A Deadly Cliche (11 page)

“My in-laws came over to watch the twins,” she whispered in warning. Grabbing Olivia’s hand, she pulled her toward the Range Rover. “Just get us out of here as quickly as you can. I’ll give you directions once we’re clear.”

Obeying Laurel’s request with amusement, Olivia reversed the SUV. As she glanced in the rearview mirror, she noted that her friend was busy removing her apron. “You’re even wearing a disguise,” she teased. “Does this mean you need to be dropped off later on bearing a soufflé or beef Wellington?”

“Oh, I don’t think it needs to be anything
that
fancy,” Laurel answered seriously. “Maybe something left over from your lunch menu? I told them this was a course focusing on fundamentals. No one in the world will believe that I made a soufflé on my first day of cooking class. They’ll be impressed if I figure out how to cook scrambled eggs without adding little bits of shell!”

Olivia laughed. “I’ll see what I can do. Where to?”

Laurel fastened her honey blond hair into a neat French twist. “Turn right onto Mulberry Way.”

“Is every street named after a berry?” Olivia quickly made a mental list of how many berry plants she knew.

“Yes. Isn’t it quaint?” Laurel smiled with pride. “But I am
so
glad we don’t live on Gooseberry Way. Doesn’t that sound kind of goofy?”

Olivia declined to point out that Laurel’s street, Cranberry Court, was equally inane. Instead, she asked to be given a bit of background on the neighbor they were about to interview.

“Christina Quimby is a stay-at-home mom, president of the Oyster Bay Elementary PTA, and treasurer of our homeowner’s association. She plays tennis in a year-round league and
always
has perfect nails and makeup.” Laurel paused to consider what else she should add. “Her husband, Robert, is in sales and goes out of town all the time. They have two kids, Bobby Junior and Zoe. Bobby is ten and Zoe is eight.”

“Where was the family when the burglary occurred?”

“I asked her that question when we set up this interview.” Laurel consulted a notebook. “Let’s see. They went to a football game in Chapel Hill over the weekend and discovered they’d been robbed after returning home. That was the last Sunday in August.” She tapped on her window. “That’s their house up ahead on the right.”

Olivia parked in front of a spacious brick Georgian and told Haviland he’d have to wait in the Range Rover. The poodle began to whimper but perked up when his mistress poured a small pile of treats into the cup holder in the center console.

“Your water dish is in the back,” she told him, double-checking to ensure that all the windows were down. “Have plenty to drink. I don’t know how long we’ll be inside.”

Haviland grunted in assent.

Laurel checked her image in the side mirror and then squared her shoulders. “Here we go!”

Christina Quimby was a tall, athletic blond with the tan and premature wrinkles indicative of someone who either spent a great deal of time outdoors or paid regular visits to a tanning salon. She was dressed in a white tennis skirt, lime green shirt, and a matching visor embroidered with the Nike swoosh. After offering them iced coffee, she led them to a living room redolent with the scents of furniture polish and Windex.

Laurel politely declined refreshments and sat on the edge of a floral wing chair, her expression all business. “I know you’ve discussed the robbery at length with the police, but could you tell us what happened? Starting from the moment you and your family entered the house?”

Christina pointed toward the kitchen. “We came inside through the garage like we always do. No one noticed anything unusual right away, but as the kids headed to their rooms with their overnight bags, I saw the butter dish sitting out next to the kitchen sink.”

“And you’re certain someone in your family didn’t forget to put it back in the fridge before you left?” Laurel asked, clearly surprised by how Christina was starting her narrative.

“Absolutely sure. I was the last one out the door and I always leave everything in order. Plants watered, bills paid, everything,” Christina stated firmly and Olivia didn’t doubt it for a moment. Every object within sight had been arranged with scientific precision. None of the many glass-topped tables bore a single smudge, and the brass picture frames were polished to a high luster. “The butter had melted all over and there were ants everywhere!” Christina continued, shuddering slightly in distaste. “Besides, no one in my family would use a carving knife to cut butter. Can you imagine?”

Laurel and Olivia exchanged glances and then the new reporter focused on the questions written in her notebook. “What missing possessions did you notice first?”

