want to capture your resilience and show people how this episode made you angry, but not fearful.”
Nodding, Christina led her guests to the kitchen and removed the knife from a drawer. She took the covered glass butter dish from the refrigerator and set it on the counter. Removing the lid, she eased the knife into the middle of the stick of butter. “I figure they set it up like this and then when the butter melted the knife fell to the side.” She turned to Laurel as Olivia focused her camera on the tableau. “They were so tidy elsewhere. They even cleaned up the glass from where they broke the pane in the back door.”
“Fastidious and particular,” Olivia mumbled.
Laurel walked to the picture window and peered out. “Were your neighbors home that weekend?”
Christina shrugged. “Yes, on both sides, but no one saw anything unusual.”
The women fell silent. The pewter-hued sky hung low, creating a sense that it was much later in the day. The mood had shifted and it was apparent each of the women longed to be alone with her thoughts.
Laurel wisely thanked Christina for her time, assuring her neighbor that she’d be in touch and to trust in the doggedness of the Oyster Bay Police Department’s chief.
Back in the Range Rover, Haviland carried on as though Olivia had been gone for hours. Once he finally settled down and Olivia was able to speak over his petulant yipping, she eyed Laurel keenly.
“You seem to have a plan.”
“I do. I’m going to interview the other robbery victims and look for connections. If
Olivia considered the possibility of the former cheerleader cracking the investigation wide open and tried not to grin. After all, she could be witnessing the birth of a gritty and determined Laurel, and Olivia would do anything in her power to help her friend emerge from her suburban cocoon and soar into the open sky.
Driving to The Boot Top, the women exchanged thoughts and theories about the robbery. Olivia raised the possibility of comparing their findings with those in the Oyster Bay police file. “After we interview the other victim that is,” she added.
Laurel raised her brows. “I thought this was a one-time deal.”
Olivia shrugged. “I’ve decided to extend my offer.” Pulling into the restaurant’s parking lot, she reached across the passenger seat and grabbed the gift bag from the floor. “But you’re going to need this for when you truly strike out on your own.”
Her light blue eyes sparkling with delight, Laurel peeled back layers of tissue paper, exposing the digital camera Olivia had purchased from Best Buy.
“Oh! This makes me feel so official!” She sniffed and Olivia gave her a suspicious glance. She hated it when Laurel got overly physical. “You are a treasure! I really mean that!” Laurel cried. “Your joining the Bayside Book Writers has changed my life.”
Embarrassed by the compliment, Olivia slid out of the car. “You haven’t achieved job security yet, remember? Let’s save the toasts of gratitude for that moment.”
“I’m not talking about some silly job, Olivia. I’m talking about our friendship.” Laurel followed Olivia, smiling warmly. “It’s not easy to become friends with another woman who honestly wants the best for you. Usually, we women can’t escape our need to compete with each other. To fight about who’s prettier, richer, smarter. Who has cuter kids, a more devoted husband, the lower golf score . . .”
Olivia chuckled. “I’m disqualified from most of those categories, so don’t give me too much credit.”
Laurel put her hand on Olivia’s arm. “No, you’re not. You’re the smartest, most beautiful, most interesting woman I’ve ever met and yet, you see something in me.
“I do,” Olivia answered and then tugged her friend forward. “Now that we’ve exchanged vows, let’s pick up a few apple sausage pies for you to take home. They heat up nicely and your husband will be delighted with the results of your first cooking class.”
Looking doubtful, Laurel paused to scratch Haviland’s neck. The poodle gave her a toothy grin in gratitude. “Apples and meat together? In a
Olivia sighed. “Oh dear, you
Leaving Laurel in her chef’s capable hands, Olivia went through to her office and immediately checked her e-mail. There were no messages from Chief Rawlings. Her voice mail was also empty.
“Where the hell are you?” Olivia paced back and forth, trying to suppress her urge to call the station. Finally, she grabbed her cell phone and punched in the main number. When the switchboard operator told Olivia that the chief was off duty, Olivia pressed her for his whereabouts. “It’s important. I have information about one of his open robbery cases,” she said, stretching the truth.
The operator offered to take her number. “This is Olivia Limoges. I’m actually a friend of the chief’s. He’s got my number, but he’s not returning my calls.”
Hesitating, the woman lowered her voice. “Honey, he won’t be talkin’ to anybody today ’cause it’s the anniversary of his wife’s death. He’ll visit her grave and then sit for a long spell in the church. Oyster Bay could be attacked by aliens and the chief isn’t gonna notice. He’s in his own world right now.”
Olivia thanked her and hung up, her mood sour. She tried to tell herself that she was cross because the evening writer’s meeting would now be purely social because they were without Rawlings’ chapter and that it was rude of him not to at least call to say that he wouldn’t attend, but an inner voice said something different.
“No,” she said aloud. “It would be too complicated. I can’t . . .”
Rushing from the office, she strode through the kitchen, told one of the sous-chefs to drive Laurel home, and left through the back door, a befuddled poodle on her heels.
She sped home, stopped the Range Rover in a cloud of sand and dust, and rushed down to the beach. Kicking off her shoes, she ran to the water and waded in to her shins. The wind whipped her short hair and sprayed her limbs with sharp droplets of saltwater.
Olivia had successfully returned to a place of complete solitude, but neither the increasing wind, nor the darkening sky, nor the swelling of an ocean stirred by an offshore hurricane could silence the voice in her head.
As the first raindrops began to fall, she lifted her face skyward and surrendered to the truth.
Chapter 7
The meeting of the Bayside Book Writers never occurred. Laurel was the first to telephone and give her excuses. With the storm making its presence known in the form of rain and a persistent wind, the young mother felt she’d better say at home and tend to her children and nervous in-laws.
“I’ll be honest with you,” she said in a hushed tone. “Steve also gave me a major guilt-trip over leaving the twins with him and his folks twice in one day.”
Olivia couldn’t suppress a harrumph. “Oh,
“Yes, but I haven’t served it yet.” Laurel sounded much meeker than she had during the interview with Christina Quimby. “Maybe after they taste Michel’s food they’ll start pushing me out the door in the future.”
“Don’t count on it,” Olivia grumbled. “And what about your interview with the other robbery victim? Are you still going to pursue that or are you going to wait for your husband’s permission?”
Stung, Laurel became defensive. “Actually, I’m going next Thursday, once Ophelia’s moved through. It isn’t easy, you know. Lying to my husband.” She paused. “Or trying to keep everyone happy. It’s really very hard.”
Olivia was in no mood to enter into a conversation concerning the problems faced by today’s mothers, so she promised to join her friend on Thursday’s interview and then got off the phone. She knew she had treated Laurel callously, but couldn’t help feeling annoyed by her friend’s vacillating will. Now thoroughly out of sorts, Olivia was relieved when Millay was the next to call and cancel.
