The Last Word bbtbm-3

by Ellery Adams

  With the smoke gray road in front and a washed-out sky overhead, it was easy to become lost in the cozy scene. Olivia could almost smell the oatmeal cooking on the stovetop, hear the bustle of her mother’s skirt as she moved about the room, and feel the sunbeams coming in through the window over the sink, marbling the table with warmth. With her father at sea, these mornings with her mother were filled with a simple kind of peace, and Olivia held on tightly to the vision until the lights of town seemed to burn it away.

  “The point I’m trying to make is that I noticed the pride my mother took in her work. She loved her job. It was important to her. It helped to define her. As her daughter, I took note of how she felt, and I wanted to grow up to be just like her—a working woman.” Olivia glanced back at Laurel. “I was proud of my mother, and your boys will be proud of you. If you slink off to the paper with the weight of the world on your shoulders, you’re teaching them that work is misery. Yet I’ve seen the glimmer in your eyes when you’re running down an exciting story, and the twins will see it too, if you’d only show it to them.” She turned down Laurel’s street. “You can be an inspiration to your children, Laurel. Frankly, I can’t imagine a better gift.”

  Olivia pulled in front of Laurel’s charming Cape Cod–style home and put the Range Rover in park. She kept the engine running.

  Laurel looked at the illuminated windows, which bathed the lawn and flagstone path with a soft white light, and put her hand on the door handle. She did not get out of the car. “Everything I love is in that house, so why don’t I want to go in?”

  Pivoting in her seat, Olivia asked, “Because you feel that your love is not equally returned?”

  Swallowing hard, Laurel nodded.

  “Then tell that to the person who needs to hear it,” Olivia ordered. “No fairy godmother is going to swoop down and make your problems disappear. Get in there and go to work. You love your job? Fight for it. You love your husband? Fight for him. You want your family to be united? Unite it!”

  Laurel opened the door. “Okay, okay, I will. But first, I’m going to have another glass of wine.”

  And with that, she tripped up the walk and disappeared inside.

  At The Bayside Crab House, it was clear that Millay and Julesy were hitting it off, despite their markedly different appearances. Julesy was tall and tan and towered above the petite Millay. Millay’s black hair was streaked with scarlet and her dark eyes were accentuated with a plum-colored shadow. Julesy was pretty and outgoing, like a daisy growing in a sun garden, while Millay was more of a rare orchid, blooming only at night beneath a swath of pallid moonlight.

  The hostess had been instructed to obstruct the two stools at the end of the bar using stacks of plastic booster seats. When Cora and Boyd arrived, the items would be whisked away and the couple would be led straight to the bar, where Millay would immediately serve them a round of drinks. Harris would already be established on a stool to the right, reading away while nursing a beer and picking at a basket of fried calamari. Olivia had staked out a small table behind the newlywed’s assigned seats. She’d spread out a fan of paperwork and opened her laptop, but instead of focusing on the screen, she’d be watching the Vickers’ facial expressions and body language in the bar’s horizontal mirror.

  Fortunately, the restaurant was packed by the time the couple arrived, looking haggard and cross from an afternoon spent in separate interviews with various members of the Oyster Bay Police Department.

  Carrying out Olivia’s instructions flawlessly, the hostess added the newlyweds to the wait list and then made a big show of clearing off the pair of unoccupied barstools and introducing them to Millay.

  “If your name isn’t called in the next thirty minutes, we’d be delighted to offer you a free appetizer platter. Many of our customers just end up eating dinner at the bar. If you choose to stay, Millay will provide you with place settings and excellent service.” The young woman issued her broadest smile, her face dimpling prettily. “Enjoy our selection of microbrews on tap, our signature cocktails, or pick from our extensive wine list.”

  As soon as they sat down, Cora and Boyd showed subtle signs of relaxation. Millay set coasters in front of them and pointed out various drinks on the menu, and Olivia could see Boyd’s tense shoulders loosen a bit. Cora asked Millay if she’d recommend the Lemon Drop Martini and was given an answer that obviously pleased her.

