A Deadly Cliche (27 page)

Glancing at Rawlings’ painting of Haviland, Olivia raised her glass in salute. Here was evidence that she had become much more sociable since her school days. Repeating the Virginia Slims slogan, she declared, “You’ve come a long way, baby.”

—WILLIAM HAZLITT

 

 

 

 

 

A
fter consuming two liberally poured cocktails, Olivia decided it would be unwise to drive back into town just to spend the rest of the evening milling about her restaurant.

Instead, she ate a salad of endive, roast chicken breast, crumbled blue cheese, and apple slices on the deck. She then poured herself another drink and watched the sky darken. Haviland roamed the beach until the first stars came to life on the night’s blue black canvas. Only when her arms grew chilled did Olivia collect her poodle and return indoors.

Though her body was tired, thoughts whirled around Olivia’s mind with the disruptive force of a thunderstorm and she knew sleep would prove evasive. She moved from one activity to another—wondering if the police were closing in on the thieves, planning how she’d react should her blood test reveal that her father was alive and imagining what Rawlings was doing at the moment, whether he was at the station or at home, perhaps searching through case files again and again.

In an attempt to still her mind, Olivia tried to read. However, the book she’d begun earlier in the week was too frivolous for her current mood. Casting the paperback aside, she turned on the television and flipped from one reality show to another. Marveling that she couldn’t find a single thing to capture her interest even though she had access to over three hundred channels, Olivia unwrapped a candy bar made of fine Belgian dark chocolate and gazed around her living room in search of a better distraction.

In the end, she pulled a DVD from the cabinet below her television and finally settled onto the sofa to watch the 1940 classic,
Rebecca
. Olivia knew every word of the film by heart but never grew tired of it. She viewed the movie at least once a year, usually when she was in a state of agitation. Somehow, the haunting presence of Rebecca de Winter and the scenes filmed at the base of the cliffs below Manderley captivated her every time.

Rebecca
didn’t let her down. When the movie was over, Olivia was finally able to fall asleep, though her dreams were punctuated with fragmented images of shipwrecks, dark and hungry waves, and a distorted, witch-like version of the phlebotomist from the lab in New Bern.

The next morning, Olivia and Haviland took an early walk on the beach and then headed into town for breakfast at Grumpy’s before meeting Laurel. She’d barely sat down at her favorite window booth when Dixie skated over and served Olivia coffee.

“You look like a diminutive version of the tooth fairy,” Olivia told her friend, gesturing at Dixie’s purple top, ballet tutu, and striped tights.

Dixie curtsied. “Actually, I’m channeling the cartoon character Pinky Dinky Doo. She’s my youngest girl’s favorite. If I’d had more time, I woulda gone all out and dyed my hair pink too.” She touched the ends of her high ponytail. “But I had to settle for glitter.”

Oblivious that Dixie was dressed in eccentric costume, Haviland made it clear that he was very glad to see the small woman. Wagging his tail, he gave her a gentlemanly lick on the back of her hand. She beamed at him.

“Captain, you’re a shameless flirt. Don’t you fret, my darlin’, Grumpy’ll cook up something extra special for you on this fine mornin’.” Glancing over her shoulder, she put the coffeepot down on Olivia’s table. “I’m not bringin’
you
a thing until you tell me what in the world is goin’ on with you and Flynn.”

“Lately? Not a thing.”

Dixie poked her on the shoulder. “Don’t go all mysterious on
me
. I’ll take this coffeepot to the kitchen and keep it there.”

Olivia held up her hands in surrender. “Our relationship, and I use that term loosely, has run its course.”

“My, my. Explains why I’ve been seein’ him all over town with Diane the vet.” Dixie studied her friend’s face. “You hadn’t heard that tidbit, had you now?”

“I knew they’d had dinner once, but if they’ve gotten serious already then frankly, I’m relieved. Saves me from having to recite my it’s-time-to-move-on speech.” Olivia pointed at the pad and pencil in Dixie’s apron pocket. “I’d like something with eggs, herbs, and diced tomatoes. Perhaps half a grapefruit as well?”

Sensing that other customers required attention, Dixie frowned and skated off. Olivia turned her attention to the
Oyster Bay Gazette
and eagerly read Laurel’s article about the identification of Alan Dumfries.

