Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery) (13 page)

Roxie was about the height and width of the trashcans lining Oyster Bay’s sidewalks. With the exception of a single lock, the front of her cabinet was smooth. On her back, she displayed a sign cautioning people not to share the elevator with her.

Olivia pointed at the sign. “Should we leave?”

The man shook his head. “Nah. They just don’t want anyone to tamper with her.”

“Please do not get too close,” Roxie announced in a no-nonsense monotone as she boarded the elevator. “I like my personal space.”

That made Olivia smile. When the elevator came to a stop on the third floor, Olivia and the man in scrubs disembarked while Roxie warned people to keep their distance. Olivia went straight to the nurses’ station and asked to see Leona.

“You can go right in,” the nurse said, pointing off to the side. “Down that hall. Fourth door to the left.”

“Are you her nurse?”

The woman nodded. “Janet and I are on until seven.”

“How’s she doing?”

“Ms. Fairchild’s recovering nicely. And we love having her on the floor. She’s the perfect patient. Wish they were all like her.”

Olivia sighed in relief and presented the woman with the chocolates. “These are for you and Janet and anyone else who takes care of Leona. She’s a special lady.”

The nurse’s eyes went wide when she opened one of the boxes. “Lord have mercy! We’ll be in an insulin coma after this.” Despite her comment, she was clearly thrilled over the gift. “I promise to share, but only after I pick out my favorites.” Thanking Olivia, she carried the boxes into the break room, humming as she walked.

Olivia approached Leona’s door with less confidence. She disliked hospitals and her bedside manner was lousy, so she was pleased to find Leona sitting up in bed with an open book on her lap. She looked quite normal for someone who’d just had a heart attack.

“Knock, knock,” Olivia said, hesitating in the doorway.

Leona pulled off her reading glasses and grinned. “Why, Olivia! What in heaven’s name are you doing here?”

“What are
you
doing here?” Olivia said in return. She entered the room and took a seat in the chair near the bed. “You’re not supposed to have a heart attack. You’re supposed to reign behind that circulation desk for the next hundred years.”

Leona gave a wry chuckle. “It’s hard when the people you’ve known all your life start getting old. Makes
you
feel old, doesn’t it?”

Olivia considered this. “I don’t have an issue with aging. It’s the way time seems to be passing too quickly. Like it speeds up every year.”

Leona nodded. “That’s why you have to savor those little moments of beauty now. You have to spend as many hours as you can with the people that make you laugh.”

“No wonder you only want to have dinner with me once a month,” Olivia joked. Leona chortled, but the humor vanished almost instantly from her face and she reached for Olivia’s hand. “I’m glad you’re here. Not only because you came to visit a silly and stubborn old woman, but because I need to tell you something.”

Olivia curled her fingers around Leona’s, doing her best to avoid the IV lines. “Okay.”

“It’s about the other night.” Leona had to pause and start again. “When Violetta was killed.”

Saying nothing, Olivia nodded in encouragement.

“I’ve thought of little else since then. That’s probably why I’m wearing a paper gown that doesn’t cover a quarter of my ample backside.” She tried to produce a smile but failed. “You see, Chief Rawlings asked me to think about where I was twenty minutes after the performance’s conclusion. I’ve reviewed my actions over and over since giving my statement, and nothing seemed significant. But yesterday, I was feeling restless and out of sorts, so I took a walk and that’s when I remembered an unusual detail.”

Leona fell silent, and it was clear to Olivia that she was gathering herself to say something that had the potential to alter another person’s fate. The words, once spoken, couldn’t be retracted, and Leona wouldn’t inflict that kind of damage upon someone without hesitating first. And that’s when Olivia realized that she must know the individual in question. Otherwise, Leona would have just come right out and said what she’d seen.

Olivia squeezed Leona’s hand gently. “You can’t help what you bore witness to. You were just there.”

