A Deadly Cliche (9 page)

“Not phoning a policeman in the middle of the night sounds less like courage and more like self-preservation to me,” Olivia remarked.

“I think Millay likes to talk a big game, but I bet she’d do it if someone dared her.” Harris was quick to defend the attractive bartender.

Olivia decided to change the subject. “Did Millay happen to mention whether she’d heard about any missing persons? The chief still hasn’t been able to identify the body I found on the Point.”

Harris yawned loudly. “Sorry. I’m trying to remember what else she said. I was in the middle of this crazy dream where trolls were tearing apart my high school when she called. That’s what happens when you create fantasy settings all day long. You start seeing the images in your sleep.” He paused. “But no, she hasn’t had word from her regulars about anyone having gone AWOL. There’s been plenty of talk about the murder though. Even here at work, where most of us are total ostriches and have no idea what’s going on in the outside world, people are coming up with all kinds of crazy theories.”

“At least the story didn’t break until Monday. Most of the tourists were packing up by the time they saw the headlines in the
Gazette
,” Olivia said, recalling the media coverage of the past week. The local news channels had done their best to spin the story into as many segments as they could, but by Thursday night, it was clear there was no fresh information to convey.

There was also a hotter news topic to cover, being that Tropical Storm Ophelia was now speeding northeast toward the North Carolina coast. The meteorologists called for rain beginning on Saturday with high wind gusts due in by Sunday morning. A team of experts, all of whom had come up with a bevy of scientific-sounding excuses as to why they’d called for the storm to move northwest into the Atlantic, was now falling all over themselves to predict the height of the storm surge and total amount of rainfall Ophelia would produce.

Despite her own interest in the storm, as she’d have to determine whether to close The Boot Top and plan what she and Havilland would eat once they lost power, Olivia had been wondering if the police department’s appeal for help had garnered anything useful. Now, Rawlings’ incomplete chapter gave her the perfect excuse to contact the chief.

Olivia realized she hadn’t been paying attention to Harris, who was prattling on about his latest software development. She tuned in just in time to hear his description of how the trees he created could come to life and grab video game warriors in their clawlike branches. “Oh! Oh crap!” He sounded alarmed. “I’ve gotta run! There’s a major bug in this code! My tree just ripped an elf in half. Elves are supposed to be immune to nature attacks!”

“Sounds serious,” Olivia sympathized and, after wishing Harris good luck, tried to reach the chief. Unfortunately, Rawlings was unavailable and Olivia didn’t feel like leaving a message. She sent him a quick e-mail instead, requesting that he send an attachment containing his chapter in its entirety.
Otherwise, tomorrow’s meeting will be extremely brief,
she added. She cc’d the rest of the Bayside Book Writers so no one else harassed Rawlings over his missing pages.

As she drove into town for her lunch meeting, Olivia wondered how Laurel’s interview had gone. Olivia was surprised by her own interest in the subject. She wasn’t used to being intimately involved in other people’s personal lives, but she felt protective of Laurel and wanted the younger woman to succeed.

“I guess she didn’t get the job or we would have heard from her by now,” Olivia said to Haviland.

The poodle glanced at her and then stuck his head back out the open passenger window, his tongue unrolling from between his lips like a length of pink carpet. The humidity had dropped, the powerful September sun was obscured by a thick cloud cover, and the salt-tinged air clearly appealed to Haviland.

“Don’t worry, Captain, your day is only going to get better from here on out.” Olivia parked in the loading zone in front of Beach Burgers. “Guess where we’re having lunch.”

Haviland pawed his seat belt and barked. The moment Olivia released the belt, he leapt through the open car window and waited impatiently on the sidewalk for Olivia to collect her purse and briefcase. Prancing beside her, Haviland displayed his best grin to all the passersby, receiving dozens of compliments from the townsfolk. The only person who seemed displeased to see him was Millicent Banks, the Realtor.

“I’d heard that your pooch accompanies you everywhere, but I put that down as rumor,” Millicent said as she plastered on her professional smile.

“He goes where I go. Think of him as my benevolent shadow. At least no one will try to steal your purse while he’s around.” The Realtor unconsciously held on to her Chanel clutch a little tighter as Olivia turned away to tell the café’s hostess they’d like a patio table.

