Death of a Christmas Caterer by Lee Hollis Read Free Book Online Page B

ingredients!”
    â€œThen why are you still sitting here, talking to me? You should be trying to get him on the phone.”
    Sal ambled back to his office as Hayley grabbed the receiver and looked up Garth Rawlings in her list of contacts on her desktop computer.
    She punched in the number on the office phone. It rang a few times before Garth answered, distracted and irritated. “What?”
    â€œGarth, it’s Hayley Powell.”
    â€œHayley, I can’t talk right now. I’m going up and down the spice aisle looking for cayenne pepper, which I need for my sweet and spicy sesame walnuts, and I think they’re out. Why would I expect this store to even carry the basic spices? Do you know how hard it is for a master chef to live in a rural, backwoods hick town?”
    â€œI wouldn’t exactly describe Bar Harbor as ‘backwoods’—”
    â€œThey don’t even have cayenne pepper, Hayley!”
    â€œPoint taken.”
    â€œNow I’m going to have to improvise and figure out a decent substitution. Can I call you back?”
    â€œGarth, wait. I really need to talk to you. It turns out I don’t have as much money to spend on the party as I originally thought.”
    There was dead silence on the other end of the phone.
    â€œSo you may have to dial it back a bit,” Hayley said.
    â€œHow much are we talking about?” Garth finally said, his tone colder than an Alaskan ice cap.
    â€œA hundred bucks,” Hayley said, swallowing hard.
    There was a click.
    â€œGarth? Hello? Garth?”
    She called him back.
    It rang four times.
    She got his voice mail.
    She waited a minute and called him again.
    This time he picked up.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI know it’s not a lot of money, but how about we spend fifty of it on a nice fruit punch and the rest on one or two of your signature Christmas appetizers?”
    â€œAnd what about my fee? I don’t cook for kicks! What do I look like? A fat man with a white beard in a red suit? We’re done here, Hayley!”
    â€œGarth, please. We can work something out.”
    â€œForget it! I am so tired of you cash-poor local yokels taking advantage of my talents!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.
    There was a loud crash and sudden commotion on the other end of the phone.
    â€œGarth? Is everything all right?”
    â€œNo, everything’s not all right! You’ve wasted my morning and now there’s someone here threatening to call the police.”
    â€œPolice? Why?”
    â€œIt’s your fault! You’re the one who made me so mad I hurled my grocery cart down the aisle and hit the box boy stocking some Malabar Black Peppercorn Grinders on the shelf!”
    â€œOmigod! Is he okay?”
    â€œHe got knocked down, but he’s still conscious,” Garth said before screaming, “Stop being a baby! It’s not like you’re bleeding or anything!”
    â€œGarth, you need to make sure he’s okay.”
    â€œGood-bye, Hayley! I never want you to call me again!”
    There was another click.
    Hayley sighed. She knew it was now her responsibility to prepare everything for the last-minute office Christmas party.
    She mentally ticked off the ingredients in her cupboard and spice rack. She knew she had a block of Brie and some onions in her fridge. If she picked up a package of puff pastry shells, she could whip up some onion-and-Brie palmiers. She was also fairly certain she already had what she needed to bake her crispy ham and cheese balls. And if she could thaw some frozen crabmeat in time, maybe she could prepare some jumbo lump crabmeat and Boursin dip.
    She checked her watch: 9:30 A.M.
    The clock was ticking.
    Sal would have to agree to give her the rest of the day off to cook. Otherwise, he would have to weather the blows from his disappointed and hungry staff and accept the fact that this year’s office Christmas party was a major bust.
    Hayley called