The Last Word bbtbm-3

by Ellery Adams

  That explains the dated interior, Olivia thought.

  “And there was nothing extraordinary about the Whites or the Carters?” she asked.

  Leona shook her head. “Not on paper. I pulled every bit of microfiche that had any bearing on those families and shared them with Mr. Plumley. Like you, I wondered why he was so interested in these rather unremarkable folks.”

  “If Plumley’s working on a sequel, there might be a connection between someone who lived in the house and the prison camp,” Olivia insisted.

  “That was my theory as well, but those families were made up of fathers who went to the office five days a week, mothers who tended house, and children who did their best in school and stayed out of trouble. They were churchgoers and sailors, gardeners and Masons. They played baseball and went to proms. I don’t see them as book material.”

  Olivia didn’t either, but asked Leona for printouts of the same material Plumley had collected.

  “That’ll be quite a bit of work on my part,” Leona said with a playful wink. “I’m perfectly willing to do it and I understand that you feel protective of your young friend, but I doubt he faces any danger from the house or from Mr. Plumley. He seems like a good man and he is an author.

  High praise from a librarian, Olivia thought and decided she would have to find an alternate means of snooping or run the risk of offending her mother’s friend by confessing that she suspected Plumley’s interest in Harris’s house wasn’t as innocent as it seemed. “You’re right,” she conceded. “I’m sure the real source of my anxiety stems from the fact that Mr. Plumley will be a guest at our book writer’s group next week and my chapter is up for review.”

  “You’re writing a book?” Leona clasped her hands together in delight. “My dear girl, your mother would be so proud!”

  To Olivia’s dismay, a lump formed in her throat and her eyes grew moist. Abruptly, she pushed back her chair, stood, and carried her empty mug to the sink. The librarian’s words had caught her by surprise and moved her deeply, but she didn’t want it to show. Gesturing for Haviland to follow, she moved toward the staff room door. “Thank you for your help.”

  Leona didn’t rise but studied Olivia fondly. “She’s still with you, child. We carry those we love in our hearts. It’s where heaven truly exists.”

  Olivia paused at the threshold. “If you believe in heaven,” she murmured to herself as she walked away.

  Thwarted in her detective work, Olivia turned her attention back to the grand opening of The Bayside Crab House. She arrived at the restaurant in a sour mood that neither the smell of fresh paint nor the sight of the banners announcing opening day could dispel. The visit to the library had raised too many old memories, and Olivia disliked how vulnerable she felt whenever the past collided with the present. Failing to discover what Nick Plumley was after was extremely frustrating, but since April Howard was waiting, eager to show off the restaurant’s interior, Olivia did her best to adopt an amicable expression.

  The Bayside Crab House was a formidable structure. The entrance, with its heavy wood entry doors flanked by rows of porthole windows, faced Water Street. Customers would enter under a cheerful red awning, pass by oversized planters brimming with coleus, red geranium, and marigolds, and finally step up onto a gentle ramp built to feel like a dock. Ship’s anchors partially submerged in a sea of blue gravel surrounded both sides of the makeshift wharf.

  Olivia had decided to maintain the original appearance of the warehouse by keeping the clapboard the same dolphin gray hue. Most of the wall space to the right of the entrance now featured an electrified sign bearing the restaurant’s name and the image of a smiling neon red crab.

  Inside, the tables, chairs, and floor were of pine, but the uniform appearance of yellowish wood complemented the bright, checkered tablecloths, red napkins, and multicolored nautical flags pinned to the walls.

  A large bar area occupied the length of the left-hand wall and featured five television screens and a small stage where local musicians would perform on weekend nights. Nautical pennants dangled a few feet above a mirror reflecting an impressive pyramid of liquor bottles. Old barrels, sawed in half and turned on their sides, served as storage vessels for the restaurant’s wine selection.

  “It’s perfect,” Olivia told April, allowing a sigh of satisfaction to escape from between her lips. “You’ve done an amazing job.”

  April smiled. “I’ll probably never pour so much of myself into a project again, but it was worth it. This building helped me put myself together. The least I could do was return the favor.”

