A Deadly Cliche (23 page)

April shook her head. “Felix had been worried about losing his job all summer long, so we’d been tightening our belts for months. I’ve been doing the cooking, cleaning, and gardening. Felix was in charge of lawn and car maintenance. The only service we still used was the dry cleaner’s and I didn’t drop off clothes unless I had a coupon.”

“I keep all mine in a special wallet,” Laurel said in an effort to commiserate. “I really like it when those big value packs come in the mail. And we use the Pizza Bay coupons religiously.”

This earned her a small smile. “We do too,” April said and then frowned. “You know, I forgot to tell the police something. When they asked me about what we’d done over the course of the week leading up to . . . the robbery, I tried to remember all the little details. I made this huge list, labeling each day and every activity. It gave me something to do—a way to help the cops bring justice to my husband. But, of course, it didn’t help or they’d have caught the bastards by now.” Her eyes filled with tears, but she shook her head and blinked them away. “But I forgot something. Hold on, I’ll show you.”

Olivia and Laurel waited quietly as April sorted through a pile of papers in a kitchen drawer. She pulled out a green flyer and handed it to Laurel. “We took these guys up on their offer a few days before the kids and I left. I did it to lighten Felix’s load a bit and give him the chance to fully concentrate on his upcoming presentation.”

Laurel studied the flyer and something flashed in her eyes. She engaged April in another line of questioning while sliding the paper over the polished table to Olivia. As soon as Olivia began to read, she felt her breath quicken. This had to be a tangible clue. She reread the advertisement.

Olivia could barely sit still through the remainder of the interview. That is until April made a comment about how difficult it would be for her to find employment as an interior designer. “I haven’t worked for years and my last job involved a huge office complex.”

Diverted by thoughts of her Bayside Crab House project, Olivia said, “April, I’d love to see photographs of your work. I happen to know someone in need of your skills. There’s no rush,” she added gently and handed April a business card.

April stared at the card in confusion. “I thought you were Laurel’s photographer.”

“I am,” Olivia agreed. “But I left my camera in the car. I assumed you wouldn’t welcome photos today.”

“I do want a picture of Felix in the paper,” April insisted firmly. “I want those sons-of-bitches to see the face of the man they killed. And I’m ready to show my portfolio to anyone, anytime.
I
may want to spend the next year in bed but I can’t. I have three kids to feed.”

Olivia promised to phone again in a few days, and she and Laurel walked to the door. Laurel, who had reclaimed the lawn service flyer, held it up to April. “Can I keep this?”

“I guess. You can only use it once anyway.” Now that the interview was over, April seemed to deflate. Holding herself together for over an hour had taken its toll. She leaned heavily against the door frame and rubbed her eyes.

Laurel squeezed the widow’s hand in farewell and then she and Olivia walked down the front path to their cars. “It’s a cliché, Olivia!” Laurel whispered as they drew alongside the Range Rover. “Do you think it’s simply coincidence?”

“No,” Olivia answered. “And neither will Rawlings. Bring the flyer to him, Laurel. This is your discovery. I believe you were born to do this job.”

Flushing with pleasure, Laurel tucked the paper into her purse. “I won’t be needing any of Michel’s food tonight. I came clean to Steve over the phone and I don’t care if he doesn’t believe I’ll even get the job, I’m submitting every article I’ve written about these robberies to the
Gazette
’s editor tomorrow. If he hires me, I’m going to give this career one hundred percent.” She glanced back at the Howard house. “After all, you can never tell what the future’s going to bring and I want to say that I did more with mine than change diapers and iron my husband’s shirts.”

Laurel thanked Olivia and got into her car.

Olivia watched her friend drive away. “Brava, Laurel,” she murmured as the minivan disappeared around a bend.

—ANNE SEXTON

 

 

 

 

 

H
er room was still filled with shadows when the ringing of the phone jolted Olivia awake. A few weak rays of sunshine crept through the windows, striping Haviland’s black fur so that he looked like an exotic species of antelope or zebra.

