A Killer Plot (10 page)

Listening to Millay, Olivia had to fight to keep from smiling.

Thus bullied by the pair of aggressive women, Cook retreated, but only after issuing a final command that the Bayside Book Writers needed to make an appearance at the station first thing in the morning to review and sign their official statements.

“We’ll be there,” Harris promised. He opened the door and practically shoved the truculent officer out.

After Cook had left, Laurel began to weep again. “I’m sorry, everybody. I’m just so tired. All I want to do is put on my nightgown and sleep for a week. It’s selfish, I know, but I’m scared and mixed up and mad all at once.” She gazed at Olivia with moist eyes. “I wish I could be strong like you.”

“Go on home,” Olivia had answered quietly. “There’s nothing else we can do tonight, and though it might not show, I’m every bit as muddled and shaken, I assure you.”

As the tumult of emotions reflecting the onset of grief assaulted the writers, they said good night to one another and dispersed.

Now, only a handful of hours later, Olivia watched the light turn from an orange pink to a yellow-tinged white. Finally, she kicked off her covers and went into the kitchen to brew coffee. Haviland sat in front of the door, waiting to be let outside.

“Make it brief, Captain. I’m going to fix your breakfast and we’ll have a quick walk before we have to go into town.”

Olivia removed a covered casserole dish filled with organic ground beef cooked in beef broth from the refrigerator. She put water on to boil and poured herself a cup of coffee. While she waited for the water, she placed a bowl of instant grits in the microwave. By the time she’d cooked a cup of rice and mixed it with some fresh peas in a large stockpot, she was done with her cereal. As soon as Haviland reappeared, panting and shaking his ears friskily, she served him his meal and then walked out to the deck to eat a peach.

She listened to the rush of the waves curling onto the shore and relished the ripe, tender fruit. She felt a sudden, unexpected pang of guilt for experiencing such a moment of pleasure and peace.

“Poor Camden,” she whispered into the faint, salty breeze.

Later, she and Haviland took a brisk walk along the shoreline and then Olivia changed out of her sweatpants and dressed in black cotton slacks and a chartreuse scoop-neck T-shirt for her trip to the station.

As she neared Main Street, the bells from the Methodist church began to chime. A second later, those from the Baptist church rang out and the two melodies overlapped each other. Instead of sounding disjointed, the effect was that of a melodious echo and Olivia rolled down her window in order to welcome the music into her car.

On such a morning
, she thought,
it doesn’t seem possible that last night truly happened.

The Oyster Bay Police Department had been located in the same charming brick building since the late forties. Complete with large arched windows and a façade covered by ivy, it stood across the street from the modern, boxlike two-story building that housed the sheriff’s department and the county jail.

One could walk out the side door of the police station and arrive at a small square with neatly trimmed grass, carefully tended flower beds, sets of wooden benches, and a flagpole flying both the American and the state of North Carolina flags. Just beyond this tidy little park was the county courthouse. Renovated within the last fifteen years, the courthouse was a Greek-revival structure with a corner-stone dated 1836. It was whitewashed brick with chunky white Ionic columns and a frieze carved with an image of the state seal. By far the most impressive building in Oyster Bay, it basked in the early summer sun as though enjoying a well-deserved day of rest.

“You can accompany me into the station, Captain,” Olivia informed her delighted poodle as she pulled into a spot near the courthouse. “They have a K-9 unit, after all, so they can’t protest your presence. Do you remember Officer Greta? We ran into her during your last grooming appointment.”

Haviland barked excitedly. “Quite an attractive and intelligent German shepherd, I would agree. But she’s on the clock when she’s here, Captain, so no flirting. This is all business. Understood?”

Snorting his assent, Haviland trotted next to Olivia. He’d never taken to a leash and, from the time he was a puppy, had responded to verbal commands with incredible acuity. Since her return to Oyster Bay, Olivia had been chastised about leash laws by policemen, fretful mothers, and a bevy of deliverymen (the most vocal being a terrified UPS driver), but she would rather pay a host of fines than force her poodle to wear such an undignified contraption.

“My dog is smarter than most humans,” was her customary answer, but if someone persisted in lecturing her on leash laws, Olivia would launch into a list of classes she and Haviland had taken to ensure that he’d received top-level training in both hand signals and voice commands. If she felt especially talkative, Olivia would brag about Haviland’s agility and tracking abilities, citing the number of awards he’d won in the canine classroom.

