Free Death of a Christmas Caterer by Lee Hollis Page A

party he was catering on Sunday.
    Hayley instantly texted him back, telling him not to worry. She would be there on time with the dishes he requested. Hayley had made an additional garlic ham for the kids to have for dinner; that was the last thing she put in the oven to heat up. Gemma was still at the church rehearsing the Nativity play, and Dustin was with his math tutor.
    Once the food was boxed and loaded into her car, she drove over to the warehouse.
    As she parked the car in front of the building and got out, Hayley decided to let Garth know she was there so he could help her carry the boxes inside. She cautiously walked up to the entrance to the warehouse and knocked on the door to Garth’s kitchen.
    She could hear music playing next door.
    Classic rock.
    Aerosmith or ZZ Top.
    Obviously, Nick the foreman’s choice.
    It was more from his generation.
    She assumed Lex’s construction crew was having a few beers and kicking back after a long day sawing plywood and pounding nails.
    The music wasn’t too loud, so Garth would have no reason to complain.
    What was she thinking?
    Garth would always find a reason to complain.
    No one came to the door.
    She knocked again. Louder.
    Then tried the handle.
    It was locked.
    Hayley waited a few more moments and then plucked her phone from her coat pocket and texted him: Garth, I’m outside. Need help with the food.
    She waited five more minutes, blowing into her winter gloves because the cold winds were gusting and the temperature outside was dropping.
    She heard laughing coming from Lex’s office.
    The crew was probably on their third or fourth six-pack.
    Hayley checked her watch.
    It was going on ten past seven.
    They really needed to set up before people began showing up looking to get fed by the Great Chef of Bar Harbor.
    Hayley crinkled her nose. There was a smell in the air. A burning smell.
    Then she heard a dog barking. It was coming from inside the warehouse. Behind the door. It was Bagel, Garth’s devoted bloodhound.
    Something was wrong.
    Seriously wrong.
    Hayley raised her phone and punched in three numbers.
    â€œ911, what’s your emergency?”
    â€œI’m at Garth Rawlings’s kitchen warehouse at the corner of Center Street and Main. I think the building may be on fire!” Hayley yelled. “Please hurry!”
    The burning smell was getting stronger.
    She noticed small puffs of smoke coming through the bottom of the locked warehouse door.
    More barking. This time more frantic.
    Hayley tried the door handle again, knowing it was locked, but feeling as if she had to do something.
    A siren blared in the distance, getting closer by the second.
    Hayley shoved herself hard against the door, trying desperately to bust it open, but only succeeding in almost dislocating her shoulder.
    A fire truck pulled up to the warehouse and two firemen jumped down and raced over to join Hayley. Another one was uncoiling the hose as two more were turning on the water pump.
    â€œPlease step aside, Hayley,” one deep-voiced fireman said, gently taking her by the arm and moving her to his right.
    He was so young. Hayley thought she might have babysat him when she was a teenager, but she couldn’t quite place the name.
    After he assessed the situation, Fire Captain Dean Kendrick ordered his men to unlatch a long battering ram. Within thirty seconds four of the firemen were charging the door.
    It took two tries, but the door finally gave. As it collapsed inside the warehouse, smoke poured out.
    Three of the firemen raced inside, armed with fire extinguishers. The other two remained outside, ready with the hose.
    Hayley hugged herself, praying Garth and Bagel would be rescued unharmed.
    One of the firemen, the deep-voiced one, emerged, carrying Bagel in his arms. The poor dog looked shell-shocked but otherwise fine.
    After what felt like an eternity, Captain Kendrick and one other fireman walked out. The captain was on his cell