Writing All Wrongs (19 page)

Suddenly remembering her phone and just how long it had been since she’d spoken with Rawlings or asked after Haviland, Olivia turned and reached for her bag. That’s when she caught sight of a man standing in the doorway.

It was Vernon Sherrill.

She caught a glimpse of his triumphant sneer as he raised a pistol and pointed it in her direction.

What happened next seemed to take place underwater.

Vernon shouted, “Black!” and Silas sprang forward as though he meant to duck behind Charles’s bed.

Next, there was a deafening report followed by a flash of sparks and a billow of smoke.

Olivia opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

And then she was falling.

Her next sensations were of dozens of lunar-white stars exploding in her field of vision and of a great weight pressing down on her. Then, for just a second, she felt the coolness of the floor against her cheek.

After that, there was only darkness.

*   *   *

“She’s coming to,” a woman said, and Olivia found herself face-to-face with the surgeon who’d operated on her father.

“Don’t try to move,” the doctor ordered, deftly slipping a pillow under Olivia’s head. “You may have suffered a concussion. Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?”

“Three,” Olivia said. From her position on the floor, she could only see the doctor’s face and the recessed lights in the ceiling, which were far too bright. Dizziness swept over her, and she fixed her gaze on the doctor’s ID tag and took several deep breaths. She needed to focus, but there was so much noise in the room. Too many voices. Footsteps. The rapid-fire sound of camera clicks. And the smells. Sulfurous gunpowder. Ammonia. There was something sticky under her left arm. She spread her fingers and felt a residue in the spaces between, like her hand had become webbed.

It must be blood
, she thought.

“What happened?” she asked in a shaky voice. She felt blind down on the floor. But she also knew that if she moved, the entire world would drop out from under her and she’d fall back into the blackness again. “Dad? Are you all right?”

Dr. Boardman put a steadying hand under Olivia’s elbow. “He’s fine.” She turned to look at someone over her shoulder. “We should run a scan on her. Chief, can we carry her out?”

“I’ll lift her,” Rawlings said, instantly taking the doctor’s place.

Seeing his face, Olivia felt the tilting sensation in her head abate a little. She gripped his arms, noting that he wore a jumpsuit over his clothes.

The hospital room was now a crime scene.

How long had she been out?

She tried to twist her head to the left, but Rawlings shifted his body to block her view. “Be still and listen,” he whispered. “Vernon Sherrill is dead. I had to shoot him because he reloaded and was taking aim to fire a second round. Mr. Black is in surgery. You can hear the rest later.”

Rawlings asked Cook to help him lift Olivia over the bloodstains by the foot of the bed. The men stepped carefully, doing their best to avoid the mess there and in the doorway. Olivia averted her eyes.

Refusing a nurse’s offer of a wheelchair, Rawlings carried Olivia to an exam room.

Sitting on the bed, Olivia gave Rawlings a plaintive look. “I feel dazed, but I’m coming out of it. Can you talk to me for a few minutes?”

He scooted his chair close to the bed and took her hand. He then released it again and went to the sink to soak a towel in warm water. As he cleaned Silas’s dried blood off her skin, he talked. “Cook was trying to call you. To warn you. I moved as fast I could, but I wasn’t fast enough. None of us were. Hospital security. The New Bern cops. We all realized Sherrill was at the medical center too late.”

Rawlings dried Olivia’s hand with the edge of the bedsheet and threw the stained towel in the sink. He then enfolded her hand in his. Olivia looked down at their clasped hands and thought of how she’d held her father’s the night before. Of how she’d traced the veins and thought of rivers.

She exhaled very slowly. “Vernon had a boat. He had a boat all along. That’s how he brought a deer from the mainland. It’s how he set the dinghy on fire. It’s how he lured Leigh with the ship’s bell and left no trace at the crime scene. It’s how he got here from the lighthouse. He had a boat.”

Rawlings looked at her in surprise. “Yes. Emmett’s SUV had a tow hitch, and Mr. Sherrill had a boat and a trailer. He
dropped George Allen off at the lighthouse and backed the trailer into the water at low tide. He sank the trailer, parked the SUV behind the lighthouse, brushed the tracks off the sand, and left the beach by boat. It’s not a long trip from Oyster Bay to New Bern by water. He took Goose Creek to one of the smaller branches and then walked five blocks to the medical center. The local cops have already located the boat.”

“Vernon knew that Silas would come to see Charles,” Olivia said. “Why didn’t we?”

