A Deadly Cliche bbtbm-2

by Ellery Adams

  Rawlings shrugged and reached out for the doorknob. “I really don’t know. I’ve had men calling pawnshops and auction galleries up and down the East Coast looking for the missing artwork and we’ve had no luck. Unless you know of a black market for electronics, I’m not sure what you can do.”

  “We can focus on the clichés,” Olivia answered. “These families have been chosen for a reason. They’re well off so they’re profitable targets, but I think there’s something personal about these crimes too.”

  Laurel cocked her head and considered what Olivia had said. “I agree, but I’m not sure why. I think what they did to the dolls shows that they’re angry.”

  “Perhaps the four of you could write down some theories. I value your opinions. I need to go.” Rawlings gestured at a manila folder on the table. “That’s my first chapter, not just ten copies of page one. If you’re willing to give me another chance, I’d welcome your critiques at our next meeting.”

  “Of course we are!” Laurel smiled at him tenderly. “Chief, I’m going to interview April Howard tomorrow. If she thinks of anything she forgot to mention, I’ll be sure to pass it along to you.”

  Rawlings thanked her and then left. Millay followed shortly afterward, saying that she had a few errands to run before her shift. Laurel and Olivia congratulated Harris again on his victory and headed out as well, both more somber than they had been upon first entering the apartment. Even Haviland exited the apartment without a spring to his step.

  “I’m coming with you tomorrow,” Olivia told Laurel as she let Haviland into the Range Rover.

  “Good,” Laurel answered and drove away.

  Olivia felt restless, but didn’t want to spend the afternoon wandering up and down the beach near her house. She felt compelled to sit amid a group of strangers, to listen to their murmurs without being a part of the conversation and to silently observe their mannerisms as if the smallest action or expression might reveal the motives of the thieves.

  Without thinking much about it, Olivia found herself searching for a parking spot in front of Through the Wardrobe. The store was packed. Flynn was working the floor while Jenna, his attractive assistant, rang up a line of patient customers with a warm smile.

  Flynn kept a close eye on the comings and goings of his customers and it wasn’t long before he appeared at Olivia’s side. “Can I tell you how much I love the Cardboard Regatta?” He spoke in a hushed voice. “I was all ready to settle down for months of tedium and an empty bank account. I had visions of six months of meals consisting of raw spaghetti and water.”

  Laughing, Olivia gestured at the dozen people waiting to pay for books. “You could probably treat yourself to at least one steak this winter.” She led him to a relatively private nook between two massive wardrobes.

  Flynn took her elbow and growled. “What are we doing back here? Something naughty, I hope.”

  Olivia scowled. “You called and asked for my help. Here I am.”

  “I managed on my own, thank you very much, but I would like to show you what all the fuss was about.” He glanced behind him. “Where’s Haviland?”

  “In the car. I decided there’d be too many tourists with little kids in here. Haviland doesn’t appreciate too much uninvited petting.”

  Flynn pretended to be appalled. “Well, who would? Come into the storeroom. I can attempt some uninvited touching with you in private.”

  Ignoring his playful leer, Olivia followed Flynn through the noisy children’s section and into the back room where extra books were stored. Flynn opened the door with caution, hurried Olivia through, and then shut it quickly behind him.

  “Let’s see if they’re in bed,” he said sotto voce.

  Olivia immediately detected an animal scent. There was a faint odor of urine and canned food that hadn’t been present in the storeroom before.

  Flynn took her hand and tiptoed to a small basket filled with shredded newspaper and a cotton dishtowel. Two kittens were arranged in a tight circle of fur inside the basket. Both were sleeping soundly.

  “Where did they come from?” Olivia whispered.

  Flynn touched the orange kitten gently, caressing the soft fur behind the ears. The kitten shifted in its sleep and began to purr but did not open its eyes. “They showed up at my house after the hurricane, wet, shivering, and starving. I had no idea what to do. I tried giving them milk from a bowl and finally from an eyedropper. Nothing worked. I thought they were goners.”

  “Did you call the vet?”

