Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery) (16 page)

Dixie nodded. “Please. It’s hard for me to get out of here before two, and I wanna go to the hospital right after we close.” She pointed at Olivia’s empty mug. “Refill?”

“How about a pair of take-out cups? I think I know where to find Rawlings, and I want him to see this right away.”

“Thanks, ’Livia. No matter what happens, I know that you did all—”

“None of us will give up until someone’s behind bars, Dixie. Not the chief, not me, and not the Bayside Book Writers. And don’t you give up on Lowell.” She tapped her temple. “He’s in there, fighting. They say one should talk to coma patients, and I’ve never met anyone who could outtalk you.”

Dixie threw her head back and laughed. It was the most wonderful sound Olivia had heard for days.

• • •

Armed with the best coffee in Oyster Bay, Olivia made her way to The Yellow Lady. The maize-colored mansion, with its wraparound porch and lavender front door, was known for being an oasis of green grass, colorful blooms, and charm. But not today. Olivia hadn’t been to the B&B for a long time. When she’d last visited, her purpose had also been tied to a murder case, so the three police cruisers parked in front of the quaint Victorian brought back a host of unpleasant memories.

After telling Haviland to wait on the porch, Olivia walked into the lobby, half-expecting to see the former owners, Roy and Annie Kraus, stationed behind the mahogany concierge desk. However, the person leaning on the leather blotter was an ashen-faced young woman. She stared blankly at Olivia and then seemed to suddenly remember that she was the innkeeper.

“May I help you?” she asked, her voice a tremulous whisper.

Olivia produced her friendliest smile. “Hi there. I’m looking for Chief Rawlings.”

The woman was on the verge of answering when the sound of a heavy footfall echoed down the stairwell. A moment later, Officer Cook appeared at the bottom of the stairs. Seeing Olivia, he frowned.

“Officer Cook. I know you’re busy, but I need to speak with the chief. Is he here?” Olivia did her best to sound cordial. She and Cook had never really gotten along, but over time, Olivia had had to admit that the young officer was dedicated to his profession and deserved her respect. In turn, Cook had grudgingly accepted the fact that not only was she the chief’s lady, but she and her writer friends had proved to be useful during past investigations.

Cook shook his head. “The chief’s overseeing interviews at the station.” Glancing at the paper in her hands, Cook asked, “Can I help?”

Olivia gestured toward the front porch. “Could we talk outside?”

The moment they were out of the new proprietor’s earshot, Cook folded his arms over his chest and gave Olivia his sternest glare. “We’re in the middle of conducting a thorough search of the premises, Ms. Limoges, and—”

“Just take a look at this.” She brandished the catalogue page. “I think this explains why no one saw Alfred Hicks’s murderer. Someone wearing snow camo ambushed Hicks on the mountain. If you show this to the chief and he agrees with the theory, it might influence how he approaches the suspects or people of interest or whatever you call them.”

The corner of Cook’s mouth twitched in amusement, and then he straightened and threw back his shoulders. It was a posture he often used when Rawlings entered a room. Olivia didn’t know whether Cook was mocking her or not, but he took the paper and said, “I’ll contact the chief right away.”

She thanked him and then pointed at the lavender door. “Is she the new owner? The terrified blonde behind the desk?”

He nodded. “That’s Mrs. Kelly. Mr. Kelly’s out of town for the week. He’s gone to some nursing home in Florida. His mama’s sick.”

“Mrs. Kelly.” The name wasn’t familiar to Olivia. “Has she been helpful? Did she hear anything? See anything?”

Cook shrugged. “You can barely talk to her without her bursting into tears. She says she’s been too busy to pay attention to conversations or to when her guests come and go, but I’m not totally buying that.”

“Well, I’m sure she’s worried about The Yellow Lady’s reputation. Do you mind if I have a go? I could give her some pointers on running a business in a tourist town and maybe get her to relax long enough to open up.”

“Be my guest. Our department is stretched too thin as it is. With a team here, one at Mr. McNulty’s house, and a third at the station conducting interviews, we don’t have time to coax things out of her. Not that I’m sure there’s anything to coax. I just have a gut feeling that she knows more than she’s letting on.”

