but
The chief walked with her toward the alley opening. “Believe me, I won’t rest until I know what this is all about. This is my town too, ma’am, and I won’t stand for this. Now go home, Ms. Limoges.” His exerted his authority softly. “I need to focus on other matters.”
Olivia obeyed, moving toward the parking area where she’d left the Range Rover. Part of her wanted to climb in her SUV and race home, pour a glass of Chivas Regal, and crawl into bed. That side of her didn’t want to speak calmly and clearly to one of Rawlings’ officers. That side wanted to ignore the doorbell, pull the covers over her head, and wash away the image of Camden’s body, slumped against the brick wall like a discarded department store mannequin, by overindulging in both booze and sleep.
Yet the other, conscientious side knew she bore a responsibility. She owed it to Camden to make the right choice, and she needed to do anything possible to aid the lawmen in their search for the killer. As she strode toward the parking lot, the shock began to gradually give way to anger. When she saw the rest of the writer’s group gathered around her car, her mind became clear.
“We’re allowed to return to the cottage,” she told them, disliking the coldness in her voice. “Someone from the police department will be by to take our statements later on.”
The other writers were visibly relieved to be able to stay together and escape the dark. Olivia turned away from them in order to check on her dog.
Haviland barked out a cheerful greeting at the sight of his mistress and Olivia pushed her fingers through the crack in the passenger window, comforted by the rough moisture of her poodle’s tongue. “Oh, Captain,” she murmured to her dog and tried to keep her voice from cracking.
No one else spoke. Laurel was crying and Harris had his arm around her. He looked wide-eyed and pale, while Millay’s gaze was fastened on the ground. Her arms were crossed around her chest in a protective posture. No one seemed keen to move just yet.
“Listen,” Olivia began again, forcing gentleness into her tone. “Someone did this to him. To Camden. I know we’re all trying to understand what happened tonight and
“I’m scared!” Laurel exclaimed, her lips quivering. “What if the murderer’s still around? He could be in the bar or driving through one of our neighborhoods this very second! He could know us or have seen us with Camden!” Her eyes darted around the parking lot. “Who would do that to another human being? Millay said his throat...” She couldn’t continue.
Olivia reached out and put a hand on Laurel’s shoulder. “Don’t think about that now. We’ll focus on any details we know about Camden. About his life, not his death. Okay?”
The tender touch seemed to make Laurel cry all the harder and Olivia felt herself whispering, “Hush, hush,” as though she were trying to calm a bereft child. “Come on, everyone. We’ll go back to my place and make some coffee. Let’s get out of the night.”
That last statement echoed with Laurel. “That-that sounds good,” she stammered. “I’ll call Steve from the cottage so he won’t worry.”
Everyone piled into Olivia’s SUV. Haviland stepped onto the center console and nuzzled Olivia with his head. She put an arm around him, and for a moment, buried her face in the fur of his neck, inhaling his familiar scent of wet sand and fresh soil and eucalyptus shampoo. When she released her hold of the poodle, she felt as though the ground had finally returned beneath her feet.
“To your seat, Captain,” she ordered while blinking back tears. She buckled his safety belt and turned toward home.
Back at the cottage, she asked Harris to switch on the gas logs in the living room fireplace and for Millay to brew a pot of strong coffee. Laurel went straight for the phone set up in the small office adjacent to the living room. Olivia winced as she listened as the distraught younger woman sought solace from her husband, only to be denied.
“Is that all you have to say to me after what I’ve been through?” she queried pitifully. But Steve’s reply obviously triggered something in Laurel and with a shout of anger, she slammed the phone receiver back into the cradle.
“I’m sorry,” she told Olivia as she exited the office. “I just could not take one of his lectures on how I belong at home. Not tonight, no sir!”
Olivia nodded, pleased to see that Laurel had more spunk than one might credit her with. “I understand. Why don’t you sit down in front of the fire and I’ll get you something warm to drink. We could all use something to steady our nerves.”
As she hadn’t supplied the cottage with shot glasses, thinking they’d hardly be necessary for informal meetings, Olivia poured splashes of Chivas Regal into disposable coffee cups and distributed them to the others.
“Down the hatch.” Millay raised her glass and tossed back the contents without as much as a flinch.
Harris tried to emulate the motion, but couldn’t help from grimacing slightly after he’d swallowed. Laurel held her nose, downed her drink, and slapped the empty cup on the end table beside her.
“I’d like another, please,” she said in a stronger voice.
Olivia shook her head as Millay stood, heading for the bottle. “Why don’t I stir a little into our coffee this time around? We have to stay awake and alert in order to make our statements.”
Hands cradling cups of laced coffee, the writers positioned themselves close to the fire and to one another. Each of them silently called Camden to mind.
“He was so charming.” Laurel spoke first. “Everyone he met liked him from the get-go. Who’d want to hurt him?”
“Maybe he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Harris suggested. “The crowd in that place looks like they could turn rough pretty quickly.”
Millay snorted. “Yeah, like lightning-strike quick. I could pick out a half a dozen fishermen who might snap because you looked at them sideways. Shit, six or seven of them are totally capable of killing somebody. But to write poetry afterward? That’s not their MO. Seems more like a deranged college prof on an acid trip to me.”
“But what was Camden doing in Fish Nets in the first place?” Laurel demanded. “It’s not like he’d go there to make new friends.”
Olivia couldn’t help but smile. “If you’re referring to Camden making sexual advances to one of the patrons, I can’t see that happening either. Millay? Are you certain you saw him enter the bar?”
Running slim fingers through her blue and black hair, Millay exhaled loudly in vexation. “No. Like I said
“Our eyes see what our brain expects them to see,” Harris said in her defense.
A flicker of admiration entered Millay’s dark eyes. “Exactly.” She turned back to Olivia. “I wish I did know if he went inside for sure, but I don’t. I’ll ask around once the cops leave. No one’s going to tell them a thing. Those guys keep things close to the chest.”
Laurel shifted in her seat, tucking her legs beneath her and smoothing out the fabric of her khaki linen trousers. Backlit by the flickering flames in the fireplace, her hair glowed like a golden crown and she instantly seemed years younger. Suddenly, the visage of another, even younger woman sprang into Olivia’s mind.
“Wait a moment,” she said, nearly rising to her feet. “Camden and I listened in when Blake Talbot was discussing his plans for yesterday evening with his girlfriend. From what we overheard, Blake intended to meet some people at Fish Nets.”
“And since Camden’s writing a book based on the Talbot family, he might have gone down there to find out what Blake had been doing there?” Laurel deduced.
Millay shook her head. “No way a rich kid like Blake shows up at my bar.
