A Killer Plot (2010)

if there were treatments available to alleviate the symptoms of rosacea.

“Sign here. We’ll call you if we need more information.” Officer Cook slapped a piece of paper on his desk. After Harris signed, Cook dismissed him without so much as a thank-you.

“May I speak to my friend for a moment?” Olivia inquired and then, without waiting for Cook’s permission, took Harris by the elbow and led him several steps away from the desk. “Do you have all of Camden’s chapters?”

Harris shook his head. “No, we just have the one. I know he wrote more, but I’ve never seen the rest of his work. Why?”

“Because if Blake Talbot has anything to do with Camden’s death, the reason might be hidden in Camden’s writing.” Olivia cast a glance over her shoulder. Cook was scowling at her while tapping a ballpoint pen impatiently against his computer keyboard. “Perhaps by getting to know Bradley Talcott more intimately, we might discover what recent scandal Camden was investigating regarding the Talbots.”

Harris turned the idea over for a long second. “That seems like a real possibility. Are you going to tell the cops?”

“Yes, but I also think we could assist the authorities by reviewing the manuscript ourselves. Where was Camden staying?”

“At The Yellow Lady.” Harris touched Olivia’s arm. “But we’re not going to be allowed in his room, are we? Isn’t that room and all Camden’s stuff, you know, off limits now?”

“Not to Mr. Cosmo Volakis. He was Camden’s partner and he’s on his way here from LA.” Olivia’s eyes narrowed with determination. She leaned toward Harris and whispered, “Set up an emergency meeting of the Bayside Book Writers. Anytime is good for me, but make sure everyone can attend. I’m going to offer my chauffeuring services to the good officer here, and, come hell or high water, I intend to get ahold of a copy of Camden’s work-in-progress for us to review.”

“How can you be so confident?” Harris’s tone was a mixture of admiration and doubt.

“Because Camden’s lover is going to want justice, even more than we do. And I cannot go on living my everyday life knowing that someone is out there, walking the streets of Oyster Bay, breathing the sea air and letting the sun fall on his face, when Camden isn’t. Camden’s life has been stolen from him, in our town, and we have to do everything in our power to see that the killer pays for what he did.”

Harris clenched his jaw and nodded, his eyes filled with resolve. Olivia caught a glimpse of the mettle coexisting with the young man’s kindness. Turning toward Cook, Olivia pasted on the most winsome smile she could muster.

“I am so sorry to keep you waiting, Officer,” she gushed. “I know you must have a dozen tasks of real significance to complete today. Please. Tell me what you need me to do.”

Looking quite satisfied, the officer leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers together, and tried his best to exude power and authority. “I just need you to review and sign your statement, Ms. Limoges. I doubt there’s anything else you could do to help us.”

Nodding humbly, Olivia said, “There may be one little errand I could run on behalf of the Oyster Bay Police Department, ensuring your talents or those of another valuable officer aren’t wasted providing limo service for the victim’s boyfriend. I hear he’s on his way as we speak.”

Cook looked torn, but clearly he wanted to see some real action and he didn’t feel like acting as a chauffeur would qualify.

He took a manly swig of soda. “All right, Ms. Limoges. You can pick him up, but I’m gonna tell you how it’s gonna play out and you’re gonna follow my exact directions. Understand?”

“Of course.” Olivia smiled demurely and gave Officer Cook her undivided attention.

Chapter 6

Parting is all we know of heaven and all we need to know of hell.

—EMILY DICKINSON

Upon leaving the station, Olivia found she didn’t feel like going home. She was restless, but most of Oyster Bay’s businesses were closed on Sunday, so there was little to do but attend church services or go out to eat. Olivia didn’t want to do either, so she decided to stop by her restaurant and busy herself with mindless paperwork.

The Boot Top Bistro had recently added a Sunday brunch to its list of offerings and the churchgoers were streaming into the restaurant as Olivia and Haviland pulled into the parking lot. Plump matrons in pastel skirt suits led their pressed and polished families like clucking hens gathering chicks to the feed pile. Glowering teenagers, pained over being separated from cell phones, iPods, and handheld video games, trailed after the rest of their kin as though hoping to appear unrelated to those who caused them such acute embarrassment merely by existing.

Normally, the sight of so many patrons filing into The Boot Top would have put Olivia in an agreeable mood, but she felt completely out of sorts. It wasn’t only Camden’s tragic death that bothered her, but the feelings of powerlessness that accompanied his murder.

Bursting into the kitchen through the back door, Olivia was greeted by her staff, but she merely waved them off and headed for her office, a tiny, windowless room next to the dry goods pantry. Michel followed her, Haviland right on the chef’s heels, clearly hoping to receive a savory treat.

“I do have something for you, my friend. Une moment.” Michel smiled at the poodle but wouldn’t pet him while he was in the midst of food preparation. “Olivia, I heard what happened to your writer friend.” Michel worriedly studied his employer. “Are you sure you want to be here? Georges has things well under control.”

Georges served as both maitre d’ and general manager.

“Last time I checked, this was my restaurant and I could come and go as I pleased!” Olivia snapped and then immediately relented. “My apologies, Michel. I shouldn’t be directing my ire at you. I simply cannot stand to sit around, idle, and hope for things to turn out as they ought.”

Michel nodded. Another type A personality, he understood her need to take action. “The police don’t know your friend, do they? He’s an outsider?”

“Camden? He was a gossip columnist from Los Angeles.” She pictured Camden’s silk shirts and flawlessly creased trousers. “Though I’m sure most of them noticed him. He was rather flamboyant for our conservative little town.” Absently, Olivia pressed several pencils into an automatic sharpener and then, satisfied with their sharpness, lined them up neatly on her desk calendar. “But I see what you’re saying—that it would be easier to find his killer if we really knew Camden Ford. Unfortunately, I consider myself his most recent acquaintance, so I need to squeeze as much information as I can out of the person who knew him best.”

Michel looked intrigued. “Who would that be? His mother?”

“His lover. I’m picking him up at the Raleigh-Durham airport early this evening,” Olivia answered and then grinned slyly as an idea struck. “Michel, darling, how would you like to assign one of your assistants a small task? As a personal favor to me?”

Bowing from the waist, Michel said, “Anything for you. You need only ask.”

“I’d like a picnic dinner of sorts. A basket brimming with the type of delicacies to loosen the tongue of a stranger.” She looked up at the chef in appeal. “Can you make it fancy yet comforting?”

Her unusual request seemed to please Michel to no end. He stood a fraction taller and straightened his pristine, white hat. “I’ll see to it myself. Robbie and Jeremy are perfectly capable of making omelets Florentine and crab Benedict. This requires a delicate hand.” He displayed the briefest of sulks. “I know these brunches are profitable, but they’re rather unadventurous for someone of my talents.”