by Ellery Adams
“Excelsior,” Jeannie said and then shrugged. “Whatever that is.”
A man in overalls seemed frightened to approach the table where Haviland stood so Olivia put a hand on the poodle’s collar, drawing him closer to her side. “Excelsior means ‘ever higher.’ I wonder if Cody’s read the Longfellow poem with that title.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. My brother is always buying that boy books and CDs and sports gear. Spoils him rotten.” Olivia wasn’t fooled by Jeannie’s pretense of disapproval. “Sawyer would have made a fine daddy, but I guess that just wasn’t part of the Lord’s plan.” She met Olivia’s eyes. “But I hope you are.” And with that, she turned to assist an eager customer.
Clutching her painting, Olivia wandered toward the harbor and the launching area of the cardboard boats. Her mind was full of thoughts of Sawyer. What did she really know of his private life? Of his childhood? Had he lain in his bed reading Longfellow? Somehow, she could picture him doing just that, for the poem was a tribute to the courage and perseverance of a young man. Did Rawlings see himself as that boy, trudging onward and upward through the frigid night, his throbbing arms refusing to lay down the banner of Excelsior?
Before her grandmother shipped her off to an exclusive all-girl boarding school, Olivia had had to memorize the poem for one of her many tutors. The words tiptoed back into her memory.
The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed,
A youth, who bore, ’mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior!
His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
Excelsior!
Haviland barked, drawing Olivia back to the present and the thick knot of people gathered to witness the start of the first race.
“You’re right, Captain. That’s a poem for a cold winter’s day.” Seeing Laurel waving to her from the dock while keeping a tight hold on her double stroller, the lighthearted mood Olivia had felt when she first arrived downtown returned.
Laurel gave Olivia a shy smile. “You seemed kind of lost in thought.”
“I was mumbling poetry. Haviland is particularly fond of verse,” Olivia answered and rubbed the fur on the poodle’s neck. She then apologized to Laurel for being so abrupt the last time’s they’d spoken.
“Sure. It’s already forgotten,” Laurel said as she handed each of the twins a soft pretzel. “Harris told me about the cliché clues. Do you have any idea what they mean?”
Olivia shook her head and wondered whether Steve had told his wife about being questioned by the police. From the serene look of Laurel’s face, she doubted it. “So far, the only common denominator is that all the families have kids that play sports and attend area private schools.”
“And the messages the thieves leave behind. What are they trying to tell the people they’ve stolen from?” Laurel asked and then sighed. “I miss the feeling that I had something to contribute to the Gazette, to this town.” She gave a self-effacing laugh. “My cooking attempts have certainly been a disaster! Steve has begged me to go back to culinary school more than once. If only he realized there isn’t one!”
“Is he working today?” Olivia looked around for Laurel’s spouse.
“No. He’s racing.” She pointed at a small motorboat anchored off to the right of the end of the dock. “That’s his team from the office. Their boat is that giant toothbrush.”
Shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun, Olivia watched as Steve and two other men eased their cardboard boat into the water. Carefully, a man wearing a baseball hat climbed into the bow while Steve took up the captain’s position in the stern. “They’ve entered the Oars Only category, I see. Harris is in the Sail-Powered Race, but I have yet to spot his boat. I figured he’d have made a Star Trek ship or a floating robot.”
Laurel also began scanning the harbor. “He’d better get here soon. The judges need to examine his boat before the race. Poor Millay’s been pacing the docks since I got here, sending Harris text after text. I’ve never seen her this anxious.”
The two women secured a place to watch the first race. The twins, whose bellies were full of soft pretzels, apple juice, and cheese crackers, had fallen asleep in the stroller.
Olivia dug a pair of binoculars out of her purse and watched the contestants line up the bows of their boats until they touched a rope slung between two buoys. She’d never seen such an assortment of cardboard vessels. There were pirate ships, canoes, catamarans, and submarines, but there were also floating hot dogs, crocodiles, smoking cigars, sea serpents, sharks, dolphins, and rubber ducks.
A horn blasted and the contestants surged forward, their oars creating swirls and white froth in the water. Steve’s toothbrush boat took an early lead, but it became clear that the vessel was too long to make quick turns around the course’s buoys and they began to lose their advantage.
“Oh, dear.” Laurel watched her husband through a pair of hot pink binoculars. “His partner said they should have made the boat shorter, but Steve insisted on adding more bristles to the brush.”
A bright blue boat resembling a congenial killer whale passed by Steve’s toothbrush and a snarling shark to capture first place. Steve’s boat came in third, but he and his first mate were too busy shouting at one another to notice. Watching Laurel’s red-faced spouse, Olivia wondered if he had serious anger issues.
As though reading her thoughts, Laurel spoke hastily. “He’ll shake it off. This is supposed to be just for fun, right?”
Olivia ignored the question. “Laurel, what did you tell the editor of the Gazette?”
“That I needed more time to finish a major story,” Laurel answered after a long pause. Lowering her binoculars, she met Olivia’s stare. “I said that I had to interview April Howard before I could write a complete piece about the robberies.” She looked back out at the harbor. “Several papers have sent crime reporters to speak to April, but she’s refused to talk. I’ve been thinking about calling her. I feel like it’s my duty to do what I can to stop these crimes, that it’s my responsibility, just like caring for my kids or keeping the house clean. Does that sound ridiculously self-inflated?”