Millicent blanched. “Are you sure? It’s still rather hot, even though that nice wind from the incoming storm has chased away the humidity.”

“Trust me, it’s much hotter inside. The kitchen’s open and the heat from the fryers has no place else to go but into the dining room,” Olivia assured her. “In any case, I try to dine al fresco whenever Haviland is with me. People find it less offensive to eat near an animal when he’s outside,” she explained. “Haviland probably has better table manners than most of their children, but I try to be discreet about serving him his meal around two-legged patrons.”

Millicent curled her lip in distaste but quickly tried to hide her face with her menu before her client noticed. Olivia knew the Realtor tried to please all prospective clients. Millicent’s motto wasn’t “You can bank on Millicent!” for nothing. Olivia could only assume Millicent had heard of Olivia’s fondness for historic properties and planned to milk that angle for all it was worth. If Olivia wanted to buy a dilapidated warehouse so be it. “I brought all the documents you requested,” Millicent said after they’d ordered. She then casually passed Olivia a legal-sized manila folder. “This building has
quite
a colorful past.”

“As do all interesting ladies,” Olivia said with a wry grin.

Millicent squeezed lemon into her iced tea. “During the late eighteen hundreds, it was a turpentine warehouse. Things were chugging merrily along until a careless foreman started a fire that destroyed half the place and
both
of the neighboring structures. I read an old newspaper clipping stating that
five
men died in the blaze.”

“Must have been a difficult conflagration to handle with a bucket brigade,” Olivia commented while accepting her pepper jack and barbeque bacon burger from the waitress.

Millicent wasn’t going to be sidetracked by Victorian methods of fire fighting. She continued with her history lesson. “The building was repaired and became a cotton mill. It was well maintained right into the next century.” She consulted her notes. “In the mid-1950s it housed a plumbing supply business and in the seventies, was sold and divided into various retail spaces. One business bought out most of the leases and didn’t close its doors until the year two thousand.”

Olivia was hooked. Setting aside her food, she flipped through pages in the folder and felt the excitement of a new project beginning to rise. “I wasn’t living in Oyster Bay at that time. What did the most recent retailer sell?”

Blushing, Millicent fiddled with her iced tea spoon. “The products? Well, they were, ah, goodness!” She clasped her hands primly on the table. “I believe they sold lingerie and, ah, adult toys and things of
that
nature.”

“My, my.” Olivia was amused. She held up a photograph of the building. “This old lady
does
have a colorful past.”

Ignoring the remark, Millicent pushed her fork around her Cobb salad. “The town wanted to convert the structure into a small performing arts center, but in the end, it proved to be less expensive to build something from the ground up.” She frowned. “It’s a shame the Historic Society couldn’t act, but they just don’t have much of a budget and there are so many buildings in need of preservation.”

Olivia’s gaze returned to the photograph of the wood and brick building. The basic shape was perfect—a long rectangle with a giant bank of windows facing the water. She could easily envision an expansive second-story deck filled with wrought-iron tables, potted plants, and fairy lights. A live band could play inside on weekends with acoustic ensembles entertaining patrons during lunch and weekday meals. Before she got too occupied by images of checkered tablecloths and disposable lobster bibs, however, she needed to know whether the building was truly salvageable.

“What happened to the last deal?” she asked Millicent. “When I first examined the building, there was a ‘Sold’ sign out front. And please be straightforward. The absolute truth is important to me.”

Millicent looked affronted. “I wouldn’t dream of sugarcoating my reply, Ms. Limoges.” She immediately softened her tone. “The warehouse was to be turned into luxury loft apartments, but when the investors saw what it would cost to make the transformation, they backed out. No one felt the permanent residents of Oyster Bay would be willing to spend that kind of money on a monthly lease. They also agreed that the average tourist preferred to rent a vacation home or condo within walking distance to the beach.”

The explanation sounded plausible. “So it had nothing to do with the integrity of the building? Did they plan to renovate the original structure or tear it down and start from scratch?”