“That’s right. I just happened to be at that place at that moment,” she agreed and sighed heavily. “It was Flynn McNulty. That’s the person I saw. He was entering the men’s restroom about twenty minutes after the rest of the audience had relocated to the lobby. I only know how much time elapsed because of how quickly the crab cakes had disappeared. Spotting the empty platter on the buffet table, I checked my watch, thinking that the town’s highbrow residents were greedy little pigs, and went back to the kitchen to inform the caterer.”

“And then?” Olivia could feel her skin turning clammy, especially where her flesh touched Leona’s, but she couldn’t have moved her hand if she wanted to. Her body was frozen, waiting. Olivia was certain that after Leona spoke again, she would no longer be able to view her former lover as a harmless, easygoing bibliophile. In another moment, Flynn McNulty was about to transform into something else. A stranger. Perhaps even a killer.

“The detail I keep fixating on is this: Flynn didn’t go into the restroom from the direction of the lobby. He entered from the other end of the hallway. The part leading to the conference room.”

“Did he see you?”

Leona shook her head. “He was fiddling with his tie, and to say that he looked distressed is an understatement. Considering how successful our big-ticket event was, he should have been glowing. But there was a shadow hanging over him. I know that sounds like a phrase from an Edwardian novel, but it’s an accurate description.”

Olivia couldn’t speak for a full minute. She could think of nothing else but Flynn’s tie. Had he used it to hold a plastic bag in place around Violetta’s neck? Had he stood behind her, his arm muscles stretched and taut, as her lungs burned and her body bucked and twisted? “The chief needs to hear this,” she said eventually.

Leona nodded gravely. “Would you call him? And stay with me while we talk? I know it’s asking—”

“Very little,” Olivia assured her. “But I’m going to get in touch with him on my way to the parking garage. I’ll put the A/C on for Haviland until Rawlings arrives. I don’t want Haviland to overheat in the car. Is that all right?”

“Of course. I know how you dote on that animal.” Leona tightened her grip on Olivia’s hand. “Your mother and I always thought you’d grow up to become like one of our favorite heroines from classic literature, but you’re more complex than any of them. Don’t stop your character development now. Let my health scare be a lesson to you. Take a risk, my girl. While you have the time, take the biggest risk of all.”

Olivia escaped before Leona could continue.

“Is the entire town colluding to get Rawlings to move in with me?” she mumbled in the hallway, nearly bumping into Roxie in her haste to reach the elevator. “You’ll have to take the next one,” she told the robot and closed the doors on the machine.

In the parking lot, she called Rawlings and told him what Leona had seen. “I’ll be there in forty minutes,” he said, which meant he was leaving immediately. Oyster Bay wasn’t large enough to support a hospital, so the residents traveled to New Bern for their major medical needs.

Olivia used the time to take Haviland to a pet boutique on Middle Street. She bought her poodle a generous amount of Sam’s Yams, a package of Buddy Biscuits, and for waiting patiently in the car while she visited Leona, he was also treated to a granola “Pupcake.”

After a brief walk, Olivia returned to the hospital parking lot. Haviland had exercised and snacked, and Olivia hoped he’d take a nap while she was with Leona and the chief. She sat right next to Leona’s bed while the librarian gave her statement to Rawlings. He stood near the window and listened without interrupting. When Leona was done, he asked her a few questions and then told her he’d like to have an officer type up her statement when she was feeling better.

“I know that was difficult for you and that you and Mr. McNulty are friendly,” Rawlings said, gazing at Leona kindly. “Thank you for speaking with me, especially in your current condition.”

“With this new stent, my condition’s just fine,” she said, brushing the notion aside. “Though I confess that I’m very tired now that I’ve unburdened myself to you.”

Rawlings got to his feet. “That happens. But you’ve done the right thing, so rest now because I hope to see you back at the library soon. You’re one of Oyster Bay’s institutions. We couldn’t do without you.”

“Nonsense,” Leona protested but looked pleased all the same. She waved them both out of her room, and Olivia promised to call the next morning.

Rawlings walked Olivia to her car.

