A Killer Plot (23 page)

The next day he might have cereal because there was milk now. He might eat a banana. The small victory of having replaced the ruined food would be enough to encourage him to shower and, perhaps, to water the plants.

Cosmo would drink too much and talk aloud to Camden for hours on end. When Camden wouldn’t answer, Cosmo would rage and then, his anger spent, he would weep. But each day he’d wake up and eat something. He’d get dressed. He’d drink orange juice without the vodka. One day, he’d finally venture out to his local Starbucks, the dry cleaners, and the outdoor market. He’d open a few letters and return a few calls. He would begin to live again.

“Cosmo will be fine,” Olivia told Haviland. “Give him a year and he’ll be on the cover of every interior design magazine on the rack.”

Haviland looked out the window and whined.

“I’ll miss him too. And Camden. There’s no one like them in Oyster Bay,” she said as she approached the town limit sign. She glanced at the billboard featuring the Ocean Vista Condos and muttered, “Oyster Bay’s changing, Captain. Who knows what our little population will look like in ten years.”

Picturing dozens of Talbot Fine Properties building projects springing up all across town like mushrooms after a long rain made Olivia feel glum. It was Friday evening. Her restaurant would be filled with lively laughter and tantalizing aromas, but she didn’t feel like being there. At home, her unfinished chapter waited for her, but she wasn’t in the mood to write.

She was restless, craving something different. She wanted company—to share a bottle of wine and quiet the tumult of thoughts whirling around in her head.

If only for a short while.

Without being fully conscious of her actions, Olivia parked across the street from Through the Wardrobe. She approached the front door just as Flynn was turning the dead bolt with his key. Seeing her, he smiled.

“You caught me! I’m closing a full hour early.” He gestured at the periwinkle sky. “It’s just too nice a night to be stuck inside.”

Olivia followed his gaze and nodded. “Dry though. I could use a cold drink.”

Flynn studied her face. “I’d love a beer, myself. Where should we go?”

Hesitating, Olivia wondered if what she planned to say would turn out to be a grave error in judgment. Still, the sultry air and hazy moon convinced her to follow through on her impulse. Shrugging idly, she said, “How about your place?”

 

 

Flynn’s Caribbean-style cottage was located on a sleepy street not far from Through the Wardrobe. Olivia and Flynn had shared a few drinks on his back patio. The drinks had led to a kiss, which quickly became heated, but Olivia wasn’t ready to explore anything further with the attractive bookstore owner. Despite Flynn’s coaxing and cajoling in hopes that she would stay a little longer, Olivia firmly said good night a few minutes shy of midnight. Seeing any further attempts at persuasion were futile, Flynn walked her through a jade green living room decorated with murals of tropical fish and waited on the front porch until she was inside her car.

Once she’d pulled away from the curb, Olivia whispered to her poodle, “His decor is wanting, I know.” She laughed, feeling weightless and invigorated.

Olivia spent the remainder of the night in her own bed and woke early, stretching her long limbs languidly beneath her cool, white cotton sheets.

After taking a walk, Olivia finished critiquing Millay’s chapter. She was impressed with the younger woman’s imagination and the unique voice that grew stronger with each page. Having never enjoyed the fantasy genre, Olivia found herself eager to read more of
The Gryphon Tamer
, though one of her first recommendations was that Millay come up with an alternate title.

Your current title calls to mind a circus performer wearing sequins and brandishing a long whip
, she wrote on Millay’s draft. She went on to praise Millay’s use of voice, the success of the suspense created by the opening scene, and her pacing. Olivia’s main criticism was that Millay needed to tone down her use of alliteration and provide more description about the gryphon’s lair.

Overall, an excellent start. You have definitely captured my interest!
She scribbled at the end of the chapter.
I am
curious to discover what happens now that Tessa has been claimed by her gryphon.

While Olivia worked, the morning sky had grown overcast. A front was moving in from the south and by afternoon, an exhilarating summer thunderstorm would set upon the town of Oyster Bay. The rain would carry the smells of the deep ocean and childhood and everyone would welcome its arrival. Even the tourists would smile as it fell, watching from porch rockers or from covered balconies as they sipped coffee and propped paperbacks on their thighs.

