A Killer Plot (2010)

“Ms. Limoges? There’s a man asking for you. I think he’s the chief of police, but I’m not sure.”

“Thank you, Lisa.” Olivia checked her watch. “How did it get to be five o’clock? You can stay here, Captain. I’m sure Michel will give you a few nibbles of shrimp after he’s had a smoke break.”

Haviland looked hopeful. The poodle was very fond of fresh shrimp but was treated to them very rarely. Even then, he was only allowed a few, as Olivia didn’t consider shrimp good for his diet.

In The Boot Top’s luxuriant ladies’ room, Olivia hastily changed into her spare outfit, ran a brush through her white blond hair, and put on mascara and lipstick. Briefly wondering if she smelled of shrimp, she rubbed on a dab of scented hand lotion kept on the counter for patrons’ use.

Satisfied with her appearance, Olivia slung the bag containing her other clothes onto the chair in her office and marched out to the dining room to meet her guest. Chief Rawlings stood at the bar, a martini glass in his hand. He and Gabe were engaged in a casual conversation and Olivia reflected that most people seemed completely at ease in the lawman’s presence.

It must make him good at his job, she thought. To get to the bottom of a crime, he needs to listen to people’s stories. The more open they are, the more details he’s given to sift through.

Upon seeing Olivia, Rawlings immediately put down his drink and took her hand in his. He studied her and seemed to like what he saw. For a moment, Olivia was afraid he’d kiss the back of her palm, but he merely squeezed her hand and then gently let go.

“Gabe makes an excellent vodka gimlet. I believe it’s the best I’ve ever had.” He smiled at the bartender. “And I’ve had quite a few.”

Olivia glanced at the chief’s inexpensive but meticulously pressed suit. She wondered if he had dressed up on her behalf and wasn’t quite certain how she felt about the possibility. Gabe handed her a tumbler of Chivas Regal and she led the lawman to a small bar table flanked by leather club chairs.

“I’m glad you came early, Chief. I’m having dinner with Cosmo and I doubt you’ll want to be here when he arrives. He’s sure to want an update on Camden’s case.”

Rawlings traced his finger down the bowl of his chilled glass. “Please call me Sawyer. I’m off duty tonight.”

Olivia’s brows rose over the rim of her tumbler. She took a sip, wondering if Rawlings was hinting that he didn’t plan on discussing the investigation with her. She decided to feel him out. “Is Jethro Bragg a suspect in Camden’s murder?”

“Life in a small town. I’ve got more leaks in my department than an inflatable raft stuck on a coral reef.” He sighed in resignation. “Yes, Jethro is a suspect.”

“He’s familiar with haiku?” Olivia asked incredulously.

Rawlings’ shoulders moved in a slight shrug. “That’s unclear. We searched his houseboat and he’s got books on a variety of subjects, including poetry. He’s had a library copy of The Norton Anthology of World Literature checked out for a year.”

“Imagine the late fees,” Olivia quipped. “There must be more substantial evidence against Jethro than the volumes on his bookshelf.”

A flash of annoyance crossed Rawlings’ features. “He followed Mr. Ford into the alley. Mr. Bragg is overtly anti-gay. He warned Mr. Ford to leave his town or face the consequences. He made several incriminating remarks.”

Olivia watched several emotions flicker over the chief’s face. She leaned closer to him. “You don’t think Jethro’s the killer, do you? You believe he’s capable of killing and has probably taken lives while serving in the army, but you don’t truly think this crime fits him.” She didn’t wait for his reply. “But having him in custody makes people feel better. The mayor. Camden’s partner. The local press. It gives you some breathing room.”

“That’s a long list of assumptions, Ms. Limoges.” Rawlings smiled thinly. “Mr. Bragg is being detained because he became violent during questioning. He has no alibi for the night of Mr. Ford’s murder and spoke with a great deal of hostility against the victim.”