“You have solid instincts. They’re worth paying attention to,” Olivia said.

Cook arched a brow but didn’t reply. Instead, he turned and headed for one of the police cars. Olivia went back inside the inn and introduced herself to Mrs. Kelly, whose first name was Bev, and then sat down in one of the guest chairs facing the desk. After assuring the young woman that the police wouldn’t trash the place, she asked if there was anything she could do to lend a hand while Mr. Kelly was away.

Bev’s eyes filled with tears. “I can’t handle any of it. This whole owning-a-B&B-thing is just too much. And now
this
happens!” She gestured in the general direction of the upstairs guest rooms.

“You’re not responsible for the behavior of your guests,” Olivia said. “Not any more than I’m responsible for how patrons act in my restaurants. Not only that, but any media attention ends up being good for business. Do you know what else would be good?”

Sniffling, Bev looked at her and said, “What?”

“If you knew something that could help the police,” Olivia said in a conspiratorial whisper. “I’ve been lucky enough to have done that in the past, and you should have seen how many newspapers and television stations jumped on the story. People drove to Oyster Bay from all over to eat at The Boot Top Bistro or The Bayside Crab House.”

Bev didn’t seem keen on the idea. “We have plenty of guests. That’s not the problem. It’s all the work. Getting up at five to do the baking and then spending the rest of the day doing laundry and dealing with the yard. Lee said this would be a break for us, but it’s actually
breaking
us.”

Olivia could see that Bev wasn’t exaggerating. Her hands were red and her fingernails were ragged and torn. She was too thin, her hair was limp, and the skin under her eyes was puffy from lack of sleep. “Can’t you hire a few people? This place is too much for the two of you to manage, especially in the height of the tourist season.”

“I can see that now, but we put every dime into buying it, and then our rainy-day budget got eaten up by new gutters and a paint job and . . .” she trailed off.

“Listen, I know that you don’t want to make any decisions without your husband, but I can offer some friendly advice. If you’d like me to look over your books, I can at least suggest things that can be done to free up a little cash. You clearly need assistance with the cleaning and the laundry. How much are you charging for a standard room?”

When Bev told her, Olivia immediately shook her head. “Including breakfast? That’s not enough. You should increase the rate by fifty dollars for all new bookings. That’s a start. Now, one of my sous-chefs has a sister in need of work. Any kind of work. I’ve met her, and I think she’d be a perfect fit for this place.”

With a hopeful expression, Bev grabbed onto Olivia’s hand. “If I could just have some help, I might actually enjoy owning this yellow monster.”

Olivia smiled. “Say the word and we’ll review your expenses. I know all the local wholesale suppliers.”

Bev’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Hey, I’ve got plenty of time if you want to get to work right now.”

Bev nodded. “I do. I really do. It’ll keep me from focusing on the cops, and maybe it’ll keep this place afloat. Oh, I am
so
grateful that you showed up here today.”

Feeling slightly guilty for manipulating the naïve young woman, Olivia vowed to do her best to help The Yellow Lady turn a profit.

“Do you mind if I let my dog in while we work?” Olivia asked after Bev returned from her office carrying a stack of file folders and a pile of loose papers. “This might take a while.”

Bev pulled aside the sheer curtain covering the nearest window and cried, “A poodle! I had one when I was a little girl. Pollyanna was the smartest, sweetest, most wonderful dog ever. By all means, bring her inside.”

“Haviland’s all male,” Olivia corrected gently. “And he’s very agreeable, so feel free to pet him.”

Bev delighted in Haviland. She stroked and scratched him while Olivia reviewed the inn’s finances. It quickly became clear that the Kellys could save money in several areas, thus enabling them to hire a part-time housekeeper and possibly a lawn service as well. When she was through, Olivia was too hungry to think any more, but she was loath to leave. If Bev knew intimate details about her guests, now was the time to ask her.

“I hate to leave during our moment of triumph,” she told the younger woman. “But I have to eat something. I’ve been up since dawn and am running on two cups of coffee.”

