by Ellery Adams
“Eighteen sixty-three. So you were around to witness the War Between the States.” She turned the coin over, enjoying the feel of the aged copper and nickel.
Closing the penny in her fist, a thought popped into her mind. She opened the pocket calendar she kept in her purse and flipped to the notes she’d taken after visiting the cemetery at the Neuse River Park the day before. The name Henry Bragg leapt from the page.
“That’s why Jethro’s name sounded familiar!” she exclaimed as she noticed Haviland’s face at the deck door. She let him in without taking her eyes from the notebook. “Henry must be Jethro’s relative. And with Jethro being a veteran, I can understand why he’d feel passionate about the graveyard being disturbed.”
Removing the lid of a jumbo pickle jar, Olivia dropped the coin and the shotgun shells inside. The metal objects clinked against the vintage razor case she’d collected a few weeks ago and the stainless watchband she’d found last time she and Haviland had ventured forth with the Bounty Hunter.
Olivia stared unseeing at the trinkets. “Camden must have discovered something beyond the fact that Talbot Properties wants to build this housing development. He must have learned something about Blake Talbot’s dark business deal. But what? How does the park fit in? How does Jethro fit in?”
Haviland whined and placed his front paws on the edge of Olivia’s writing desk, nudging the computer mouse with his nose.
“You’re right, Captain Task Master. No more procrastinating. I’ll read Millay’s chapter before I work on my own if that’s suitable.”
Sitting upright, Haviland stared at her expectantly. Olivia retrieved Millay’s document from the Bayside Book Writers file on the computer. Haviland cocked his ears as Olivia read aloud.
“Tessa didn’t want to die.
“She stood on the cliff edge, looking down at the surging sea. Her black hair wriggled free from its silk band and flowed out behind her like a pennant. The wind whipped at the voluminous skirts of her white Initiate gown, but Tessa was too frightened to feel the cold.
“She was one of many. Two hundred Initiates would be pushed from the cliff top this dawn.
“Most would meet their death in the freezing waters far below, their bloated bodies washing to shore hours or even days later.
“Thirteen young girls would not die.
“Thirteen young girls would fly.
“ ‘It’s in your blood, lass,’ her nanny told her as she laced up the back of her white dress. ‘You are not destined to drown this day.’
“Tessa could feel the rapid breathing of her Pusher. Standing a foot behind her, his warm exhalations fell onto the pale skin just under her left earlobe. The Priestess of the Initiates began to chant in a clear voice that was carried to every girl and hooded Pusher by means of powerful magic.
“The man behind Tessa took a step toward her. She drew in a quick breath. A pair of strong hands closed around her arms.
“She stiffened. Her time was running out faster than the grains of sea salt in her nanny’s hourglass.
“ ‘Do not be afraid, beauty.’ The man’s rough whisper momentarily distracted Tessa from the ancient words of the Mistress. It’ll be over soon, for better or for worse. May the gods show pity on you lasses.’
“Then, he lifted his voice so that it mingled with the Priestess’s and those of the other men. ‘You fall or you fly. We keep the blood pure. This is the way of the Gryphini. This is the way of the Gryphon Warriors.’
“The man pressed his hands against Tessa’s shoulder blades.
“He pushed her off the cliff.”
The sound of the ringing phone jolted Olivia out of the narrative. She hadn’t realized that she’d edged closer and closer to the computer screen as she read Millay’s opening paragraphs. Haviland was watching his mistress intently, waiting for her to continue.
Irritated, Olivia checked her caller ID and recognized Michel’s number.
“We have a problem,” he announced. “Our entire order of shrimp was delivered less-than-fresh for the second time in a row. I refused to accept it and will never buy from those bastards again, but I can’t leave now to visit the docks. Olivia, I must serve my shrimp grits with prosciutto this evening. A little bird told me one of the food editors from Coastal Living plans to stop by the restaurant this evening. You’ve got to get me the freshest, plumpest, most succulent shrimp in the sea and you need to get it now!”
Olivia glanced at her watch. “Never fear, Michel. I’ll take care of our crustaceous dilemma.”
