Two weeks later, Olivia prepared for a meeting of the Bayside Book Writers. It was July fourth and there had been a parade in town earlier that day. For the first time since she was a child, Olivia and Haviland stood on the sidewalk and watched the spectacle.
Standing shoulder to shoulder with Harris and Millay, the three friends waved little American flags and cheered as the Best Decorated Stroller contestants kicked off the parade. When Laurel strode past, her jogging stroller transformed with the use of Hefty bags and reconstructed wicker baskets into Blackbeard’s pirate ship, the three writers hooted and hollered in delight.
Dallas and Dermot carried plastic cutlasses and growled “arrgghs” at the onlookers. Olivia had to laugh as she took note of their skull and crossbones bandanas, mascara-drawn goatees, and clip-on hoop earrings. Dressed as a pirate captive, Laurel hurled candy coins into the crowd. The gold foil wrapping of the chocolates winked in the sunlight, and for a moment, it seemed as though Laurel was tossing lit sparklers to the eager children lining the sidewalk. Her face aglow with pride, Laurel was by far the loveliest mother in the parade.
The strollers were followed by tricycles and Big Wheels and Haviland howled in discomfort as toddlers rang shrill bike bells while their boisterous parents tooted air horns. Older children pedaled on the heels of this group, impatient with the slow pace. Their ten-speeds were covered with red, white, and blue streamers, flags, balloons, and quotations on liberty by America’s forefathers. One boy was dressed in a full Uncle Sam uniform and was performing tricks on his mountain bike. When he pivoted in a circle using only one wheel, the crowd shouted in amazement.
“I’d say Sam is a shoe-in to win his category,” Harris remarked, looking boyishly exuberant.
Millay glanced after the performing child. “What do they get for a prize? Anything good?”
Harris nodded. “Something
Whistling, Millay stood on her tiptoes in order to spot their friend at the front of the procession. “Laurel would love that gift certificate, though her kids might need gold-emblazoned sippie cups.”
“And low-sugar, organic, lukewarm chocolate,” Olivia added lightly.
The friends laughed. As high school seniors drove by in decorated convertibles, jacked-up Wranglers, and pickups with oversized wheels, the majority of their passengers somewhat inebriated, Millay shot furtive glances at Harris.
“What’s different about you?” she demanded, finally examining him outright.
Harris didn’t appear to have heard her question. His focus, and the focus of every male spectator, had been captured by a blue convertible VW Beetle painted with silver stars being driven by a cute blonde wearing a red and white polka-dot bikini and a cowboy hat. The national anthem blared from her radio and her golden retriever, who was also dressed in a doggie cowboy hat, was perched on the passenger seat. He and Haviland exchanged friendly barks.
Millay put a hand on each of Harris’s cheeks and swiveled his face away from the blonde. “She’s jail bait, buddy.”
Harris smiled at her and then, after the slightest hesitation, put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Jealous, are you?”
Snorting, Millay turned her attention back to the parade while Harris and Olivia exchanged winks over her head. After three laser treatments, the skin on Harris’s face had improved dramatically. Olivia already noticed a change in her friend’s demeanor too. He stood a little taller and didn’t look away so quickly during conversations. All of the women working at the spa in New Bern were smitten with him, but Olivia knew Harris had eyes for only Millay.
After a lunch of pulled pork sandwiches, corn on the cob, and watermelon, the four writers gathered on the lawn outside the courthouse to hear the winners announced. Laurel removed two blankets from her stroller, and after unfolding one decorated with racing cars for her sons, she introduced her friends to her husband and in-laws. Her husband, Steve, offered to watch the boys so that Laurel could enjoy a peaceful lunch alongside her fellow writers.
“Thanks, honey. But the boys have something to say to Ms. Limoges first.” Laurel gave her sons a gentle prod in Olivia’s direction.
“Thank you for our books!” they shouted in unison and then launched themselves into her arms.
Olivia, who hadn’t expected the embrace, was nearly flattened, but suddenly, a strong hand pressed against her back, steadying her. She managed to give the twins a brief pat before releasing them, only to look down and see that her white cotton shirt was now covered with black mascara and that Flynn McNulty was silently laughing behind her.
“Are you truly planning to serve the youth of Oyster Bay homebrewed hot chocolate?” Olivia inquired saucily. “Do you also intend on keeping a spittoon nearby?”
Grinning, Flynn squatted next to her. The sun filtered through the magnolia trees and turned his gray eyes a soft pewter hue. He tried to keep a straight face as Olivia mopped at the black smudges on the front of her shirt with one of Laurel’s wet wipes. “I think you’re making it worse,” he remarked. “Now it looks like you just finished changing the oil of your Range Rover. Would you care for some help?”
“No!” Olivia exclaimed before she realized he’d been teasing her.
Flynn glanced out over the crowd. His entire being radiated pleasure as though he were utterly content to simply be among the townsfolk.
“And to answer your question,” Flynn said after they’d sat in silence for a spell, “the hot chocolate will be store-bought. What exactly do you have against my coffee anyway?”
“It’s weak,” she answered honestly. “Your Wardrobe Blend calls to mind the miso soup one often receives as an appetizer at select Japanese hibachi restaurants.”
“Ah, the infamous dishwater soup!” Flynn laughed. “Well, I can’t be associated with the word ‘weak.’ Why don’t you come into the shop and show me how to make coffee correctly.”
Olivia grinned. “I think that’s a fine idea. I’ll even introduce you to my favorite brand of Kona bean.”
“I look forward to it.” Flynn straightened. “But now, it is time for the award ceremony. I must bestow gift certificates on Oyster Bay’s impressionable youth.”
Laurel watched him weave his way around the other picnickers toward the makeshift stage. “I think he’s sweet on you,” she teased and then clasped her hands over her chest. “Oh, a handsome bookstore owner. Now, that man is a catch. He could serve me weak coffee anytime!”
As it turned out, Laurel would have plenty of opportunities to sample the bookstore blend as she and the twins won first prize for the Best Decorated Stroller category. Laurel ran to the podium to claim her gift certificate while Dallas and Dermot shouted, “Go, Mommy!” over the applause. While Laurel accepted kisses of congratulations from her proud husband and beaming in-laws, Olivia and Haviland left the park. They had things to see to before the evening’s meeting.
After stopping by The Boot Top to collect three bottles of dry champagne, a platter of strawberries dipped in white chocolate, and a few wedges of gourmet cheese, Olivia headed home. She’d finished revising the first chapter of her novel a week ago and had emailed a copy to the other writers. The edits had not only given her leave to think about something besides the murders, but the work had reaffirmed Olivia’s belief that Kamila was a character worth developing.
That was a week ago, however. Now as she put the champagne and food in the cottage refrigerator, doubts wriggled their way into Olivia’s mind, whispering that her chapter was far inferior to those presented by the rest of the group. Fearing that her Egyptian heroine was two-dimensional and uninteresting, Olivia flipped through her copy of chapter one and began to read a portion of the text out loud as Haviland stretched out on the floor for his