“Because Mr. Black was
supposed
to be at The Yellow Lady,” Rawlings replied in a strained voice. “He was driven to the inn early this morning, where he was told to pack and wait for further instructions. Instead, he borrowed the proprietor’s car—and by ‘borrowed,’ I mean he left a hundred-dollar bill and a note saying that he’d be back in a few hours—and took off.”

Olivia sighed. “He wanted to make sure Charles wouldn’t tell anyone about the cup.”

“No matter how rare or wrapped in mystique, Black’s treasure is just a thing. He coveted that secret at the expense of many lives.” Rawlings shook his head. “I had to kill a man today because of what Black did all those years ago.” He stopped speaking and swallowed hard. “I didn’t want it to come to that.”

Olivia felt Rawlings’s pain and wished she could ease it for him, but he would have to carry the burden of having taken Vernon Sherrill’s life alone. All she could do was offer him solace. “I know,” she whispered softly. “And Silas has been stealing relics for years. Artifacts that belong to everyone. Pieces of our history. He believes he has a special claim to them, but we must put an end to this.”

“I’ll get in touch with my FBI buddy,” Rawlings said, clearly consoled by the idea of taking action. “He’ll connect me with someone at the art crime division. They’ll have to move fast, though. Silas Black is a slippery eel.”

“He’s not going anywhere for the next few days. Vernon Sherrill saw to that.” Olivia managed a wry smile.

Rawlings leaned over and kissed the back of her hand. “I can see you’re feeling better. Thank God, Olivia. I’ve never been so scared. Standing out in that hall, I didn’t know what I’d find—”

“Don’t,” she said. “None of this is your fault. Or mine. I know they need you back in that room, and my father will want to be reassured that I’m all right. After a hot shower, a cup of coffee, and some time with Haviland, I’ll be as good as new. Can my statement wait? I want to go home.”

“Only if the doc gives you permission.”

Knowing Rawlings didn’t need another thing to worry about, Olivia submitted to an examination. And though she had an impressive contusion, the doctor wasn’t overly concerned. She reviewed the symptoms and warnings signs of a concussion, gave Olivia a pamphlet on the subject, and said she was free to go.

After calling a cab, Olivia stopped by her father’s new room to tell him good-bye until she returned to visit the following day. She kissed him on the cheek, told him to rest, and went outside to meet her cab. She told the driver she’d appreciate a quiet ride home and was grateful when he nodded and tuned the radio to a classical music station.

When he pulled up to her house, she shoved a wad of bills into his hand and jumped out of the cab. On the other side of the door, Haviland was waiting for her. Olivia dropped to her knees on the kitchen floor and released the fear she’d been holding inside in a single choking sob. Shaking, she let her tears slide down her cheeks and drip from the point of her chin into Haviland’s hair.

Her poodle whined and alternated between frantically licking her cheeks and sniffing her face and hair. He smelled blood and knew something wasn’t right. His agitation allowed Olivia to regain control of her own emotions.

“I’m sorry, boy,” she said, trying to soothe him. “I’m okay now. I’m just so glad to be home. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She opened the door to let him out, but he wouldn’t leave her side. She finally coaxed him to take a quick trip to the bushes near the driveway, and then they both returned inside.

“Let me take a shower, and after that, we’ll go for a walk. A slow one.”

Olivia indulged in a very long shower. The hot water and steamy air felt glorious. She washed and dried her hair, and then pulled on a thick, soft sweater and a pair of jeans.

She fed Haviland and was just wondering what to make for herself when there was a knock at the door. Laurel stood outside, cradling a takeout bag from Grumpy’s Diner.

“Dixie said you’d be needing her special brand of comfort food.”

“She’s right, as usual.” Olivia smiled as Laurel entered the kitchen. “Nothing in my refrigerator looks the least bit appealing.”

Laurel put the bag on the table and began unloading its contents. “Grumpy made you a tomato-and–goat cheese omelet with home fries. Sit down and eat while it’s still warm. I’ll brew some coffee.”

The food was delicious. Laurel sat with Olivia while she ate, and was too considerate a friend to ply her with questions. Laurel simply kept her company.

“I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until I started eating,” Olivia said after polishing off the last potato. “Thank you for bringing this.”

The two women stood up and Laurel gave Olivia a brief hug. “You probably need quiet after everything that’s happened. Will you call me if you need anything?”

“I will. I take it you’ll be working all day?”