Reluctantly, she printed Millay’s chapter in hopes of reading it before bed. Next, she hurriedly selected a pair of black slacks, a shimmery lightweight pullover in silver, and a pair of metallic sling-back sandals from her bedroom closet. She hung the ensemble on the dry cleaning hook in the Range Rover.
“To the shrimp docks we go, Captain,” she said and opened the passenger door for Haviland.
The poodle jumped into the car, his puffy tail waving in excitement.
Roaring down the dirt road, Olivia left a screen of dust and sand behind her. The shrimp docks were ten minutes south of town and Olivia worried that the trawlers would either still be out on the ocean or would already be emptied of their payloads. The majority of the shrimpers left before dawn to return late in the afternoon. Olivia was hoping to catch a crew just pulling into the dock. As luck would have it, that’s exactly what she saw as she parked in a hasty slant in the gravel lot.
“We’ve got cash,” she murmured as she removed a bank deposit envelope from the glove compartment. “And we’ve got ice.” She glanced at the large cooler in the back of the Rover. “You’d better wait here, Captain. These macho men might exhibit poodle discrimination and I can’t afford to return without shrimp.”
Haviland fixed his eyes on the dock, eager to accompany Olivia.
“Don’t worry. I’ll leave your window completely open just in case you need to leap out and sink your teeth into one of their calves.”
The poodle leaned forward in his seat and stuck his snout into the salty air.
Normally, Michel oversaw the purchase of fresh food for The Boot Top, but Olivia often accompanied him on his trips to farm stands, herb gardens, and various commercial fishing docks. Michel was meticulous in his selections. He poked, prodded, and scrutinized every piece of fruit, cut of beef, or squirming lobster with an agonizing slowness. Even Haviland grew impatient with Michel, nudging him on the hip with his black nose in a futile attempt to hurry the persnickety chef along.
Confident that she could be as discerning as Michel, Olivia walked down the dock, shielding her eyes against the winking reflection of sunlight bouncing off the water. The roar of the incoming trawler’s motor died down and the vessel coasted toward the dock. With feline grace, a man with a faded baseball hat leapt from the bow onto the dock, a bowline held loosely in his hands.
Ignoring Olivia, he secured the line to a cleat and then raced to the stern to catch another rope. Three men shouted companionable orders to one another, and within minutes, the Clara Sue was docked.
“Good haul?” Olivia asked the older man she assumed to be the captain.
“Can’t complain,” he answered gruffly.
Having spent the first ten years of her life with her fisherman father, Olivia knew the man’s response indicated a full hold. “I’m Olivia Limoges. I own The Boot Top and I’m in desperate need of fine, fresh shrimp.”
“Aye. I know who you are.” The man paused in his preparations to unload and stared at her, his deep-set eyes softening as he did so. “You favor your mama. She was a real looker.”
For the moment, Olivia forgot her purpose in coming to the docks. “Did you know her well?”
“Nah. The missus and me would cross paths with her and your daddy from time to time. She always had a kind word for us. Was a real lady, she was.”
“Thank you,” Olivia spoke after a long pause. “I don’t remember much about her, so whenever I come across someone who does, those
memories are a gift to me.” Embarrassed by her own candor, she looked away toward the blue blur where the sky met the ocean.
“The waters we fished today were the same color as your eyes, miss. We caught some mighty fine shrimp there.” The captain offered her a tentative smile. “How can I help you?”
Olivia explained how much shrimp she required and that she needed it loaded into her cooler immediately. She and the captain quickly agreed on terms.
“And I have a bonus here to show my gratitude.” Olivia handed the money to one of the mates. The man removed the bills and began to count them.
The captain’s eyes slid over to the money and then returned to Olivia’s face. “You’ve got class, miss, just like your mama did.”
A warm feeling flooded Olivia’s heart. She handed the captain a business card. “I’d like you to be our primary shrimp supplier.” She focused her attention on the captain. “If you contact my chef, Michel, he’ll see to the arrangements.”