Bev’s hands flew to her mouth. “Where are my manners? Please, come on back to the kitchen. I have tons of food left over from breakfast because, well, half of my guests had to leave with the police. Would a quiche, fresh fruit, and turkey sausage suit you?”

“Sounds delicious,” Olivia said and meant it. She was starving. Not only that, but she hoped that by having gained Bev’s trust and gratitude, she could get her to open up about the storytellers and Thursday night in particular.

It didn’t take long. The women had finished their quiche slices and were enjoying a summer berry salad when Olivia broached the subject.

“I’m sorry that your current guests have been stressful,” Olivia began. “I guess we can attribute it to their artistic temperaments. I hope they’ve been respectful to you at least.”

“Oh, they’ve been very polite,” Bev said. “In fact, they’re so charming that I can’t believe any of them could be involved in this murder.”

“I guess the police will have their suspect as soon as they find out who visited Violetta’s room Thursday night.” Olivia lowered her voice even though they were the only people around. “I only know she wasn’t alone that night because Mariah told me.”

Bev speared a strawberry with her fork and pushed it around her plate. “I wish I knew who the man was, but our room’s downstairs near the kitchen. The only thing I heard wouldn’t help the police, so I didn’t bother mentioning it.”

“Oh? What was that?” Olivia asked casually.

“Well, even though I was exhausted Thursday, I had a hard time staying asleep. So I got up and went to the kitchen to make a cup of decaf tea. I like to drink it on the porch when there aren’t any guests around—sometimes it’s hard to share your house with a bunch of strangers—and that’s when I heard a man talking to a woman.”

Olivia pointed toward the front of the inn. “Near the check-in desk?”

“That’s where the guests were, yes. I sat out by the kitchen door, which means I was right around the corner from them. I was already sipping my tea when they came out, and I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I was too tired to move.”

“After the workday you put in, I’m amazed you ever got up,” Olivia said with a grin.

“Exactly!” Bev’s relieved smile told Olivia that they were now confidantes. “But honestly, I don’t think what I heard means anything. The man was just complaining. He kept saying, ‘She used me
again
. Tonight. For the last hour. She used me and threw me away like I was trash. She took everything I had and turned her back on me. Do you know what that does to a man?’”

“Did he sound angry?” Olivia asked.

Bev nodded. “Definitely. The woman didn’t say much. She just asked if he planned on doing something about his situation, and he said he was going to teach her a lesson. I didn’t know who he meant by ‘her,’ and I started feeling like a creep so I went inside. I have no idea who these guests were, and I don’t think their conversation would help the police, do you?”

“Maybe,” Olivia said. “Do you mind if I tell them? I’m very close to the chief.”

“It’s fine with me.” Bev’s relief was palpable. “Thanks for everything. You’ve taken such a load off my shoulders.”

“It was a fair trade.” Olivia gestured at her empty plate. “Lunch was wonderful.” After promising to send an e-mail with a list of recommended wholesale suppliers, Olivia woke Haviland from his midday nap and left.

The moment she was in her car, she called Rawlings. To her surprise, he picked up on the first ring.

“I hope you have Flynn in custody,” she said without preamble.

“Why’s that?”

Olivia hesitated. She was on the brink of condemning another person. A resident of Oyster Bay. A former lover. A friend. The least she could do was stop and recognize the gravity of the moment.

Finally, she closed her eyes and said, “Because I just discovered a piece of evidence against him. Something the owner of The Yellow Lady overheard.”

“What kind of evidence?” Rawlings wanted to know.

In a leaden voice, Olivia replied, “The damning kind.”

Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust, like diamonds we are cut with our own dust.

—
J
OHN
W
EBSTER

O
livia hurriedly told Rawlings what Bev Kelly had overheard the Thursday night before Violetta was killed.

“Bev couldn’t sleep so she got up after midnight. The man was complaining about how he’d just been used by Violetta. He must have been her lover. They’d had sex, and afterward she told him to leave. Hurt and angry, he turned to another woman for comfort. The man vowed to make Violetta pay for rejecting him,” Olivia explained. “It has to be Flynn because Violetta’s done this to him before. And it makes sense that he’d seek consolation from Amabel. They also have a shared past. And who knows? The two of them may have been in touch this whole time. That’s just another question you’ll have to ask him.”

