The Last Word (15 page)

Olivia saw the fear in her friend’s face. “Chief Rawlings has asked me to investigate the history of the families who used to live in your house, and I intend to begin this afternoon. Harris, I will do everything in my power to figure out this riddle. Millay and Laurel can assist me. Laurel can dig through the newspaper archives, and Millay can help me sift through the records at town hall.”

“I can’t just send my female friends all over town to solve this mystery while I design a fairy forest for some stupid computer game.” Harris squared his shoulders and sat up a fraction straighter. “I need to get my hands on Nick’s computer. There’s got to be a clue in his files as to why someone wanted to silence him before he could publish that sequel.”

“Talk to the chief.” Olivia rose and carefully shouldered the tote bag. “And forget about critiquing my chapter on Saturday. We’ve got more important things to do.”

Harris absently put a hand to his throat. “Like staying alive.”

—EMILY DICKINSON

 

 

 

 

 

O
livia and Haviland trotted down the stairs leading to the windowless lower level of the town hall building. The woman in charge of the register of deeds was examining a stack of forms when Olivia appeared at her desk. Her eyes went wide when she noticed the poodle and then her face closed off and she smacked the piece of paper in front of her with a rubber stamp.

“You can’t have a dog down here, ma’am.” She slammed the stamp down on another piece of paper and continued her work without looking up.

Glancing around the empty room, Olivia was about to point out that there was no one around to be troubled by Haviland’s presence, but she sensed that the government employee, with her taut ponytail and humorless eyes, was a stickler for rules.

“He accompanies me for medical reasons,” Olivia whispered and then cleared her throat, as though it shamed her to admit to having such a serious health problem. “Hopefully, I won’t have an
episode
while I’m here, but I’d best not waste time. My dog is trained to seek help should I start convulsing.” She handed the skeptical clerk a slip of paper bearing Harris’s address. “I need the names of all of this home’s previous owners, please. And I’ll need to make copies of every deed pertaining to this address.”

The woman hesitated, clearly debating whether it would require more effort to toss Olivia out or simply fulfill her request. Sighing heavily, she turned to her computer and began to type in the address on Oleander Drive.

It wasn’t long before she presented Olivia with several pages, still warm from the printer. “Anything else, ma’am?” she asked, her mouth puckering as though she’d bitten into something sour.

Olivia read through the sheets, recognizing names from her conversation with librarian Leona Fairchild, including the Carters and the Robinsons, the couple that sold the house to Harris.

“There’s an owner missing from this pile,” she murmured and then retrieved a small notebook from her purse. “The White family lived there as well.”

The clerk crossed her arms over her chest. “Not according to my records.”

“Can you check again?”

At this request, the woman’s lips compressed into an angry, thin line. She jabbed a few buttons on her computer keyboard and gestured at the screen. “There were no owners by the name of White at the address. Perhaps you’re mistaken.”

Suppressing a surge of annoyance, Olivia stared at the street address and then shook the pages in her hands like they were pompoms. “You’re brilliant!” she told the startled clerk. “The house was moved during the highway expansion project. This address is only current for the past fifty years or so.”

“I’m not old enough to remember the date of that event,” the woman declared smugly. “You’ll have to come back when you have an accurate address.”

Olivia recalled Harris telling the Bayside Book Writers that Nick Plumley had found a copy of the newspaper article describing the move and, therefore, Laurel could easily get ahold of the same information. Thanking the clerk, Olivia jogged upstairs and called her friend.

“Olivia! I was hoping I’d have an excuse to take a break,” Laurel said. “I’m working on this yawn-inducing piece about average household incomes and—”

“I need you to find an old article for me,” Olivia cut in. “It’s urgent.” She explained what she needed. “Could you bring it by The Bayside Crab House as soon as you find it?”

There was a pause. “Is something going on with Harris? What’s wrong, Olivia?”

