by Ellery Adams
“I’ll have a major case of cabin fever if I spend another day inside,” she told him later as she folded back the duvet cover on her bed. “Tomorrow we’ll check out the cottage and then take a drive to see what’s happened to our town.”
Lying down, she curled around a spare pillow and looked out the window at the fathomless sky. “And to our friends.”
Olivia was awake at first light. She dressed quickly, brewed coffee, and ate a cereal bar and banana for breakfast.
“One of Grumpy’s Florentine omelets would sure hit the spot,” she said, feeling energized by the rays of sun tentatively lighting the horizon. Pulling on her rain boots, Olivia and Haviland walked down a soggy path through the dunes. The tide was out and the ocean was a stretched canvas of Fourth of July sparklers.
“Glad to see you back, old friend.” Olivia strode to the water’s edge and inhaled a lungful of crisp air. When she entered the cottage, her delight quickly turned to dismay as she saw the brown stains around the baseboards. In every room, water had crept in and made itself at home. The carpet in the conference room and the hardwood flooring in the remaining three rooms were ruined. It was fixable, she knew, but there was something about the possibility of rot growing on the very bones of her childhood home that brought Olivia unhappiness. She’d hardly lived a Norman Rockwell life in her sad, little room facing the sea, but it was hers all the same.
Haviland sniffed every room and retreated outside in search of less distasteful smells, for the entire structure reeked of seaweed and brackish water. “We won’t be meeting here this Saturday,” Olivia said and left the front door wide open.
After leaving the cottage, Olivia drove straight to The Boot Top. She had to park in the street, for an enormous pine tree had fallen in a diagonal across the restaurant’s paved lot.
“Could have been worse,” she murmured with relief as she walked the perimeter of the building. Other than a few missing shingles on the roof and a pair of broken hurricane shutters, the eatery was unscathed. Olivia got back in the Range Rover and turned down Main Street. It was too early in the day to need air-conditioning, so she rode with all the windows down and raised a hand in greeting to the other residents and business owners who’d made their way into town at daybreak.
The most noticeable difference between the business district before and after the storm was the sheer amount of debris covering the streets and sidewalks. Branches, leaves, pieces of wood, cardboard, and paper were strewn about in clumps. The debris, the lack of electricity, and the shell-shocked looks on the faces of the few pedestrians she passed gave the town a foreign air, as though it belonged in a Third World country.
Slowing her pace even further, Olivia could see that dozens of storefront windows had been shattered, including the ones belonging to her favorite boutique, Palmetto’s. Rain had drenched the display featuring a rainbow of knit shirts and had knocked the mannequins flat. Olivia glanced at the neighboring retailers and saw that many of their signs were crooked or had fallen to the sidewalk, splintering into nonsensical words.
It was apparent that several cars had been parked on Main Street during the storm and most had fresh spiderweb cracks in the windshields or dents that still bore the imprint of a heavy bough. The morning’s radio report included the news that federal aid for storm cleanup had been promised, but Olivia knew that Ophelia was going to empty the town’s coffers. Oyster Bay had less than a week to reinstate itself as the picture of a seaside utopia in time for the kickoff of the Cardboard Regatta.
After making cursory inspections of her other properties, Olivia continued past the town limits and pulled in front of Dixie’s trailer complex. She found her friend barking orders at a good-looking boy of about ten and a sullen teenage girl.
“Yours?” Olivia asked with a smile when the children stomped off.
Dixie nodded. “Yep. Those are two of the tall ones. There’s two little ones ’round here somewhere, but Grumpy’s probably got them doin’ somethin’ unpleasant. He’s pretty ticked ’cause they snuck out to ride on a friend’s ATV when the eye was passin’ over and had us worried half to death.” She put her hands on her hips and surveyed the wrecked laundry lines and dog kennel. “Thor’s pooped in the house three times since the damned storm began. That dog is a wimp.” Dixie reached out and touched Haviland’s flank. “He doesn’t have your fine manners either, Captain.”
Haviland flashed her a toothy smile.
“Well, it looks like you and your clan are okay,” Olivia said. “I’m sending Michel on a road trip to Costco. I thought I’d see if you were in need of supplies.”
