Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery) (14 page)

“You said that the trunk has a domed lid and was lined with some sort of velvet fabric, right?” When Olivia nodded, Fred grew more animated. “Many of the old steamer trunks were lined with paper. If the material you saw was in really good condition, then chances are it’s not the original lining.”

Olivia thought back on what she’d seen. “It was a deep blue velvet. The same color as Violetta’s eyes.”

“Then it’s probably newer than the trunk itself,” Fred said and smiled as Millay came over to take their order.

Fred asked for a beer on tap, and Olivia requested a glass of Perrier. “But make it look like a gin and tonic. I have to appear to be boozing it up.” She glanced up as a group of people approached the hostess stand. “Ah, the storytellers have arrived. Time for me to relocate to a table. Fred, I’ll ask you to join us after they’ve had a couple of drinks. When we’re ready to raise the topic of treasure, I’ll pull up a chair for you.”

Fred gave her a little salute. “Until then, I’ll be happily watching the baseball game and enjoying this excellent microbrew.”

“Look. Rapson’s with them,” Millay muttered to Olivia, her gaze locked on the storytellers. “If he’s the one who went after Lowell, then he’s got stones of steel coming here for booze and crab legs a few hours later.”

Fred raised his brows. “Stones of steel?”

“Millay has a way with words,” Olivia quipped, pasted on her best smile, and went to greet her guests.

Altogether, there were six of them. Olivia recognized Amabel and Greg, and during the short walk to their table, she learned that the woman who’d worn the turquoise caftan to Violetta’s performance was named Sue. She worked at an animal shelter and was the mother of three. The man who’d held the carved walking stick that same evening was a dental hygienist from Florida. He’d never met Violetta before this retreat, and his eyes filled with tears when Olivia mentioned her.

“She was amazing,” he said after a waitress served him a drink. “Let’s raise our glasses to Violetta Devereaux!”

Olivia watched the rest of the group as they lifted tumblers or martini and margarita glasses. Amabel’s mouth was pinched at the corners, and Greg’s eyes were veiled and impenetrable. Both Sue and Kenneth, the dental hygienist, wore solemn expressions. The other woman, who introduced herself as Mariah and reeked of marijuana, swayed in her chair and started to hum.

“Please, Mariah,” said the man sitting next to her. He wore a tight T-shirt that accentuated his enormous biceps and sculpted chest. “Don’t start singing ‘Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds’ again.”

“But Violetta was the girl with the kaleidoscope eyes,” Mariah protested dreamily.

Olivia silently agreed. Violetta had an otherworldly quality about her, and her blue gaze had been filled with starlight.

“She was an entertainer. A fine one I’ll grant you, but she wasn’t a saint or an angel or a goddess,” the man argued good-naturedly. “Now get that drink down your throat before it melts.”

Mariah took a gulp of her piña colada.

“A goddess?” Amabel scoffed, rubbing the salt off the rim of her margarita glass with her pinkie. “That’s how the media will portray her. She was always a media darling.”

The conversation turned from Violetta to newspaper reviews, and by the time the storytellers had started in on a second round of drinks and a platter of calamari, Olivia discovered that the man seated beside Mariah was a personal trainer named Ian. Ian lived in South Carolina and claimed to be Violetta’s biggest fan.

“I’ve followed her all over the country,” he admitted outright. “She’s the reason I got into this crazy life in the first place. I see hot women all the time in my line of work, but none of them could hold a candle to her.”

Millay appeared. After serving the storytellers their third round of drinks, she took a seat. “I’m officially on break,” she announced and gave them a conspiratorial wink. “And no worries about the tab. It’s taken care of. This is your night to be treated like kings and queens.”

“That’ll be a first,” Amabel groused, but her cohorts clapped and hooted, and Olivia was pleased to see that Millay’s heavy-handed pouring was having the desired effect. The group was becoming less inhibited. Greg openly leered at Millay’s cleavage, Mariah pulled out the chopsticks holding her hair in place, freeing a mass of wild auburn curls, and Ian challenged Kenneth to an arm-wrestling match.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” Amabel asked Olivia, her gaze sharp despite the fact that she’d already tossed back two shots of whiskey.