“Yes, indeed.” Laurel’s gaze grew distant, as though she were picturing her to-do list. “Tomorrow’s edition of the
Gazette
will include an article describing how this madness finally came to an end.” She jiggled her keys in her palm, hesitating. “But what I didn’t include in the article was the news that Jenna won’t be coming back to Through the Wardrobe. She hasn’t told anyone yet, but she’s leaving Oyster Bay. After what happened, I can’t blame her, but I’m devastated. Do you know how many of her story times I’ve attended? Or how many books she’s put into my sons’ hands? She was a friend, Olivia. The boys and I will miss her so much.”

Olivia touched Laurel’s arm. “I will too. And I’ll try to talk her into staying. I’ll just have to convince her that Through the Wardrobe wouldn’t be the same without her. If she needs to take a long leave of absence, she can take it. Her job will always be waiting for her.”

Laurel nodded. “That sounds good.”

When Laurel was gone, Olivia threw a wool blanket over her shoulders and took Haviland down to the water’s edge. She was too tired to walk far, so she settled in the dry sand and watched her poodle trot up and down the beach. He wouldn’t leave her side for long. He kept coming back to where she sat to nudge her leg or lick her hand.

“I’m all right,” she’d whisper tenderly, feeling better the longer she sat outside, being with Haviland and breathing the salt-laced air.

Soon, Rawlings would be home. Tonight, after he rested for a bit, they could light a fire in the copper fire pit on the deck and watch the nightfall. As the daylight faded and the stars sparked into existence, they could sip their drinks and hold each other’s hands. They could sit in companionable silence, listening to the water and the wind. They could begin the process of healing. Together.

Only from the heart can you touch the sky.

—J
ALAL
AD
-D
IN
R
UMI

T
he following Saturday, the Bayside Book Writers met at the lighthouse keeper’s cottage. If it had been a typical meeting, they’d have shared a meal before discussing the chapter up for review. Over glasses of wine, beer, or, in Olivia’s case, Chivas Regal, they’d discuss the work in question for at least an hour. Afterward, the five friends would socialize until Millay had to leave for her shift at Fish Nets.

Tonight’s meeting was different from the start. Instead of ordering food, everyone had brought his or her favorite dish to share.

“This is going to be a carb overload,” Harris said, setting a bowl of mashed potatoes on the counter. “Hm, I smell bacon.”

Rawlings pointed at the oven. “The ultimate comfort food.”

“No way,” Millay argued, pointing at her own casserole dish. “That would be chicken and waffles.”

“I made mac and cheese,” Laurel said. “With tons of extra cheese.”

Olivia gestured at the pot of the stove. “If you’re looking for fruits or vegetables, don’t look there. It’s shrimp and grits.”

“I’ll have my fruit in the form of crushed grapes, thank you very much,” Laurel said, running her hand through her hair. “It’s been a helluva week. I’m glad we’re not critiquing a chapter, because I don’t think I could handle it.”

Her friends nodded in silent agreement.

Jenna’s announcement that she was leaving Oyster Bay to move closer to her parents had left them all feeling like they’d lost someone dear to them the night of Millay’s book launch. Though Jenna loved the town and Through the Wardrobe, she no longer looked at either with the same eyes since being attacked. And because no one could blame her for being frightened, the five friends had taken turns hugging her and wishing her the best. Olivia had also told her that she’d always have a job should she wish to return and had made certain that Jenna’s last paycheck contained a few extra zeroes.

The Bayside Book Writers had left Jenna’s house that late Friday afternoon to start their weekends on a melancholy note, the gray skies and cold drizzle doing little to lighten the morose atmosphere. And though the rain had stopped around midnight, the damp air had permeated every space, leaving the streets of Oyster Bay nearly deserted throughout the next day.

“Let’s get some hot food in our bellies,” Rawlings suggested now. “I’m ready to thaw out from the inside. I’ve felt numb for days.”

Olivia knew exactly what he meant.

“Me too,” Harris said. “And bacon makes everything better. Right, Haviland? You know I’m going to slip you a piece on the sly,” he told the poodle sotto voce.

Carrying loaded plates into the cozy living room, the
friends ate and exchanged small talk. The room grew warm, and Olivia could feel the tight knot in her core slowly unravel in her friends’ company. She refilled their glasses and lit the candles on the coffee table. She watched the light soften their faces and listened to their voices and knew that they were all being comforted by more than just food.

“I saw Emmett in town today,” Laurel said, turning to Rawlings. The two of them shared the sofa while Harris, Olivia, and Millay occupied three of the four club chairs. “I guess you returned the man’s car. After the ordeal he’s been through, we should have taken up a collection for dinner at The Crab Pot or a weekend at The Yellow Lady.”

“Charles Wade has something bigger in mind,” Rawlings said and looked at Olivia. “Why don’t you tell them?”