  Flynn nodded. “In the middle of the damned night! I told myself that these little guys were just worn out and would eat when they felt like it, but they became listless as the hours passed. I didn’t want to wake you, so I called the emergency number and Diane got right back to me.”

  “She’s an excellent veterinarian,” Olivia said, feeling a pang of guilt that she hadn’t responded to Flynn’s call.

  “I have no experience with animals and I had no idea vets made house calls. Diane came to my place after midnight, examined the kittens, and took them to her office. She said they were severely dehydrated.” He rubbed his brow, his anxiety over the tiny animals evident in his eyes. “I picked them up the next day. I checked on them every five minutes like some crazed new mother and even fed them organic baby food. Do you have any idea how foul lamb is when rendered into a gray, pudding-like substance?”

  Olivia laughed. “No, thank God. So now two cats own you. And what are their names?”

  “They have none as of this point. I thought I’d run a contest for my younger customers. Let them come up with a pair of creative names.”

  “Just don’t pick something too cutesy. Eventually these two will grow into dignified felines and their names need to mature along with them,” Olivia stated seriously.

  Flynn feigned offense. “I wasn’t going to call them Mopsy and Wubzy. Give me a little credit, lady.” He placed a proprietary hand on the gray kitten’s back. “I invited Diane to dinner as a apology for dragging her out of bed. I wanted to tell you, just in case you read it in the Oyster Bay gossip column and became wildly jealous.”

  Olivia touched the orange kitten on the fur above his pink nose. “You don’t belong to me, Flynn. And Diane is a lovely woman.” She glanced at him quizzically. “Did you want me to be jealous?”

  After a pause, Flynn answered. “I guess I did. If only a tiny bit.”

  It’s time, Olivia thought. Tell him that it’s not working out between the two of you.

  “Flynn—” The voice of Flynn’s assistant came through the intercom mounted on the wall. “I need a hand out here. I can’t leave the register and some folks are having trouble locating the books they want.”

  “In other words, get my ass out on the floor?” Flynn asked after pressing the reply button.

  Jenna giggled but obviously didn’t have time to engage in further conversation.

  “Your public awaits,” Olivia said and pushed open the stock room door. Flynn put a hand on her arm as she held the door for him. “That’s supposed to be my job,” he scolded. “And don’t think you’ve escaped so easily. You’ve been as slippery as a piece of seaweed since the storm.” When Olivia didn’t respond, he dropped his hand and smiled. “All I’m saying is don’t be a stranger.”

  Olivia watched him walk past the puppet theater, where he paused to pick up a Cat in the Hat puppet and return it to a young girl with pigtails. Her final thought before leaving Through the Wardrobe was that even though she and Flynn had been physically intimate, they were still strangers to one another. And now she no longer desired for them to become anything else.

  The next day, Olivia parked the Range Rover in front of a spacious transitional brick home located in a subdivision called The Marshes. Laurel was waiting for her, pacing in the driveway with a cell phone pressed to her ear.

  “I can’t come home just yet,” she said and rolled her eyes for Olivia’s benefit. “Just put Dallas on his bed and tell him he has to stay there until he apolo
gizes to his brother. Oh, you’ll forgive me when I bring you something incredible for dinner. Bye!” She sighed and gave Olivia a plaintive look. “Do you have something incredible for me to take home?”

  Olivia indicated they should proceed up the flagstone walk. “I’m sure Michel can produce something to satisfy your husband. Pastry-wrapped tenderloin in red wine sauce is always a crowd-pleaser.” She noticed that Laurel’s fingers were shaking as her friend pressed lightly on the doorbell.

  A haggard-faced woman with a small boy clinging to her thigh answered the door. “Laurel? Come in. Excuse the mess. I just . . .” She touched her child on the head, easing him away from her and giving him a gentle shove toward the stairs. As he began to climb, she finished her thought. “I just don’t give a damn anymore. Why make the bed? Why dirty a dozen dishes making a beautiful dinner? Why water the plants? If they die, it’s one less thing to deal with.”