The woman can hold her liquor
, Olivia thought grimly. “I’m one of the managers. Trust me, this isn’t the first time I’ve spent my shift in the bar. It’s one of the few perks of being in the restaurant business. When interesting people come to town, I hang out with them and make sure they’re given the best possible service.” She gave Amabel a little smile and then reached for a calamari.

Olivia fell silent and let Millay work her magic. She plied the storytellers with questions about their craft and subtly flattered each of them in turn. She even pretended not to notice when Greg brushed his elbow against her arm or breast, skillfully steering the conversation back to the topic of Violetta again and again.

“But who would have killed her?” Millay asked Greg, her dark eyes guileless. “Did she sleep with the wrong guy or something?”

A shadow passed across Greg’s face, and he immediately shifted his body away from Millay’s.

Ian gave a theatrical sigh. “She was so beautiful that she could have had any man she wanted. But she never got married or brought a guy to any of our retreats. And I didn’t see her hanging out with anyone special here.”

“But
I
did,” Mariah declared triumphantly. “Well, I didn’t see him, but I
heard
him. Violetta had a man in her hotel room Thursday night.” Her speech was slightly slurred. “And he didn’t come to talk either. My room’s right next to hers so I got an earful. Violetta’s lover was
very
passionate. Lots of stamina.” She stroked Ian’s huge bicep and gave him a suggestive smile.

“Who was her mystery man?” Millay asked.

Mariah shrugged. “She didn’t exactly call out his name, sweetheart.” Giggling, she took another sip of her drink.

Olivia decided she’d better have some food brought to the table or the storytellers would become too inebriated to talk. She signaled a waiter who returned to the table several minutes later carrying servings of roasted shrimp cocktail with a spicy orange-tomato dipping sauce. By the time the shrimp cocktail was gone and the group had been given a salad tossed with fresh avocado and mango, Olivia still couldn’t tell if any of the men at the table had been with Violetta Thursday night. Not one of them had given themselves away with a guilty glance or a fleeting look of anguish.

If not them, then who?
Olivia thought.
Lowell? Had he been his boss’s lover? Or had Violetta invited someone from her past to her room? Grumpy? Flynn?

Olivia didn’t want to imagine either scenario, but she knew she and Millay had stumbled upon a significant detail. Violetta had been with someone two nights before her murder.

“So she had sex with someone,” Olivia said to Millay. “Big deal. Some guy wanted her and she wanted him. The real question is, who
didn’t
like her? Who hated her enough to make sure she’d never tell another story?”

“That’s what I don’t understand,” Kenneth said with feeling. “She was the best of us. Who’d want to silence her?”

Amabel dropped her fork against her salad plate. “The best of us? Please. She had a voice that carried and a nifty blue light. That’s about it. Any of us could do what she did. As a matter of fact, I intend to do just that.”

“You do have the same eyes,” Greg pointed out, and Amabel shot him a dirty look before tossing back another shot of whiskey.

“Wow, that’s true!” Sue exclaimed. “You could almost pass for her sister.”

Amabel glared at the other storyteller. “Yeah. Almost.”

“You didn’t like Violetta, did you?” Mariah pointed her bread knife at Amabel. “You’re just oozing negative energy. Are you one of those women who can’t handle it when another female rises to the top?”

Olivia could have kissed Mariah.

“If the woman deserves to rise, then I’m all for it,” Amabel said, sneering. “If she’s not worthy of her laurels, then I tend to be resentful. And Violetta wasn’t worthy.”

“Why not?” Ian wanted to know. “She was a poor girl who made good.”

“She was as cold as a winter night,” Amabel whispered. “She stepped over people on her way out of those mountains. She broke people and never looked back to see the damage she’d done.”