Silently berating herself for assuming that Laurel wouldn’t ask why the information was so crucial, Olivia promised that Harris was fine and that she’d fill Laurel in when she delivered the article. Olivia was quite surprised that Nick Plumley’s death hadn’t been leaked to the press yet and wondered if Rawlings had kept his team so busy that not a single officer had been able to contribute to the famous Oyster Bay gossip chain. It would certainly be a coup for Laurel to break the news first, especially since she’d established her reputation as a respected local journalist based on her articles on the Cliché Killers.

“Just do this for me,” Olivia coaxed. “And I’ll tip you off on what’s to become the biggest story of the summer.”

Laurel sucked in a quick breath. “I’ll take the tip. It’s been mighty sleepy in the news department.”

“That’s about to change,” Olivia stated solemnly and hung up.

An hour later, she was well into her speech on treating customers like royalty, the employees of The Bayside Crab House listening to her every word with a mixture of trepidation and awe, when Laurel arrived.

Olivia wished her staff good luck, cautioned them that the first guests would be arriving at five, and led Laurel into the manager’s office.

“Is this yours?” Laurel asked, taking a seat and glancing around the space with interest.

“It’s really Kim’s domain. She’s in charge of supplies and bookkeeping. Once we have an established routine, I’ll only come in to sign checks.”

Laurel frowned. “But what will Kim do with the baby? You’re their only family in Oyster Bay, right?”

Having no desire to introduce the emotionally charged subject of Anders, Olivia shrugged. “I suppose she’ll bring the baby with her. Caitlyn’s going to day camp this summer and Kim’s hours are fairly flexible. She’ll be home when the kids are home. I agreed to that arrangement from the start.”

“What a boss,” Laurel said with a wistful smile. “Wish you ran the
Gazette
. I have been allowed to work from the house more and more, but it’s so hard to get anything done. The twins have entered a seriously brutal rivalry phase. They’re like two Roman gladiators, destroying anything in their path.” She shook her head hopelessly. “Enough about my boys. Why did you need this?”

Olivia accepted two sheets of paper from Laurel and quickly scanned the article. Before the houses were moved and the two-lane road became a highway, it was called Stillwater Street. The article described the complexities of the expansion project and featured a photograph of a bungalow atop the flatbed of a tractor-trailer. Even from the grainy black-and-white image Olivia could tell that the house wasn’t Harris’s. It was smaller and had a slightly different roofline. A group of people clad in their Sunday finery was gathered around the truck. The women were impeccably turned out in tailored skirts, hats, and gloves; the men were in suits and felt fedoras; the little girls looked angelic with their curled hair and crinoline; and the boys wore high-waisted shorts with suspenders and argyle knee socks.

The caption listed the names of the four men grouped together near the left side of the trailer. “There! Frank White must have been the original owner of Harris’s house. Now I just need to search for the deed for Stillwater Street.”

Laurel drummed her fingers on the arms of her chair. “You’re killing me, Olivia! What is going
on
?”

Olivia dropped the paper onto the desk and sat down next to Laurel. “By now, Chief Rawlings will probably have a press release ready, but let me tell you what happened from my point of view and then you can zoom over to the station to get a quote. And, Laurel, we can forget about critiquing my book on Saturday.”

“Why?”

Gesturing at the newspaper article, Olivia said, “Because we need to help the police track down a murderer instead.”

 

 

While the employees of The Bayside Crab House began their trial run, Olivia made phone calls to Harris and Leona Fairchild. Without telling the librarian why she wanted to dig deeper into the background of the former inhabitants of Harris’s house, Olivia asked her how to find out more about the families. The computer-savvy librarian provided her with a simple solution.

“These days, most public records are available online. You can look up birth, marriage, and death certificates, criminal records, background checks, property values, and even the names and ages of other residents in the household. The further back you go, the fewer the details, but it’s a start.” She gave Olivia the URL. “You can often pay to get more information, especially from some of the genealogical sites. I’ll give you the one I prefer.”

Armed with this information, Olivia began to delegate tasks. She asked Millay to research the White, Carter, and Robinson families during her shift break at Fish Nets, and if she couldn’t complete the task that night, to return to it the next day. Millay had heard of Nick Plumley’s death only moments before Olivia’s call, but she had no idea that foul play had been involved.