“Do you think Flynn is capable of murder?” she asked, opening her door and peering in to check on Haviland.

Rawlings leaned on the doorframe and studied her. “You’re more qualified to answer that question than I am,” he said. “I don’t know the man, and one of my officers took his statement on Saturday.”

“Apparently, I don’t know him either,” she said, feeling suddenly defensive. “What we had—we didn’t peer below the surface, okay? What about your research into his background?”

“So far, we’ve made two relevant discoveries. The first is this: in his midtwenties, Mr. McNulty worked for Dexter Pharmaceuticals in Banner Elk, a town less than an hour from the Devereuxes’ home. Five years later, he was promoted to a sales position at Dexter’s headquarters in Research Triangle Park. He worked there until an elderly aunt died, leaving him the majority of her money. Retiring from Dexter at the ripe age of forty-five, McNulty used his savings and the boon from his aunt to buy Through the Wardrobe and his house in Oyster Bay. His financials indicate that the shop is operating in the red. He’s in danger of losing it if he doesn’t make a significant payment to the bank soon.”

Olivia winced at the unwelcome news. Suddenly, there was too much of that. Too much negativity and doubt. She didn’t want the bookstore to be in trouble. She didn’t want her former lover to be a killer. She didn’t want Rawlings to call Flynn “Mr. McNulty.” He only used surnames when referring to suspects. Normally, she admired the way he treated everyone with equal respect, but right now the formality angered her. “So that’s his motive, I suppose. The sinking ship that is our town’s only bookstore.”

“Nothing’s clear at this point,” Rawlings said gently. “If Violetta had been in possession of something truly valuable, then yes, perhaps we’d have a motive. But at this point, the theory that she owned some sort of priceless treasure is nothing more than that. A theory. A story.”

Olivia felt herself growing more incensed. “If she wasn’t killed over the treasure, then what? She was a storyteller, for Christ’s sake. An entertainer from the sticks.”

“She was also very beautiful,” Rawlings reminded her.

“Yes,” Olivia agreed after she took a moment to calm down. “Enchantingly so.” She stared at Rawlings, willing her anger to abate. “Did Violetta sell plants to Dexter Pharmaceuticals? Did Mabel? Has Flynn known them all along?”

Rawlings shook his head. “I don’t know yet. Two of my officers are with Amabel now. They have orders to—” He was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. He answered it, and Olivia watched as tension stole the color from his face, thinning his lips and causing the muscles in his jaw to contract. “I’m on my way.”

“What is it?” Olivia demanded. She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white, waiting for what she sensed was more bad news.

“It’s Dixie,” he said. “She says that Lowell’s gone. Not gone as in he’s fled, but gone as in—”

“Missing,” Olivia finished for him. “He’s gone missing.”

Drinking is a way of ending the day.

—
E
RNEST
H
EMINGWAY

O
livia followed Rawlings as he pulled out of the hospital parking lot, his cruiser’s light bar sparkling like a beacon in front of her. He drove above the speed limit but didn’t use the siren. As soon as he passed the sign welcoming visitors to Oyster Bay, he turned the lights off and slowed down.

Behind him, Olivia banged the Range Rover’s wheel in exasperation. “Come on, Rawlings! This could be an emergency!”

But then she saw the line of cyclists riding on the shoulder adjacent to a group of mothers pushing jogging strollers and knew the chief had been prudent to reduce his speed. On a beautiful summer day in July, tourists were everywhere. They drove their rental cars at a sluggish pace, looking for street signs or parking spots, and waited patiently while a gang of teenagers wearing earbuds and sunglasses sauntered across the intersection without bothering to check for oncoming traffic.

Haviland barked at the teens as Olivia drove past, and a few of the boys lifted their heads and howled in response. This sent Haviland into a tizzy, and he barked in indignation while Olivia drove around in search of a parking space. In the end, she pulled into the loading zone a block away from Grumpy’s.