The captain and his two mates expressed no obvious satisfaction over her offer, but the slight straightening of their shoulders and the flicker of light in their eyes told Olivia they were pleased. Times were never easy for a fisherman, and a steady buyer created both an element of pride and provided a small measure of relief from constant monetary worries as well.
Back at The Boot Top, the kitchen was a cyclone of activity. Pots bubbled and knives flashed as two sous chefs chopped cloves of garlic, mushrooms, and scallions. Michel flew around the room, barking sharp commands, tasting sauces, and consulting his food-stained recipe notebook. Her employees were pink-cheeked and frenzied. Olivia smiled. All was as it should be in the kitchen of a five-star restaurant.
“Don’t look so smug,” Michel cautioned, reading her expression. “We need stellar reviews if we want to remain the best restaurant on the coast. Those shrimp had better be perfection.”
“You won’t be displeased,” Olivia promised. She and Haviland headed for her office. After replying to several emails, she was just about to review the week’s menus when one of her waitresses tapped on her door.
“Ms. Limoges? There’s a man asking for you. I think he’s the chief of police, but I’m not sure.”
“Thank you, Lisa.” Olivia checked her watch. “How did it get to be five o’clock? You can stay here, Captain. I’m sure Michel will give you a few nibbles of shrimp after he’s had a smoke break.”
Haviland looked hopeful. The poodle was very fond of fresh shrimp but was treated to them very rarely. Even then, he was only allowed a few, as Olivia didn’t consider shrimp good for his diet.
In The Boot Top’s luxuriant ladies’ room, Olivia hastily changed into her spare outfit, ran a brush through her white blond hair, and put on mascara and lipstick. Briefly wondering if she smelled of shrimp, she rubbed on a dab of scented hand lotion kept on the counter for patrons’ use.
Satisfied with her appearance, Olivia slung the bag containing her other clothes onto the chair in her office and marched out to the dining room to meet her guest. Chief Rawlings stood at the bar, a martini glass in his hand. He and Gabe were engaged in a casual conversation and Olivia reflected that most people seemed completely at ease in the lawman’s presence.
It must make him good at his job, she thought. To get to the bottom of a crime, he needs to listen to people’s stories. The more open they are, the more details he’s given to sift through.
Upon seeing Olivia, Rawlings immediately put down his drink and took her hand in his. He studied her and seemed to like what he saw. For a moment, Olivia was afraid he’d kiss the back of her palm, but he merely squeezed her hand and then gently let go.
“Gabe makes an excellent vodka gimlet. I believe it’s the best I’ve ever had.” He smiled at the bartender. “And I’ve had quite a few.”
Olivia glanced at the chief’s inexpensive but meticulously pressed suit. She wondered if he had dressed up on her behalf and wasn’t quite certain how she felt about the possibility. Gabe handed her a tumbler of Chivas Regal and she led the lawman to a small bar table flanked by leather club chairs.
“I’m glad you came early, Chief. I’m having dinner with Cosmo and I doubt you’ll want to be here when he arrives. He’s sure to want an update on Camden’s case.”
Rawlings traced his finger down the bowl of his chilled glass. “Please call me Sawyer. I’m off duty tonight.”
Olivia’s brows rose over the rim of her tumbler. She took a sip, wondering if Rawlings was hinting that he didn’t plan on discussing the investigation with her. She decided to feel him out. “Is Jethro Bragg a suspect in Camden’s murder?”
“Life in a small town. I’ve got more leaks in my department than an inflatable raft stuck on a coral reef.” He sighed in resignation. “Yes, Jethro is a suspect.”
“He’s familiar with haiku?” Olivia asked incredulously.
Rawlings’ shoulders moved in a slight shrug. “That’s unclear. We searched his houseboat and he’s got books on a variety of subjects, including poetry. He’s had a library copy of The Norton Anthology of World Literature checked out for a year.”
“Imagine the late fees,” Olivia quipped. “There must be more substantial evidence against Jethro than the volumes on his bookshelf.”
A flash of annoyance crossed Rawlings’ features. “He followed Mr. Ford into the alley. Mr. Bragg is overtly anti-gay. He warned Mr. Ford to leave his town or face the consequences. He made several incriminating remarks.”