Shaking her head, Olivia said, “No, it doesn’t. You’d like to wear more than one hat. You want a rich home life and a fulfilling career too. That doesn’t make you a self-centered person. It simply means you wish to share your gifts with a wider audience.”
Laurel blinked away tears. “Why do you have so much faith in me? No one else does. I told Steve that I wanted his parents to watch the twins so I could be a reporter and not Paula Deen and he just laughed.”
“Look at those boats,” Olivia replied soothingly. “They’re made of cardboard, tape, and glue. They don’t look like they’d float, let alone speed through the water, but with a little ingenuity and determination, there they are.”
“Who would have thought being compared to a piece of corrugated cardboard could be so flattering?” Laurel managed a grin.
At that moment, Millay dashed through the crowd toward Olivia and Laurel, her face glowing with excitement. “Harris is here! And you will not believe his boat! It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!”
“Where is it?” Olivia asked, raising her binoculars.
“I see him! He’s tacking toward the starting line!” Laurel shouted. “Oh, Millay! It’s breathtaking!”
Irritated to be the last to know what her friends found so amazing, Olivia took a step forward and adjusted the focus on her binoculars. She found Harris’s glimmering boat.
The bow was a gracefully curved griffin’s head with a sunflower yellow beak and shining black eyes. A pair of lion’s legs formed the stern and the vessel’s rudder was in the shape of a tail. The entire boat had been painted gold, and Harris had added rhinestones to the griffin’s
feathered neck and had made a set of sails out of an iridescent fabric.
“I sewed the wings,” Millay whispered. “I didn’t even know what I was making. Harris gave me the material and a bunch of instructions. I thought he’d totally lost it using that filmy-looking stuff, but now . . .”
“He painted Tessa on the stern!” Laurel bounced up and down on the dock. “What a lovely tribute to your character.”
Grinning, Olivia watched the wind catch the griffin’s sails. The golden boat soared through the water as if it could truly take flight. “I know I’ve said this before, Millay, but I’m going to say it again. That boy has got it bad.”
Millay rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. But guess what? If he was trying to get my attention, then he’s got it. For once in my life, I am seriously impressed by a man.”
Chapter 12
Widow: that great, vacant estate!
The voice of God is full of draftiness,
Promising simply the hard stars, the space
Of immortal blankness between stars
And no bodies, singing like arrows up to heaven.
—SYLVIA PLATH
Millay sulked through the length of their Bayside Book Writers’ meeting, and Olivia sensed her foul mood had less to do with the minor criticisms she received and more to with her response to seeing Harris receive the adulation of his pretty coworker.
Harris’s griffin boat had crossed the finish line yards ahead of the competition. During the awards ceremony, he was handed not one, but two cash prizes. He’d won the Sail-Powered Race and had secured a runner-up position in the Most Beautiful Boat category. Ironically, it was another bird that beat his craft: a peacock. The colorful vessel hadn’t been designed for speed, but its graceful lines and showy tail had earned its builders a tidy sum. Still, Harris was the event’s cash king. Olivia figured he’d earned several thousand dollars that morning.
Olivia, Millay, and Laurel had watched in surprise as Harris accepted his winnings and then was promptly mauled by a young woman wearing a Harry Potter Team Gryffindor T-shirt and a pair of denim cut-offs. She pushed her way through the crowd and threw her arms around Harris. Her display of affection nearly knocked him right off his feet, but he reacted with a look of amused bewilderment.
“This is Estelle. We work together,” Harris told the other writers and stood by uneasily as Millay and Estelle sized one another up.
“I don’t think Harris has ever mentioned you,” Millay said coldly, veiling her dislike with a plastic smile.
Estelle was unfazed by the cool reception. “That’s probably because I haven’t been at the company too long and Harris and I aren’t in the same division. See, he’s an artist!” She stared at Harris as though he might walk on water at any moment. “I’m just a receptionist. I got hired because of my phone voice and because I can stay calm no matter how upset others might get. I help keep our customers happy.”
“What an exceptional talent,” Millay remarked but Laurel quickly stepped in and began to chat with Estelle about her favorite Harry Potter characters.
Harris thanked Estelle for being such an exuberant cheerleader and then made his excuses to his coworker explaining that he needed to get going to his book writer’s meeting.
“Oh, Harris!” Estelle clung to his arm. “You’re a writer too? There are so many sides to you! What else are you good at, I wonder?”
Harris blushed and gently disentangled himself from the pretty woman’s grasp. “See you Monday, Estelle.”
“Not if I see you first!” she shouted after him.
Millay remained silent about Estelle until the other writers had finished critiquing her chapter. Olivia shared her observations first and then listened intently as Rawlings pointed out examples of well-crafted prose followed by two sections of writing requiring further work.