A hushed silence fell over the group. Olivia and Millay exchanged excited gazes, and Olivia found that she was holding her breath. They were on the cusp of a revelation, she was certain of it.

But before anyone else could speak, Amabel’s attention was drawn to the hostess stand. Olivia followed her gaze and saw Flynn McNulty give the hostess a friendly pat on the shoulder before heading in their direction. His gait was awkward and his eyes glinted dangerously.

“He’s hammered,” Millay said softly.

When Flynn walked right over to Olivia and threw his arms around her, she knew that Millay was correct. Flynn smelled like the inside of Fish Nets at the end of a long, hot Saturday night. She tried to pry his arms off, but they wouldn’t budge. “Olivia! Gorgeous, sexy, brilliant Olivia!” He kissed her on the cheek. Once. Twice. Wet, sloppy kisses. “Do I owe you my thanks for the grilling I was given by your boyfriend? For two hours! Hm?” He traced the line of her jaw with his finger. Olivia jerked her head away and managed to extricate herself from his embrace.

“Stop it, Flynn. You’re drunk. Now sit.” She shoved him toward the chair Millay had pulled out.

He dropped into the seat with a laugh. “So what are you doing with these fine folks? Conducting a little undercover work for the Oyster Bay Police Department?”

Amabel stared at Olivia suspiciously. “I thought you worked here.”

Flynn threw back his head and let out a humorless laugh. Helping himself to Greg’s drink, he finished it in three swallows and then pointed at Olivia. “She owns the whole place, Amabel. This is Olivia Limoges. Restaurateur. Socialite. Heiress. Patron to the arts. Girlfriend to the chief of police.” Looking around at the storytellers’ shocked faces, he chortled. “Oh, she didn’t mention any of those things?”

“I’m trying to find out who killed Violetta,” Olivia said simply, never taking her eyes from Flynn. “You only care about yourself, but—”

“What do you know?” he asked, roughly grabbing her arm. “What the hell do you know?” His fingertips pressed into her flesh, but she refused to let him see that he was hurting her. “I loved her,” he whispered so softly that Olivia barely heard him.

And then Fred was standing over Flynn. He put his hand on Flynn’s shoulder and spoke in a loud, clear voice. “I think you should let go of the lady now.”

Surprised, Flynn looked down at Olivia’s arm. “Yeah . . . sorry . . . I didn’t . . .” He held out his hands in surrender. “Sorry.”

Shoving his chair back, he got up, took a moment to steady himself, and then lurched toward the hostess stand. A young woman holding a stack of menus darted out of the way just as Flynn stumbled over the base of the sign reading, “Please Wait to Be Seated.”

Luckily, a tall ginger-haired man caught hold of Flynn before he completely lost his balance.

Millay swore under her breath. “As if we didn’t have enough drama, in walks Harris.”

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night.

—
E
DNA
S
T.
V
INCENT
M
ILLAY

E
veryone at the table watched as Harris helped Flynn regain his balance. Once he stood upright again, Flynn clapped Harris on the back, produced a wobbly smile for the customers waiting to be seated, and strode out of the restaurant. After a moment’s hesitation, Harris followed him.

As soon as the two men were gone, Amabel turned to Olivia. “How dare you?” she hissed, furious. “We came here tonight thinking we were being treated to a meal by a fan of our art form. Instead, you invited us to dinner in order to spy on us for the police?”

“I’m not ashamed of my actions,” Olivia replied heatedly. “A woman has been murdered. Violetta Devereaux was invited to Oyster Bay to attend the same retreat as the rest of you.” She waved her hand, incorporating all the storytellers in the gesture. “Now she’s dead, and inexplicably, none of you seem to know a thing about it.” Her eyes blazing, she stared at Amabel. “Her ending was a cruel one too.”

“Aren’t you guys worried about your own safety?” Millay demanded. “No one’s been taken into custody, so the person sitting next to you could be a killer. If it were me, I’d be propping furniture against my hotel room door at night.”