“The television in our bedroom.” Christina rose, walked across the room, and opened a pair of cabinet doors in the center of the built-in bookcases, revealing an enormous flat-screen TV. “This one was more expensive, but we always close these doors after we’re done watching a show, so we didn’t realize this TV was gone until later. We haven’t received the insurance check yet, but my husband couldn’t wait to replace the set. It’s football season and if he’s actually around on a Saturday, he plants himself on the sofa from noon ’til midnight. Go Heels!”

Her cheer was less than enthusiastic, but Laurel let the comment slide. She asked her neighbor for a complete inventory of stolen items and Christina easily ticked the items off from memory. Olivia listened with interest, noting that the thieves had been very discriminating. The only jewelry they took was genuine gold or bore real gemstones.

Olivia couldn’t help but inquire. “Where did you keep your jewelry?”

“In a wooden jewelry box. It had a lock, but the thieves just stuck a screwdriver under the lid and snapped the whole mechanism off.” Christina’s lips tightened into a thin line. “I hardly expected to need a wall safe in this neighborhood.”

“So they didn’t just dump the contents into a sack?” Olivia continued.

“No, they were quite neat. The jewelry they didn’t want was placed back into the box. It makes me think they had plenty of time to sit here and calmly sift through our stuff.” Christina was growing angrier as the interview progressed. “I can replace the things they took, except for the artwork, so it’s not the financial loss that upsets me. It’s the thought of someone touching my things.” She looked away. “At night, I swear I can feel their presence. It’s as if they were still here. Having strangers in my house, picking and choosing, sitting on my bed, going through my closet . . . It’s hard not to feel like my entire home has been tainted.”

Laurel put her notebook aside and took Christina’s hand. “How awful! Did you install a security system afterward?”

Christina nodded. “Top of the line. I would have gotten a pack of pit bulls if my children didn’t have pet allergies.” She smiled wryly. “Between you and me though, I don’t believe lightning will strike twice. Those guys are long gone and our stuff is in some dingy pawnshop somewhere. End of story.”

Sensing the interview was drawing to a close, Laurel made a few more queries about the stolen art and then gestured around the room. “Your home is spotless! Do you use a cleaning service?”

“We have a woman who comes in once a week.” Christina’s look of pride turned to an affronted frown. “But she had
nothing
to do with this. She’s been with us for years and is absolutely trustworthy.”

Laurel held up her hands, palms facing out. “Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that she wasn’t. I’m just trying to establish a connection between the two area robberies. From what I read in the paper, similar items were taken from their home, so I was wondering if your two families shared a cleaning or lawn service or whether you’d recently hired the same electrician or plumber or another type of workman.”

Olivia felt like giving her friend a thumbs-up. Laurel was digging deeper by searching for a common denominator. At that moment, she seemed every inch the investigative reporter.

Christina was impressed by the question as well. “I can e-mail you a list,” she said. “There has to be some way the thieves knew the house would be empty that weekend. It’s worth a look. Thank you, Laurel.” She rose and began to walk toward the front door.

“I’d like to photograph that carving knife, if you don’t mind.” Olivia did her best to sound subservient. She knew that the
Gazette
readers would be interested in the description of the melted butter but suspected Christina wasn’t keen on having that detail publicized. Quickly, she added, “And a shot of you too. I want to capture your resilience and show people how this episode made you angry, but not fearful.”

Nodding, Christina led her guests to the kitchen and removed the knife from a drawer. She took the covered glass butter dish from the refrigerator and set it on the counter. Removing the lid, she eased the knife into the middle of the stick of butter. “I figure they set it up like this and then when the butter melted the knife fell to the side.” She turned to Laurel as Olivia focused her camera on the tableau. “They were so tidy elsewhere. They even cleaned up the glass from where they broke the pane in the back door.”

“Fastidious and particular,” Olivia mumbled.

Laurel walked to the picture window and peered out. “Were your neighbors home that weekend?”

Christina shrugged. “Yes, on both sides, but no one saw anything unusual.”