  “The Lemon Drop is totally delicious,” Millay said. “But my favorite is the Melontini because it’s so incredibly refreshing. If you’re on vacation, you should have both. And if you’re not, then you deserve both even more. And we’ve got a two-for-one bar special going on.”

  This earned Millay a small smile from Cora, who ordered a pair of cocktails and then looked at Boyd expectantly.

  “I don’t suppose a boilermaker would be included in the special,” he grumbled.

  Millay shrugged. “I don’t see why not. We’re a new business, so it’s our job to impress first-time customers.” She winked at Boyd. “Which beer would you prefer?”

  Boyd made his choice and Millay poured the golden liquid from the tap into a pub glass, allowing a perfect crown of foam to form on the top. She set the glass in front of Boyd and then, instead of serving him a shot glass filled with whiskey, poured two fingers’ worth of Johnnie Walker into a tumbler. Her generosity clearly impressed the couple, and they exchanged looks of pleasant surprise while Millay’s back was turned. Within the next minute, she presented Cora with two martinis. The first glowed like liquid sunshine and was garnished with a sugar rim and a curl of lemon peel. The second, and the one Cora instantly reached for, was the soft pink of a watermelon. A pair of translucent kiwi slices balanced on the rim.

  Cora popped a kiwi into her mouth and then took a dainty sip of the Melontini. She took a longer, greedier sip and then sighed. Olivia couldn’t hear the sigh, but she saw Cora’s body deflate as the air was pushed from the woman’s lungs.

  The couple, having angled their bodies in order to face each other, was unlikely to notice Harris or the book he’d laid on the bar by his right elbow. Olivia wasn’t worried. If the Vickers stayed at the bar for the length of their meal, they’d eventually shift positions and hopefully fall into conversation with their neighbor. For his part, Harris was wisely drawing no attention to himself. He’d let Millay exert her charms and get enough alcohol into the couple’s systems before she eventually included him in the conversation.

  The newlyweds, now significantly more relaxed than they’d been upon their arrival, smiled at each other, chatted with Millay, and worked on their drinks. The moment Boyd’s whiskey glass was empty, their attentive bartender appeared like a bottle-welding jinn to refill it.

  “This is your free one,” Millay announced with a friendly dip of her chin and poured two more shot glasses worth of whiskey into Boyd’s tumbler. She then placed a brand-new beer alongside his pub glass, correctly assuming that the presence of the fresh pour would encourage him to drink down the rest of the first beer in a few gulps.

  By this time, Cora had finished her first martini and was studying the menu. When her second martini was half done, Millay told the Vickers that the wait list was moving along at a snail’s pace and that she’d be bringing them a complimentary appetizer platter within a few minutes.

  “Do you want to dine here or would you prefer to continue waiting for a table? I’d like you to stay, of course. I prefer a polite couple like you two to a bunch of horny golfers on a weekend trip away from their wives. I had to deal with enough of that sort last night.” She smiled, her beautiful face captivating the tipsy couple.

  Cora laughed. “Don’t worry, we’ll eat here. It looks like the band is back from their break. We’ve got great seats for listening to the music and won’t have to wait around for a waitress to bring us drinks.”

  “That is a plus,” Millay agreed and disappeared into the kitchen to fetch their appetizer.

  Olivia started in her seat when the band, a group of go
od-looking high school boys led by front man Cody Rigod, Chief Rawlings’ nephew, began the second half of their set with a rowdy rendition of “Get Off of My Cloud” by The Rolling Stones.

  It was now impossible to hear what anyone in the bar area was saying, and Olivia was reduced to casting covert glances at the Vickers as they devoured their appetizer and started in on their third round of drinks. However, it was plain to see that Millay was winning their trust. Judging by the way she leaned over to listen to what they were saying, Olivia assumed they were complaining about their afternoon.

  Then Millay’s eyes opened wide in shock and she pointed at Harris. He blinked in confusion and stared stupidly from his copy of The Barbed Wire Flower to the Vickers and back to the book again. Soon, all four of them were huddled together, trying to converse over the din.