Mariah squeaked and Ian patted her hand. “Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

Sue looked from one storyteller to the next. “I never thought about any of us being in danger. Who’d want to hurt me? I’m just a performer.”

“Isn’t that all Violetta was?” Olivia asked.

Ian shook his head. “No. She was larger than life. Everyone knew her name. Some college professor even wanted to write a book about her.”

“Alfred Hicks,” Olivia said. “Was he a colleague of yours, Amabel?”

Amabel took her purse off the back of her chair and got to her feet. “I’m done being cross-examined by you, Ms. Limoges. Why don’t you do us a favor and mind your own business?”

Olivia felt a searing rage course through her. “This is
my
town. My mother worked in the library where Violetta was killed. The current librarian has suffered a heart attack over this tragedy. I’m not some bored socialite looking for a thrill. I want to restore peace to Oyster Bay and to its people, so this
is
my business.” When Amabel opened her mouth to speak, Olivia held up a warning finger to silence her. “And yes, I’m fully aware that it’s not my place to investigate. I’d gladly step back and let the police handle this mess, but wherever they turn, they’re met with lies, half-truths, and omissions. The clock is ticking.” She looked at the other storytellers. “You’d think Violetta’s own sister would be interested in seeing that justice was done, wouldn’t you?”

Mariah glanced from Olivia to Amabel and gasped. “That’s why your eyes remind me of hers. You’re Violetta’s sister?”

“Allow me to introduce you to Mabel Devereaux,” Olivia said. “I don’t know why she’s kept her connection to Violetta a secret, but I suspect she’s made a habit of keeping secrets.”

“Don’t we all?” Greg said blandly and tossed his napkin onto the table. “Thank you for a most entertaining evening, Olivia. I think I’ll turn in.” He was about to bid Millay goodnight when Harris came up behind her.

Sensing his presence, Millay swiveled in her chair. “This is not a good time.”

“Let’s just get it over with,” Harris said, ignoring her. “I’m sick of our breakup happening bit by bit. You won’t rip the Band-Aid off, so I will.”

“Harris—” Millay began.

“She doesn’t love me,” Harris informed the stunned storytellers. “Nothing I can do about that, right? So I might as well face facts.”

Kenneth offered him his microbrew. “That’s rough, man. Want my beer? I’m on my way out.”

“We all are. Jesus. What kind of backward town is this?” Amabel gave Olivia, Millay, and Harris a disgusted glare and strode off, but Greg no longer seemed inclined to leave. In fact, he seemed to take pleasure in Millay’s discomfort.

It suddenly seemed to dawn on Harris that it was uncouth to discuss his relationship in front of an audience. Blushing from his neck to the roots of his hair, he looked at Millay and jerked his thumb toward the bar. “Should we continue this over a drink?”

“Hasn’t he had enough?” Sue murmured to Kenneth, but Olivia knew that Harris hadn’t had a drop of alcohol. Pain had caused him to behave out of character. Pain and heartbreak.

Millay was about to get up when Greg put a hand on her forearm, preventing her from moving. “So this is your man, eh? What’s wrong? He’s not good enough for you anymore? Not rich enough? Isn’t the lead singer of some indie rock band? No, he’s just a regular Joe, isn’t he? Decent, hardworking, but he’s missing that something you can’t even put your finger on, right? That edge. You women want to pigeonhole us. Try to control us. Freaking geld us.” He pointed at Harris. “Don’t let her try to change you, buddy. She’s the one who needs to change.”

“Jackass.” Millay shoved Greg’s hand away and headed for the far corner of the bar. Olivia looked at Greg, marveling over his ability to flirt with a woman one second and verbally abuse her the next. She sensed his speech was personal and had little to do with Millay and Harris at all.

Instead of replying to Greg, Harris apologized for interrupting the party, performed an awkward little bow, and walked away.