Olivia grabbed the receiver and managed a raspy hello.

“Sorry to wake you, Ms. Limoges.” Olivia recognized the voice of Will Hamilton. “For days I had nothing to report, but I have something now.” He paused for effect. “Your pink envelope was passed on. Rodney Burkhart drove down to the port here and handed it off to the crew member of a fishing boat. I couldn’t exactly leap aboard, but I found out the vessel was bound for Okracoke Island.”

“Okracoke?” Olivia flung off her covers and headed downstairs.

Will explained that he’d immediately set about hiring a charter boat, but was warned that the trawler
,
the
Ritaestelle
, might not return directly to its home port. As he talked, Olivia opened a coffee table book on coastal North Carolina and rapidly turned the pages to the section containing a group of maps.

“The charter boat captain told me to save my money. For a few bucks, he’d make some calls on his radio to determine the ship’s destination. Sure enough, the
Ritaestelle
was headed back out to sea. The captain said to expect it to dock in Okracoke in three days’ time.”

Olivia traced an imaginary line from Oyster Bay over the Pamlico Sound to the shores of Okracoke Island. The distance was approximately fifty miles.

Even in a storm, half out of his mind and choking down whiskey, my father could have navigated that distance
.

“Are you going to be there when she docks?” Olivia asked Will.

Will’s next words were a surprise. “I’m actually calling you from the island. If the envelope is on its way then your father might actually be here. I thought I’d find out for myself, but the locals are a tight-lipped group. I’m going to pose as a vacationer and keep my ears open until the
Ritaestelle
returns.”

Olivia was pleased with Will’s doggedness and told him as much, but after she’d hung up the phone, anxiety began to surge through her body. As she stared at the skinny green smudge that was Okracoke on her map, she had a powerful feeling that her father was there, that he’d been there all along.

“So close,” she murmured, experiencing a fresh bout of grief and resentment. “If you’ve been this close all these years . . .” The possibility was too painful to acknowledge and Olivia slammed the book closed.

Haviland joined her in the living room, but he ignored his mistress and headed straight for the door leading to the deck. Olivia followed him outside. She sat in one of the deck chairs and let the burgeoning light wash over her, wishing that it held the power to burn all her memories away.

As she sat there, breathing in the salt-tinged oxygen and releasing her anger with every exhalation, her thoughts eventually turned to yesterday’s writers’ meeting. She went inside, poured herself some coffee, and returned to the deck chair.

“The dolls,” she said to the waves. “The thieves must have felt the dolls’ eyes on them. Why would they care? Do they feel guilty about stealing? Over having committed murder?”

The water rushed to the shore.

“No.” Olivia shook her head as though the ocean had disagreed with her. “They killed a man and buried him on the beach, leaving him naked to the elements. It’s not a moral dilemma, so why did the glass-eyed stares of the dolls bother them?”

As she ruminated, Haviland trotted up the dune path, his black fur covered in wet sand. He politely shook himself off at the bottom of the stairs, but his long nose and forehead were still caked with sand. Olivia grabbed a dishtowel from inside and brushed him off, smiling at how odd he looked with his mask of gritty white. The poodle stayed quite still until she was finished and then jerked away in order to take up an eager stance by his dinner dish.

When Olivia didn’t come back indoors, Haviland barked to signal that he was ready for breakfast, but his mistress was staring down the beach toward the area of the Point where they’d discovered the buried body.

“It’s something physical, I’m sure of it,” she said, rushing back into the house and picking up the phone. “They don’t like to be on the receiving end of stares, but why?”

Rawlings answered his cell phone immediately and listened as Olivia presented her theory. “Something like a birthmark or burn scars?” he asked rhetorically. “It might explain the connection between the victims. Perhaps the children ridiculed our thieves at an athletic event. I’ll have to find out if anyone who came in regular contact with the families had some kind of physical deformity.”

“Did Laurel bring you the lawn-service flyer from the Howard residence?”