“Filet mignon, lobster tail, Vicodin,” Dixie joked. “Actually, we’re good. We had to bring home a ton of food from the diner ’cause it was gonna go bad.” She raised an eyebrow. “My stars, you have gotten soft, ’Livia. I’ve known you for years, but you’ve never been to my place. Now, ten minutes after a hurricane’s passed through, here you are.” She dusted off her shirt. “You’d best say somethin’ nasty or I’m gonna have to tell folks that you do have a heart.”
Olivia scowled. “I’ll just tell Michel to pick up some staples. Milk, eggs, bread, some birth control pills.”
Dixie laughed until she sank down on the stoop. “I really don’t have twelve kids, you know!” she shouted as Olivia drove off.
On the way to Michel’s, Olivia was surprised to see several power trucks heading into town. When she passed a trio of tree-removal trucks, she suddenly realized that without power, none of the eateries or grocery stores would be open. Where were these workers going to get food? And there wouldn’t be much of a community cleanup effort if those volunteering were distracted by hunger. Yet who could make hundreds of meals without electricity?
“Michel,” she said aloud.
Her chef’s ruddy features paled when she outlined her idea. “You’re insane! I’ve always thought you might be, but now I’m certain of it!”
Olivia ignored his protests. “Call the rest of the staff. Two men can take care of the tree in our parking lot and you can organize the shopping trip. I’ll round up some warm bodies to assemble sandwiches. Imagine being able to boss around all the people you’ve cooked for in the past. It’s your fantasy come true. They’ll finally see how hard you work and learn to appreciate your skill.” She could see the idea appealed to her chef. “We can do this.”
“For free?” Michel was astounded.
“Yes, for free. If you want to cook for a full house of paying customers this weekend, then we need to pitch in now.” Seeing that Michel wasn’t convinced, she added, “Maybe Laurel will be available to help in the kitchen. I’m sure she could use a lesson in the fine art of sandwich construction.”
Michel looked offended. “You jest, but there is an art to making sandwiches. One must begin with the right bread. A croissant or a crisp baguette—”
“Save it for Laurel,” Olivia interrupted and handed Michel her corporate credit card. “Call me if you have any trouble.”
Leaving Michel spluttering on his doorstep, Olivia headed to Blueberry Hill Estates next. Even though she knew that visiting Laurel meant having to apologize for her recent rudeness, Olivia suspected her harried friend might be in need of a few groceries.
Laurel’s husband, Steve, answered Olivia’s knock. They’d met before, but he didn’t act as though he recognized her or the large black poodle nearly glued to her thigh. When Olivia explained that she’d come to see Laurel, Steve bellowed his wife’s name and then removed a pair of work gloves from his jeans pocket.
“Excuse me.” He brushed by Olivia, eyeing Haviland nervously. “I’ve got a hot date with a chainsaw.”
Olivia stiffened as she heard her friend’s light footsteps approach, but if she had expected Laurel to give her a cool reception, she was mistaken. Instead, the younger woman threw her arms around Olivia’s neck.
“I am so glad you’re okay!” she gushed. “I kept thinking about you—all alone in your house with the ocean lapping at your doo
r. I must have dialed your cell phone number two hundred times!”
Olivia felt her face grow warm in the face of such caring. She studied Laurel’s red nose and puffy eyes. Had Laurel been crying from worry for her friends? It was possible, but Olivia sensed something more serious had pinched the skin around Laurel’s mouth. She touched her friend’s elbow. “What’s wrong?”
Sniffing, Laurel shook her head, as though frightened to give voice to what had upset her so. “I keep trying to pretend that if I don’t talk about it, I might wake up tomorrow and find out that nothing happened. That it was all just a bad dream.”
Leading Laurel into the kitchen, Olivia sat her down at the breakfast table and began to open cupboards in search of coffee.
“Please let me do that,” Laurel begged. “It’ll be easier to talk if my hands are busy.” She began to fill the coffeemaker with water. “There’s a woman I know from Dermot and Dallas’s playgroup. Her daughter, Hannah, was born a few hours after my boys.” She drew in a deep breath. “We met in the hospital and have traveled in the same circles ever since. She has two older children and is always on the move.” Pausing to count out coffee scoops, Laurel set the machine to brew and then grabbed the edge of the sink, her shoulders hunched up to her ears.