Sipping her coffee, Olivia studied the photograph of the man she’d found buried in the sand. There was little resemblance between the ruined flesh and sunken eyes of the face hidden beneath a green bucket and the defiant stare and chiseled features of the portrait in the paper. Death had robbed Alan Dumfries of his strong jaw, his proud nose, and the blend of anger and arrogance in his dark eyes.

“Why did they kill you?” Olivia asked the surly visage. “How did you screw up?”

“Talking to yourself?” a voice questioned.

Olivia glanced up from the paper and saw Flynn grinning over her shoulder. She tried not to be annoyed by how the man constantly appeared when she was otherwise occupied. Still, she now had the opportunity to make it clear that she was no longer interested in pursuing a relationship with him beyond that of casual friends. She indicated he should sit. “Care to join me for breakfast?”

“I would indeed,” he answered, a smile in his gray eyes. Olivia felt a prick of doubt. Flynn was so lively, so capable of lightening even the gloomiest of her moods with his ready humor and affable manner. As she stared at him now, she had to admit that he was awfully easy on the eyes too.

Dixie skated from the
Cats
booth to take Flynn’s order, betraying not the slightest surprise over finding him sitting across from Olivia moments after her friend had claimed that she and Flynn were finished. “Your tomato and mozzarella omelet will be out shortly, ma’am,” Dixie said to Olivia and winked as she shot off toward the kitchen.

Olivia gazed at Flynn over the rim of her coffee cup. “The word around town is that you and Diane have become friendly.”

“She’s a fun gal,” he replied nonchalantly. “Except when she’s loading me down with endless amounts of reading material on raising kittens. Life as a single parent.” He sighed theatrically. “It is
so
hard.”

Olivia laughed. “Have your little felines been given names?”

“Oh, yes. Digory and Polly, after the children in C. S. Lewis’s
The Magician’s Nephew
.” Dixie arrived in the middle of Flynn’s sentence, carrying Olivia and Haviland’s meals as well as a cup of coffee for Flynn.

“My kids entered your contest, but I think they wanted to name your cats after video game characters or pop stars.” She fluffed the lowest ruffle of her tutu. “And my youngest boy was real set on you callin’ one of them Chinese Takeout.”

Flynn chuckled. “I should have given him an honorable mention for creativity, but you’ll be happy to know that the winner is from a family facing hard times. When I told this kid that he’d won and could pick out fifty dollars worth of books, he grinned from ear to ear. One of the books he chose was a dictionary. He said his folks didn’t see a need for one, but he’d been asking for this particular book since his sixth birthday. I sold him a leather-bound version at cost and he petted the thing like it was a puppy.”

Dixie wiped a tear from her eye. “You’ve gone and made my mascara run. Shame on you, Flynn McNulty.”

“Will you forgive me long enough to put in an order for Grumpy’s apple pancakes?

“I suppose I might.” Dixie sniffed and skated away.

Olivia cut into her eggs, allowing a vent of steam to escape from the molten mozzarella interior. “Returning to the subject of you and Diane . . . I wanted you to know that I am—”

“Madly jealous?” Flynn reached across the table and grabbed her hand. “She and I are friends. You’re the only woman I want to make burnt toast for in the morning.”

A movement close to the window drew Olivia’s attention. She looked outside to see Rawlings, in uniform, carrying a cardboard beverage tray filled with coffee. He handed the tray to the officer in the passenger seat of a double-parked cruiser and then hustled around to the driver’s side, sunlight winking off his mirrored shades.

“Damn it all!” Withdrawing her hand from Flynn’s, Olivia took a bite of her food and chewed mechanically, her gaze fixed on the police car. When it turned out of sight, she sighed. What had Rawlings seen? She and Flynn holding hands like the lovers they’d been? After all, she was the only one who knew she no longer wished to have a physical relationship with Flynn, as she hadn’t managed to break it off.

Flynn was watching her curiously. “What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours? World domination, complex mathematical problems, physics formulas, the plot of a future bestseller?