As Olivia placed Millay’s chapter into a folder, the phone rang. Flynn’s voice rumbled through the speaker, his low baritone sounding like a distant train or the surf splashing over a jetty of stones. Olivia gravitated toward it but made no move to pick up the phone. Flynn kept his call brief, merely thanking her for last night and inviting her to join him for dinner. Olivia wasn’t ready to see him again just yet, so she deleted the message the moment he was finished speaking.

“Let’s take another look at the specs for the proposed housing development, Haviland. We can have a picnic lunch in the old park’s gazebo while it’s still standing.”

Haviland sat on his haunches and raised his eyebrows high, questioning her decision.

“Why, you ask? Because if I feel like going to war for the current park I’d like to be armed with all the information I can get my hands on. I can’t influence Ed Campbell, our local mortgage man, but I could possibly sway Roy or Grumpy.”

Yawning, Haviland turned toward the door.

Irritated by this show of disinterest, Olivia scowled. “I should have adopted a nice mixed breed from the ASPCA! He might have been more polite. You don’t have to be so cross just because you had to eat dog food for breakfast. You
are
of the canine species, Captain, regardless of how intelligent you are.”

Haviland ignored her. The two drove into town without making eye contact and only when Olivia stopped at Bagels ‘n’ Beans to buy an egg salad sandwich on a sesame seed bagel did the poodle attempt to make amends.

Placing his nose against her palm, he nudged her hand and then opened his liquid brown eyes wide as she glanced down at him. “That teddy bear look might work on old ladies and little children, but you’re not fooling me for a second.”

Wheeler overheard the exchange and, grinning, prepared a turkey and cheese lettuce wrap for Haviland even though Olivia hadn’t asked for one. As he was particularly fond of the poodle, he added two pieces of bacon to the dog’s customary order.

“This is to go, Wheeler,” Olivia said.

“You havin’ lunch outside?” the old man asked. “There’s gonna be a storm within the hour. The ache in my left hip says it’s movin’ fast, so get this down your throat by one o’clock, ya hear?”

Olivia smiled. With all the barometric body parts in Oyster Bay, no one needed The Weather Channel. The locals had ancient ways of predicting the weather and they seemed to be far more accurate than anything Doppler radar could produce. Olivia trusted Wheeler’s hip, the pouf in Dixie’s hair, and all the fishermen’s forecasts without question.

“I’m just going to the Neuse River Park,” she answered. “I haven’t spent much time there since I’ve been back and I’d like to sit there awhile.”

“You gotta figure out which way you’re gonna vote,” Wheeler stated as though he had second sight. “Sittin’ a spell will make things clear, I reckon.”

Olivia shook her head in wonder. “You’re nearly as informed about Oyster Bay’s goings-on as Dixie.”

Shrugging, Wheeler placed a paper bag filled with the two sandwiches, a plump apple, and half a dill pickle on the counter. “I just keep my antenna up, is all.” He held on to the bag and met her gaze. “That real estate man has been lookin’ for you. The slick Yankee fellow who’s too high and mighty to order his own coffee.”

“Dean Talbot.” Olivia wasn’t surprised. Even though his proposal was likely to pass, the man was shrewd enough to feel out every member of the Planning Board. “If he comes in today, go ahead and tell him where I’ve gone. I’ll be at the restaurant after the park. I’d rather
not
have him knocking on my door at home.”

Wheeler nodded. “I know you can take care of yourself, Miss Olivia, but you watch out for that one. He’s used to gettin’ his way. I’ve seen men like him before. They can turn from snake charmer to the snake quick as a lightnin’ strike.”

Moved by Wheeler’s concern, Olivia reached across the counter and touched the man’s leathery cheek. “Don’t worry. I know how to handle snakes,” she stated firmly. “Especially the ones that come out into the open.”

Haviland snarled as if to remind the pair of humans that he was no pushover either. Both of them laughed, breaking the serious mood. Wheeler moved away to serve his next customer and Olivia headed for the town hall. She dashed inside to pick up a copy of the drawings of the proposed community park as well as current maps showing the town’s utilities, water, sewage, and zoning data.

She was carefully studying these maps in the shade of the Neuse River Park’s vandalized gazebo when a rental car pulled in next to the Range Rover.