The rest of the group gathered their belongings in preparation to leave. Mariah drained the rest of her cocktail and raised the empty glass. “No hard feelings, Olivia. You were just trying to help. And here’s my advice to the police: find out who loved Violetta.” She shrugged as if the problem were easily solved. “Take those two young lovers.” She indicated Harris and Millay, whose heads were bent together as they exchanged vehement whispers. “Is there any force in this world more powerful than the emotions they’re experiencing right now?”

“Ian loved Violetta. Are you accusing him of murder?” Greg appeared amused by the thought.

“No,” Mariah answered quickly. “Unless he was the man in Violetta’s room Thursday night.”

Everyone looked at Ian. “I wish,” he said. “Seriously, I wish it had been me. Maybe she’d still be alive. But Violetta never gave me the time of day. I was just another guy who mooned over her. And even though I can perform in front of hundreds of people, I couldn’t talk to her without sounding like a total idiot.”

“It doesn’t seem like it was easy to get to know Violetta,” Kenneth said in an obvious attempt to console Ian. “If she didn’t hang around to socialize at the end of the big events or during annual retreats, then who could have ever gotten to know her? Who among us could have anything useful to tell the police?”

“You’d think her own sister would,” Sue said.

The rest of the storytellers nodded. In silent unison, they stood up. With the exception of Greg Rapson, they politely thanked Olivia for the meal and left. Greg stared at Olivia for several uncomfortable seconds and then departed without saying a word.

The moment they were all gone, Olivia headed for the manager’s office. Haviland greeted her with loud thumps of his tail, and she was tempted to drop down on the floor and lay her head against his warm, soft belly. Instead, she took a bottle of Chivas Regal out of the file cabinet and poured two fingers’ worth into her empty glass. After a fortifying swallow, she checked her cell phone for messages. Rawlings had called an hour ago to let her know that Lowell’s condition was unchanged. He told her that while Lowell’s vital signs were stable, he was in a coma.

“He may not come out of it. Even if he does, he might not be the same,” Rawlings said solemnly. “It’s possible that his brain was cut off from oxygen for too long. There could be permanent damage, but as of this point, no one knows.” After a pause he continued. “Dixie and her family have gone home. She asked for you to get in touch with her tomorrow. And there’s one more thing. Lowell had something in his back pocket—a scrap of paper with a list of typed words. It’s incomplete because it’s been torn, but I’ve sent you a text of the four we have to see if they mean anything to you or to your guests. Call me before you head home.”

Clicking on her text message icon, Olivia read the words, “silver, moonlight, stones, and heart.”

Easing back into the supple leather of the desk chair, she kicked off her shoes and put her bare feet on the blotter. She spoke the four words aloud, repeating them over and over, but the only image they called to mind was of the moonlit night Lowell had described. The one in which Alfred Hicks had been pushed to his death. Closing her eyes, she saw the silver-blue snow blanketing the pine trees, and the moon casting shadows on the sharp outcrops of rock.

Unable to think of anything useful, Olivia forwarded the words to the rest of the Bayside Book Writers and asked them to recall if they’d heard them during Violetta’s performance. She ended her message by suggesting that they meet tomorrow after Laurel and Harris were done with work.

“I doubt Harris or Millay will even notice my text. Not tonight anyway,” she said to Haviland and drained her glass.

Since she hadn’t eaten dinner, she headed to the kitchen and watched as Hudson prepared her a filet of tilapia in lemon-garlic sauce. He served the fish with a side of asparagus risotto and steamed vegetables.

“And here’s a piece of salmon for Haviland,” Hudson said, offering her a plate. “Now get out of my kitchen. I’ve got too many orders to fill. If I stand here talking to you, I’ll fall behind.” He pretended to swat at her with his dish towel.

Olivia thanked him and carried the meals back to the manager’s office. As she ate, she stared at the words Rawlings had sent and reflected on what she needed to tell him before the night was through.

