progress and Atlas was able to offer his services as a hit man. Mr. Warfield had long been chafing at the bit and knew he could easily persuade Blake to finance the permanent removal of Dean Talbot. The two of them would then rule Talbot Fine Properties together.” Rawlings took a sip of champagne, the flute looking too delicate in his bearlike hand.
Harris sat forward on the sofa, anxious to ask Rawlings a question of his own. “But if Dean was supposed to be the only victim, why did Atlas kill Camden?”
“Mr. Kraus wanted to frame young Mr. Talbot for the murder,” Rawlings answered after a long moment of silence. “He lured Mr. Ford to that alley by offering an exchange of information for cash. For a few hundred dollars, he told Mr. Ford that he could prove that Dean Talbot’s youngest son and right-hand man were plotting to overthrow him. Mr. Kraus made this call from the library pay phone and the number showed up on Mr. Ford’s phone records.”
“But why kill Camden?” Olivia interjected heatedly.
“According to Mr. Kraus’s confession, Blake wrote the winter haiku, but it was meant for his father, not Mr. Ford. Atlas made up some elaborate lie about the gossip writer having insider information about their wicked plot and that he needed to be silenced. He told Blake to mail him additional funds and another poem for Dean. He didn’t have the chance to leave that haiku with the body because some teenagers arrived at the park to mess around in the gazebo. Atlas was at the top of the stairs and his victim at the bottom, so he had no choice but to flee.”
The chief of police and the three writers fell mute; each of them picturing a broken body sprawled at the base of the deteriorating steps and a murderer racing into a copse of oak trees.
Finally, Millay shifted in her seat and made a noise of exasperation. “What’s with the damned poems anyway? Was Blake going all Hamlet on his daddy or what? Why did he feel a burning desire to write a stupid haiku to leave on his father’s murdered corpse?”
“I read a rather revealing interview about young Mr. Talbot,” Rawlings said quietly. “He began writing poems as a small boy but hid them because his father ridiculed him for writing. He called him a fairy and a pansy and a loser. I believe Blake very much wanted to have the last word.”
Rawlings and Olivia looked at each other. They could almost sense the scant lines of the four haiku lingering in the air around them. The poems had been brought to life for evil purposes and now they had gained a certain amount of power. Works of creativity transformed by the dark souls of their authors. The memory of the poems seemed a sharp contrast to the aspirations the Bayside Book Writers had for their own manuscripts.
“Blake got what he wanted after Dean’s death, but Atlas’s goals hadn’t been satisfied,” Olivia said as she cut slices of aged Gouda and Brie and laid the cheese alongside a fan of thin crackers. “In the end, he intended to murder Blake.” She handed the plate to Rawlings.
He picked up a cracker and held the food suspended in the air. “Yes. Mr. Kraus deemed the young Mr. Talbot an unworthy suitor and also as someone who was sure to interfere with his plans to renew a relationship with his daughter. He wanted to take charge of Heidi’s career. He feels she owes him for abandoning him and going to California with her mother.”
“Oh, that’s rich! Why would she stay with an abusive lunatic? She would never have forgiven him. He beat her mother! He plotted to kill her boyfriend!” Millay scowled.
Rawlings ignored the outburst. “Mr. Kraus also had to get rid of Mr. Warfield, being that he and Blake were confederates. Mr. Kraus couldn’t risk leaving Mr. Warfield alive. Mr. Warfield may have interfered with Mr. Kraus’s attempts to go after Blake Talbot.”
“Why do you call that scumbag ‘Mr. Kraus’?” Millay was angry. “I can give you a few
The chief put his plate on the coffee table and clasped his hands together. “I do my best to treat everyone with respect. Mr. Kraus may be a criminal, a monster even, but it is not for me to judge him. I leave that weighty responsibility to others. He broke the law, so I arrested him. That’s my job and I try to perform it with courtesy.”
Olivia admired the chief’s professionalism, but it was clear that Millay disagreed with his beliefs. Twirling a strand of hair around her index finger, she turned to Harris for support. “Don’t you think
At the word, Haviland raised his head and sniffed the air.
Harris didn’t answer Millay. He seemed to be considering how to respond without giving offense. Laurel glanced at them and said, “Atlas has lost the only thing he ever cared about. His daughter.” She reached across and touched Millay’s hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I
“But what about justice?” Millay cried. “Is Blake going to walk? We all know he had something to do with at least one of the murders!”
Rawlings looked pained. “No one is going to escape justice, but gathering enough evidence
“Right now, Blake’s a media darling. The boy who dodged death.” Olivia felt she had to add weight to the chief’s argument however much she understood Millay’s indignation. “Talbot Fine Properties has a talented PR department. Have you noticed the expensive patio furniture at Bagels ‘n’ Beans or the new sign and awning hanging over Grumpy’s? Dozens of local business owners received ‘gifts of gratitude’ from Blake Talbot, as a means of personally thanking them for their hospitality to his family and his fiancee. The locals have provided the newspapers with nothing but positive quotes in regards to the youngest Talbot but they’ll turn on him like vultures the second one of Oyster Bay’s finest finishes reading him his rights.”
Laurel nodded in agreement. “It’ll be easy to forget about him once he’s been put away because he’s an outsider. He was only a visitor here, so everyone can blame his crimes on his parents or his upbringing or his music, but then they’ll put him out of their minds, like a guest that finally goes home after a long and miserable visit.”
Millay shook her head in disgust and then barked out a dry, humorless laugh. “You know, this Atlas guy was actually really dumb. He should have just left Heidi and Blake alone. They would have broken up eventually without his interference. Nobody stays together in Hollywood!” She threw her hands in the air, exasperated.
“He wasn’t as smart as you,” Harris whispered and Millay’s hard look instantly softened. “Come on,” he nudged her playfully. “Like Laurel said, it’s time to move forward. Let’s go watch the fireworks from the pier. We can pick up a six-pack and a pizza on the way.”
“You read my mind.” Millay gathered her belongings, downed the rest of her champagne, and then slowly extended her hand to Rawlings. “I’m glad you joined our group. You’re not like other cops. In fact, you’re kind of like Camden. A gentleman.”
Rawlings took her hand, his face lit with pleasure. “I hope you’re as forgiving with my chapter next week.” He then gave Harris a hearty handshake and with feigned sternness said, “Make sure you don’t get behind the wheel after you drink that six-pack.”
The group dispersed. Laurel had promised to meet her family at the waterfront and Rawlings needed to swing by the station in order to ascertain whether the officers scheduled to assist the fire department with the fireworks display were prepared to carry out their duty.
Leaving Haviland inside to clean up a dropped hunk of cheese, Olivia walked the writers to their cars. She waved good-bye as they drove off into the lavender twilight.
After tidying up the cottage, she and Haviland took a leisurely stroll along the empty beach, a large, luminescent moon hovering over Olivia’s right shoulder. They walked aimlessly for a mile and then turned around as the indigo sky reluctantly deepened into black. Suddenly, a deafening boom echoed across the water, followed by a burst of lights over the horizon, heralding the commencement of the fireworks display.
Kicking off her shoes, Olivia sat down on a soft dune in front of the lighthouse keeper’s cottage and craned her neck upward. Many years ago, she had been in nearly the same position, but back then she had been flanked by the warm bodies of her mother and father. She remembered feeling so safe, as though every firework unfolding in the dark sky like a rare, night-blooming flower was a gift to her. She recalled her mother’s excited laughter and how