Rawlings grunted. “When I can locate him, that is. I’m afraid Mr. McNulty is nowhere to be found.”

Olivia sucked in a sharp breath. “You have people at his house, right?”

“As we speak,” Rawlings said. “There’s no indication that he’s left town. His house is orderly, and nothing appears to be missing. I believe he’s around. I just don’t know where. And in light of what you’ve told me, I’m wondering what his intentions are.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

“That makes two of us. Listen, Olivia, do not go back to your house without me,” Rawlings commanded. “The last time you went home alone, an inebriated Mr. McNulty was waiting on your doorstep.”

Olivia sighed. “Flynn could be on a boat to anywhere by now. Why would he go to my house?”

“Last night, he came to tell you his side of the story,” Rawlings said. “He may have more to share. For whatever reason, he wants you to hear what he has to say, so you need to stay in a highly visible, public place until I can get to you. As soon as I have the chance, I’ll drive you home so you can pack a bag. You’re not sleeping at your place tonight.”

“But—”

“I put out an APB for Mr. McNulty,” Rawlings interrupted. “The men guarding Lowell’s hospital room have also been told to watch out for him. Time is running out, Olivia. You must see that. All the players are growing restless, and someone’s going to snap. Don’t expose yourself to unnecessary danger. Just let things play out. We’re close to ending this. I know we’re close.”

Olivia wondered what he meant by that. “Are you making headway with the interviews?”

“We’re seeing cracks in the storytellers’ composures. Of course, those who threaten to lawyer up will have to be released within the next few hours unless we find incriminating evidence in their hotel rooms or cars. I’m going to hold them at the station as long as possible. We have to keep at it. We’ve got to find something to break this case.”

“All right, here’s my proposed itinerary. I’ll spend the afternoon at The Boot Top, and then I’m meeting with the Bayside Book Writers to go over the words you found in Lowell’s pocket. That is, if you still need us to work on those?” She couldn’t prevent a touch of petulance from entering her tone. No matter how much she cared for Rawlings, she didn’t like being told what to do.

“Yes, please keep working on the word list. We haven’t been able to make heads or tails of it, and though I can’t explain why, I believe it’s important.” He paused. “Look, Olivia, I know you’re cross because I’m asking you to stay put, but this town has suffered enough losses lately.” He fell silent for a long moment and then continued, “I’ve lost enough already. And so have you. I just want to try to hold on to what we have. It’s my . . . our . . .”

“Our treasure,” she finished for him.

Rawlings released a gratified sigh. “Yes. That’s why I want us to live together. And since you said what you just said, you can damn well expect me to raise the subject again as soon as this case is closed. But for now, I need to go.”

Smiling a little over the tenderness permeating Rawlings’ warning, Olivia murmured a good-bye and ended the call. She sat in the car for a moment, gazing at The Yellow Lady’s grounds. Even in the midsummer months, when the heat and humidity were at their worst, the inn’s gardens were usually a riot of colorful blooms. Not anymore. The drought-resistant flowers were wilted, their stalks and leaves edged with yellow and brown, their blooms stunted and sparse. Olivia reflected on what Rawlings had said about restlessness. He might have been describing the suspects, but it was how she felt as well. And when she thought about Dixie and the Bayside Book Writers, the word seemed to apply to them too.

“We need a storm,” she said to Haviland. “Something to break the stillness.”

Haviland thrust his head out the window and then looked back at her. Olivia knew that he wanted her to start driving so that the air would rush up his nostrils and into his mouth, introducing dozens of exciting smells and filling him with a sense of euphoria.

“I’m going. I’m going.” Olivia turned the engine on and buckled Haviland’s canine seat belt. “You’re an addict. A scent addict.”

The moment the car began to move, Haviland’s tail started wagging, and his tongue lolled from the side of his mouth. Olivia smiled at him. “I’m glad one of us can be carefree.”