“Yes, and we moved on the information immediately,” Rawlings assured her. “Each victim received a similar flyer over the course of the summer. However, the name of the lawn service and the overall appearance of the flyer were altered. Every family had been given a unique flyer.”

Olivia considered the implications of this statement as she put Haviland’s breakfast in the microwave. “The thieves put in some serious effort to get to these families. What were the other names of these lawn service companies?”

“Green Thumb Lawn Care, Down the Garden Path Landscaping Service, and Neat as a Pin Yard Care,” Rawlings said.

“Such obvious clichés! How did I miss them?” She tried to recall the names of the lawn services Harris had typed onto their spreadsheet.

“You didn’t.” Rawlings soothed. “In every case, the families took advantage of the free yard cleanup offered on the flyer, but none of the homeowners were impressed enough by the work to hire the men again. The Ridgemonts were the only ones who tried to call and set up another job, but after no one replied to their voice mail messages, they forgot all about the subject.”

Olivia chuckled. “That certainly sounds like Sue Ridgemont. Lovely, but a bit absentminded.” She grew serious again quickly. “So this was how the thieves were able to break into the homes in broad daylight. They posed as yard men and parked their truck in the driveway. One of them broke into the house while another crew member mowed the lawn. The neighbors wouldn’t hear a thing over the noise of a mower or weed whacker.”

“Precisely,” Rawlings agreed. “And the free service included a tune-up of the irrigation system. Therefore, in nearly every case, the homeowners willingly left their garage doors open. In these subdivisions, the sight of a landscaping truck and unfamiliar men testing the sprinklers would be totally commonplace. Though they were working in plain sight, they were nearly invisible.”

Olivia had to admire the forethought of the burglars. “They could carry stuff from the garage to their truck without anyone batting an eyelash. What a clever scam.”

Rawlings grunted. “They should have stuck with pilfering TVs. Killing Felix Howard has made them number one on the department’s hit list. We’re going to interview every existing lawn-care company in the county. Anyone who’s registered a trailer within fifty miles of Oyster Bay will be visited by a man or woman in blue.”

“I know you will. At least Laurel’s husband is in the clear. What was he like during questioning?”

“Um,” Rawlings stalled. “Let’s say that he was rather indignant over having to provide us with details about his comings and goings and leave it at that. I wish he’d never been on our radar in the first place. We’re going to get these guys, Olivia, I promise you that.”

“Make sure to give Laurel an exclusive on the story. She’s going to be a hell of a reporter.” Olivia removed the casserole dish from the microwave and gave its contents a stir while Haviland danced back and forth in anticipation. Waving a potholder over the steaming casserole made of lean ground lamb, brown rice, and cheese, Olivia shook her head at Haviland, indicating that he’d have to wait a minute for it to cool.

“And I hear you make a superb photographer. Perhaps you’ll have your own booth at the next Cardboard Regatta,” Rawlings quipped.

Horrified, Olivia realized that she had yet to thank the chief for the painting he’d made for her. She hurried to do so and then told him that it hung in a prominent place in her kitchen. “It’s on the wall behind the coffeemaker and is one of the first things I see every morning. Now I can actually crack a smile before I’ve had a single sip of coffee.”

“That
is
a compliment.” Rawlings paused. “Olivia, when this case is over, you and I . . .”

A silence followed and Olivia knew he was searching for the words to acknowledge the attraction between them. She too wanted to address the feelings he’d awakened in her, but not over the phone. She wanted to be alone with Rawlings, perhaps on a blanket on the beach with only the stars and the sea bearing witness as she made herself vulnerable to him. Most of all, she wanted Rawlings to be near enough to touch, and at the moment, he felt very far away.

Olivia broke the charged silence, changing the subject by telling the chief about Will Hamilton’s call.

“Don’t make a move until I wrap up this case,” Rawlings directed. “I don’t want to appear at our next writer’s meeting to find that you’ve driven off to catch the ferry to Okracoke. You shouldn’t go there alone, Olivia.”