  “And I hear Clyde’s taken you on as a full-time employee. You’ll be working for the best contractor in town. Congratulations.”

  “Yep. I’m the first woman on his team,” April replied proudly.

  Olivia shook her head. “About time he came to his senses. Come on, Haviland, let’s check out the outdoor seating area.”

  April moved ahead of the pair and opened a set of double doors leading to the deck with a triumphant flourish. Immediately, the jovial sound of fiddle music burst into the air.

  “What’s going on?” Olivia stepped out onto the expansive deck and immediately smelled jasmine. Pots of the vine bearing heady yellow flowers flanked the doors and had grown halfway up the lattice trellis that covered the deck. Thousands of tiny white electric lights shone down from the trellis’s frame and would compete with the stars on clear summer nights.

  At one end, a fiddler was swaying on the balls of his feet while a young woman bobbed her head in time with the music. The fiddler dipped his chin her way, and she lifted a pennywhistle and effortlessly fell into harmony with his jaunty tune.

  The Bayside Book Writers, seated at a large picnic table in the center of the deck, began to clap, and the musicians responded to their encouragement by putting even more energy into the song.

  “Welcome aboard!” Millay shouted. She rose to her feet and saluted Olivia with a glass of beer. Haviland darted toward the table, clearly hoping to escape the high pitch of the pennywhistle. The lucky poodle was greeted warmly by Laurel, who slipped him something under the table and stroked his black fur.

  “I kind of feel like we’re embarking on an ocean voyage,” Laurel said. “A feast before we set off to raid and pillage.”

  Harris gestured at Rawlings with a king crab claw. “Sounds like your book, Chief.”

  “Congratulations, Olivia.” Rawlings also stood and gave her a warm smile. “This place is going to be a hit.”

  At that moment, Hudson walked onto the deck carrying a pair of oval platters filled with crab cakes, lobster tail, and fried shrimp. Kim followed behind bearing a bowl of cheese grits and a basket of hushpuppies.

  “Caitlyn’s eating in the kitchen,” Kim whispered in Olivia’s ear. “Too many people for her liking.”

  “I’ll bring Haviland back to keep her company,” Olivia replied and then indicated the food-laden table. “I take it this impromptu party is your idea.”

  Kim shrugged, her face pink with happiness. “What better way to test the kitchen before the big day?”

  Rawlings pulled out the chair placed at the end of the table and bowed gallantly at Olivia. Their eyes met, and as always, Olivia found it difficult to look away. “Thank you,” she said as he laid a napkin on her lap and then let his fingertips linger on the nape of her neck long enough to send a shiver down her spine.

  Millay handed her a glass of beer. “A toast to vats of melted butter and food you can hit with a hammer!”

  The company shouted a hearty, “Here! Here!” and then eagerly began to pass dishes around the table.

  Olivia waited until she’d had her fill of scallops tossed in a Parmesan cream sauce, Creole-style crab cakes, and Hudson’s homemade slaw before taking Haviland into the kitchen. “Someone wanted to see you,” she told Caitlyn. “Do you think there are any leftovers for a hungry poodle?”

  Caitlyn nodded shyly. “I could fix him something.”

  “That
would be splendid. No shrimp though. Too many of those aren’t good for his tummy.” Olivia walked around the kitchen, newly christened with dirty pots, remnants of steam, and a blend of scents, the most notable being crabmeat and cayenne.

  Hudson had made the entire meal himself, and Olivia was impressed by his versatility. She was also relieved that she’d trusted her instincts in offering him the manager’s job, but he told her that he was meant to wear an apron, not a jacket and tie. He’d hired several assistant cooks but told her that he planned to be in the kitchen as much as possible.

  “I can run the place a helluva lot better from behind a stove,” he’d said. “If the food isn’t right, folks won’t come back. Kim’ll do the books. She can’t boil an egg, but she’s got a good head for numbers.”

  “Can she handle that responsibility with a newborn at home?” Olivia had asked.