Olivia headed to The Boot Top where she whiled away two hours answering e-mails and discussing menu details with Michel. During that time, she exchanged a flurry of texts with Millay, Harris, and Laurel. At Laurel’s insistence the group agreed to meet at Decadence.

“I need chocolate. And to be home for the boys’ bedtime,” she said in a message.

Olivia read the text aloud and grimaced. “Milkshakes at five thirty? Ick. That’s my cocktail time. What am I supposed to do?” she asked Haviland. “Eat a pound of whiskey-infused truffles?”

Someone rapped on the office door, and Haviland jumped to his feet, his brown eyes shining. Olivia knew the poodle was hoping to receive treats from Michel or the sous-chefs.

“
C’est moi
,” Michel announced and entered. Leaning against the wall, he drew in a deep, theatrical breath, and released it. “I need to talk to you about diamonds.”

Olivia gave a start. Ever since Toby had compared the making of a fulgurite with the creation of a diamond, she’d been devoting a great deal of thought to the precious stones. “Why?” she asked Michel.

“I’m going to ask Shelley to marry me,” he said, his cheeks pink with joy. Before Olivia could speak, he held out his hands. “I know you’re going to say that we haven’t been together long enough, but you have to remember that she and I have history. It doesn’t matter that I fell in love with her in culinary school twenty years ago. What matters is that I never fell
out
of love with her.”

“Michel. You’ve fallen in and out of love with dozens of women,” Olivia pointed out gently. “I’m not trying to put a damper on your plans. I just want you to be sure. Marriage is an institution based on monogamy. You’re taking an oath to be with
one
woman for the rest of your life. Are you ready to make that pledge?”

Michel nodded vigorously. “
Oui!
In the past, I went for unavailable women. I think I deliberately chose unsuitable partners because I couldn’t have the only woman who could ever complete me.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “If you’re going to spout greeting-card poetry or quote lines from romantic comedies, then you need to turn around and go back to the kitchen.”

Haviland groaned, as if in agreement, but Olivia knew he was just disappointed that the chef had showed up empty-handed.

“No poetry,” Michel promised. “But you must help me, my dear friend. Shelley’s been married. She’s already had the solitaire diamond, the church wedding, and the white dress. I want to do something simple and intimate. Quiet. But I want still to sweep her off her feet.”

“You? Simple? Quiet?” Olivia teased and then said, “I like it, Michel. How about an antique ring? It’s unique and infinitely more affordable. Fred Yoder of Circa Antiques could help you pick one out.”

Michel frowned. “A used ring? Sounds second-rate.”

Olivia shrugged. “That’s not how I view old things. I think of them as being pieces of history. Of having their own story. You and Shelley aren’t young lovers. You already share a past, so a vintage ring seems to fit you both better than one produced in some diamond factory.”

“You’re right! I
knew
you’d have the answer!” Michel seized Olivia’s hand and planted a kiss on it. “After Shelley and I are wed, you and the chief should tie the knot. You’re made for each other. You should ask
him
. That would be so modern.” He rubbed his hands together in expectant glee. “Go on, take the plunge.”

Olivia gave him her fiercest scowl. “I’ll plunge
you
in boiling water if you plan to continue to flit about like a love-crazed cupid.”

Beaming, Michel backed out of the office. “
Violà!
It’s this passion that makes the chief so hot for you,
non
?” He ducked as a box of rubber bands sailed over his head.

“Go cook something!” Olivia shouted and then tried to focus on paying bills. However, she glanced at the clock on her computer screen so often that she made very little progress. Finally, she closed the accounting program and began researching the value of loose diamonds. She became so absorbed in this task that she was nearly late for her meeting at Decadence.

Leaving Haviland at The Boot Top, Olivia drove to the desserterie. Normally, she’d walk, but she’d barely make it there in time as it was. There were no parking spots to be found, so Olivia decided to look for a space in the alley behind the shops and was lucky enough to find one right next to Shelley’s car.

“Where’s Harris?” she asked upon joining Laurel and Millay at the table nearest the front door.

