Death of a Bacon Heiress by Lee Hollis Page A

Still, though loopy with a slight slur in her voice, she was very alert because she was still haunted by the image in her head of Olivia sprawled out dead in her own garden.
    They had been waiting for Sergio to swing by when he was done and pick his husband up to take him home.
    â€œWho would do such a thing?” Hayley wondered as she finished off the last of her martini just as Randy handed Sergio a full one and scooped up Hayley’s empty glass to make her another.
    â€œI’m sure there is no shortage of suspects,” Randy said, measuring out vodka in a shot glass before giving up and just pouring directly from the bottle. “Olivia Redmond had a lot of money. And people with a lot of money usually have a lot of enemies. That’s how they got so rich.”
    â€œWe’re looking into everybody who knew her. Her business associates, her family and friends, the people who worked for her at the estate. It’s a long list,” Sergio said, yawning.
    After one last round so Sergio didn’t have to drink alone, Hayley didn’t have to hint that she was tired and wanted to go to bed because she was literally nodding off at the kitchen table, exhausted from the traumatic events of the day.
    Randy and Sergio polished off their drinks and each gave her a kiss good night before heading out the door. On his way out, Sergio promised to call and keep her informed with any new developments in the case.
    Having a brother-in-law as chief of police certainly had its privileges.
    She dragged herself upstairs to her bedroom where she found Leroy curled up and nestled into a pillow by the headboard. As she began to undress, she suddenly heard the doorbell ring downstairs.
    She checked the clock on her nightstand.
    It was 1:16 AM .
    Who would show up on her doorstep at this hour?
    She threw on some gray sweatpants and a ratty old T-shirt and padded down the stairs in her bare feet, flipping on a light switch that illuminated the foyer. She paused at the door, unsure if she should open it. Sergio had just told her Olivia Redmond was murdered, so she was understandably jumpy and on edge.
    â€œWho is it?” Hayley called out, loud enough to stir Blueberry, who was stretched out on a recliner in the living room. He gave Hayley a sleepy, annoyed look before closing his eyes again and resting his chin on his paw.
    Leroy was still snoozing soundly upstairs.
    So much for having a guard dog.
    She heard someone talking but couldn’t make out the words.
    It sounded like a woman’s voice.
    Finally, she unlatched the lock and opened the door a crack.
    Standing on the porch was a wide-eyed, rather rotund woman no more than five feet tall with dull gray frizzy hair. She wore a Japanese print kimono and sandals that barely fit on her pudgy feet. She was heavily made up with too much rouge and smeared lipstick. She looked like one of those scary dolls in a horror movie that moves back and forth in a rocking chair just staring at you.
    Hayley hated those movies and the sight of this woman made her shudder.
    â€œI’m so sorry to bother you. But I must speak to you,” the woman said, her squeaky, innocent, nonthreatening little girl voice putting Hayley at ease.
    Just a little bit.
    â€œHow can I help you?”
    â€œI’ve seen you around town but we’ve never been formally introduced. I’m Madame Flossie.”
    Madame Flossie. Hayley had heard of her. She was a local eccentric.
    A self-professed animal psychic.
    And resident crank.
    Madame Flossie had set up shop in her tiny apartment above one of the summer tourist shops on Main Street and welcomed pet owners visiting the island from all over who wanted to know why their cat refused to eat dry food or why their dog decided to chew the corner of a brand new area rug.
    No one took her psychic readings seriously, but her business was thriving because there was entertainment value in her conclusions. People loved her speculating on what their