As he spoke her name, Rawlings grabbed her by the shoulders. His eyes were lit with a mixture of fear and longing and his fingertips pressed into her flesh as though he might pull her roughly against his chest.
Olivia, torn between indignation and a surge of inexplicable desire, wanted him to do just that, but the chief didn’t have the chance to act as he was interrupted by the appearance of Bert Long.
“I ... excuse me,” Bert stammered and Rawlings released his hold of Olivia’s shoulders. “My secretary has made some coffee and put out some food. It’s not much, but I figured you might be here awhile.”
Embarrassed to be caught nearly in the chief’s arms, Olivia gave Bert a hard look. “Got any more of what was in that flask?”
Now it was Bert’s turn to act discomfited. “Ah ... no. Sorry. I’ve never seen a dead body before and I needed a little something to help me settle down. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“Well, we’re in Oyster Bay, so perhaps you’ll grow more accustomed to seeing corpses. They seem to be piling up around here.” Olivia glanced at Rawlings. “I assume we’re done for the moment and that I can give my official statement tomorrow, being as there’s not much time until the meeting?”
Rawlings nodded, his expression alternating between concern and irritation. Seeing him struggle to maintain a neutral look, Olivia was again reminded of the weight resting on the man’s shoulders. She took a single step toward him. “Haviland could stop this man before he gets a chance to enact that final haiku,” she said softly. “If the killer doesn’t show tonight, then we’re of no use to you and I vow to stay out of your way, but if he does, and Haviland can zero in on his scent, then at least you’ll know exactly who to pursue. Just give us a chance. I know the collar is evidence. I won’t handle it at all. I just need to open the bag and let Haviland smell it before the meeting starts. What’s the harm in that?” When the chief didn’t immediately agree, she broke eye contact. “Come on, Captain.”
Haviland trotted out of the office ahead of his mistress, obviously ready to leave. Olivia said a short good-bye to Bert and then turned back at Rawlings once more. “This town needs us, Chief. All of us. If I can bring about a conclusion, no matter how clumsily, then I will.”
Olivia expected a small crowd to congregate at the town hall—somewhere around forty people. Their meetings typically attracted a dozen or so regular attendees, but with Dean Talbot’s death, she expected several members of the press to be on hand to record Blake’s reaction to the board’s vote. She then added a dozen nosy townspeople to her mental list, knowing that Dixie would have talked up the evening as a potential source of colorful entertainment.
At five minutes to seven Olivia parked in the mayor’s reserved space. “Well, his
Haviland just looked at her.
“Honestly, Captain, I didn’t think this meeting would draw such a turnout. There must be something else going on in the square. A local band or a dramatic performance by that awful theater troupe. Look, there isn’t an available parking space within sight.” She gazed up at the sky, which had clouded over during the dinner hour. The darkness was deeper than usual and the ocean breeze carried a slight chill. Olivia grabbed an umbrella from the back seat of the Rover. “It’s going to pour,” she told Haviland “You’ll be glad we parked where we did in an hour.”
Steeling herself against the uncertainty waiting within, Olivia opened the hall’s front door. She was surprised to hear noise echoing from inside the meeting room which was at the far end of the building’s main corridor. There was the expected murmur of adult conversation, but it was louder than she’d ever heard before, swelling into the hall like the buzzing of a thousand hives. These sounds were punctuated by the shrill giggles of a gaggle of preteen girls. The atmosphere permeating the building was electric. Haviland raised his snout, sniffing out the feelings of excitement and nervous anticipation flowing out of the meeting room like a pungent perfume.
As Olivia crossed the threshold, it took her a moment to adjust her eyes to the sight before her. Clusters of young girls holding signs, magazines, and digital cameras filled every imaginable space toward the back of the room.
A child Olivia judged to be about eight years old approached her and asked, “Is there, like, a limo parked out front?”
“Not at the moment.” Olivia studied the child. She wore a striped tank top over a white T-shirt, a pair of denim shorts, and rows of multicolored yarn bracelets on both arms. “Why are all of you here?” She gestured at the fidgety, boisterous girls surrounding them.
The girl in front of her held up a copy of
“I see,” was all Olivia could manage.
Ignoring the follow-up questions from the girl’s companions, Olivia pushed her way through a knot of parents who were only attending the meeting to indulge the whims of their daughters. After reaching the other side of the room, she noticed that the first five or six rows of seats were occupied by the residents of Oyster Bay actually interested in the outcome of the evening’s vote. Assorted members of the media were scattered around the room as well. This was to be Blake’s first official action as the new face of Talbot Properties and the restless reporters were eager to put their best spin on the small-town Planning Board meeting.
Olivia finally reached the table positioned on a raised dais at the front of the room. This was the reserved seating for the board members. She dropped her purse and umbrella onto the floor, put her hands on her hips, and surveyed the audience. The majority of the crowd behaved as though they were at a social gathering. Raised voices and hearty laughter boomed from wall to wall. Those who had gathered to hear how the board would vote appeared to be growing more and more irritated at the feistiness of the Heidi St. Claire fan club.
Someone waved from one of the front rows and Olivia recognized Laurel’s sheen of blond hair. The Bayside Book Writers were seated together. Harris gave Olivia a hesitant thumbs-up while Millay saluted her. Having spoken to all three of them after leaving the Ocean Vista condos, Olivia knew her friends were prepared to spend the next hour observing the townsfolk seated around them. Haviland glanced at the audience a few times and then darted over to Grumpy and began to sniff his boots.
“Ain’t no bacon stuffed down my socks, good buddy,” Grumpy said and patted Haviland on the head. “Though I reckon my shoes smell like a kitchen, hm?”
Grumpy’s work boots reminded Olivia of the tracks in the sand near the lighthouse keeper’s cottage. She turned back to the townsfolk again but could only see the feet of those seated in the first row.
Haviland, disturbed by the yelling and shrieking, retreated behind the table. Olivia took her seat and pulled the poodle against her, crooning into his ear. It seemed to take ages before the mayor appeared behind the podium and Blake Talbot and Heidi St. Claire settled into a set of reserved seats in the front row. As the burly policemen took up their positions at the end of each aisle, holding out stiff hands to stop the further encroachment of the hysterical young girls, a third made his way to Olivia’s side. Wordlessly, he handed her a paper grocery bag and then joined his fellow officers.
Olivia peered inside. Haviland’s collar rested inside a sealed plastic bag.
“Attention, please!” Mayor Guthrie shouted into the microphone. “Girls, please! Quiet down! Stop screaming! PLEASE!”
Somehow, the decibel level dropped enough for the mayor to speak without hollering. His cheeks were already flushed with heat and self-importance.
“I understand that many of you are excited by our special guests.” The mayor beamed and Olivia was impressed by his tact. Clearly, Heidi St. Claire was the star attraction, but by using the word “guests,” he made