Haviland, who had settled down at Olivia’s feet in order to digest his sandwich, leapt to his feet, his hackles rising.

It was an unusual reaction on the poodle’s part and Olivia steeled herself for a confrontation. Haviland must have sensed an aura of animosity from one or both of the car’s occupants.

Max Warfield and Dean Talbot slammed the doors of their black Lincoln Town Car and glanced around the park as they attempted to locate their quarry. Olivia remained still, watching them.

As usual, Max wore a tailored business suit, but Dean was more casual in tan slacks, a green polo shirt, and hiking boots. As he drew nearer, Olivia could see that the baseball hat he wore was embroidered with the logo of an exclusive golf club in Scotland. His mirrored sunglasses made it impossible to tell what he was thinking as he headed Olivia’s way. Max followed closely behind his boss, dabbing at his perspiring brow with a wad of tissues.

“You’re a hard woman to find,” Dean stated without preamble as he mounted the gazebo’s first step. “May I come in, Ms. Limoges? I don’t want to interrupt your meal.”

“Do what you like,” Olivia responded ungraciously. “This is public property. At least for the time being.”

Haviland bared his teeth.

The real estate tycoon looked at the poodle with disingenuous amusement. “Does your dog see me as a threat?”

Olivia folded up the map she’d been studying. “I don’t know. Are you?”

“Not at all. Our proposition is sound.” He gestured at the maps. “However, I’m glad to see you doing your research. It makes our job easier when we’re dealing with informed board members.” Dean leaned with deliberate nonchalance against the support post, and Olivia was satisfied to keep a measure of space between them. Being on higher ground than the ambitious real estate mogul and his crony made Olivia feel as though she had an advantage. Haviland’s proximity also solidified her sense of confidence. She wasn’t afraid of either man, but this was her town they sought to change and she wanted to come to a decision without their influence.

“Since you’ve come all this way to see me, I’ll tell you exactly what I think of your proposal. While the new park seems to be quite people-friendly, it does not provide an equitable habitat for the wildlife that will be displaced from the current park. There is a great deal more marsh-land here.” She watched their faces closely for signs of irritation or anger, but both men kept their expressions guarded. “And I cannot approve of the burial ground’s destruction. I think you should build around it. If someone doesn’t want to live in a house too close to it, then surround the graveyard with additional green space.” She tapped one of the maps. “I consider Cottage Cove’s current amount to be minimal, at best.”

“You’ve raised valid points, Ms. Limoges, but surely you agree that this new Talbot community means homes, jobs, and revenue for Oyster Bay,” Dean replied pleasantly. “The fishing industry is waning. As a native of the town and the daughter of a fisherman, I’d have thought you’d want new opportunities to be available to the men who work from sunup to sundown and still can’t make ends meet”

Olivia flushed.
He’s done his research
, she thought, doing her best to quell a surge of hostility.

“Your tenants and employees will all benefit from this project,” Max Warfield added smoothly. “I’m sure you’re more interested in their futures than in the nesting locations of a few birds.”

“I hope that isn’t the tack you took when speaking to Marlene Gibbons.” Olivia took a sip of Wheeler’s sun tea. His secret was that he steeped fruit-flavored tea bags in the open air for hours. On any given sunny day, one could walk behind his eatery and find rows and rows of covered glass pitchers lined up on a pair of old card tables. No one else in Oyster Bay could rival the flavor of Wheeler’s iced tea. Today, the tea was peach flavored and tasted like bottled summer.

Dean gazed around the park, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We have something to offer
everyone
, Ms. Limoges. For example, Talbot Fine Properties has decided to add a feature to our new park. Would you care to see it?”

Olivia inclined her head and Max stepped into the gazebo, his nervous eyes fixed on Haviland.

“He won’t bite unless commanded to do so,” Olivia remarked coolly. “At least, not usually.”

Skirting around the poodle as though Haviland might suddenly lunge forward and sink sharp teeth into the costly material of his pant leg, Max unfurled another bird’s-eye view of the new park and tapped on a section of green toward the lower right-hand corner. Olivia wasn’t sure if the man was addressing her or Haviland when he said, “This space is specifically for dogs.”