On her way out, Olivia peered into the bar and saw that Millay and Harris were still sitting together. They weren’t talking. Each of them seemed lost in their own thoughts. Though they sat inches apart, Olivia could sense the chasm that had opened between them, and she felt a deep sadness wash over her. Their little group was about to be irrevocably changed.

Dejected, she called Rawlings and was unsurprised when she reached his voicemail.

“I’m going home,” she said. “Come over whenever you’re done. It doesn’t matter how late. Just come.”

During the drive home, she pushed away thoughts of Millay and Harris and concentrated on Flynn. Had he been the man in Violetta’s room Thursday night? Had she heard him correctly when he’d said that he loved Violetta? Did he have it in him to commit murder? To put a bag over Violetta’s head and wrap something around her neck as she clawed at him with her gloved fingers?

Olivia was so caught up in this image that she didn’t immediately notice the car parked in her driveway. Because she recognized the car, she was disturbed to see it at her house. It belonged to Flynn.

As if her thoughts had conjured up the man, there he was, sitting on the steps leading to her back door. His elbows were propped on his knees and his eyes were dark hollows.

“You shouldn’t be driving after all you’ve had to drink,” she chided as she got out of the Range Rover, encouraging Haviland to walk in front of her.

Haviland approached Flynn warily, and Olivia let him take the lead. Every part of her was tensed for action. She’d never considered Flynn a violent person. Only a few days ago, the notion would have made her laugh. Not anymore. She didn’t know the man sitting on her steps. Even Haviland behaved as if he were a stranger.

“You and I worked because we didn’t go probing each other’s wounds,” he said softly, holding out his hand, palm up, for Haviland to sniff. “I knew you’d been dealt a bad hand, but I didn’t want to hear the details. And what was the point of telling you that I was incapable of love? That I didn’t have a heart to give away?”

“Because you’d already surrendered it to Violetta Devereaux?” Olivia asked. She stood just out of his reach, keeping Haviland between them.

Flynn didn’t answer. He sifted through the dirt for pebbles and flung them one by one into the dry grass.

“How long ago was this? When you worked for Dexter Pharmaceuticals?”

Flynn lifted his gaze. “I see the chief has been talking about me. I guess I should be flattered.”

Olivia sighed. “Aren’t you here because you want to tell me something? Perhaps convince me that you didn’t kill Violetta? Because I’m prepared to listen. I’m still your friend, Flynn.”

“Are you?” His voice was heavy with booze and fatigue. “You’d think I’d have learned to distrust women by now, but apparently, it hasn’t sunk in because here I am.”

Olivia was tired of waiting for Flynn to reveal the purpose of his visit, but she wasn’t about to invite him inside. She shifted on her feet and said, “Start at the beginning.”

“It was a Wednesday afternoon in the late spring,” Flynn said. “Back then, she didn’t slink around in the night like some kind of vampire. When we first met, she wore this hat with a really low brim. It covered most of her face, but not all. It was only some old straw thing, but I thought it was glamorous. Mysterious. She and Mabel came to sell plants together, but Vi always waited outside.” He rolled a pebble around his palm. “For a while, I didn’t care that she didn’t come any closer. Mabel was pretty enough. She and I were the same age, and we flirted like crazy. I kissed her a few times, but eventually, I began to wonder why her sister wore that hat and kept her distance. I started daydreaming about Vi until one day, I snuck up on her.”

“Where was Mabel?”

Flynn shrugged. “Probably collecting the money we owed her for the plants.” A little smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I stole around the building so I could come up behind Vi, and when I said, ‘There you are,’ she didn’t jump or scream like most girls would. No. Not her. She didn’t make a sound. Just slapped me across the face.”

Olivia laughed. “Atta girl.”

“Yeah, I deserved it. I would have let her hit me again and again if it meant more time with her. She didn’t wear concealing makeup then—she couldn’t afford it—and I thought she was the most remarkable creature I’d ever seen. Her blue skin, those electric eyes, that black hair. She was like something out of a storybook. A nymph. A siren. Something magical. Exotic. Utterly unique.”