  On the sly, Millay poured the newlyweds another round. Olivia noticed that Boyd was given another boilermaker, but Cora had been served a Blue Orange Martini.

  “Vodka, blue Curacao, and Cointreau. Nicely done, Millay,” Olivia mused aloud. “You must have had that ready to go in an extra shaker.” Signaling for a waitress, she placed an order for scallops with mushrooms in a white wine sauce and asked for a glass of Dr. Loosen Riesling.

  Ten minutes later, with the quartet at the bar still oblivious to the rest of the world, Olivia took her wine and went into the office to check on Haviland. He’d been fed a meal by one of the sous-chefs and was now taking an after-dinner nap on the carpet. A note on the desk read:

  Ms. Limoges, Michel gave me a few recipes for your dog and told me to take good care of him. Tonight Haviland had prime beef mixed with peas, carrots, and rice. He seemed to like it. Thanks, Danny.

  Olivia smiled. “Ah, Michel. I miss you. As soon as Kim can take over here, I’ll be back in my little office at The Boot Top where I belong.”

  Haviland had been dreaming, his paws flexing and shivering in his sleep, but at the sound of Olivia’s voice, he opened his eyes and raised his head an inch off the floor. She bent down and kissed his black nose. “Go back to sleep, Captain,” she whispered and returned to her table.

  The waitress arrived with her meal and fresh glass of Riesling. While Olivia savored the flavorful entrée, Cora and Boyd pushed their empty dinner plates aside and began to indulge in yet another round of drinks.

  “I’m going to have to put them up at a hotel,” Olivia murmured to herself. “They can’t drive back to Emerald Isle. They’ll be wrapped around a telephone pole trying to get out of the parking lot.”

  Suddenly, Millay made a comment and then gave a flippant shrug of her shoulders. Whatever she said had no effect on Boyd or Harris, but Cora’s reaction was dramatic. Olivia saw the new bride’s stricken face in the mirror and watched as she jumped down from the barstool and lurched through the doors leading outside, Boyd staring after her, his mouth ajar in astonishment. After a pause, he took off in pursuit of his wife.

  Olivia waved Harris over. “What happened?”

  “Millay made some glib remark about them not having a kid at home to worry about, what with the day they’ve had. Cora’s eyes filled with tears and she tore out of here.”

  Perplexed, Olivia pressed a wad of bills in Harris’s hand. “Drive them to a hotel, would you? They’re both blind drunk and I’m responsible for their state of inebriation. Tell them you picked up their dinner tab too. Let them think you’re some rich dot-com guy.”

  With a nod to Olivia and a salute for Millay, Harris dashed outside.

  Millay cleared the Vickers’ plates and glasses and then sank down in the chair opposite Olivia. “I didn’t touch a nerve until I mentioned kids. We talked about the cops, Nick, money, divorce, sex, and God knows what else and didn’t get so much as a facial tic. Drop the word ‘kid’ and Cora looks like she’s been kicked in the gut.”

  “Well played,” Olivia told the bartender. “So Cora has something to hide and it has to do with a child.” She took a final sip of her wine and stood up, lost in thought. “The question is, what about a child? Did she want a baby? Did she lose a baby? Or did something tragic happen to her child? And if she had one, who’s the father?”

  Millay fell into step with her as Olivia walked to the office to wake Haviland. “Not Boyd. He doesn’t know a damn thing about it.”

  Olivia paused, an image of Laurel hesitating before entering her own house appearing in her mind’s eye. “Married people have secrets too. If Boyd wasn’t aware of that before, he is now. Poor fool.”

  Chapter 10

  I have lived long enough. My way of life is fall’n into the sere, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends I must not look to have.

  —WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

  Chief Rawlings showed up at Bagels ’n’ Beans wearing a particularly unattractive Hawaiian shirt. Olivia took one look at the yellow and green pineapple print and grimaced. “I take it you’re off duty?”

  He placed a basket containing a toasted asiago bagel smeared with a generous layer of cream cheese on the table and sank into his chair with a sigh. “For the moment. I’m never really off the clock during an investigation as serious as this. I expect the media to descend on Oyster Bay today.” He glanced around the café, quickly assessing whether potential gossipmon-gers were close enough to overhear their conversation, but most of the eatery’s patrons were tourists. His hazel eyes softening, he focused his gaze on Olivia’s face. “How’d it go last night?”

