the shade of Olivia’s chair, crept up to the dish and daintily wolfed down his lunch.
“Yes, indeed,” Millicent agreed. “At least we have the Cardboard Regatta coming up. Used to be the town was empty from Labor Day to May Day, but I cannot believe how many people will fill up the hotels again just for the chance to race their little handmade boats. I do hope Ophelia has come and gone in time.”
Olivia closed the folder and stuffed it in her purse. She took out her wallet and signaled for the waitress. “I’m going to have my contractor go over every inch of this property as soon as the storm passes. Assuming he gives me a good report and the warehouse manages to survive Ophelia, I’ll stop by your office and we can draw up an offer.” Olivia reached across the table and shook Millicent’s hand. “Thank you for joining me for lunch. If I’d known you weren’t fond of burgers I would have chosen another venue. This place isn’t exactly known for their salads.”
“Oh, my salad was
The Realtor walked away and Olivia imagined the older woman was already dreaming of how she’d spend the sizable commission she’d make off the deal. Olivia didn’t mind. In fact, she admired Millicent’s ambition and hoped to have the same amount of pluck in thirty years’ time.
Olivia decided to let Haviland chase pigeons in the park before hitting the grocery store followed by a latte at Bagels ’n’ Beans. She settled on a bench in the shelter of a mammoth magnolia tree and took out her latest purchase from Flynn’s bookstore, Sharon Kay Penman’s
She was so immersed in the novel that the ringing of her cell phone seemed incongruent with Penman’s descriptions of stone castle walls and heavy bed hangings.
“I could chose to ignore you,” she warned the phone before checking the caller ID, but seeing that the number belonged to Laurel, Olivia answered. “Do you have news?” she asked her friend.
“Yes!” Laurel managed to encapsulate fear, joy, and exhilaration into a single word. “It’s
Olivia grinned. “You got the job.”
“I got the job,” Laurel squeaked in excitement. “They just told me. But it’s only on a provisional basis. I need to prove myself over the next few weeks. How am I going to do that? My silly articles on how to get stains out of your clothes or the best play areas for toddlers will hardly dazzle the editor and they’ve already got three reporters covering the storm!”
“Why don’t you interview your neighbor?” Olivia suggested. “The one who was robbed? Everyone likes to read about local crimes. But you should do it soon. Everyone will be busy preparing for the storm before long.”
Laurel gasped. “You’re so
Normally, Olivia would have turned Laurel down flat without the slightest tinge of regret, but she was curious about the burglary and wanted to hear the victim’s account firsthand. “I’ll pretend to be your cameraman. Just this once. And, Laurel, we’d better go tomorrow before the rain moves in.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Laurel squealed. “I’ll call my friend and set it up.” Another pause. “Um, do you have a decent digital camera?”
Olivia let loose a wry chuckle before agreeing to bring a camera with her as well. Laurel obviously recognized she’d pushed her friend far enough and quickly hung up.
Whistling for Haviland, Olivia led him back to the car. “Change of plan, Captain. We’re driving to New Bern to buy a congratulations-on-maybe-getting-a-job gift for Laurel, that sweet nitwit.”
Haviland panted and rolled his eyes.
Olivia removed a water jug from the back of the Range Rover and filled the poodle’s travel dish while Haviland cast a longing glance in the direction of the park. “The squirrels will still be there when we return, Captain. They have an uncanny ability to make it through the worst weather conditions.” She gazed at the mothers pushing strollers, the elderly couples reading newspapers on the wooden benches, and the occasional jogger sailing beneath the green canopy of the park’s mature trees, and frowned in concern. “I can only hope the people of Oyster Bay are as fortunate.”
Chapter 6
No one heard back from Rawlings that Friday, but Olivia and the Bayside Book Writers nearly forgot about their next meeting in light of new concerns regarding the impending storm. Over the course of the night, Ophelia shrugged off her title of tropical storm. Now a category two hurricane, she gained the undivided attention of the residents living on the coasts of North Carolina and Virginia.
Upon waking Saturday morning, Olivia switched on the television and listened to three different updates on Ophelia. She ate breakfast during the hurricane expert’s report, fed Haviland while glancing at the amateur footage taken by a resident of the Bahamas, and sank back down in the chair to listen to the Air Force Reserve pilot’s exciting narrative as he steered a Lockheed Martin WC-130J into the hurricane’s eye.
By nine, Olivia was still unable to tear her gaze away from the slow, spinning wheel of green on the television screen. She sipped her coffee and watched the meteorologist point to the projected path, which was highlighted in red. The crimson hue reminded Olivia of a biblical plague. It seemed that every inch of the state’s coastline had been marked by the ominous dye.
The local meteorologists predicted landfall would occur in Oyster Bay late Monday night, depending on whether the hurricane maintained its current velocity. With wind gusts already measuring close to one hundred miles per hour, any nonresidents would soon evacuate and many of the locals would flee too, relocating to the homes of family and friends farther inland.
“We’re staying right here,” Olivia told Haviland. After all, her girlhood had been punctuated by season after season of tropical storms, hurricanes, and nor’easters. She’d clear out if the hurricane increased to a category four or five, but she wouldn’t budge for anything less. Her decision would come across as strange or downright foolish to some, seeing as her own mother was killed in the midst of a hurricane, but Olivia believed hers was a tragedy resulting from a lack of judgment. Her mother had taken an unnecessary risk by driving into town to fetch the puppy she’d gotten her daughter for her birthday and had paid the ultimate price. Olivia would never disrespect the destructive power of a storm by leaving the shelter of her home. Then again, Olivia had no one for whom she would demonstrate such an enormous act of devotion, except perhaps Haviland.
As though summoned by her thoughts, the poodle came to Olivia’s side and nudged her leg. He was ready for their morning walk.
She leaned over to kiss him on the bridge of his nose. “Have you forgotten what we found last Saturday?”
Clearly unconcerned by recollections of the fetid odor, Haviland rushed to the sliding glass door leading to the back deck and to the path through the dunes. Olivia let him out and then collected her Bounty Hunter and knapsack from an unlocked outdoor storage closet. She examined her metal detector absently for a moment, recalling how relieved she was when one of Rawlings’ officers returned it to her. The tool provided her with a mindless hobby, allowing her to collect many years’ worth of interesting trinkets. Very few were valuable, but every one was precious to Olivia.
“I wonder what new treasures the storm will unearth?” she asked the poodle.
Olivia’s home was built on a bluff and had been designed to withstand the variety of tempests pushed onshore by the Atlantic Ocean. The raised deck jutted out over a lawn of sharp grass and sand and was supported by reinforced wooden pylons. From roof to floor, the entire structure was anchored into the foundation and the mammoth windows were made of impact glass. The best builders in the region had fitted it with hurricane shutters, exterior doors that opened outward, and a detached garage.
“The only thing that’s going to bother us will be cabin fever,” Olivia predicted as she and Haviland set out on their stroll.