“The battle scene was very well done,” he told Millay. “I had no difficulty imagining the sea witch rising out of the black waters. I agree with Olivia about closing the distance between reader and character. Tessa is fascinating but often strikes me as too collected for someone of her age and situation.” He studied his notes. “I realize the traditions of her culture prepared her to be a warrior, but I wonder if it’s wise to keep her so solitary. She has no confidante, no one to show her affection or even share a joke with. The loneliness must be affecting her, but I’m not sensing any desire to make a connection on Tessa’s part.”
Millay sent a withering glare in Harris’s direction. “Not everybody needs to be fawned over.”
Rawlings, who hadn’t been present for the Regatta’s awards ceremony, sent Olivia a questioning look. She gave a little shake of the head as if to say, “Leave it be.”
“Enough of Tessa,” Millay declared regally. “I need something to eat. Harris, you got anything in that bachelor fridge of yours?”
Harris sprang up from the plaid sofa in his living room and crossed the industrial beige carpet to the laminate floor of his kitchen. The entire apartment had been decorated in shades of light brown. Whether khaki or tan or an unattractive taupe, the walls, floors, and furniture was utterly lackluster. As though he were still living in a college dorm room, Harris had tacked a variety of posters to the walls. Most were of science-fiction movies and had seen better days. Water stains and small tears gave them a bedraggled appearance, making them the perfect accompaniment to the mismatched chairs in his kitchen, the sagging sofa in the living room, and the tattered shades on every lamp.
“What are you going to do with your winnings?” Olivia asked Harris as he dug around inside his refrigerator.
He emerged, examined the expiration date on a hunk of cheese, and tossed it in the trash. “I’m going to buy a house.” He picked up the phone. “But first I’m going to order pizza. Anyone object to mushroom and pepperoni?”
No one did. While they waited, Laurel peppered Harris with questions about where he planned to look for houses and what style he favored. As Harris didn’t know the difference between a Cape and a ranch, Laurel used the homes featured in television shows as examples.
“I think the house from The Brady Bunch is the most famous ranch-style house in the world,” she said.
“Okay!” Harris understood immediately. “So the house from Six Feet Under is Victorian, right?”
The two continued to name famous television houses until the pizza arrived.
The delivery boy from Pizza Bay had barely left when Rawlings’ cell phone rang. Excusing himself, he took the call on the tiny balcony overlooking the apartment’s parking lot.
Olivia accepted a slice of pizza, informed Haviland that under no circumstances was he allowed to partake of the junk food, and watched Rawlings through the glass of the sliding door.
Initially, the chief’s face registered surprise, but the wide-eyed expression was quickly replaced by one of consternation. Millay, who had raised her slice toward her mouth, was observing the chief as well. With remarkable stealth, she stuck out her bare foot and used her toes to pry the door open by several inches.
Rawlings’ voice floated inside. “. . . Yes, it sounds like the same perps. I hadn’t expected them to strike again. It seems they’re willing to take more risks. Did this family have kids?” He listened to the answer and nodded. “Same as the Howards. But the homeowners were away, right? No one was hurt?” His mouth turned down in a deep frown. “Dolls?” A shake of the head. “This is the first time they’ve deliberately destroyed the homeowner’s belongings. Up to this point, they’ve taken what they wanted and cleared out. With the exception of the assault on Felix Howard, which I certainly don’t mean to belittle by what I’m about to say, these have been the most respectful and delicate thieves I’ve ever seen.”
Millay and Olivia exchanged curious glances. By the time they turned their focus back to Rawlings, he was staring directly at them. “See you in twenty minutes.” He studied the phone for a moment and then released a heavy sigh. Olivia wondered what emotion had been released into the air thr
ough the chief’s exhalation.
“There’s been another robbery,” he announced as he stepped back into the room. “I’ve got to drive to Beaufort County and meet their officers at the scene.”
Laurel swallowed and covered her mouth with her hand. “There wasn’t another—”
“No. The family entered a boat in the Cardboard Regatta so they were here in town all day. They only returned home about forty-five minutes ago.”
Millay picked a piece of pepperoni from her pizza and folded it in half between her fingers. “What’s with the dolls?”
Collecting his car keys and a can of Coke from the kitchen table, Rawlings paused. “This isn’t to be discussed beyond this room, but this family had an antique doll collection. The thieves smashed in the faces, probably using a hammer. One was left intact, but the mouth was drilled wider and a silver spoon was inserted into the opening.”
Everyone immediately fixated on the reference to the silver spoon. Millay and Olivia began to speak, but Harris shouted louder than both women. “Born with a silver spoon in one’s mouth!” He grimaced. “Man, that is a creepy thing to do. To the dolls, I mean. Leaving clichés are one thing, but the dolls are like little people.”
“They killed a person,” Laurel reminded Harris in a small voice. “They obviously don’t place much value on a human life.”
The chief put his hands on his hips and stared down at the writers. “I’m only mentioning this detail because I want you to think about the significance of these messages. My men and I have been researching the clichés and what connections are shared among the families, but nothing these folks have in common has led us to a suspect yet.”
Millay responded quickly. “We’ll do what we can, Chief. I’ll introduce the subject of the thefts at work and listen as the gossip spreads around the bar. If the Fish Nets crew repeats anything useful, I’ll let you know.”
“Can the rest of us do anything specific?” Harris inquired.