  Olivia proudly recapped Millay’s brilliant performance. “The lovebirds are going to have a hell of a hangover this morning,” she declared at the end of her narrative.

  Rawlings rubbed his chin, lost in thought. “Cora only cracked when Millay brought up the subject of children. I wonder why.”

  “I have a theory,” Olivia said. “If Cora and Nick had a child, then that kid would surely be entitled to a share in his estate.”

  The chief took a bite of his bagel and chewed heartily. Then he shrugged. “In that case, why didn’t Mr. Plumley name his dependent as a beneficiary on his life insurance policy?” He scribbled a notation in his pocket notepad. “This will have to wait until tomorrow. I’ll need to get ahold of Cora’s medical records, and without her being an official suspect, that won’t be easy.”

  Taking a sip of coffee, Rawlings pointed at the framed photographs hanging from the brick wall above their table. “What do you think of these?”

  Olivia had kept her eyes averted from the images since she’d sat down. The smiling infant faces served as a pointed reminder that she hadn’t called Kim to see how Anders was doing. “Wheeler usually displays such tasteful art,” she said. “Yours, for example.”

  “These are more certainly commercial than Wheeler’s usual selections, but the photographer isn’t without skill.” Rawlings grinned. “Still, I’d never have pegged Wheeler as a fan of kittens, puppies, or babies.”

  Olivia glanced at the photograph hanging above her right shoulder. It showed a toddler with gossamer blond hair being used as a climbing post by a pair of kittens. “All this picture needs is a balloon and a rainbow.”

  Rawlings laughed. “I bet Laurel would think it’s cute.”

  Briefly, Olivia wondered whether her friend had had any success communicating her feelings to Steve last night. Certain phrases surfaced in her mind, and Olivia realized that the time Laurel’s husband spent at the office coupled with his hypercriticism of his wife might have an obvious and unpleasant explanation. “Speaking of Laurel,” she paused, wondering how to broach the delicate subject to Rawlings. “Do you remember when you had to question Steve when you were working on the Cliché Killers case?”

  The chief nodded and his eyes lost their bemused glimmer and became instantly veiled.

  “You checked his alibi without Laurel’s knowledge, which was very thoughtful and sensitive, but you also never told me what that alibi was.” Olivia left the unspoken question dangling in the air between them.

 
; The chief scraped his chair away from the table and held out his hand for Olivia’s empty coffee cup. “I didn’t tell then and I’m not going to now. Would you care for a refill?”

  Olivia pushed her mug into his palm, her fingertips brushing against his. They smiled at each other for what seemed like a long moment before Wheeler called Rawlings over to the counter to pick up the snack he’d prepared for Haviland.

  “That dog gets better service than I do,” a sunburned vacationer whined.

  Wheeler mumbled, “Reckon it’s ’cause he’s got better manners,” and poured two fresh cups of his Coastal Coffee blend for Rawlings and Olivia. He then pasted on a congenial grin and handed the petulant tourist her order. “Soy latte no foam and an ever-so-gently toasted multigrain bagel with fat-free cream cheese on the side. May I get you anythin’ else, ma’am?”

  The woman scrutinized her bagel but seemed pleased with its even golden hue. She then took the lid off her to-go cup to make sure that Wheeler hadn’t included the offensive froth. Satisfied, she dropped a dollar in his tip jar and walked out the door.

  When she was safely away, Rawlings let out a laugh—a deep and hearty rumble that shook his whole entire torso.

  Wheeler scowled. “Don’t you have criminals to catch, Chief? Go on, now. Drink your coffee while it’s hot.”

  With that reprimand, Rawlings returned to the table and handed Olivia her replenished cup, but he did not sit down. Though his face still held traces of humor, it was evaporating quickly. “He’s right. I have a pile of reading to do on the New Bern prison camp and a phone interview with Nick Plumley’s agent at eleven.”