“Late,” Millay said. “And so are you.”

“I know, but I had an idea that I wanted to check out before sharing it with you.” She paused as Shelley came over with a root beer float for Millay and a creamy-looking martini for Laurel.

“It’s a tiramisu martini,” Laurel said. “They’re utterly divine.”

Olivia looked at Shelley uncertainly. “Can you recommend something lighter?”

Shelley suggested a peach Bellini, white sangria, or a mango mojito.

“A plain mojito, please,” Olivia said, thinking of how refreshing the combination of fresh mint, limes, white rum, and soda water would taste. “Light on the sugar. Oh, and Shelley. I parked out back. Is that okay?”

Shelley waved her off. “Of course. Gives me the chance to show off my hibiscus to someone. It’s actually blooming! Did you happen to notice?”

“I didn’t,” Olivia admitted. “I vaguely remember a parched twig in a pot from the night of your grand opening.”

Shelley snapped her fingers. “Rats. And here I thought you might be my mystery gardener. Someone’s been coming by every day to water that little tree. They even put one of those fertilizer sticks in the soil.”

Olivia immediately thought of Flynn. He’d noticed her watering the plant the evening of the opening. Had he taken an interest in its welfare? “Was it watered today?” she asked Shelley.

“Sure was. The dirt was dry as sand when I came in this morning but was moist to the touch after lunch. This do-gooder is elusive, I tell you.” She sighed. “I’d like to thank them with some chocolates or a cheesecake or something. So if you hear any rumors about a green-thumbed miracle worker, let me know, okay?”

Olivia nodded. “I will.”

When Shelley left, Millay raised her spoon and pointed it at Olivia. “You had a lightbulb moment when she brought up that plant. What were you thinking?”

Glancing at the door, Olivia said, “I wanted to wait for Harris, but—”

“There he is!” Laurel interjected. The women peered out the picture window as Harris jogged across the street.

He burst into the shop, unslung his messenger bag from his shoulder, and sank into a chair. “That text you sent me earlier?” he said to Olivia. “I think you’re on to something. I got a reply from this geological—”

“Hold that thought,” Olivia said as Shelley arrived with her mojito. Harris eyed it appreciatively.

“Could I get one of those too?” he asked. “And a piece of that pineapple-kiwi cheesecake. I’m starving!”

Millay smirked. “You’re feeling fruity this evening.”

Before Harris could come up with a snarky reply, Laurel plunked her notebook on the table. “Can I have the floor, Harris? I think I discovered a pattern in Violetta’s stories. Not the Jack tales, but the ones she made up.”

“Go on,” Olivia said excitedly.

“Millay e-mailed me all the sentences and phrases she could remember from Violetta’s performance, and when I compared them with mine, I noticed that there were certain words that repeated in every story at least twice. All of those words were on the list the chief found in Lowell’s pocket.”

Olivia slid her drink over to Harris and beckoned him to help himself. She was too caught up in what Laurel was saying to bother with her mojito. “And?” she prompted, believing that Laurel was about to confirm the theory she’d come up with that afternoon.

“So if you and Harris remembered the same words, then we could be on to something. A pattern. A clue.” Laurel sounded breathless with anticipation.

Hastening to pull his notes from his bag, Harris passed them to Laurel. Olivia followed suit, and they both watched, enraptured, as she got busy with a pink highlighter.

When Shelley returned with Harris’s mojito, she looked hurt. “You didn’t care for your drink?” she asked Olivia.

Olivia smiled at her, thinking how lucky Michel was to have won the affections of such a lovely woman. “No, no. I gave mine to Harris because he was so thirsty. I’ll take the one you made for him.” As soon as Shelley handed her the mojito, Olivia took a deep sip. The cocktail was cool and invigorating, and she sighed in contentment. “Perfection,” she said. Shelley flushed with pleasure and moved off to chat with a young couple sharing an enormous root beer float.

Laurel capped her highlighter and put the pages in the center of the table. “We recorded all the words from Lowell’s list. Each of those words appeared two or more times in her stories. Along with these.” She circled a group of words written on her pad.