  April spoke in a flat monotone as though she had cried and raged so much already that there was no emotion left. In Olivia’s opinion, April had entered the worst phase of grief. She would have to wake every morning and face the emptiness within. One hundred times each day, she’d feel the vacuum that her husband’s death had created. It would suck all color, all taste, all the light from her world. The past was out of reach and the future was a frightening, black void.

  Laurel murmured the customary words of condolence, but Olivia reached out and touched April on the elbow. The widow flinched, her eyes flying open as though the slight human contact had burned her flesh. Instead of removing her hand, Olivia curled her fingers around April’s forearm. “It will seem endless. They say time helps but some wounds don’t heal completely. You just go on. You drive to the grocery store and watch television and read books you’ll never remember. You’ll cry in unexpected places, eat the same foods over and over, and avoid your friends because they remind you too much of the woman you were before.” She removed her hand. “But you’ll make it. You will make it through this.”

  April nodded. “Thank you. I don’t feel like I exist with everyone tiptoeing around me, like I’m the one who died.” She looked away. “Though in a sense, I did. We all did.”

  Laurel turned her head, wiped her eyes with a tissue, and whispered, “Can we sit down for a moment?”

  “Sure.” April absently led them to the dining room. The room had been decorated in muted greens and golds with dark walnut furniture. “We never use this room,” she remarked, looking around as though seeing the space for the first time. “I think I’ll sell all this stuff. The whole house. Everything. I can’t sleep in my room anymore.”

  For a moment, Laurel seemed in danger of rising to her feet and fleeing from April’s grief. It filled the air like smoke, robbing the room of oxygen and replacing it with the family’s stifling loss. But Laurel rallied, took out her notebook, and uncapped her pen. “April, will you tell us everything? From the beginning?”

  April did. She began with Felix. She shared the image of him lying on the kitchen floor with a puddle of red blood spread out beneath his head across the bright white tiles. “It was like a crazy dream. I thought I could just close my eyes and when I opened them, everything would be normal. Even when I started screaming, I felt like the sound was coming out of someone else’s mouth.”

  It took some time before April could speak again. The thieves had taken the usual items: computers, sterling silver, jewelry, and a few other electronics. The Howards didn’t keep any cash in the house and they owned no original art, so their haul was less substantial than previous takes.

  Laurel wrote down the name of the children’s school, learned that the family had no pets, and then asked April for the names of their household services.

  April shook her head. “Felix had been worried about losing his job all summer long, so we’d been tightening our belts for months. I’ve been doing the cooking, cleaning, and gardening. Felix was in charge of lawn and car maintenance. The only service we still used was the dry cleaner’s and I didn’t drop off clothes unless I had a coupon.”

  “I keep all mine in a special wallet,” Laurel said in an effort to commiserate. “I really like it when those big value packs come in the mail. And we use the Pizza Bay coupons religiously.”

  This earned her a small smile. “We do too,” April said and then frowned. “You know, I forgot to tell the police something. When they asked me about what we’d done over the course of the week leading up to . . . the robbery, I tried to remember all the little details. I made this huge list, labeling each day and every activity. It gave me something to do—a way to help the cops bring justice to my husband. But, of course, it didn’t help or they’d have caught the bastards by now.” Her eyes filled with tears, but she shook her head and blinked them away. “But I forgot something. Hold on, I’ll show you.”

  Olivia and Laurel waited quietly as April sorted through a pile of papers in a kitchen drawer. She pulled out a green flyer and handed it to Laurel. “We took these guys up on their offer a few days before the kids and I left. I did it to lighten Felix’s load a bit and give him the chance to fully concentrate on his upcoming presentation.”

  Laurel studied the flyer and something flashed in her eyes. She engaged April in another line of questioning while sliding the paper over the polished table to Olivia. As soon as Olivia began to read, she felt her breath quicken. This had to be a tangible clue. She reread the advertisement.

  Tired of Mowing, Fertilizing, and Mulching?

  Let Us Handle All of Your Lawn-care Needs!