When she and Haviland finally burst into the diner, it was eerily quiet. The Closed sign had been hung, and the lights in the dining room were off. Dixie was perched on a counter stool with a cup of coffee in her hand and a vacant look in her eyes. Grumpy stood behind the counter, still wearing his stained apron. The brim of his “Made in the USA” baseball cap was pulled low over his brow.

Olivia took the empty stool next to Dixie and, without speaking, gave her a fierce, one-armed hug.

“Let’s start with what we know. Mr. Reid was supposed to meet your boys two hours ago?” Rawlings asked. “At your house?”

“Yes,” Dixie said in a hoarse voice. “The fishin’ gear was laid out and all ready to go. Lowell even bought live bait. That’s the main reason my kids thought somethin’ was wrong. The pail of minnows was tipped over, and every single one of them was dead. Lowell was pretty cheap, but he said he was gonna go all out for the boys today. He packed a cooler with sodas and sandwiches, but that was spilled too. The ice was all melted. Everythin’ went to waste.”

Rawlings took a note. “Was anyone else at home with Mr. Reid?”

Grumpy shook his head. “The older kids have summer jobs. The youngest two, the boys, have been at the YMCA camp since school got out, but we told them they could skip the afternoon session to go fishing with their uncle. They went home on the Y bus, but he wasn’t there to meet them.”

“Was Mr. Reid acting peculiar? Either yesterday evening or this morning?” Rawlings wanted to know.

“Please call him Lowell. And yes, my cousin’s been a nutcase since Saturday,” Dixie said without hesitating. “Looks out the window every other minute like someone’s comin’ to get him. He’s made me a nervous wreck.” She pinched her thumb and index finger together. “I came this close to shippin’ the kids off to friends’ houses for the week, but Lowell promised to sleep out in the woods to keep any danger away from the rest of us.”

Grumpy made a dismissive noise. “He pitched a tent right next to the dog kennel, but he’s barely used it. He was on the sofa when I got up this morning.”

“What about the dogs?” Olivia asked. “Did the boys mention how the dogs acted?”

Dixie glanced at her in surprise. “We’ve been lettin’ them run loose. Grumpy thought they should have free range for as long as Lowell stayed with us. You know, just in case someone came pokin’ around. But they didn’t have a piece of some strange guy’s pants hangin’ out of their mouths, if that’s what you mean.” She turned back to Rawlings. “The boys said that Lowell’s stuff is still in his car, and the keys are under the visor. It’s just him that’s gone.”

“And his cell phone?”

Grumpy produced his own. “We’ve both called him a bunch. No answer.”

Rawlings studied his notepad. “I think we’re dealing with two possible scenarios. The first is that Mr. Reid, uh, Lowell, got into a car belonging to someone he knows and that the dogs are responsible for the spilled bait and cooler. The second possibility is that he was taken against his will.”

Dixie put her hands over her eyes, but Grumpy gently pulled them off. He held her small hands in his massive ones and forced her to meet his gaze. “No chance he was grabbed with the dogs out, Dixie. They know he’s family.” He looked at Rawlings. “Lowell had to have gone by choice. He’d had to have told the dogs to back down. And we’ve got a loaded shotgun behind the front door. All of our kids know how to use it and so does Lowell.”

“But who does he know in Oyster Bay?” Olivia asked and glanced at Rawlings. “Do you think he drove off with Greg Rapson?”

Dixie frowned. “Who’s that?”

“One of the storytellers in town for the retreat,” Rawlings explained. “He taught a class at the jail where Lowell was incarcerated. Your cousin was one of Mr. Rapson’s students.”

“Lowell’s been to more than one jail, Chief,” Dixie grumbled. “Was this the most recent place? In the western part of the state?”

Rawlings nodded.

“That’s when he promised he was gonna straighten up.” Dixie sighed. “He took all kinds of classes, read books, and when his sentence was up, he landed that job with Violetta. I thought he was gonna be okay. That everything would be okay. Until he came here. Until he brought somethin’ evil to our door . . .”

