converse with greater ease. The town was filled with a different form of music; voices wove into a melody and the sound of people at work formed a steady rhythm. Every now and then, the high pitch of a gull’s hungry cries overshadowed the human symphony.
Wishing the two men luck with their task, Olivia spent another hour distributing food. She then waited for one of the men from the power company to take a much-needed break. Sitting alongside him on the curb, she asked how widespread the outages were.
“I need to get something in the mail today,” she added, keeping an eye on Haviland, who had wandered off to sniff the base of a streetlamp. “So if you could point me to the nearest functioning township, I’d be grateful.”
“Cedar Point,” the man answered promptly while unwrapping his sandwich. “My cousin lives there. Only part of the town has power, but the business district is movin’ along steady as a freight train.”
Olivia thanked him. She and Haviland trotted back to the Range Rover and made their way to Cedar Point. There weren’t many people on the road and the landscape was littered with hundreds of downed trees. It was as if one of the Titans of Greek mythology had swept a colossal arm across the entire region, flattening pines, oaks, and magnolias in a fit of rage.
The UPS Store was open, but hardly doing a brisk business. A bored clerk reluctantly shoved aside her
“Perfect,” Olivia answered and paid for the service. In the Rover, she sagged against the leather seat. “Now there’s nothing to do but wait,” she told Haviland, picturing Rodney Burkhart retrieving the pink package from his mailbox while Will Hamilton followed his every move through a camera lens.
Haviland nudged her elbow, indicating he was ready for her to begin driving so he could stick his head out the window and partake of an hour of ecstasy delivered by the rush of wind through his nostrils.
As the afternoon passed into evening Oyster Bay remained dark. Olivia sat at The Boot Top’s bar, surveying the mast lights on the boats in the harbor as she sipped a glass of Chivas Regal.
“Nothing to do but wait,” she said to the empty restaurant.
By Thursday, people spoke of Ophelia as though she were a distant relative who’d come in for a holiday weekend, behaved poorly, and then mercifully departed, leaving the house in disarray.
When power was restored to the business district Thursday morning, the townsfolk milled about the shops and eateries comparing their hurricane woes. Many were still without electricity but had gratefully returned to their jobs and daily routines.
Hoping Steve was busy filling a cavity, Olivia called Laurel at home.
“Are we on for today?” she asked her friend and then realized she shouldn’t have opened the conversation with that line. If she’d been more sensitive, she would have asked if Laurel had recovered from the shock she’d received over being present when a woman of similar age and circumstance suddenly, tragically, became a widow.
Laurel didn’t answer immediately. “I’ve been thinking about the whole reporter thing, Olivia. I’ve been acting like my life is missing something, but I have this beautiful house and a husband who provides for me. Seeing April at that hospital . . .” She struggled to find the right words. “I should learn to count my blessings, not complain about them.”
“Who says those should be limited?” Olivia demanded. “I understand your being upset. Afraid even. But, Laurel, do you want other women to go through this or do you want to help the police catch these bastards and put a stop to future murders?”
One of the twins whined in the background. “I’m sorry, but I need to take care of Dermot.” Laurel clearly wanted to get off the phone. “You do the interview if you want. I’ll e-mail you the address. Meanwhile,
Haviland’s ears lifted in alert.
“I gotta go!” Laurel shouted and hung up.
Olivia scowled at the phone. “Well, how do you like that?” She drummed her long fingers on the kitchen counter and recalled the chief’s promise to compare notes with her that evening. If she didn’t interview the other burglary victim, she might not have any useful information to impart and she very much wanted to be able to provide Sawyer Rawlings with a solid lead at the most and a few possible theories or relevant clues at the very least.
Picking up the phone, Olivia made another call. “Did I wake you?” she inquired genially when a very groggy Millay grunted out a hello. It didn’t take long to fill the young woman in on the role Olivia wanted her to play. “You’re sharp and you can read people, which is a surprising attribute for someone in their mid-twenties.”
“I’m a bartender,” Millay reminded her irritably, still half asleep. “If I didn’t have that skill, I couldn’t pay my rent.”
“So you’ll come with me?”
Millay produced a muffled grunt. “It’s either that or do laundry. I’ll be your wing man.”
Pleased, Olivia had a final thought. “And I hate to say this, being that I admire most expressions of individuality, but could you strive to dress more conservatively for today’s interview?”
Snorting, Millay replied, “Just for you, I’ll take out one or two eyebrow rings.”
“That would be a start,” Olivia answered and rang off.
An hour later, Olivia pulled in front of Millay’s apartment complex. When her young friend waved in greeting, Olivia almost failed to recognize her. Millay was wearing a simple black skirt, sandals with a wedge heel, and a short-sleeved white blouse beneath an argyle vest. Her hair was pulled under a beige cap and, instead of her customary black eyeliner, deep purple eye shadow, and crimson lipstick, she wore very little makeup. Olivia was struck afresh by the girl’s beauty.
“Not bad,” she said as Millay hopped into the car and reached around to pet Haviland.
“I only do this in the name of Truth and Justice,” Millay answered. “And I’m not going anywhere without coffee, so swing into the Exxon on our way out of town.”
Olivia was horrified. “You’re going to drink
“Yeah, and I might eat a pink hot dog and a bag of pork rinds too,” Millay taunted.
“Cover your ears with your paws, Captain,” Olivia suggested. “This girl speaks of food whose existence is best forgotten.”
Haviland spent most of the ride to Beaufort County sniffing the air in the Range Rover’s cabin. True to her word, Millay had bought a large coffee at the Exxon station, but in lieu of a chemically enhanced hot dog, she’d purchased a custard-filled donut. She polished off the pastry before Haviland could even beg for a bite.
“No sugar for you, Captain,” Olivia remonstrated. “You can have a nice organic Buffalo knuckle bone while we’re inside the . . .” She gestured for Millay to read the paper resting on the dash. “What’s Sue’s last name?”
Licking the fingers of her right hand, Millay examined the sheet. “Ridgemont.” She read the address aloud. “Sandpiper Shores. Jesus, who names these developments? The same people who write Hallmark cards and listen to Christmas music all year long?”
Olivia laughed. “Everything has to have a theme. Her house is on Blue Heron Circle, right? So, in this case, we have a shorebird theme. How original.”
“Hey, not everyone has our vivid imaginations,” Millay replied. “Personally, I’d like to see a bunch of streets named after food. I could live on Steak Street, you’d be on Pickle Place, and all the people we didn’t get along with would be stuck on Cauliflower Court.”
“I take it you don’t enjoy the nutty flavor of the cruciferous vegetable,” Olivia remarked. “Do you like other members of the cabbage family? Broccoli or Brussels sprouts.”
“Ick, ick, and ick,” was Millay’s only response as they pulled into the driveway of a Dutch colonial.
“You’re missing out,” Olivia said, turning off the engine. “Michel makes the most unbelievable broccoli dish. He tosses market-fresh broccoli with olive oil, garlic, and pine nuts. Adds a little salt and viola! Perfection.”
Millay frowned. “I get my fiber by eating edamame. Enough about food. I can only stand this preppy girl outfit for so long.”
The Ridgemonts obviously had children, for their pricey SUVs were plastered with gold bear paw-print decals, the mascot of one of the area’s prestigious and very expensive private schools. In addition, decals in support of various sports’ teams, from lacrosse to swimming to tennis, declared that athletics played a major role in the