  We Want Your Business So Badly That We’ll Do a

  Complete Yard Cleanup Package for FREE!

  Just Mention This Ad When You Call.

  GREEN AS GRASS

  LAWN SERVICE:

  We Strive to Make Your Life Easier!

  Olivia could barely sit still through the remainder of the interview. That is until April made a comment about how difficult it would be for her to find employment as an interior designer. “I haven’t worked for years and my last job involved a huge office complex.”

  Diverted by thoughts of her Bayside Crab House project, Olivia said, “April, I’d love to see photographs of your work. I happen to know someone in need of your skills. There’s no rush,” she added gently and handed April a business card.

  April stared at the card in confusion. “I thought you were Laurel’s photographer.”

  “I am,” Olivia agreed. “But I left my camera in the car. I assumed you wouldn’t welcome photos today.”

  “I do want a picture of Felix in the paper,” April insisted firmly. “I want those sons-of-bitches to see the face of the man they killed. And I’m ready to show my portfolio to anyone, anytime. I may want to spend the next year in bed but I can’t. I have three kids to feed.”

  Olivia promised to phone again in a few days, and she and Laurel walked to the door. Laurel, who had reclaimed the lawn service flyer, held it up to April. “Can I keep this?”

  “I guess. You can only use it once anyway.” Now that the interview was over, April seemed to deflate. Holding herself together for over an hour had taken its toll. She leaned heavily against the door frame and rubbed her eyes.

  Laurel squeezed the widow’s hand in farewell and then she and Olivia walked down the front path to their cars. “It’s a cliché, Olivia!” Laurel whispered as they drew alongside the Range Rover. “Do you think it’s simply coincidence?”

  “No,” Olivia answered. “And neither will Rawlings. Bring the flyer to him, Laurel. This is your discovery. I believe you were born to do this job.”

  Flushing with pleasure, Laurel tucked the paper into her purse. “I won’t be needing any of Michel’s food tonight. I came clean to Steve over the phone and I don’t care if he doesn’t believe I’ll even get the job, I’m submitting every article I’ve written about these robberies to the Gazette’s editor tomorrow. If he hires me, I’m going to give this career one hundred percent.” She glanced back at the Howard house. “After all, y
ou can never tell what the future’s going to bring and I want to say that I did more with mine than change diapers and iron my husband’s shirts.”

  Laurel thanked Olivia and got into her car.

  Olivia watched her friend drive away. “Brava, Laurel,” she murmured as the minivan disappeared around a bend.

  Chapter 13

  It doesn’t matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was.

  —ANNE SEXTON

  Her room was still filled with shadows when the ringing of the phone jolted Olivia awake. A few weak rays of sunshine crept through the windows, striping Haviland’s black fur so that he looked like an exotic species of antelope or zebra.

  Olivia grabbed the receiver and managed a raspy hello.

  “Sorry to wake you, Ms. Limoges.” Olivia recognized the voice of Will Hamilton. “For days I had nothing to report, but I have something now.” He paused for effect. “Your pink envelope was passed on. Rodney Burkhart drove down to the port here and handed it off to the crew member of a fishing boat. I couldn’t exactly leap aboard, but I found out the vessel was bound for Okracoke Island.”

  “Okracoke?” Olivia flung off her covers and headed downstairs.

  Will explained that he’d immediately set about hiring a charter boat, but was warned that the trawler, the Ritaestelle, might not return directly to its home port. As he talked, Olivia opened a coffee table book on coastal North Carolina and rapidly turned the pages to the section containing a group of maps.

  “The charter boat captain told me to save my money. For a few bucks, he’d make some calls on his radio to determine the ship’s destination. Sure enough, the Ritaestelle was headed back out to sea. The captain said to expect it to dock in Okracoke in three days’ time.”

  Olivia traced an imaginary line from Oyster Bay over the Pamlico Sound to the shores of Okracoke Island. The distance was approximately fifty miles.

  Even in a storm, half out of his mind and choking down whiskey, my father could have navigated that distance.

  “Are you going to be there when she docks?” Olivia asked Will.