Olivia put her fork down. “I asked about you and Diane because I wanted you to know you are free to pursue a relationship with her. Not that you needed my permission, because you and I never set parameters as to what we were to one another, but I think she’s lovely.”

“Why do I have a hunch that parameters are about to be firmly put into place,” Flynn murmured unhappily.

“I find in these situations that it’s best to be completely honest,” Olivia said matter-of-factly. “What we have isn’t working for me anymore. Let’s part amicably and continue our book discussions fully clothed in the future.”

In the heavy silence, Dixie arrived with Flynn’s pancakes. She prattled away as he spread several pats of butter across the surface of the stack and then poured liberal amounts of warm, pecan-flavored syrup on top of the butter. When he failed to laugh at Dixie’s joke or take a single bite of his breakfast, she put her hands on her hips and gave him a frank stare. “What’s wrong with your food?”

“There could
never
be anything amiss with your fine fare,” Flynn answered dramatically. “But Olivia just broke up with me and I’m wishing she’d waited until I was done with my pancakes. I’ve been dreaming about these all week.”

Dixie shot Olivia an accusing look. “Did you put this man off his breakfast?”

Ignoring her, Olivia took some money from her wallet, slapped it on the table, and rose. “Have a nice day. Both of you.”

She patted her thigh to stir Haviland, who was dozing contentedly against the diner’s wall, oblivious of the mixed emotions filling the air above his head.

Neither Flynn nor Dixie interfered with Olivia’s leaving. She reached the Range Rover and felt an immediate and powerful sense of relief. Rolling down all four windows, she turned on the radio and pulled away from her unlawful parking space in front of a fire hydrant and headed for Laurel’s subdivision. The combination of Aretha Franklin and the autumn air sweeping into the car’s cabin tasted sweetly of freedom.

Laurel welcomed Olivia by promising that the coffee she was in the midst of brewing would be fresh and strong.

“I bought myself a new machine with the money from my first paycheck.” She proudly stroked the appliance’s stainless steel façade and Olivia agreed that it was most impressive. After pouring two cups, Laurel offered Haviland a bowl of water and several dog biscuits she’d purchased especially for his visit. The two women then settled at the kitchen table where Laurel had laid out three yearbooks on the sticky tabletop.

“That’s just some jam leftover from breakfast. The boys get more on their clothes and the furniture than in their sweet little tummies,” Laurel said with a laugh, swiping at the surface with a sponge. “Here. You take my sophomore year. I’ll go over my wonderful days as a junior. When I was—”

“Why are there only three books?” Olivia immediately cut short her friend’s high school reminiscences.

Laurel frowned. “I think my parents have my freshman yearbook. I must have left it behind after marrying Steve and they just packed it with the rest of their stuff when they moved to Florida. I could easily picture my mom looking through it every now and then.” Laurel seemed pleased by the thought. “Anyway, I rooted around in the attic as soon as I got back from dropping off the twins this morning but could only locate these three. If we don’t find any suspicious photos in here, we’ll have to pay a visit to Ms. Glenda at the school library.”

Olivia opened the first book and carefully scanned page after page of young faces. The photos revealed evidence of acne, thick glasses, gawkiness, mouthfuls of metal braces, minor facial scars, and one wheelchair-bound student, but nothing struck Olivia as out of the ordinary. Like any group of photographs representing a large population, there were attractive faces, unappealing faces, and altogether unremarkable faces.

Laurel was turning the pages with agonizing slowness, chuckling over the comments written or waxing nostalgic over memories of homecoming or prom. She held one-sided conversations with the smiling visages on almost every page and even giggled a time or two, sounding very much like a teenage girl.

“Slide over your senior year,” Olivia commanded impatiently. “I have no doubt it was unforgettable, but we’ve got a job to do. Stop reliving the glory days as a pompom shaker and search for deformities, would you?”

“Spoilsport,” Laurel retorted and pretended to sulk, but by the time she’d reached a spread featuring the junior class candid shots, she was laughing again.

Olivia finished scrutinizing the second book but found nothing. She insisted on paging through the one Laurel finally set aside. Finding no clues in the third yearbook, she carried her cup to the sink and rinsed a splotch of grape jelly from her wrist. “Let’s head over to Pampticoe High. I’ll drive.”