A Deadly Cliche (15 page)

“Save it for Laurel,” Olivia interrupted and handed Michel her corporate credit card. “Call me if you have any trouble.”

Leaving Michel spluttering on his doorstep, Olivia headed to Blueberry Hill Estates next. Even though she knew that visiting Laurel meant having to apologize for her recent rudeness, Olivia suspected her harried friend might be in need of a few groceries.

Laurel’s husband, Steve, answered Olivia’s knock. They’d met before, but he didn’t act as though he recognized her or the large black poodle nearly glued to her thigh. When Olivia explained that she’d come to see Laurel, Steve bellowed his wife’s name and then removed a pair of work gloves from his jeans pocket.

“Excuse me.” He brushed by Olivia, eyeing Haviland nervously. “I’ve got a hot date with a chainsaw.”

Olivia stiffened as she heard her friend’s light footsteps approach, but if she had expected Laurel to give her a cool reception, she was mistaken. Instead, the younger woman threw her arms around Olivia’s neck.

“I am
so
glad you’re okay!” she gushed. “I kept thinking about you—all alone in your house with the ocean lapping at your door. I must have dialed your cell phone number two hundred times!”

Olivia felt her face grow warm in the face of such caring. She studied Laurel’s red nose and puffy eyes. Had Laurel been crying from worry for her friends? It was possible, but Olivia sensed something more serious had pinched the skin around Laurel’s mouth. She touched her friend’s elbow. “What’s wrong?”

Sniffing, Laurel shook her head, as though frightened to give voice to what had upset her so. “I keep trying to pretend that if I don’t talk about it, I might wake up tomorrow and find out that nothing happened. That it was all just a bad dream.”

Leading Laurel into the kitchen, Olivia sat her down at the breakfast table and began to open cupboards in search of coffee.

“Please let me do that,” Laurel begged. “It’ll be easier to talk if my hands are busy.” She began to fill the coffeemaker with water. “There’s a woman I know from Dermot and Dallas’s playgroup. Her daughter, Hannah, was born a few hours after my boys.” She drew in a deep breath. “We met in the hospital and have traveled in the same circles ever since. She has two older children and is always on the move.” Pausing to count out coffee scoops, Laurel set the machine to brew and then grabbed the edge of the sink, her shoulders hunched up to her ears.

“This woman, April, took her kids to a soccer tournament in Myrtle Beach over the weekend. She stayed there Monday night to avoid the storm, and when she came home this morning she found her husband . . .” She covered her eyes with her hands and Olivia waited to hear a sordid tale of infidelity. “He’s in a coma,” Laurel surprised her by saying.

Olivia watched as Laurel turned toward the coffeepot and struggled to collect herself. “Was he injured during the storm?”

“Yes, but the hurricane didn’t club Felix on the back of the head with a seven iron.” Laurel’s eyes flashed with anger. “The person robbing his house did.”

Stunned, it took Olivia a couple of minutes to notice that Laurel served her coffee in a mug emblazoned with red hearts and a “World’s Best Mom” slogan. Laurel drank from a white mug bearing the text, “I Perform Cavity Searches.” When she put the cup down on the counter in order to add another splash of milk, Olivia could read the script on the backside of the mug. It said, “Don’t Worry, I’m a Dentist.”

Olivia was momentarily distracted from the subject at hand. Not for the first time, she wondered what kind of man Laurel’s husband was. Did that mug reflect his sense of humor? He wasn’t especially friendly when he’d opened the door. Olivia recognized that he was clearly busy, but she detected a lack of interest as well, as though anything to do with Laurel was likely to be insignificant. Stirring a bit of milk into her own coffee, Olivia vowed to do everything in her power to help Laurel become a household name in Oyster Bay. In time, Steve would view his wife with new eyes, but for now, Olivia’s role was to listen.

“If this just happened this morning, how did you find out so quickly?” she asked her friend gently.

Laurel shrugged. “Female phone tree. Christina Quimby, the woman we interviewed last week, heard the news from a woman on her tennis team. That woman, Tina, is April’s neighbor. Tina saw the ambulance and the cop cars arrive and ran next door. I bet she had the story out to twenty people before April’s husband, Felix, made it to the hospital.” Laurel gave Olivia a sad grin. “Tina might be a gossip, but at least she rushed April’s kids over to her house so they didn’t have to see their daddy being wheeled out on a stretcher or watch their mama fall apart.”