The women fell silent. The pewter-hued sky hung low, creating a sense that it was much later in the day. The mood had shifted and it was apparent each of the women longed to be alone with her thoughts.

Laurel wisely thanked Christina for her time, assuring her neighbor that she’d be in touch and to trust in the doggedness of the Oyster Bay Police Department’s chief.

Back in the Range Rover, Haviland carried on as though Olivia had been gone for hours. Once he finally settled down and Olivia was able to speak over his petulant yipping, she eyed Laurel keenly.

“You seem to have a plan.”

“I do. I’m going to interview the other robbery victims and look for connections. If
I
help solve the case, the
Gazette
will take me on as a staff writer for sure!”

Olivia considered the possibility of the former cheerleader cracking the investigation wide open and tried not to grin. After all, she could be witnessing the birth of a gritty and determined Laurel, and Olivia would do anything in her power to help her friend emerge from her suburban cocoon and soar into the open sky.

Driving to The Boot Top, the women exchanged thoughts and theories about the robbery. Olivia raised the possibility of comparing their findings with those in the Oyster Bay police file. “After we interview the other victim that is,” she added.

Laurel raised her brows. “I thought this was a one-time deal.”

Olivia shrugged. “I’ve decided to extend my offer.” Pulling into the restaurant’s parking lot, she reached across the passenger seat and grabbed the gift bag from the floor. “But you’re going to need this for when you truly strike out on your own.”

Her light blue eyes sparkling with delight, Laurel peeled back layers of tissue paper, exposing the digital camera Olivia had purchased from Best Buy.

“Oh! This makes me feel so official!” She sniffed and Olivia gave her a suspicious glance. She hated it when Laurel got overly physical. “You are a treasure! I really mean that!” Laurel cried. “Your joining the Bayside Book Writers has changed my life.”

Embarrassed by the compliment, Olivia slid out of the car. “You haven’t achieved job security yet, remember? Let’s save the toasts of gratitude for that moment.”

“I’m not talking about some silly job, Olivia. I’m talking about our friendship.” Laurel followed Olivia, smiling warmly. “It’s not easy to become friends with another woman who honestly wants the best for you. Usually, we women can’t escape our need to compete with each other. To fight about who’s prettier, richer, smarter. Who has cuter kids, a more devoted husband, the lower golf score . . .”

Olivia chuckled. “I’m disqualified from most of those categories, so don’t give me too much credit.”

Laurel put her hand on Olivia’s arm. “No, you’re not. You’re the smartest, most beautiful, most interesting woman I’ve ever met and yet, you see something in me.
Me.
Stay-at-home mom, former cheerleader, and romance reader. You believe that I can be whatever I choose to be.”

“I do,” Olivia answered and then tugged her friend forward. “Now that we’ve exchanged vows, let’s pick up a few apple sausage pies for you to take home. They heat up nicely and your husband will be delighted with the results of your first cooking class.”

Looking doubtful, Laurel paused to scratch Haviland’s neck. The poodle gave her a toothy grin in gratitude. “Apples and meat together? In a
pie
?”

Olivia sighed. “Oh dear, you
do
have lots to learn about food. Come into the kitchen. I think Michel will enjoy giving you a tutorial.”

Leaving Laurel in her chef’s capable hands, Olivia went through to her office and immediately checked her e-mail. There were no messages from Chief Rawlings. Her voice mail was also empty.

“Where the hell are you?” Olivia paced back and forth, trying to suppress her urge to call the station. Finally, she grabbed her cell phone and punched in the main number. When the switchboard operator told Olivia that the chief was off duty, Olivia pressed her for his whereabouts. “It’s important. I have information about one of his open robbery cases,” she said, stretching the truth.

The operator offered to take her number. “This is Olivia Limoges. I’m actually a friend of the chief’s. He’s got my number, but he’s not returning my calls.”

Hesitating, the woman lowered her voice. “Honey, he won’t be talkin’ to anybody today ’cause it’s the anniversary of his wife’s death. He’ll visit her grave and then sit for a long spell in the church. Oyster Bay could be attacked by aliens and the chief isn’t gonna notice. He’s in his own world right now.”