  “She’s juggled more than that before. We’ll make this place our second home, you’ll see.” Hudson had put a hand on her shoulder to reinforce his point, and for once, Olivia backed down. She could tell that her brother and his wife were completely dedicated to seeing that The Bayside Crab House was a success.

  So far, Kim had managed the preopening pressure without difficulty, but her due date was only days away, and tonight she was looking worn to a nub. When she came into the kitchen to fetch extra bowls of melted butter, she leaned heavily on the counter near Caitlyn. Her eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and the skin on her face had a sallow tinge. When Olivia looked down at her sister-in-law’s ankles, she gasped.

  “Kim, look how swollen you are!” Olivia pushed a stack of empty crates across the floor and gestured at them. “Sit down on this stool and put your feet up this instant. I’ll bring the damn butter out.” She locked eyes with Caitlyn. “You watch your mother. Do not let her get up. Your shift is over, Kim!” Olivia was angry with Hudson, not Kim, and forced herself to speak more gently. “Thank you for arranging this for me. I’m really thrilled by all you and Hudson have accomplished, but you need to go home. I don’t want my niece or nephew being born on my new floor.”

  Outside, Olivia dumped the butter unceremoniously on the table and glared at Hudson. “Your wife needs to lie down. Her legs look like tree trunks, and she’s so exhausted she can barely hold her head up.”

  Hudson didn’t respond. Instead, he shrugged and took a long pull from his beer bottle. As Olivia felt her indignation mounting, Rawlings put a hand on Hudson’s shoulder. “We’ll take care of the dishes. It’s the least we can do after you’ve served us a feast fit for Poseidon himself.” He gave Hudson a coaxing smile. “Go on, man. You deserve to spend the rest of this fine evening watching a ball game on TV.”

  Laurel and Millay hugged the gruff cook, and he was clearly startled to be the recipient of their affection. He didn’t return the embraces, but there was a smile in his eyes and he gave Olivia a nearly imperceptible nod as he passed.

  Olivia turned to Rawlings, wanting to demonstrate her gratitude with a look, but his eyes were focused on the remnants of food on his plate. For a moment, she wished they were alone together. No friends, no musicians, no family members, just the two of them sharing a meal beneath the open sky and the glimmer of tiny white lights.

  Yet she’d decided to push him away, closing herself off to possible heartbreak. Her life was too complicated for anything other than a one-night stand, and she knew that Rawlings would never enter into a shallow relationship. He wanted to know her, body and soul, and she’d placed her privacy above his feelings.

  As she watched Rawlings now, however, she felt her flesh humming with desire for him. She imagined being pressed against his bearlike chest, exposing deeply concealed feelings to the man, but fantasy was as far as she was willing to go.

  I belong only to myself. If the trade-off for independence is loneliness, then I’ll be lonely.

  The mention of Nick Plumley’s name brought an end to Olivia’s ruminations.

  “What did you say?” she asked Harris.

  “Nick’s coming over to pick up my manuscript on Tuesday. He’s going to read the whole thing! Isn’t that awesome?”

  Olivia raised her brows. “He’s coming to the office or to your house?”

  “The house. He’s going to hang out and read while I paint the living room. I told him I’d taken a personal day from work and that things were going to be chaotic because the floor guys will be laying tile in the kitchen and removing the nasty carpet from the stairs.” Harris winked at her. “All thanks to a friend who gave me a grade-A, killer housewarming present.”

  “How sweet of Mr. Plumley,” Laurel stated, stacking dirty dishes into a tall pile. “We all think of him as this rich and famous novelist, but he’s only human, and it sounds like he’s looking to make some new friends.” She grabbed the stack of dishes and headed inside, signaling the end of the party.

  After making sure she and the Bayside Book Writers had left the restaurant kitchen spotlessly clean, Olivia and Haviland headed home. Instead of going inside, the pair strolled along the beach. Olivia removed her shoes and stepped into the cold water, staring at the distant lights of the boats in the harbor and the illuminated windows of town buildings.

  Olivia considered Laurel’s words about the celebrity writer. Was Plumley lonely? Had she completely misjudged him? Being a writer could be a lonely existence, and not everyone cherished solitude like she did. Perhaps he was looking for a little companionship.

