”

  “I think she may be on to something,” Mona said, shrugging.

  Et tu, Mona?

  Hayley couldn’t get her mind around the idea of Aaron proposing. It was way too soon. And she wasn’t even sure how she felt about the prospect of getting married again.

  She had already failed spectacularly once. She wasn’t ready to dive in again.

  Or was she?

  Part of her was excited.

  Part of her was scared out of her mind.

  And part of her was supremely skeptical.

  A proposal? That couldn’t be it.

  Or could it?

  It would be a miracle if she got any sleep tonight.

  As Liddy breathlessly detailed her theory as to why she was right about this, Hayley noticed Mona nodding, totally on board with Liddy’s thinking.

  Liddy and Mona agreed on something.

  Now that was the true miracle.

  Chapter 3

  Hayley was convinced she hadn’t heard right as she clutched the phone to her ear. “I’m sorry, could you say that again?”

  “We want you to fly to New York and appear on our show The Chat,” the man’s very calm voice said on the other end of the line.

  How could he be so calm?

  How could anyone be calm?

  The Chat was a nationally broadcast talk show on a major network.

  And this man, whose name Hayley had already forgotten, maybe it was Dan or Don, was calling her at home inviting her to New York?

  Maybe this was a joke.

  Did Mona corral her husband, actually get his butt off the couch, to pretend to be a big time TV producer in order to pull a fast one on her?

  “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Doug Hornsby. I’m a talent booker and we are doing a weeklong cooking segment, a salute to bacon, and your name came up as someone who could perhaps prepare one of your signature bacon dishes on our show.”

  Bacon.

  Hayley had been inexplicably drawn to writing about bacon lately in her column. She chalked it up to a recent craving, but on some deeper level, she knew it was about her kids.

  Gemma and Dustin loved bacon, and though she supplemented it with a lot of fruit and vegetables, she loved to indulge her kids with the sizzling breakfast staple every so often.

  And bacon wasn’t just for breakfast anymore.

  She had been experimenting with all kinds of mouthwatering recipes.

  A freshman psych major could conjure up some rudimentary theory to explain why she was so obsessed with bacon as of late. She missed her kids desperately, and bacon frying in a pan or the smell of bacon wafting from a casserole in her oven was comforting. It reminded her of them, like they were at home with her about to dive in to their mother’s latest potato bacon casserole, or BLT sandwich, or homemade bacon pizza.

  “Mrs. Powell, are you there?” Doug Hornsby asked, breaking the silence.

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  If this was for real, if Mona wasn’t on the other end stifling a guffaw, elbowing her husband to keep the joke going, then this was a twist Hayley definitely did not see coming.

  When she’d arrived home from Randy’s bar, the house had been dark and chilly, the temperature outside low for a late spring evening. Hayley had warmed up with a cup of hot chocolate and tried calling her kids.

  She’d gotten both their voice mails. She didn’t leave them messages. They would call when they had a free moment.

  Or at least she hoped.

  She’d debated calling Aaron. Just check in to see if he was having a good week.

  Then she’d decided against it.

  She wasn’t going to throw herself at him. If he wanted to see her, he could pick up the phone.

  Her shih tzu, Leroy, had scampered into the kitchen, wide eyed and excited to see her, but once she poured some kibble into his paw print bowl, he shifted his focus to his food and ignored her completely. Once the bowl was licked clean, he’d trotted into the living room to jump up on the couch he wasn’t supposed to be on and nestled into his favorite silk pillow. Hayley had relaxed the house rules considerably with the kids gone, and both her pets were taking full advantage of her leniency. Her giant fur ball Persian cat, Blueberry, was undoubtedly upstairs curled up on her bed, wallowing and purring in the three-hundred-thread-count sheets from the Martha Stewart Collection Hayley had splurged on and ordered online from Macy’s when she received a slight pay increase the previous month.

  When the phone had rung, it startled her. She was just sitting in her oversized recliner in the dark, fingering the TV remote, not even sure she wanted to turn it on to try and find something to watch.

  At first she’d thought it might be one of the kids calling her back.

  Or Aaron.

  But she hadn’t recognized the number. 212. Was that New York?

  She’d assumed it was just a telemarketer and wasn’t going to answer it. But she was sitting in the dark with an empty mug and staring at her walls.

  Why not see who it was just for kicks? It was something to do.

  “Hello?”

  And that’s when she met the disembodied voice of Doug, the booking manager for The Chat, a show she watched religiously whenever she was home sick or had the day off. The panel was made up of three prominent women, a former newswoman, a comedic actress, and a lifestyle expert. They would open each show with a freewheeling discussion about the major news stories of the day and then segue into celebrity interviews, shopping tips, and cooking segments. It was a breezy, fun way to kill an hour, and the show was a ratings success for the network.

  Doug was still talking.