“How is Harris taking it?” Millay inquired with marked indifference, but Olivia wasn’t fooled. She knew her friend was genuinely concerned.

“He’s understandably disturbed. After all, the painting came from his house, and Plumley had clearly been searching for it there. Harris is worried that the killer might come looking for it too.”

Millay was silent for several moments. “Someone needs to find out more about Plumley. So he wanted this painting. Whatever. He didn’t even have it in his possession when he was killed. There’s more to this murder than some old piece of art. It’s got to be about Heinrich Kamler or Plumley. And I mean the man, not the writer. We need to know
his
background as well as getting the four-one-one on the people who used to live in Harris’s house.”

“Agreed,” Olivia answered readily. “I’m putting Harris in charge of that. He has the necessary computer skills to hunt for the sort of biographical tidbits not included in the inside flap of
The Barbed Wire Flower
’s book jacket.”

 

 

By the time the grand opening celebration of The Bayside Crab House got under way Friday night, Olivia was already exhausted. During yesterday’s trial run, both the wait and kitchen staff had made inexcusable blunders, and Olivia could only pray that having Hudson back in the kitchen, working his magic amid the cacophony of shouting, chopping, and sizzling, would eradicate some of her stress. In fact, when she saw him that afternoon, his face flushed by a geyser of steam billowing from a lobster pot, he was the picture of contentment.

“How’s Anders?” she asked.

He gave her a small smile as he dumped a load of crabs into a steamer basket. “He’s doing fine. Thanks . . . for being with him. I’m . . . You’re a good sister.”

Olivia was spared from having to respond because, at that moment, a flustered waitress burst through the kitchen’s double swing doors, leaving them to flap in her wake like untethered sails in a squall. “Ms. Limoges! The bar’s totally
full
and it’s only five thirty! We’ve got a
huge
line of customers waiting outside. What should we do?”

Hudson and Olivia exchanged satisfied looks. “Pace yourself, Angie,” Olivia told the girl. “It’s going to be a long and profitable night.”

Her prediction was correct. The restaurant was packed from the moment it opened until well after midnight. Olivia helped out wherever she could; refilling empty glasses, clearing tables, and making small talk with customers. Despite the crowd, the kitchen stayed on top of all the orders, and every dish was presented before the expectant diners warm and fragrant with freshness.

Olivia’s feet were throbbing by the time the last patron left. While the weary waitstaff began their closing duties, she took a seat at the bar and sent one of the waiters to ask Hudson to join her.

“Chivas Regal over ice.” Julesy, the bartender, put Olivia’s drink on a white paper napkin featuring The Bayside Crab House logo and then started to clean off the bar with quick, efficient strokes.

“Another for the chef, if you would,” Olivia said, envying the girl’s energy. She didn’t seem tired at all, even though she’d been racing from one end of the bar to the other all night, serving glasses of frothy microbrews and an array of colorful frozen cocktails. Julesy was Gabe’s cousin and had the same all-American good looks as The Boot Top’s barkeep. With her sun-streaked hair, tanned skin, athletic figure, and sincere smile, she’d been an immediate hit with the crab house clientele.

“Let’s pour a round for the staff,” Olivia suggested to Julesy’s barback, a reserved Hispanic man in his early twenties. “I’d like to raise a toast to an amazing night.”

Julesy nodded in approval. She and Raulo began to line up pint glasses and fill them with a light summer wheat beer. The color was beautiful, reminiscent of sunrise at the beach or the vibrant gold of crisp corn.

Olivia kicked off her pumps and curled her toes over the rung of the barstool. The live band, which had played Jimmy Buffett and Bob Marley songs for the past three hours, had mercifully turned off their amps and mics. They’d have to return tomorrow night and perform the entire set again, yet they seemed in no hurry to leave. In fact, the atmosphere in the restaurant was downright festive. Even as the bone-tired waitstaff wiped tables and swept the floor, they laughed and chatted animatedly as though they hadn’t just pushed their bodies to the limit over the past eight hours.