“Another robbery,” was all Olivia could think to say.

Joining her at the table, Laurel let out a long sigh. “I guess this is when I figure out if I’ve got what it takes to be a real reporter.”

“What are you planning to do?”

“Drop the kids off at my in-laws and then go to the hospital,” Laurel answered resolutely. “I’ll say the boys have been worried sick about Grandpa and Grandma and wanted to see them as soon as it was safe. My mother-in-law will just eat that up. I’ll pretend to drive off in search of diapers, even if it means I have to sit through one of her lectures on how I need to learn to plan ahead.” She reached for Olivia’s hand. “I don’t know how much we can find out, but I’d love to have you with me.”

Olivia gave Laurel’s hand a maternal pat. “Not only will I go with you, but I’ll make sure you have a giant box of diapers so you can keep your cover intact.”

For the first time since Olivia had walked through the door, Laurel smiled. “Just once, I’d like to be around when you wave your magic wand. I’ve never actually seen one before.”

Standing, Olivia pulled her wallet from her purse and waved it in the air. “Sure you have. It’s called a Visa card. Bibbidi, bobbidi, boo!”

 

 

It took thirty minutes to get Dallas and Dermot dressed for the short drive to their grandparents’ condo. Befuddled by how complicated the act of leaving the house was for Laurel, Olivia watched as her friend loaded Cheerios into small baggies, filled sippy cups with organic apple juice, and stuffed spare outfits, bibs, and diapers into an oversized sack.

“Is this your typical exit routine?” Olivia asked, aghast.

Laurel scooped one of the boys onto her left hip and held on to the second with her right hand. “Are you kidding? This was fast! Look, I’ll meet you at the hospital. Maybe you’ll bump into Rawlings. He’s sure to know something by now.”

Olivia was torn over the idea. She would like to worm information out of Rawlings, but she was uncertain whether he’d be willing to speak with her about an ongoing case or anything else for that matter.

Back in the Range Rover, Olivia checked her cell phone and was pleased to note that her service had been restored. She put the phone on speaker mode and called Michel with an additional grocery list. He let loose several expletives in French, causing Haviland to bark excitedly in reply. She’d just pulled into the hospital parking garage when she received a call from Will Hamilton, the private investigator.

“Did Ophelia put you folks through the wringer?” he inquired. “We barely had a twig down in these parts, but the news footage has shown pictures of your area since daybreak and things look messy.”

“We don’t have power, but Oyster Bay will be up and running in no time,” Olivia replied breezily. “What do you have for me?”

Hamilton cleared his throat. “Ms. Limoges, I have been watching Rod Burkhart ’round the clock. From what I’ve seen, he lives a pretty straightforward life. He works, tosses around a football with his two sons, mows the lawn, goes to church, and runs errands.”

“And he seems financially secure?”

“Yes, ma’am. He drives a late-model truck, and his wife’s minivan is only a year old. The house is tidy and well maintained. The Burkharts aren’t rich, but they’re solid. An average, upper-middle-class family. The guy’s got a nice-looking wife and kids, a yellow Lab, and a dozen fishing poles. He went lake fishing Monday afternoon with another buddy. They drank a few beers and picked up Chinese takeout on the way home.” He paused. “I could keep on him and you could go on paying me to look for dirt on Burkhart, but I don’t feel right taking more of your money. This guy is a regular Joe. He’s got no record and the worst he’s done is get a moving violation for a case of lead foot a few months back. No bodies in the basement or mistresses on the side. That’s my professional opinion, ma’am.”

Olivia let Haviland out so he could sniff the bushes lining the parking lot. “Okay, drop the tail for now, but we’re not done yet. I’m going to send Mr. Burkhart one thousand dollars in cash. It will be in a neon pink mailer and will go to his box at The UPS Store. If I mail it today, it should be there on Thursday. I want you to follow that mailer. See what Burkhart does with it.”

“Will do,” Hamilton said.

“You don’t need to contact me until Burkhart opens that envelope. When he does, I want to know everything that follows. Who he talks to, if he goes to the bank, if he buys a big-ticket item, et cetera. Every detail.”