  “We had a Food Network personality booked, but her son got the measles and she had to drop out. We need a fill-in and your name came up.”

  “How on earth did you find me?”

  “Rhonda’s a fan,” he said.

  Rhonda.

  Rhonda Franklin.

  The comedic actress on the panel.

  She was a larger than life, boisterous stand-up comic turned actress who had starred in a few Hollywood blockbusters, headlined her own sitcom for five years, and worked tirelessly to bring attention to the causes she was passionate about, like breast cancer and domestic violence. She was big, bawdy, and made a lot of noise whenever she mouthed off about anything. Hayley was an unabashed fan of the sometimes controversial but always hilarious woman. Especially when Rhonda had made the bold move to come out of the closet as a lesbian years before gay marriage was even the norm. It was a risk to
her career, but in the end, it just made her more famous.

  “You . . . you said Rhonda is a fan?”

  “Yes. She’s visited Mount Desert Island for several summers now and calls it her second home. The last time she was there she subscribed to your paper, the Island Examiner. . . .”

  “Island Times.”

  “Right. Anyway, she discovered your column and now she never misses it.”

  This was too surreal.

  And this phone call couldn’t possibly be Mona playing a prank because even she wouldn’t go so over the top and say Rhonda Franklin was a loyal reader of her small town food-and-cocktails column.

  Nobody would buy it.

  “I’m in a bit of a bind, Hayley. We need to fill the spot ASAP because we’re running out of time, so can you commit?”

  “When did you say I need to be there?”

  “The show tapes Friday.”

  “This Friday as in . . . ?”

  “The day after tomorrow.”

  Hayley’s head was spinning.

  What would she wear?

  What about her frizzy unruly hair?

  And her pale, drawn face?

  The show must have professional makeup artists and hair stylists and costumers to deal with frumpy single mothers who showed up on the set with no TV experience.

  Or at least she prayed they did.

  But Friday?

  “Just say yes. Please. I can have our travel person call you back in five minutes to work out your flight details. We’ll treat you well, Hayley, I promise.”

  “Yes.”

  She heard Doug let out a big sigh of relief on the other end the phone.

  Hayley wasn’t concerned about taking the time off work. She had a few personal days stored up. And Sal would probably be over the moon that she would be on a big time national TV show talking about his paper, the Island Times, and not their rival publication, the Bar Harbor Herald.

  Doug thanked her profusely and hung up.

  She still held the receiver to her ear.

  She was in a state of shock.

  And blissfully unaware of what fate was about to bring.

  Chapter 4

  Hayley wasn’t exactly sure if Liddy and Mona had insisted on accompanying her to New York City to her first ever TV show appearance in order to support her and keep her nerves in check or for their own personal reasons. Liddy made no secret that she was overdue for her biannual shopping trip, and Mona was upfront about wanting a break from her hell-raising, obnoxious, out of control brats.

  Her words, not Hayley’s.

  But as they waited at the baggage claim carousel at LaGuardia Airport after a harrowing thirty-minute connecting flight from Boston on a puddle jumper that rattled and shook from unexpected turbulence, forcing them to down straight shots of bourbon to stop themselves from crying, Hayley was happy they had made the trip with her.

  Liddy, the seasoned traveler, had already secured a luggage cart for her three large pieces. They were in the city for four days, but Liddy seemed to have packed for a six-month world tour. Her matching baby blue Lipault Paris bags were the first ones out of the chute because she was, in her words, “a privileged frequent flyer with perks including unlimited priority baggage tags.” It was only a few minutes before Mona’s army duffel bag and Hayley’s scuffed and torn years-old American Tourister were sliding down the conveyor belt. They exited the security doors to the main lobby of the terminal where Hayley spotted a wiry Hindu man in a tight-fitting black suit and tie waiting for them with a printed sign that said, HAYLEY POWELL & COMPANY.

  “And Company? Why do I suddenly feel like we’re the Supremes and you’re Diana Ross?” Liddy scoffed.

  “Because I only told them you were coming this morning and I didn’t even get a chance to give them your names,” Hayley said, waving at the driver, who scooted over to them with a wide smile.

  “Welcome to New York. I’m Samir. Please, let me help you with your bags to the car.”

  Liddy was only too happy to hand over the cart to Samir while Mona eyed him suspiciously. They stepped outside and crossed to the lot directly opposite the terminal where they were escorted to a long black stretch limousine.

  “Now, wait just a minute. How much is this going to cost us?” Mona barked. “I read online that New York cabbies like to jack up the price and overcharge tourists.”

  “Oh no, ma’am, I am not a cab driver. I work for a private company and the car has already been paid for by the network.”

  Mona still wasn’t buying it. She was convinced this was a con job.

  Hayley rifled through her bag for the printed e-mail she had received from the travel agent at The Chat and handed it to Mona. “Look, Mona. All expenses will be paid including lodging and transportation to and from the airport. They’re covering everything.”