Olivia shook her head. “It’s too soon.”

Millay scowled. “Come on. Now you have to spill.”

“As soon as he feels up to traveling, my father’s going back to New York,” Olivia said. “Not permanently, but he has things to deal with there. Not only that but . . . well, he feels guilty. He’s not ready to face the people of Oyster Bay after what happened. He believes they’ll learn that he shared in Silas’s secret and will blame him for Jenna’s injury and resignation—that he’ll be viewed as an outsider again.”

“Running isn’t going to help his situation,” Millay said. “People would learn to forgive him if he stuck around.”

“That’s what I told him, but he’s going.” Olivia picked up her tumbler and swirled the caramel-colored liquor around the bottom of the glass. “And he made other unexpected decisions from his hospital bed. For instance, he offered Emmett a job.”

Harris, who’d raised a piece of bacon to his lips, let it dangle in the air. “Doesn’t he already have one?”

“Being arrested under suspicion of murder wasn’t exactly a boon for his professional reputation,” Olivia said. “Remember, this is the second time Emmett has had to refute false
allegations. He left his position at the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill because of Amy, and the powers that be at UNC-Wilmington are hinting that they’d be delighted should Emmett suddenly resign. Even though Emmett is clearly innocent of any of the crimes he was suspected of having committed, including murder, he’s tainted by association.”

“That’s unfair!” Laurel protested. “Emmett loves history. He loves teaching too, doesn’t he?”

“Charles correctly surmised that Emmett might be in need of a major change, so he arranged for a limo service to collect Emmett and drive him to the hospital. My father wanted to have a conversation with Emmett about fresh starts. That’s what he offered. And Emmett accepted. He’s bought out my father’s half of the partnership in the bookstore. For a very low price, I might add. This is Charles’s way of making amends, I imagine. Anyway, Emmett is relocating to Oyster Bay and is to become the new manager of Through the Wardrobe.”

The rest of the Bayside Book Writers sat in stunned silence for a long moment.

Finally, Millay said, “He’ll be a good fit. I can’t picture him using the puppets, but he can hand over the story-time responsibilities to a more qualified staff member. As far as scheduling author events, organizing the store, and talking to people about books, he’s the right guy for the job. He’ll be animated without being pushy. Passionate but not creepy. He’s the perfect blend of cool outdoorsman and nerdy professor, bow tie–wearing bibliophile and rugged, dog-loving bachelor. I like him.”

“Me too,” Harris said with a grin. “He’ll help the store, and the store will help him.”

Laurel elbowed Rawlings in the ribs. “What do you think, Chief?”

“What?” Rawlings asked innocently. “You mean, do I
mind having a man obviously smitten with my wife living and working in the same town? A man she’ll have to meet with on a regular basis to discuss budgets and bookings and such?” He shrugged. “Strangely, I don’t mind a bit. It feels right. I just hope Charles doesn’t stay away too long. He was just beginning to find his roots again.”

Olivia put down her glass a little too roughly. “It’s in the Wade nature to take off when things get messy. Charles knows I’m angry, but I’ll get over it.”

“It’s not just you he’s running from,” Rawlings said gently. “He lost his best friend. Silas blames Charles for everything.”

Laurel drew in a sharp breath. “That’s right! The seizure was made public today.”

Rawlings nodded. “The FBI released a list of the stolen antiquities recovered from Mr. Black’s California residence. The majority came from underwater archaeology expeditions, but the skull cup was there as well. It has yet to be confirmed as a match to the one taken from the maritime museum in Ocean Isle Beach. There’s also been no mention of Blackbeard. As of now, it’s simply being referred to as the silver drinking vessel, but it has been sent to the Smithsonian for additional tests.”

“That’s awesome,” Harris said. “It’s like a scene straight out of an Indiana Jones movie. I can totally imagine the cup being packed into a crate and wheeled into some government storehouse, never to be seen again.”

Olivia arched a brow. “Why? It’s hardly the Ark of the Covenant. Or do you think it holds some mystical power? Silas believed it was his talisman. His Holy Grail.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Harris scoffed. “Look. I love the guy’s books. I love his show, which may be canceled since Black is undoubtedly headed to prison, but Silas Black is a megalomaniac. Whatever punishment he gets won’t be harsh enough because it won’t bring Leigh back. And it won’t undo
what happened to Jenna or Charles. And he doesn’t care about any of them. He’ll only be pissed off about having his stuff taken away.”

