fresh as a spring day in white pants and a pink shirt. He smiled and gave me a friendly wave but didn’t stop for a chat like he usually did. Still, his eyes were twinkling, like a kid on Christmas Eve. He was real worked up, like he couldn’t wait to get where he was going.”
Cosmo sighed. “So he wasn’t scared when he left. Cam wanted to see this person. But he didn’t meet a
Pushing her chair away from the table, Annie got up and put an arm around Cosmo and squeezed. The young man leaned back into her pillowy chest. Olivia also rose. She and Annie exchanged a look. They both knew Cosmo needed to be taken under someone’s protective wing and Olivia hoped her face portrayed her relief over sharing the responsibility with such a capable woman.
“I think you should stay at The Yellow Lady,” Olivia whispered gently to Cosmo. “You’re perfectly safe here and Annie and Roy can care for you better than I ever could. If you stayed in the cottage, you’d have to cook your own meals, make your own bed, and you’d be all alone. Besides, I don’t even own an iron.”
Cosmo waved his hands in front of his face and blinked away a fresh round of tears. “I have
“The thought never crossed my mind. I’m only a phone call away and in this town, it’ll never take me more than fifteen minutes to get to you,” Olivia assured him. “Now, can we peek in Camden’s room?”
Annie shook her head. “The chief gave me strict instructions to leave it be. Cosmo already asked me to look inside for Mr. Ford’s computer, but it’s gone. He always left it square on the writing desk, with his phone and a notepad lined up right beside it. Neat as a pin, that one was.”
“There are no printouts of his manuscript either,” Cosmo said dejectedly. “Annie was nice enough to check. I just couldn’t go in. The cops must have it all.”
Olivia fell silent. Not only did she need to acquire a copy of Camden’s work in progress, but she now wanted to know the identity of the caller feeding Camden information regarding the town park. At the moment, she couldn’t think of a single connection between the Talbot family and a seldom-frequented community park. Luckily, there were several locals who might be able to enlighten her.
Cosmo took hold of Olivia’s hand. “You go on ahead with CSI Oyster Bay. I’ve got to make ... arrangements. I can’t stand the thought of my darling Cam spending another day lying on some cold piece of metal.” His eyes filled with tears again. “The least I can do is buy him the most decadent, velvet-lined coffin ever made and cover him with heaps and heaps of flowers.”
“I could drive you over to Woody’s Funeral Home,” Annie offered kindly. “You shouldn’t have to do that task on your own.”
“Oh, you’re a treasure!” Cosmo exclaimed with relief. “It’s going to be a very small affair. After all, Cam’s family cut him out of their lives the day he came out. That was almost
He hid his face in the napkin for a long moment. “Enough!” He resurfaced and sniffed. “I have to face Oyster Bay’s men in blue at one o’clock
“Do your best to speak directly to Chief Rawlings,” Olivia counseled. “And might I suggest you change your shirt into something a little less—”
“Gay?” Cosmo guessed wryly.
“I was going to say ‘pink.’ ” She grinned and pulled out another business card from her purse. She’d written both her mobile and home numbers on the back. “Call me if you need a ride to the station. I’ve got a decent measure of influence in this town and I’ll make certain you’re treated with the consideration and respect you deserve.”
Annie began placing dirty dishes on a lacquered tray. “You’ll do well with Ms. Olivia watching your back, young man. But it’s
Cosmo saluted. “Eat protein. Change shirt. Stop blubbering. Yes, yes, mommy dearests. Whatever you say.”
Olivia left the inn and drove straight to Bagels ‘n’ Beans. She ordered Wheeler’s home-brewed orange iced tea and then asked him if he had a minute to spare for a chat. She selected the table closest to the back door where she was least likely to be overheard. Her seating choice also allowed her to view Chief Rawlings’ newest paintings. Haviland, clearly sensing there were no treats to be had in a room smelling, to a dog at least, of burned cocoa beans and rubbery dough, went to sleep.
Wheeler finished making soy lattes with no foam for a pair of tourists, gave them a gummy smile when they stuffed a few bills into the tip jar, and then shuffled over to Olivia’s table. He pointed at the paintings. “You gonna snap these up too?”
Though the nearest painting was of a subject Olivia would not choose to display, she had to admit it was charming. It depicted a little boy in overalls standing alongside an ice cream truck. The whole truck wasn’t in view —only one of the wheels and the colorful menu board. The boy, who was barefoot and generously freckled, gripped a dollar bill in one hand and had the other shoved deep into the pocket of his denim overalls. His eyes gleamed as he gazed longingly at the tempting images of orange creamsicles, Astro Pops, ice cream sandwiches, king cones, strawberry shortcake bars, and chocolate eclair bars.
“It’s well executed,” Olivia told Wheeler. “But I like this other one better. Do you know the woman?”
“Aye. Sawyer’s wife, Helen, that is. Died a few years back. Caught the cancer.”
Olivia had never heard the disease described as catch-able before, but Wheeler had spent the better part of his life trolling for tuna across the Atlantic, and like many of Oyster Bay’s older fishermen, had developed a unique dialect of blended accents and phrases.
“I don’t recall hearing Chief Rawlings’ first name before,” Olivia answered as she studied the painting. It was a simple scene showing a woman reading. She was reclined in an Adirondack chair with a hardcover propped open on her knees. Her intelligent eyes were opened wide, her expression one of guilty pleasure. The nail of her index finger was held captive between her upper and lower teeth and her lips curved in a slight, secretive smile. The woman was not beautiful, but it was difficult to turn away from her animated face. Olivia immediately liked how the picture championed the notion that time spent reading was a treasure to be cherished.
“Wheeler, you met Camden Ford, didn’t you?” Olivia turned away from the art. “He was visiting from California.”
“The writer fellow. Acted girly.” Wheeler grunted. “Dressed girly too.”
“Yes, Camden did prefer pastels,” agreed Olivia. “Did he ask you any questions about Oyster Bay or any of the people here?”
Wheeler nodded. “Sure enough. Wanted to know when those houses first startin’ goin’ up on the bluff. I told him they slapped them up in no time like everythin’ they build these days. The first real storm and those things’ll blow over like a feather in the wind.”
“Talbot Fine Properties at work,” Olivia muttered.
“He wanted to know about those folks too. Daddy Talbot was in here a time or two this spring. Never talked to him direct though. He’s got helpers to order his drinks, fetch him a cookie, and stir the sugar in his coffee. Wonder if they wipe his ass for him too.” Wheeler gave a dry chuckle.
“Was Camden interested in any other subjects?”
Wheeler pulled a damp cloth from his pocket and began to wipe the table. Olivia moved her elbows off the surface and watched as the old man’s hands moved in slow, careful circles. The motion seemed to help him think. “He wanted to know about the soldier graveyard—if there was livin’ kin to the boys buried there. I reckon there are a handful of folks sharin’ names with those written on the stones,