“Let’s go back to your place,” Rawlings suggested and slid off his stool. “I’d like to take a look around. In the meantime, I’ll call this in and have my officers keep an eye out for Lowell.”

Olivia noticed that he didn’t try to comfort Dixie or offer her any assurance that Lowell was all right. His failure to do so told Olivia that he took Lowell’s disappearance seriously.

“I’ll lock up real quick,” Grumpy said and went into the kitchen, Dixie’s untouched coffee cup in his hand.

Olivia followed Rawlings to the door. Haviland lingered, nudging Dixie’s leg with his nose. She buried her face in his fur, running her hands along his strong back. “Are you going to call Greg Rapson?”

“No,” Rawlings said. “I need to examine the scene first. Grumpy’s right. Between the dogs and the gun, it would have been very difficult to have taken Mr. Lowell against his will.”

Olivia felt chilled. “And yet you’re calling their home a scene.”

Rawlings waved his hand in dismissal. “Only out of habit. The man could be anywhere, Olivia. For all we know, he could be hanging out in a bar with the other storytellers. He must know quite a few of them after working with Violetta.”

“You don’t believe that he’s having tea and crumpets with them any more than I do,” Olivia said softly, not wanting Dixie to overhear. “Lowell was scared. He wanted to run, to hide. Because he poses a threat to someone. He saw a killer that night on the mountain, and he must know something about Violetta’s treasure or whatever you want to call it. She trusted Lowell with the secret of her blue skin, right? So what other secrets did she trust him to keep?”

Rawlings considered her words. “The manner in which Violetta was killed makes me believe that her attacker wanted her to be aware of the fact that she was about to die. He might have pretended that she would live if she did as she was told or provided him with information. But he came prepared with that plastic bag. He was always going to murder her. If Mr. Reid knows something of import, then he was a fool not to tell me, because Violetta’s killer has had time to prepare for a second interrogation.
If
that’s what’s going on here. Right now all I have are a few dead minnows.”

Olivia pictured the tiny fish flopping about on the brittle grass, their gills pulsing as the last of their precious water was sucked into the thirsty ground. “What should I do?”

“Stick with your plans for this evening. Find out how the storytellers spent their afternoon. Find out which of them know Mr. Reid. Listen to their gossip and banter and watch their faces. And when they’ve had plenty to drink, ask them about Violetta. And the treasure.” He held up a warning finger. “But don’t leave the restaurant before calling me first. I don’t want you going back to your place alone.”

Olivia nodded and then glanced over her shoulder at Dixie. “Find Lowell, Sawyer. Find him alive. For her sake.”

“I’ll try,” he promised and left the diner.

• • •

Too restless to go home, Olivia bought an iced coffee from the frozen yogurt shop and then took Haviland to the park. He chased squirrels and other dogs while she sat on a bench and thought back on Violetta’s performance. Using the small notebook she always carried in her purse, she wrote down any phrases she could remember that weren’t from the Jack tales.

Olivia recorded the part in which Violetta spoke of her father’s warning not to tell a certain story and of how she would soon be turned into a ghost. “She seemed to accept that fate,” Olivia murmured to herself. “To welcome it even. Why?” Fixing her gaze in the middle distance, she was transported into the dark room again. She could hear Violetta’s powerful voice and see the blue light shining on the beautiful woman with the raven hair.

“The last story had the most clues,” she mused as Haviland barked a hello to a familiar golden retriever. “The one about the man who acted like a bear. The man who hid his treasure in the hollowed-out tree trunk.”

Suddenly, she froze. “The trunk. What if it’s not a tree at all?” Digging through her purse, she pulled out her cell phone and called Rawlings.

“I can’t talk right now,” he said without preamble.

Ignoring him, she demanded, “What’s happened? Is it Lowell?”

Rawlings didn’t reply, and the white noise coming through the phone indicated that he was moving. “I’m at the hospital again. Mr. Reid was found in the marsh south of the docks. A fisherman saw his body half submerged in a cluster of cattails. Luckily, the man works as a volunteer firefighter and administered CPR. After coughing up a lungful of water, Mr. Reid was able to breathe on his own, but he hasn’t regained consciousness.”