“So no one saw Jethro go inside Fish Nets? He was just nearby, in the alley?”

The chief shook his head. “He never went in. When I asked him to recall his movements for the entire evening, he refused to cooperate. When pressed, he became violent.” He stared at her curiously. “Any breakthroughs on your end?”

“No,” Olivia reluctantly confessed. “We have no idea what the haiku means other than the killer needed to silence Camden.”

Rawlings made a noncommittal grunt.

Gabe walked out from behind the bar and wordlessly served them another round of drinks. A middle-aged couple walked into the bar area, heads bent toward each other, hands interlaced. The man pulled out a padded leather stool for his wife and then asked Gabe for the wine list. Even without looking at the couple, Olivia knew they were from out of town by their New England accents. She gave them a friendly smile. Well-to-do tourists always ran up a nice tab at The Boot Top.

Olivia was just about to turn back to the chief when two men came in. She recognized the one on the left wearing an expensive suit and confident smile. It was Max Warfield. The Talbot Properties employee was laughing robustly in response to something his older, more attractive companion said, but Olivia sensed the humor was insincere.

“I believe we are about to be graced by the presence of Mr. Dean Talbot,” Rawlings whispered.

“Then let’s be as inconspicuous as possible,” Olivia replied. “I’d like to eavesdrop on their conversation.”

Rawlings grinned. “You shoot straight from the hip, don’t you? Now I know he’s got plenty of female fans, but do you have a crush on him too? Sure he’s rich, powerful, and handsome, but he doesn’t strike me as your type.”

“He’s not,” Olivia hissed, eying the real estate tycoon from her peripheral vision. Dean Talbot had the bronzed, unlined skin of someone who regularly frequents both tanning salons as well as the plastic surgeon. His hair fell in thick, silvery waves and he was lean without being too thin.

More interested in examining the screen of his BlackBerry than his surroundings, Dean settled into the chair behind Olivia while Max stepped up to the bar to order their drinks.

“And get me some peanuts or something. I’m freaking starving,” Dean commanded. His voice was nasal and tinged with a Brooklyn accent.

Olivia saw Max’s shoulders stiffen and silently wondered if the man resented the orders he was given. The moment Max set a tumbler in front of his boss, Dean popped out of his seat. “I’m going to take a leak. See to those peanuts, would you?”

Before Max could answer, Gabe come around from behind the bar with a glass dish filled with a mixture of cocktail peanuts, sesame sticks, and wasabi-dusted dried peas. Max, who was busy dialing a number on his cell phone, nodded at the bartender. As soon as Gabe turned away, Max spoke angrily into the phone.

“Are you sure you’ve picked the right guy? He’s already screwed up big-time! Have I backed the wrong horse? You said you had it all worked out!” He paused. “Yeah, it passed, but there’s still the damned Planning Board.”

Olivia and Rawlings exchanged curious looks.

“Look, kid. You know why I agreed to this. Just hold up your end and everything will be fine. And remember, you can’t do anything without me. If I get so much as the slightest vibe that you’re trying to screw me over I will crush you like—” Max immediately stopped speaking. Olivia heard him snap his cell phone shut.

Raising her tumbler, Olivia could see Dean returning in the reflection of the glass. Behind her, she heard the rattle of ice and a loud swallow as Max took a deep sip of his gin and tonic.

“Ah, snack mix!” Dean exclaimed as though Max had presented him with a chest stuffed with fine jewels. “What would I do without you?”

“You’d be just fine, sir,” Max replied affably.

Dean laughed. “You’re probably right.” There was a pause in which Dean likely consumed several handfuls of the snack mix. “I saw the most interesting movie trailer during my flight down,” he said next. “I think Blake’s little girlfriend was the star. Pretty little thing, though I prefer my women to have more curves and more . . . experience. You seen her TV show? That girl is going places.”

Their talk ventured into the realm of movies and television and Olivia no longer bothered to listen in.