Olivia watched several emotions flicker over the chief’s face. She leaned closer to him. “You don’t think Jethro’s the killer, do you? You believe he’s capable of killing and has probably taken lives while serving in the army, but you don’t truly think this crime fits him.” She didn’t wait for his reply. “But having him in custody makes people feel better. The mayor. Camden’s partner. The local press. It gives you some breathing room.”
“That’s a long list of assumptions, Ms. Limoges.” Rawlings smiled thinly. “Mr. Bragg is being detained because he became violent during questioning. He has no alibi for the night of Mr. Ford’s murder and spoke with a great deal of hostility against the victim.”
“So no one saw Jethro go inside Fish Nets? He was just nearby, in the alley?”
The chief shook his head. “He never went in. When I asked him to recall his movements for the entire evening, he refused to cooperate. When pressed, he became violent.” He stared at her curiously. “Any breakthroughs on your end?”
“No,” Olivia reluctantly confessed. “We have no idea what the haiku means other than the killer needed to silence Camden.”
Rawlings made a noncommittal grunt.
Gabe walked out from behind the bar and wordlessly served them another round of drinks. A middle-aged couple walked into the bar area, heads bent toward each other, hands interlaced. The man pulled out a padded leather stool for his wife and then asked Gabe for the wine list. Even without looking at the couple, Olivia knew they were from out of town by their New England accents. She gave them a friendly smile. Well-to-do tourists always ran up a nice tab at The Boot Top.
Olivia was just about to turn back to the chief when two men came in. She recognized the one on the left wearing an expensive suit and confident smile. It was Max Warfield. The Talbot Properties employee was laughing robustly in response to something his older, more attractive companion said, but Olivia sensed the humor was insincere.
“I believe we are about to be graced by the presence of Mr. Dean Talbot,” Rawlings whispered.
“Then let’s be as inconspicuous as possible,” Olivia replied. “I’d like to eavesdrop on their conversation.”
Rawlings grinned. “You shoot straight from the hip, don’t you? Now I know he’s got plenty of female fans, but do you have a crush on him too? Sure he’s rich, powerful, and handsome, but he doesn’t strike me as your type.”
“He’s not,” Olivia hissed, eying the real estate tycoon from her peripheral vision. Dean Talbot had the bronzed, unlined skin o
f someone who regularly frequents both tanning salons as well as the plastic surgeon. His hair fell in thick, silvery waves and he was lean without being too thin.
More interested in examining the screen of his BlackBerry than his surroundings, Dean settled into the chair behind Olivia while Max stepped up to the bar to order their drinks.
“And get me some peanuts or something. I’m freaking starving,” Dean commanded. His voice was nasal and tinged with a Brooklyn accent.
Olivia saw Max’s shoulders stiffen and silently wondered if the man resented the orders he was given. The moment Max set a tumbler in front of his boss, Dean popped out of his seat. “I’m going to take a leak. See to those peanuts, would you?”
Before Max could answer, Gabe come around from behind the bar with a glass dish filled with a mixture of cocktail peanuts, sesame sticks, and wasabi-dusted dried peas. Max, who was busy dialing a number on his cell phone, nodded at the bartender. As soon as Gabe turned away, Max spoke angrily into the phone.
“Are you sure you’ve picked the right guy? He’s already screwed up big-time! Have I backed the wrong horse? You said you had it all worked out!” He paused. “Yeah, it passed, but there’s still the damned Planning Board.”
Olivia and Rawlings exchanged curious looks.
“Look, kid. You know why I agreed to this. Just hold up your end and everything will be fine. And remember, you can’t do anything without me. If I get so much as the slightest vibe that you’re trying to screw me over I will crush you like—” Max immediately stopped speaking. Olivia heard him snap his cell phone shut.
Raising her tumbler, Olivia could see Dean returning in the reflection of the glass. Behind her, she heard the rattle of ice and a loud swallow as Max took a deep sip of his gin and tonic.
“Ah, snack mix!” Dean exclaimed as though Max had presented him with a chest stuffed with fine jewels. “What would I do without you?”