“Except that it was never
his
to begin with,” Laurel pointed out. “And Leigh witnessed it all. She wasted her life hanging on to a guy who never wanted her.” She frowned. “What I still don’t get is how Boyd coaxed her into wearing that dress and walking the beach in the middle of the night.”

Rawlings took a sip of beer and then gazed at his bottle with a pensive expression. “Like everything else, re-creating the Theodosia Burr scene was a team effort between Boyd Allen and Vernon Sherrill. At least, this is the conclusion we’ve had to draw from Mr. Allen’s testimony. The testimony of a dying man who is lucid for shorter and shorter periods of time.”

“He killed a woman. He shot that deer. I shouldn’t feel sorry for him. So why do I?” Laurel asked.

“Because he never stood a chance. His dad pulled and pushed him, shaping him like a lump of clay,” Millay said. “After Boyd’s mom died, there was one person in his life. George Allen should have packed up and left Palmetto. Started over someplace new and given himself and his son a chance, but he stayed on that island and watched the world go by. Boyd grew up without friends or family. He grew up knowing only his dad’s embittered whisperings. The stories, repeated on an endless loop, of how the Allens had been wronged.”

Rawlings made a noise of assent. “Until one day, the curator of the island’s museum, a man the Allens had come to know and respect, tells them about Silas and the stolen cup. The three men already share a passion for history and coastal lore. They also share what Olivia identified as a desire to be seen, to be memorable, if only once.”

Harris, who’d eaten eight strips of bacon, wiped his fingertips on a napkin and glanced at Laurel. “I read Vernon’s
testimony. No matter what kind of childhood the guy had, I don’t pity him. Not when I think about how he manipulated Leigh Whitlow. He knew that Leigh still loved Silas. He knew that she kept hanging on to the hope that, one day, he’d love her in return. Not only had he kept tabs on his enemy through the years, but he also stole Leigh’s diary. He snuck into Silas’s beach house while it was being vandalized. Through the diary, he learned that although Silas had been with plenty of other women, Leigh felt seriously threatened by Amy. Amy was young, smart, and loved the things Silas loved.”

Millay held out a finger to stop Harris. “
Was
the vandalism a ploy to search for the cup? I thought it was instigated by the conservancy folks.”

“Vernon stayed in the shadows, shouting stuff to incite the crowd, but he didn’t enter the house until he could get in unseen. He did a quick search for the cup and then left. He didn’t expect to find it in a vacation house, but he had to look. Anyway, he swiped Leigh’s diary while he was prowling around.”

Olivia collected the dirty dishes and carried them to the sink. “Where’s the diary now?”

“It was burned in the Allens’ woodstove,” Rawlings said. “But after Mr. Sherrill read it, he asked Ms. Whitlow to meet him at the museum. He showed her an antique pistol and claimed that it once belonged to Blackbeard. He told her that he wanted to leave the island but didn’t have enough money to buy property elsewhere. He said that no one else had a clue that the weapon was in the museum’s collection, and that he was willing to sell it to her at a reasonable price because he knew that her boyfriend was a fan of Blackbeard. He also showed her documents supposedly proving the pistol was Blackbeard’s.”

“Leigh must have been suspicious of such a sweet deal.” Millay scoffed. “Didn’t she recognize Sherrill?”

Harris frowned. “Nope. Silas stole that cup decades ago,
and all Leigh cared about was dazzling Silas—knocking the man’s socks off so that he’d forget about Amy.”

“I think Leigh knew how Silas felt about Amy before Silas did,” Olivia said. “From what he told me, he wasn’t aware of his feelings until the night he and Leigh had their big fight.”

“Leigh was a desperate woman, there’s no doubt,” Harris said. “Vernon told her that George Allen would deliver the pistol to Leigh on the beach that night. Leigh was to place all the cash and jewelry she had inside a lantern and give it to George. An unthreatening old man, he was a good choice. Vernon also asked Leigh to wear the white dress as a special favor. He then went on to tell her a moving tale of how George had waited his whole life to see the ghost of Theodosia Burr. He explained that George’s time was running out and showed Leigh a picture of Theodosia. He pressed the point that she could fulfill a dying man’s wish by simply wearing the dress.”

“What a manipulative bastard,” Laurel muttered.

“Yeah,” Harris agreed. “He even told Leigh that if she didn’t speak, George would believe she was an actual spirit. All she had to do was drop the lantern and pick up the case with the pistol and go. He instructed Leigh to follow the sound of the ship’s bell to George. I’m sure Leigh found the entire thing bizarre, but she wasn’t a bad person, and she figured she could make two people happy that night—George and herself—so she agreed.”