“This woman, April, took her kids to a soccer tournament in Myrtle Beach over the weekend. She stayed there Monday night to avoid the storm, and when she came home this morning she found her husband . . .” She covered her eyes with her hands and Olivia waited to hear a sordid tale of infidelity. “He’s in a coma,” Laurel surprised her by saying.
Olivia watched as Laurel turned toward the coffeepot and struggled to collect herself. “Was he injured during the storm?”
“Yes, but the hurricane didn’t club Felix on the back of the head with a seven iron.” Laurel’s eyes flashed with anger. “The person robbing his house did.”
Stunned, it took Olivia a couple of minutes to notice that Laurel served her coffee in a mug emblazoned with red hearts and a “World’s Best Mom” slogan. Laurel drank from a white mug bearing the text, “I Perform Cavity Searches.” When she put the cup down on the counter in order to add another splash of milk, Olivia could read the script on the backside of the mug. It said, “Don’t Worry, I’m a Dentist.”
Olivia was momentarily distracted from the subject at hand. Not for the first time, she wondered what kind of man Laurel’s husband was. Did that mug reflect his sense of humor? He wasn’t especially friendly when he’d opened the door. Olivia recognized that he was clearly busy, but she detected a lack of interest as well, as though anything to do with Laurel was likely to be insignificant. Stirring a bit of milk into her own coffee, Olivia vowed to do everything in her power to help Laurel become a household name in Oyster Bay. In time, Steve would view his wife with new eyes, but for now, Olivia’s role was to listen.
“If this just happened this morning, how did you find out so quickly?” she asked her friend gently.
Laurel shrugged. “Female phone tree. Christina Quimby, the woman we interviewed last week, heard the news from a woman on her tennis team. That woman, Tina, is April’s neighbor. Tina saw the ambulance and the cop cars arrive and ran next door. I bet she had the story out to twenty people before April’s husband, Felix, made it to the hospital.” Laurel gave Olivia a sad grin. “Tina might be a gossip, but at least she rushed April’s kids over to her house so they didn’t have to see their daddy being wheeled out on a stretcher or watch their mama fall apart.”
“Another robbery,” was all Olivia could think to say.
Joining her at the table, Laurel let out a long sigh. “I guess this is when I figure out if I’ve got what it takes to be a real reporter.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“Drop the kids off at my in-laws and then go to the hospital,” Laurel answered resolutely. “I’ll say the boys have been worried sick about Grandpa and Grandma and wanted to see them as soon as it was safe. My mother-in-law will just eat that up. I’ll pretend to drive off in search of diapers, even if it means I have to sit through one of her lectures on how I need to learn to plan ahead.” She reached for Olivia’s hand. “I don’t know how much we can find out, but I’d love to have you with me.”
Olivia gave Laurel’s hand a maternal pat. “Not only will I go with you, but I’ll make sure you have a giant box of diapers so you can keep your cover intact.”
For the first time since Olivia had walked through the door, Laurel smiled. “Just once, I’d like to be around when you wave your magic wand. I’ve never actually seen one before.”
Standing, Olivia pulled her wallet from her purse and waved it in the air. “Sure you have. It’s called a Visa card. Bibbidi, bobbidi, boo!”
It took thirty minutes to get Dallas and Dermot dressed for the short drive to their grandparents’ condo. Befuddled by how complicated the act of leaving the house was for Laurel, Olivia watched as her friend loaded Cheerios into small baggies, filled sippy cups with organic apple juice, and stuffed spare outfits, bibs, and diapers into an oversized sack.
“Is this your typical exit routine?” Olivia asked, aghast.
Laurel scooped one of the boys onto her left hip and held on to the second with her right hand. “Are you kidding? This was fast! Look, I’ll meet you at the hospital. Maybe you’ll bump into Rawlings. He’s sure to know something by now.”
Olivia was torn over the idea. She would like to worm information out of Rawlings, but she was uncertain whether he’d be willing to speak with her about an ongoing case or anything else for that matter.