The locals had grown accustomed to seeing Haviland walking alongside his mistress, so when the pair entered the station, their gaits perfectly matched, the female desk sergeant blinked in surprise but said nothing. Olivia wondered if she had Chief Rawlings to thank for receiving no argument regarding Haviland’s presence in the building.

“I’m here to give a formal statement about last night,” Olivia informed the middle-aged woman wearing a snug uniform. “I’d prefer to see Chief Rawlings if I may.”

The woman shook her head and set her lips into a firm, uncompromising line. “Sorry, but he’s real busy.”

“Of course,” Olivia capitulated and took a seat in one of the lobby’s uncomfortable wooden chairs. Haviland sat on his haunches next to her right leg, his soft, brown eyes alight with curiosity.

Five minutes later, Olivia looked up to see who would be taking her formal statement and was most unhappy to be met with the surly visage of Officer Cook.

“Long night?” she asked by way of greeting.

“Yeah.” The policeman eyed Haviland distrustfully for a moment, even though he’d seen the poodle the evening before, and gestured for Olivia to follow him down the carpeted hallway.

They passed by several offices and when Olivia spotted a placard with Chief Rawlings’ name, she peeked around the partially closed door. The chief was on the phone, but he caught the movement from the corner of his eye and waved her inside.

Without bothering to alert Officer Cook that she was deviating from the current course, Olivia stepped into the office, waited for Haviland to pass across the threshold, and closed the door.

“Yes, sir,” Chief Rawlings spoke solemnly into the receiver. “I’ll send an officer to collect you at the airport. He’ll be there by the time you land. Again, I am truly sorry to be the bearer of such news. Yes. Good-bye.”

Replacing the receiver, the chief pressed his hands over his eyes and sighed. “I haven’t had to make too many of those phone calls during my tenure in this office, thank the Lord, but they are the greatest challenge of this job.”

Olivia examined the lawman’s stained and wrinkled uniform shirt, the shadow of an auburn beard darkening his chin, and the discoloration under his eyes. As he sipped from an oversized coffee cup, his head fell into a strip of sunlight pouring in through the window blinds. For the first time, Olivia noticed that the chief’s hair was tinged with hints of red and that his hazel eyes resembled the muddy green of a deep woods pond.

“Were you speaking with a family member? A relative of Camden’s?” she inquired respectfully.

Rawlings shook his head. “Mr. Ford’s wallet held no clues in that area, but there was a business card for a publicist based in LA. I called her last night and she informed me that Camden’s emergency contact was his, ah, partner. Mr. Cosmo Volakis is already en route here. Of course, it will take him most of the day, seeing as he’s coming from the west coast, but I got the sense he caught the first flight out. Poor guy. It’ll be the longest plane ride of his life, I’d imagine.”

There was an impatient tap on the office door. Rawlings shot Officer Cook a questioning glance.

“I was
supposed
to take this woman’s statement, sir. Then, she just up and disappeared on me.” The young man gave Olivia an accusatory stare.

Frowning, Rawlings said, “I’d like to speak to
Ms. Limoges
personally, Cook. I’ll return her to you when I’m through. In the meantime, I’d like you to get an update from the coroner.”

“Yes, sir!” Cook immediately brightened and Olivia was reminded of the policeman’s youth. He probably hated dealing with paperwork and had joined the force in search of action and excitement.

“Were you able to question Blake Talbot?” Olivia asked once they were alone again.

“Mr. Talbot had little to tell,” Rawlings grudgingly admitted. “He provided us with an alibi and then gave me his lawyer’s number in case I should have anything further to discuss.” His face darkened. “I can tolerate the Talbots’ money, their attempts to buy up every spare acre in Oyster Bay, and even the lack of imagination of that new condo development, but I cannot stand rudeness. And
that
boy! Well, let’s just say I’d have loved to put him over my knee and teach him some manners.”

Olivia smiled. “Some discipline would probably do him good.” She reached down and stroked Haviland’s curls. “Did you find any helpful witnesses? Did Camden actually go into the bar? What business did Blake have there?”