  Mona relaxed a bit. Samir tried to open the back door of the limo for Mona, but she pushed past him and slapped his hand away. “I am perfectly capable of getting into a car myself, thank you, in case that costs extra.”

  Liddy rolled her eyes, embarrassed, and climbed in after Mona as Samir popped the trunk using his remote key and began loading the bags inside.

  Hayley couldn’t believe they were actually here.

  It had all happened so fast.

  She was grateful that Liddy had used her accumulated mileage to snag two free tickets for herself and Mona. She couldn’t imagine experiencing this on her own. Especially since she had been feeling so lonely lately with the kids gone and Aaron so unavailable.

  As she ducked into the car to join Liddy and Mona, she gasped at the opulence of the plush leather seats, glass bowls of candy, and fully stocked bar. Liddy was already pouring herself a cocktail.

  “Help yourselves, ladies, it’s going to be at least a forty-five-minute ride to the hotel now that it’s close to rush hour,” Liddy said.

  Mona poked around the tray full of tiny liquor bottles. “I don’t see a card with drink prices.”

  Liddy sighed. “It’s complimentary, Mona.”

  Mona hesitated, but quickly got into the swing of things and was excitedly screwing off the cap on a blueberry vodka sampler while downing a fistful of pretzels.

  Samir put on some soft music and they were soon crawling along the Grand Central Parkway toward Manhattan.

  Hayley took in the spectacular view of the New York City skyline. It was dusk and there was a golden hue washing over the skyscrapers, making it seem like some magical urban Oz.

  Hayley had been to the city before, when Randy was trying to make it as an actor, but he had lived in a tiny fourth-floor walk-up studio in a seedy building near the meatpacking district, so she was anxious to experience New York on a slightly grander scale. She wasn’t disappointed when the car finally pulled up in front of the Le Parker Meridien, a luxury midtown hotel on Fifty-sixth Street. A uniformed porter whipped open the back door of the limo and offered a cheery welcome, startling Mona, who was now slightly tipsy from her vodka samplers.

  They piled out of the car and thanked Samir as two more porters attended to their luggage.

  They were led inside to the large ornate French-inspired lobby.

  Liddy, who prided herself on her well-heeled tastes and called herself a “five-star girl” when she traveled, was duly impressed but tried to mask her awe as they ambled over to check-in.

  The handsome young man behind the polished and modern desk had a slight French accent; Hayley couldn’t decide whether it was natural or put on. He was very helpful and friendly, especially when patiently explaining to Mona that all incidentals including room service would be covered by the network. Once that finally sunk in, Mona was insisting they eat in the hotel that evening instead of going out to one of those fancy high-end restaurants that even charged for a hunk of bread and a slab of butter. If the TV bigwigs were springing for free food in the room, why not take advantage of it?

  Liddy, of course, protested. She was in New York. She had no intention of hidi
ng in a hotel room, no matter how tasteful and luxurious, when the Big Apple beckoned just outside with its exciting nightlife and armies of single men.

  “Now, we agreed before we left Bar Harbor that if there were any conflicts we would take a vote and majority would rule, so you have the deciding vote, Hayley,” Liddy said confidently, knowing full well Hayley wouldn’t want to stay locked up in the room on her first night in Manhattan.

  They walked onto the elevator and Liddy pressed the thirty-eighth-floor button, and within seconds they went speeding up into the clouds.

  There was a moment of silence.

  Liddy eyed her warily. “Hayley?”

  “Well, we are here for the whole weekend after the taping. . . .” Hayley said quietly.

  “Hayley, no!” Liddy screamed, as Mona folded her arms, a self-satisfied smile on her face.

  “It’s just that I’m really nervous about tomorrow, and I need to get a good night’s rest, and I’m fine if you want to go out on the town without me, but I have to prepare and think about how I’m going to present my bacon dish in under a minute in front of all those TV cameras and a full studio audience, and that’s a lot of pressure, so I’d rather wait and have fun once it’s all over.”

  More silence.

  Although Mona’s smile spoke volumes. She knew she had the vote in the bag.

  The elevator doors opened on the thirty-eighth floor and Liddy shook her head before stepping off. “Fine. We’ll stay in and order room service. But just tonight, do you hear me? I am not going to spend the entire weekend in the hotel because Mona doesn’t want to pay for a club sandwich!”

  After they trekked down the hall to their room and let themselves in using the card key, they found themselves in a deluxe room with two queen beds with swirly print bed wraps and white embroidered pillows set up against flat headboards that soared up to the ceiling.

  Mona already had her hands on the TV remote and was jabbing at it with her index finger, trying to figure out all the functions.

  Liddy raced into the bathroom to claim the majority of counter space and was calling back, “Bathroom’s tiny for a five-star hotel, but I guess we can make do.”