I’ve ever seen!”
“Where is it?” Olivia asked, raising her binoculars.
“I see him! He’s tacking toward the starting line!” Laurel shouted. “Oh, Millay! It’s breathtaking!”
Irritated to be the last to know what her friends found so amazing, Olivia took a step forward and adjusted the focus on her binoculars. She found Harris’s glimmering boat.
The bow was a gracefully curved griffin’s head with a sunflower yellow beak and shining black eyes. A pair of lion’s legs formed the stern and the vessel’s rudder was in the shape of a tail. The entire boat had been painted gold, and Harris had added rhinestones to the griffin’s feathered neck and had made a set of sails out of an iridescent fabric.
“I sewed the wings,” Millay whispered. “I didn’t even know what I was making. Harris gave me the material and a bunch of instructions. I thought he’d totally lost it using that filmy-looking stuff, but now . . .”
“He painted
Grinning, Olivia watched the wind catch the griffin’s sails. The golden boat soared through the water as if it could truly take flight. “I know I’ve said this before, Millay, but I’m going to say it again. That boy has got it bad.”
Millay rolled her eyes. “I know, I know. But guess what? If he was trying to get my attention, then he’s got it. For once in my life, I am seriously impressed by a man.”
Chapter 12
Millay sulked through the length of their Bayside Book Writers’ meeting, and Olivia sensed her foul mood had less to do with the minor criticisms she received and more to with her response to seeing Harris receive the adulation of his pretty coworker.
Harris’s griffin boat had crossed the finish line yards ahead of the competition. During the awards ceremony, he was handed not one, but two cash prizes. He’d won the Sail-Powered Race and had secured a runner-up position in the Most Beautiful Boat category. Ironically, it was another bird that beat his craft: a peacock. The colorful vessel hadn’t been designed for speed, but its graceful lines and showy tail had earned its builders a tidy sum. Still, Harris was the event’s cash king. Olivia figured he’d earned several thousand dollars that morning.
Olivia, Millay, and Laurel had watched in surprise as Harris accepted his winnings and then was promptly mauled by a young woman wearing a Harry Potter Team Gryffindor T-shirt and a pair of denim cut-offs. She pushed her way through the crowd and threw her arms around Harris. Her display of affection nearly knocked him right off his feet, but he reacted with a look of amused bewilderment.
“This is Estelle. We work together,” Harris told the other writers and stood by uneasily as Millay and Estelle sized one another up.
“I don’t think Harris has ever mentioned you,” Millay said coldly, veiling her dislike with a plastic smile.
Estelle was unfazed by the cool reception. “That’s probably because I haven’t been at the company too long and Harris and I aren’t in the same division. See,
“What an exceptional talent,” Millay remarked but Laurel quickly stepped in and began to chat with Estelle about her favorite Harry Potter characters.
Harris thanked Estelle for being such an exuberant cheerleader and then made his excuses to his coworker explaining that he needed to get going to his book writer’s meeting.
“Oh, Harris!” Estelle clung to his arm. “You’re a writer too? There are
Harris blushed and gently disentangled himself from the pretty woman’s grasp. “See you Monday, Estelle.”
“Not if I see
Millay remained silent about Estelle until the other writers had finished critiquing her chapter. Olivia shared her observations first and then listened intently as Rawlings pointed out examples of well-crafted prose followed by two sections of writing requiring further work.
“The battle scene was very well done,” he told Millay. “I had no difficulty imagining the sea witch rising out of the black waters. I agree with Olivia about closing the distance between reader and character. Tessa is fascinating but often strikes me as too collected for someone of her age and situation.” He studied his notes. “I realize the traditions of her culture prepared her to be a warrior, but I wonder if it’s wise to keep her so solitary. She has no confidante, no one to show her affection or even share a joke with. The loneliness must be affecting her, but I’m not sensing any desire to make a connection on Tessa’s part.”
Millay sent a withering glare in Harris’s direction. “Not everybody needs to be fawned over.”
Rawlings, who hadn’t been present for the Regatta’s awards ceremony, sent Olivia a questioning look. She gave a little shake of the head as if to say, “Leave it be.”
“Enough of Tessa,” Millay declared regally. “I need something to eat. Harris, you got anything in that bachelor fridge of yours?”
Harris sprang up from the plaid sofa in his living room and crossed the industrial beige carpet to the laminate floor of his kitchen. The entire apartment had been decorated in shades of light brown. Whether khaki or tan or an unattractive taupe, the walls, floors, and furniture was utterly lackluster. As though he were still living in a college dorm room, Harris had tacked a variety of posters to the walls. Most were of science-fiction movies and had seen better days. Water stains and small tears gave them a bedraggled appearance, making them the perfect accompaniment to the mismatched chairs in his kitchen, the sagging sofa in the living room, and the tattered shades on every lamp.
“What are you going to do with your winnings?” Olivia asked Harris as he dug around inside his refrigerator.
He emerged, examined the expiration date on a hunk of cheese, and tossed it in the trash. “I’m going to buy a house.” He picked up the phone. “But first I’m going to order pizza. Anyone object to mushroom and pepperoni?”
No one did. While they waited, Laurel peppered Harris with questions about where he planned to look for houses and what style he favored. As Harris didn’t know the difference between a Cape and a ranch, Laurel used the homes featured in television shows as examples.
“I think the house from
“Okay!” Harris understood immediately. “So the house from
The two continued to name famous television houses until the pizza arrived.
The delivery boy from Pizza Bay had barely left when Rawlings’ cell phone rang. Excusing himself, he took the call on the tiny balcony overlooking the apartment’s parking lot.
Olivia accepted a slice of pizza, informed Haviland that under no circumstances was he allowed to partake of the junk food, and watched Rawlings through the glass of the sliding door.
Initially, the chief’s face registered surprise, but the wide-eyed expression was quickly replaced by one of consternation. Millay, who had raised her slice toward her mouth, was observing the chief as well. With remarkable stealth, she stuck out her bare foot and used her toes to pry the door open by several inches.
Rawlings’ voice floated inside. “. . . Yes, it sounds like the same perps. I hadn’t expected them to strike again. It seems they’re willing to take more risks. Did this family have kids?” He listened to the answer and nodded. “Same as the Howards. But the homeowners were away, right? No one was hurt?” His mouth turned down in a deep frown. “Dolls?” A shake of the head. “This is the first time they’ve deliberately destroyed the homeowner’s belongings. Up to this point, they’ve taken what they wanted and cleared out. With the exception of the assault on