The investigator promised to be on alert for the arrival of the colorful package. Olivia got out of the Range Rover and looked around for Haviland. She found him sitting on the grass next to a wooden bench. A broad, masculine hand stroked the fur on the poodle’s head and neck, and Haviland winked his caramel brown eyes in happiness.

“Hello.” Olivia approached the pair with stealth. She didn’t want to disturb Rawlings’ train of thought, knowing that he often searched for a quiet place in order to reflect on the details of a case while they were still fresh.

The chief removed his cap and rose to his feet. “Hello, Ms. Limoges. I’m relieved to see you in one piece.”

“We’re fine, but the lighthouse keeper’s cottage has suffered some flood damage,” she said, feeling oddly shy. “We’ll have to relocate for our next Bayside Book Writers meeting. Do you think you can make this one?”

He studied her face and, finding no judgment there, shook his head. “I don’t know. The department will be tied up with the town’s cleanup detail for weeks and now we’ve got another robbery case to run down.” He looked away. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have approached you about joining the group in the first place. My work isn’t ready and my time is rarely my own.”

Panic welled in Olivia. She didn’t want Rawlings to quit the Bayside Book Writers. She wanted the chance to read his work in hopes of discovering more about him. Most importantly, she wanted to be able to respond differently should he ever cross a room and pull her to him again.

“We would have understood why you didn’t send us your chapter if you’d explained your reasons,” she said softly and sat down on the bench alongside him. “We’re a fairly easygoing group. Well, most of us are anyway.” She tried to smile, but her mouth wouldn’t respond. “And I’d like to believe even I have enough sensitivity to give you a pass because it was the anniversary of your wife’s death.”

Rawlings gave her a sharp glance. “That would be a handy excuse, but it wouldn’t be the truth. What would you think if I told you that I brought my laptop to the cemetery? That I’d been trying to fix the damned chapter since Friday night, but every time I’d read it over, I knew what I’d written was crap. It’s still crap. And then the day was gone and I had nothing to share with you all. I’m sorry.”

Olivia was silent for a moment. “What’s your book about, Sawyer?”

“Pirates.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “I’m not making fun of you, I swear! I just had this image of you as Johnny Depp in
Pirates of the Caribbean
. Not that you wouldn’t make a dashing buccaneer, but picturing you with dreadlocks and a sword threw me off guard.”

The chief’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Dashing, huh?” His amusement faded almost as quickly as it had surfaced. “I imagined writing a thriller in which a retired police chief hunts down a bunch of villainous treasure hunters. In the end, he finds Blackbeard’s secret stash and turns it over to a museum.”

“Sounds like a decent plotline,” Olivia said.

Rawlings snorted. “It wasn’t honest though. I created such a two-dimensional character that I could have slipped him through a mail slot. I need to start over.”

Olivia pivoted her shoulders. Her fingertips reached for his, sliding over the cool metal of the bench. “I don’t think it’s ever too late to fix a mistake. To begin again.”

Her heart was tripping over itself. For once in her life, she wanted nothing more than to make a connection with the man beside her, but the moment she made contact with the rough skin of his hand, her fingers caressing the ridges and valleys of his knuckles, the radio clipped to his shirt pocket crackled. She jumped back involuntarily.

Rawlings answered the call while trying to convey an apology with his eyes. He and an officer exchanged information in a series of terse codes. The chief’s final words were that he’d meet his subordinate in the hospital lobby. As he stood and smoothed the wrinkles in his uniform pants, he gave Haviland one last pat. “Are you visiting someone here? Is everything all right?” he asked, gesturing at the boxlike building across the parking lot.

“Laurel is friends with April, the wife of the man assaulted during the latest robbery. She wanted me to come along for moral support though she should know by now that that’s not one of my strong points.” Seeing the chief doubted her explanation, Olivia hurriedly continued. “What is Felix’s condition?”

Rawlings pulled his belt upward and made a slight adjustment to his holster. “I’m afraid it’s quite grave. He has brain injuries, and from what I’ve been told, a dangerous amount of intracranial swelling. I don’t know what hope his wife can hold out for, but for her sake, and the sake of that man’s children, I truly pray there is hope to be had.” He began to walk and Olivia fell into step beside him.