“Jesus.” Olivia sagged against the bench. “How’s Dixie? Should I come over?”

“Please don’t,” Rawlings said tersely. “There’s enough confusion as it is, and I need to speak with the Weavers one-on-one.”

Olivia hated not being able to act. She also hated the image of Dixie pacing the waiting room while a medical team worked on her cousin. Even with Grumpy positioned like a silent sentinel at her side, Dixie would feel scared and alone. “Will Lowell live?”

“I don’t know. His condition is serious.” There was another rustling through the phone speaker. “I need to go, Olivia.”

“Wait! I called because I wanted to know if you still have Violetta’s prop trunk at the station.”

“We do. Why?”

For a moment, Olivia wondered if her idea was ridiculous but decided there was nothing to lose by voicing it. “What if the hollow where the treasure was hidden wasn’t inside a tree trunk at all? What if the clue refers to Violetta’s wooden trunk? The one holding her props and makeup?”

Rawlings spoke over a cacophony of sounds including the ringing of phones and a voice crackling through the hospital’s intercom system. “It’s possible. I’ll call and have someone check it out.”

“Are you going to question Greg Rapson?”

“I have no cause to bring him in at this time,” Rawlings said. “Unless Mr. Reid wakes up and can talk about what happened or his medical team provides me with tangible evidence that another person was involved in his near drowning, I have to treat this as a case of misadventure. If Mr. Rapson shows up at The Bayside Crab House tonight, perhaps he’ll tell you how he spent his afternoon.”

The implication was clear. If Rapson had anything to do with Lowell’s so-called accident, then she and Millay would have to find out what he’d done.

“Call me when you can,” she said. “And tell Dixie—”

“She’s all right,” he interrupted. “Her kids are here, but I’ll let her know you offered to come.” And with that, he was gone.

Olivia called for Haviland to heel and then strode to her car with an angry, determined gait. She didn’t like being told what to do, even though she knew Rawlings was right. Her place was at the restaurant and his was at the hospital. They each had their duty to perform if they wanted to catch a killer.

At home, Olivia took her second shower of the day. She tried to force her simmering fury down the drain with the dirt and the dust, but it clung to her like a second skin. She dressed in a gauzy white skirt and a low-cut silk top the color of persimmons, and practiced her smile in the mirror. Though her mouth curved upward and her teeth showed, the smile never reached her eyes.

“It’ll have to do,” she told her reflection. “For once in your life, you need to be charming.”

Just before leaving, she made a call to Fred Yoder. Though she hadn’t known the antique dealer long, she trusted him implicitly. She also wanted another person present who could help her figure out if Violetta’s treasure was real or fictional. Fred had heard dozens of stories about hidden valuables, and she sensed that he’d be better able to tell if Violetta’s grandfather had brought something with him from New York or if Violetta had merely been spinning another tale. That is if any of the other storytellers knew more about the mystery of the treasure than she did. Like Amabel, for instance.

“I thought Violetta’s performance was spellbinding,” she explained to Fred after they’d exchanged pleasantries. “But to some of the other storytellers, and perhaps even to her sister, she used her talent to bend people to her will.”

“Isn’t that what all skillful entertainers do?” Fred asked with a laugh. “In any case, I’d be glad to help. I haven’t had much luck coming up with an obvious answer as to what the Devereaux family treasure could be, but my best guess is that it’s rare coins, stamps, or jewelry. Loose gemstones perhaps. Something portable and easy to hide.”

Once again, Olivia thought about Violetta’s prop trunk. She wondered if Rawlings had had one of his men examine its interior. Fred would have proved useful in that regard as well. When he sat down next to her at the bar at The Bayside Crab House, she told him about her theory, and he immediately shared several anecdotes about finding secret niches in furniture, boxes, and canes.