Rawlings drew in an impatient breath. “Ms. Limoges, this is an open case and I’m not at liberty to discuss it with a civilian. I shouldn’t even have said what I just said.” He sank back in his chair, as though his spine was too tired to support the weight of his torso.

The chief’s words settled for a moment. Rawlings looked out the window at the park and Olivia looked at him. There was something appealing about his gentleness and intelligence.

“It doesn’t sound as though you’ve got any solid leads,” Olivia remarked dejectedly. “Yet this crime is so unlike our town. The gruesomeness, the poem, the risk of being seen in the alleyway. It’s as though the killer wanted publicity.”

Rawlings raised his hand to stop her from continuing, but Olivia plowed on. “I really
liked
Camden Ford, Chief. I liked his energy, his ability to bring people together, his verve. All I want is to assist in any way I can. Our writer’s group ...” She paused, noting how good it felt to use such a pronoun. “We can work on unraveling the mystery of the haiku. Who better to help with a literary conundrum? Officer Cook?” Her tone was derisive. “Or us?”

“I’m no novice when it comes to poetry, Ms. Limoges,” Rawlings reminded her of his propensity for reading verse for pleasure.

“And I wouldn’t doubt you could solve a poetic riddle during normal circumstances,” Olivia conceded. “But you’ll soon have the media to face, evidence to examine, and hopefully, witnesses to question. Surely it is not outside the bounds of the law to allow well-meaning civilians to put forth a few theories about this particular clue.”

She could see Rawlings relenting. “I suppose there’s no harm in that.” He handed her a business card. “My cell phone number is listed here. Feel free to call me anytime.”

Olivia rose. “I can find my way back to Officer Cook.” Haviland got to his feet and leisurely joined her in the doorway. As Olivia reached out to grab the handle, something prompted her to turn back to Rawlings. He was regarding her with his kind smile. “And if you need to talk to someone about the case, when you’re off-duty of course, stop by The Boot Top. I’ll buy you a drink.”

His smile grew warmer. “Thank you, Ms. Limoges. Before this is all said and done, I may just take you up on that offer.”

Olivia found Officer Cook at a cluster of desks in a large room at the end of the hall. Harris was seated across from him.

“Hello!” Harris beamed, clearly welcoming the sight of a friendly face.

“I’m glad to see you,” Oliva said and sat down next to Harris. She noticed that the red flush across her friend’s cheeks, nose, and forehead was exacerbated. It looked raw and irritated. No doubt stress caused Harris’s skin condition to become more pronounced.

It’s such a shame,
Olivia thought.
He’d be quite handsome without that red face
. She made a mental note to ask the aesthetician at the spa she frequented in New Bern if there were treatments available to alleviate the symptoms of rosacea.

“Sign here. We’ll call you if we need more information.” Officer Cook slapped a piece of paper on his desk. After Harris signed, Cook dismissed him without so much as a thank-you.

“May I speak to my friend for a moment?” Olivia inquired and then, without waiting for Cook’s permission, took Harris by the elbow and led him several steps away from the desk. “Do you have all of Camden’s chapters?”

Harris shook his head. “No, we just have the one. I know he wrote more, but I’ve never seen the rest of his work. Why?”

“Because if Blake Talbot has anything to do with Camden’s death, the reason might be hidden in Camden’s writing.” Olivia cast a glance over her shoulder. Cook was scowling at her while tapping a ballpoint pen impatiently against his computer keyboard. “Perhaps by getting to know
Bradley Talcott
more intimately, we might discover what recent scandal Camden was investigating regarding the Talbots.”

Harris turned the idea over for a long second. “That seems like a real possibility. Are you going to tell the cops?”

“Yes, but I also think
we
could assist the authorities by reviewing the manuscript ourselves. Where was Camden staying?”

“At The Yellow Lady.” Harris touched Olivia’s arm. “But we’re not going to be allowed in his room, are we? Isn’t that room and all Camden’s stuff, you know, off limits now?”

“Not to Mr. Cosmo Volakis. He was Camden’s partner and he’s on his way here from LA.” Olivia’s eyes narrowed with determination. She leaned toward Harris and whispered, “Set up an emergency meeting of the Bayside Book Writers. Anytime is good for me, but make sure
everyone
can attend.
I’m
going to offer my chauffeuring services to the good officer here, and, come hell or high water, I intend to get ahold of a copy of Camden’s work-in-progress for us to review.”