“As far as I know, they were going to work with what they had.” Millicent dabbed her lips with her napkin and pushed her nearly untouched salad bowl away. “But the total estimate was no small sum. Revitalizing this building is not a project for the faint of heart,” she said, showing Olivia that she was on her side. “Of course, this isn’t your first time handling a major project such as this. Look at how you transformed so many of our empty storefronts. Thanks to you, I now have a new favorite dress shop.”

Though the Realtor was laying it on a bit thick, Olivia didn’t mind feeling a little pleased when it came to the part she played in reshaping the town. “We’ve got to collect every hard-earned tourist dollar we can. Something’s got to tide us over during the winter months.” She removed the bun from a plain hamburger, cut the meat into bite-sized pieces, and set the plate on the ground near her left foot. Haviland, who had been pretending to doze in the shade of Olivia’s chair, crept up to the dish and daintily wolfed down his lunch.

“Yes, indeed,” Millicent agreed. “At least we have the Cardboard Regatta coming up. Used to be the town was empty from Labor Day to May Day, but I cannot believe how many people will fill up the hotels again just for the chance to race their little handmade boats. I do hope Ophelia has come and gone in time.”

Olivia closed the folder and stuffed it in her purse. She took out her wallet and signaled for the waitress. “I’m going to have my contractor go over every inch of this property as soon as the storm passes. Assuming he gives me a good report and the warehouse manages to survive Ophelia, I’ll stop by your office and we can draw up an offer.” Olivia reached across the table and shook Millicent’s hand. “Thank you for joining me for lunch. If I’d known you weren’t fond of burgers I would have chosen another venue. This place isn’t exactly known for their salads.”

“Oh, my salad was
perfectly
fine. I’m just trying to watch my figure,” Millicent lied grandly. “I look forward to hearing from you when we’re done being battered about by Ophelia.”

The Realtor walked away and Olivia imagined the older woman was already dreaming of how she’d spend the sizable commission she’d make off the deal. Olivia didn’t mind. In fact, she admired Millicent’s ambition and hoped to have the same amount of pluck in thirty years’ time.

Olivia decided to let Haviland chase pigeons in the park before hitting the grocery store followed by a latte at Bagels ’n’ Beans. She settled on a bench in the shelter of a mammoth magnolia tree and took out her latest purchase from Flynn’s bookstore, Sharon Kay Penman’s
The Reckoning
. As Haviland explored the fascinating scents at the base of every shrub, tree, and light post, Olivia quickly lost herself in the story of Llewelyn ap Gruffydd, the thirteenth-century Welsh prince.

She was so immersed in the novel that the ringing of her cell phone seemed incongruent with Penman’s descriptions of stone castle walls and heavy bed hangings.

“I could chose to ignore you,” she warned the phone before checking the caller ID, but seeing that the number belonged to Laurel, Olivia answered. “Do you have news?” she asked her friend.

“Yes!” Laurel managed to encapsulate fear, joy, and exhilaration into a single word. “It’s
wonderful
! And it’s
horrible
! I’m a mess!”

Olivia grinned. “You got the job.”

“I got the job,” Laurel squeaked in excitement. “They just told me. But it’s only on a provisional basis. I need to prove myself over the next few weeks. How am I going to do that? My silly articles on how to get stains out of your clothes or the best play areas for toddlers will hardly dazzle the editor and they’ve already got three reporters covering the storm!”

“Why don’t you interview your neighbor?” Olivia suggested. “The one who was robbed? Everyone likes to read about local crimes. But you should do it soon. Everyone will be busy preparing for the storm before long.”

Laurel gasped. “You’re so
brilliant
! They say that crime pays. Let’s see if it can get
me
paid too!” She hesitated. “Listen, Olivia, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I haven’t interviewed anyone since high school and the articles I wrote back then focused on the captains of the sports teams and the homecoming queens. This is
so
much more serious. Will you come with me?”

Normally, Olivia would have turned Laurel down flat without the slightest tinge of regret, but she was curious about the burglary and wanted to hear the victim’s account firsthand. “I’ll pretend to be your cameraman. Just this once. And, Laurel, we’d better go tomorrow before the rain moves in.”