  By the time Haviland was ready to call it a night, Olivia had grown bored of brooding.

  “I’m a hypocrite,” she told the poodle. “Just because Plumley’s rich and acts a bit eccentric doesn’t mean he’s full of character flaws. People have judged me by the same standards and I’ve resented them for it. Starting tomorrow, I will try to get to know Nick Plumley. Maybe then, he’ll willingly share his secrets.”

  After kissing Haviland on the nose, Olivia collected her shoes and turned toward home, where she planned to slip between her cool, clean sheets and allow the whisper of the surf to ease her into a dreamless sleep.

  It would be the last restful night she would have for a long time to come.

  Chapter 5

  It is the spectator, and not life, that art really mirrors.

  —OSCAR WILDE

  By Tuesday, Olivia hadn’t even looked at the chapter she was supposed to e-mail to her critique group by Friday morning. The Bayside Crab House was set to have its grand opening on Friday night, and a million tiny details had to be seen to before the mayor cut the yellow ribbon and eager diners were treated to a half-price menu and a free pint of beer.

  From the beginning, Olivia decided that the crab house would not accept reservations. The new hostess was trained to create a wait list and encourage hungry patrons to linger in the bar until their names were called. It was a time-honored trick in the restaurant business to funnel customers into the bar, as the sale of alcohol was more profitable than that of the food. Of course Olivia planned to sell a great deal of both and hoped to create a loyal customer base like The Boot Top Bistro enjoyed.

  After a brisk walk on the beach, Olivia drove into town and headed to Grumpy’s for breakfast, which she planned to follow by a marathon writing session. She dined on a short stack of fluffy whole-wheat pancakes bursting with tart raspberries, blackberries, and blueberries. Haviland filled his belly with scrambled eggs and beef and then stretched out on the floor to take a nap. Olivia smiled indulgently as the poodle got comfortably settled, and then booted up her laptop. She read the last couple of paragraphs she’d written and the diner quickly faded away as the world of her Egyptian courtesan drew her in.

  In Olivia’s previous chapter, the mighty and powerful pharaoh, Ramses the Great, had decided to include Kamila in the small entourage accompanying him on a trip to Thebes. The king planned to inspect the progress of his tomb and to make certain that the priests he’d hired to care for the tomb of his father, Seti I, were being diligent in their duties.

 
; Kamila traveled with the other high-ranking servants and did not see the king. She wasn’t called to Pharaoh’s tent until the third night of their stay in Thebes, and only then was she washed, oiled, perfumed, and dressed in a nearly transparent white shift. A wig was placed on her shaved head, and her eyes were rimmed with kohl and painted with a powder of green malachite. Lastly, a ring of lotus blossoms encircled her neck. The king was particularly fond of the flower’s heady scent.

  Olivia was so lost in the scene that the sounds of clinking silverware and conversation fell away. Raising her hands, she began to type.

  The tent of Ramses II was richly decorated. Lush carpets covered the ground, and chairs, tables, and a bed made of ebony and gold stood against the rear wall. Servants had laid out bowls of honeyed dates and pitchers of water and wine. Incense burned in every corner, and Kamila felt a little dizzy as she fell to her knees and prostrated before the Living God.

  “Come,” he told her in his rich voice. He gestured at a rug made of leopard pelts. “Sit.”

  Kamila did as Pharaoh commanded, keeping her shift drawn demurely over her legs. She was a concubine and belonged to the king, but since he had never claimed his right, she felt like a shy child in his presence. It was true that Ramses called her to his bedchamber more than any of the other girls, but he never touched her. Instead, she sang to him, told him the palace gossip, or was defeated by him in games of senet.

  The concubines knew the king was besotted with his beautiful wife, yet it was also his duty to sire as many heirs as possible to strengthen his legacy and the greatness of Egypt. Kamila had watched with ill-disguised envy while the bellies of other girls swelled with the king’s child and had tasted a bitterness she’d never known before when confronted with these fortunate concubines. They’d languish in the women’s quarters of the palace wearing smug, contented smiles, knowing their futures were secured.