A Killer Plot (2010)

heavy wooden door to the sound of tinkling bells and was surprised to hear a woman’s voice call out, “Welcome to Through the Wardrobe!”

A woman in her early thirties in a form-fitting flowered sundress looked up from her task of gathering a long vacuum cord. From the manner in which the pretty brunette wrapped the cord from palm to elbow as a veteran sailor would coil a length of rope, Olivia wondered if the younger woman could move about a boat with the same show of grace and ease.

“Can I help you find something?” the brunette asked, using the gentle drawl indigenous to the Carolinas.

Olivia pasted on a friendly smile. “I was looking for Mr. McNulty, actually. There’s something I wanted to ask him. I’ll only take a few minutes of his time as I’ve left my dog in the car.” She gestured toward the front door while inhaling the pleasing aroma of orange-scented furniture wax. “I’m glad to see he’s found some help. This place needed a woman’s touch.”

The woman looped the cord neatly onto the hook on the vacuum cleaner’s body and held out her hand. “I’m Jenna Watts. I’ve seen you around town, of course, but it’s a pleasure to meet you in person. Flynn’s out back taking care of the garbage. Just go through the stockroom. I hope you don’t mind if I let you find your own way. I don’t like to leave the register unattended.” She glanced out the window. “And I’ll make sure to keep an eye on your beautiful dog.”

Upon first seeing her, Olivia had been fully prepared to dislike Flynn’s new employee, but instead found herself disarmed by Jenna’s pleasant, practical nature.

And why would I care that Flynn hired such a pretty woman? she asked herself. I have no claim on him.

The only customer in the store was a teenage boy enveloped in one of the upholstered chairs. His nose was buried in a graphic novel and he had a stack of similar works piled up on the coffee table in front of him. Olivia suspected Jenna would have to politely tell the absorbed reader the store was closing if she wanted to go home before midnight.

Olivia walked through the deserted children’s section and passed through a set of double doors leading to the stockroom. The space was dimly lit and contained a rolling cart, stacks of cardboard boxes from Ingram and other book distributors, and cardboard book displays sent by various publishing houses in order to highlight the works of some of their bestselling authors.

The sounds of Bob Seger’s “The Fire Inside” burst forth from the radio. The appliance was angled so the speakers faced the cement door leading outside. Olivia walked toward the open door but paused to examine Flynn’s CD collection first. She found people’s tastes in books and music to be very telling. Flynn’s selected artists included Bob Seger, Bruce Springsteen, the Eagles, Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Who, Bread, Creedance Clearwater Revival, Miles Davis, Ella Fitzgerald, and John Coltrane. When her eyes fell on the last pair of CDs in the small rack, she took an involuntary step backward. Flynn owned both of Blackwater’s albums, even though his musical taste didn’t seem to reflect an interest in Blake Talbot’s brand of punk rock.

Olivia opened each of the jewel cases and pulled out the CDs. No notes or scraps of paper bearing sinister instructions fluttered to the floor. She replaced the two CDs, feeling foolishly paranoid and acutely anxious all at once.

What do I really know about this man? she thought as she moved forward to find him.

Stepping over the threshold, Olivia saw him and abruptly stopped.

Flynn had stripped off his button-down shirt and hung it from the handle of a small moving dolly. Clad in a snug white T-shirt that accentuated his muscular arms and back, Flynn was engrossed in breaking down empty boxes. Wielding a box cutter, he sliced through packing tape using deft, deliberate movements. He then stomped heavily on each box, driving the heel of his foot against the cardboard so that it collapsed in a single, defeated motion.

Olivia focused her gaze on Flynn’s face, watching the tight clench of his jaw and the fixed determination in his eyes as he worked. After finishing another three boxes, he sheathed the box cutter, put it in his pocket, and reached for the bottle of beer he’d had sitting in the shade of the Dumpster. Looking up, he spotted Olivia in the doorway.

Time crawled as he stared at her without seeming to actually see her. It was as though his mind had been miles away and had been suddenly forced back to the here and now. Blinking, a hesitant smile appeared on Flynn’s face and he headed toward Olivia, signaling that he needed to turn down the radio’s volume. She stood aside as he came into the stockroom and switched off the music, perturbed by the vacant look she’d just seen in his eyes.

“Are you one of those people who don’t believe in the modern device known as the telephone?” His tone was playful, making Olivia doubt whether she was reading too much into the far-off thoughts of a man busy with menial labor.

“I prefer to speak to people in person,” Olivia replied. She glanced outside. “Are you almost finished?”

Flynn hesitated and then nodded. “I’ve done enough work for today. Have you had dinner yet?”

“Actually, that’s why I’m here,” she said. “Do you have plans for tonight?”

“Only to fire up the grill so that I can prove to my neighbors that I’m a real man even though I don’t own a pickup or a chain saw.” He gave her a pleading look. “Having a beautiful woman on my patio won’t hurt either, so if you like Italian sausages, corn on the cob, and watermelon, I’ve got enough for two.”

“Well, if your cooking abilities are anything like your decorating tastes ...” Olivia trailed off, recalling the interior of Flynn’s house.

Flynn’s laugh bounced off the cement walls “Let me just lock up back here and tell Jenna she can scoot. Did you get a chance to meet her on the way in?”

Olivia nodded. “Yes, she’s lovely. However, she might be too nice to kick out your last customer. He looks like he’d like to spend the night here.”

“The teenager reading graphic novels?” Flynn asked. “That’s Alan.” He flicked a life-sized cardboard cutout of Dan Brown on the nose. “Alan will leave when I start turning the lights off. Meet you out front.”

Olivia browsed the poetry section while Flynn finished with his closing tasks. Once she’d returned to the Rover and began following Flynn to his home, Haviland whined in protest.

“This is a fact-finding mission,” Olivia explained to the unhappy poodle. “And there will be sausages for dinner.”

As though he understood the word sausage, Haviland bounded out of the car and across Flynn’s lawn in a blur of black fur. He eagerly sniffed at all the shrubbery surrounding the front porch and then sat on his haunches on the welcome mat as though he couldn’t imagine what was taking the humans so long to open the door and begin the food preparations.

“Good evening, Haviland.” Flynn nodded at the poodle.

Olivia watched closely as her dog sniffed Flynn’s hand and then turned away, disinterested. Apparently, Haviland’s feelings hadn’t changed. The poodle still didn’t appear the slightest bit threatened by the man.

Relieved, Olivia walked into the living room and then laughed when the poodle began to bark at the three- dimensional tropical fish swimming across the kelly green wall. “Captain, it isn’t polite to criticize another’s person’s taste in, ah, artwork.”

Flynn looked appalled. “Hey, now! This isn’t my taste. Those heinous fish came with the house, along with the atrocious paint colors. Come on, do you think I’d have a silver and purple bathroom?” He put his hand over his heart and groaned as though he’d been wounded. “My goal was to get the store straight before turning my attention to this place. Believe me, if those Little Nemos weren’t fastened on there with industrial strength wall anchors, they’d have been at the curb from day one.”

He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “I’ve got soda, beer, tap water, or milk that’s probably well on its way to becoming sour cream.”

“A beer’s fine for me,” Olivia answered, thinking wistfully of the unopened bottle of Chivas Regal she had at home. “And a bowl of water for Haviland, please.”

“Bowls are in the cabinet to the right of the sink.” Flynn placed the beer on the counter and removed a package wrapped in brown butcher paper from the meat drawer. He loaded two ears of corn, unhusked, and several types of sausages onto a platter. As he walked through the living room, he suddenly stopped.

“I can’t believe you thought I deliberately hung those fish. What else do you think I’m capable of, I wonder?”