Back in the Range Rover, Olivia checked her cell phone and was pleased to note that her service had been restored. She put the phone on speaker mode and called Michel with an additional grocery list. He let loose several expletives in French, causing Haviland to bark excitedly in reply. She’d just pulled into the hospital parking garage when she received a call from Will Hamilton, the private investigator.
“Did Ophelia put you folks through the wringer?” he inquired. “We barely had a twig down in these parts, but the news footage has shown pictures of your area since daybreak and things look messy.”
“We don’t have power, but Oyster Bay will be up and running in no time,” Olivia replied breezily. “What do you have for me?”
Hamilton cleared his throat. “Ms. Limoges, I have been watching Rod Burkhart ’round the clock. From what I’ve seen, he lives a pretty straightforward life. He works, tosses around a football with his two sons, mows the lawn, goes to church, and runs errands.”
“And he seems financially secure?”
“Yes, ma’am. He drives a late-model truck, and his wife’s minivan is only a year old. The house is tidy and well maintained. The Burkharts aren’t rich, but they’re solid. An average, upper-middle-class family. The guy’s got a nice-looking wife and kids, a yellow Lab, and a dozen fishing poles. He went lake fishing Monday afternoon with another buddy. They drank a few beers and picked up Chinese takeout on the way home.” He paused. “I could keep on him and you could go on paying me to look for dirt on Burkhart, but I don’t feel right taking more of your money. This guy is a regular Joe. He’s got no record and the worst he’s done is get a moving violation for a case of lead foot a few months back. No bodies in the basement or mistresses on the side. That’s my professional opinion, ma’am.”
Olivia let Haviland out so he could sniff the bushes lining the parking lot. “Okay, drop the tail for now, but we’re not done yet. I’m going to send Mr. Burkhart one thousand dollars in cash. It will be in a neon pink mailer and will go to his box at The UPS Store. If I mail it today, it should be there on Thursday. I want you to follow that mailer. See what Burkhart does with it.”
“Will do,” Hamilton said.
“You don’t need to contact me until Burkhart opens that envelope. When he does, I want to know everything that follows. Who he talks to, if he goes to the bank, if he buys a big-ticket item, et cetera. Every detail.”
The investigator promised to be on alert for the arrival of the colorful package. Olivia got out of the Range Rover and looked around for Haviland. She found him sitting on the grass next to a wooden bench. A broad, masculine hand stroked the fur on the poodle’s head and neck, and Haviland winked his caramel brown eyes in happiness.
“Hello.” Olivia approached the pair with stealth. She didn’t want to disturb Rawlings’ train of thought, knowing that he often searched for a quiet place in order to reflect on the details of a case while they were still fresh.
The chief removed his cap and rose to his feet. “Hello, Ms. Limoges. I’m relieved to see you in one piece.”
“We’re fine, but the lighthouse keeper’s cottage has suffered some flood damage,” she said, feeling oddly shy. “We’ll have to relocate for our next Bayside Book Writers meeting. Do you think you can make this one?”
He studied her face and, finding no judgment there, shook his head. “I don’t know. The department will be tied up with the town’s cleanup detail for weeks and now we’ve got another robbery case to run down.” He looked away. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have approached you about joining the group in the first place. My work isn’t ready and my time is rarely my own.”
Panic welled in Olivia. She didn’t want Rawlings to quit the Bayside Book Writers. She wanted the chance to read his work in hopes of discovering more about him. Most importantly, she wanted to be able to respond differently should he ever cross a room and pull her to him again.
“We would have understood why you didn’t send us your chapter if you’d explained your reasons,” she said softly and sat down on the bench alongside him. “We’re a fairly easygoing group. Well, most of us are anyway.” She tried to smile, but her mouth wouldn’t respond. “And I’d like to believe even I have enough sensitivity to give you a pass because it was the anniversary of your wife’s death.”
Rawlings gave her a sharp glance. “That would be a handy excuse, but it wouldn’t be the truth. What would you think if I told you that I brought my laptop to the cemetery? That I’d been trying to fix the damned chapter since Friday night, but every time I’d read it over, I knew what I’d written was crap. It’s still crap. And then the day was gone and I had nothing to share with you all. I’m sorry.”
