The Last Word

to give Hudson the key card for the hotel in Greenville.”

“You’re the only person in Oyster Bay who dictates when they’ll show up at the station.” Rawlings shook his head in mild exasperation. “Still, I know you’ll fit us into your schedule. And, Olivia, I might call on you to help dig up information on the previous inhabitants of Harris’s house.” His sunglasses glinted in the light. “I want to know what connection, if any, they had to that painting and, possibly, to Mr. Plumley.”

While Rawlings had been speaking, the other officer had eased out of the car, leaving the driver’s door open and the engine running. Obviously, it was now his task to watch over the house until it could be properly sealed, but he kept his distance until Rawlings made it clear that he was ready to leave both the crime scene and Olivia behind.

“I’d be glad to help, Chief,” Olivia replied, pleased that he’d asked. She kicked at some loose gravel, reluctant to part from Rawlings.

At that moment, Haviland ambled around the house from his napping place under the chaise lounge. He glanced at the chief and yawned widely, his white teeth gleaming in the midmorning sun.

Rawlings gave the poodle an affectionate pat on the flank.

“Keep her safe, Captain,” he murmured just loud enough for Olivia to hear. And with a professional nod in her direction, he climbed into the car.

Olivia watched the sedan reverse down the driveway in a cloud of sand-infused dust, gave a friendly but fatigued wave to the officer left in charge of the house, and climbed over the dunes toward home.

Standing in her kitchen, Olivia surveyed the three objects on her kitchen table. Her fingers moved past the canvas tote bag containing Harris’s painting and the hotel key card she needed to deliver to Hudson within the hour, to a tumbler filled with two ice cubes and an inch of Chivas Regal. She preferred to consume the twenty-five-year- old blend of Scotch whiskies before dinner, but her thoughts were too fractured, too frenzied for her to continue on with the day’s plans. Downing the contents of the glass in one gulp, she felt a rush of steadying warmth flow through her.

“That’s better,” she told Haviland, who was busy consuming his second breakfast.

She refilled the tumbler with tap water and drank it with more deliberation. Her hands stopped trembling and the tumultuous images swirling in her mind separated into cohesive, orderly thoughts.

Rawlings needed her help. She’d be no good to him if she couldn’t find the time to research the families who’d lived in Harris’s house.

Decisively, Olivia grabbed her car keys and the other items off the table and drove to the hospital. She told Haviland his wait would be brief and called Hudson from the lobby. Olivia wasn’t ready to see Kim today. She just did not possess the strength or the proper words to comfort a woman separated from her newborn son.

Hudson was as taciturn as always. He took the key from Olivia with mumbled thanks and then told her he was sorry to be missing the staff meeting at The Bayside Crab House.

“You don’t need to be there. You’ve got everyone trained perfectly and this isn’t my first rodeo, Olivia assured him. After all, she was well accustomed to giving orders to the staff and supervising their practice runs. For the soft opening tonight, a motley assembly of diners had been hand-selected to test the wait and kitchen staff. Dixie and her husband were among them, and Olivia had made special arrangements with her friend. In other words, she’d asked Dixie to be curt, picky, and demanding.

“Test their mettle,” Olivia had told her bemused friend over the phone. “Request extra lemon wedges and butter sauce and send back a dish because it doesn’t taste right. Spill your wine and complain about spots on the flatware. I want to know that they can handle belligerent customers.”

Dixie had been delighted by both the assignment and the chance to share a free seafood feast with Grumpy. “If you really want to see what your employees are made of, let me bring my kids. You’ll get yourself a pack of fussy eaters, a whole lotta extra noise, and crab claws a-flyin’ every which way. Your poor waiter might just quit before dessert.”

“I love the idea, Dixie. Most of the tourists will have families in tow, and some of them may very well be boisterous or superfinicky.” Olivia had grinned. “Tell your brood to let loose.”

“You do not know what you’re sayin’, ’Livia, but for the record, I’m not responsible for the dischargin’ of fire extinguishers or any structural damage,” Dixie had stated seriously before hanging up.

Now, standing in the hospital’s lobby, Olivia tried to convince her brother to forget about the restaurant and focus on his family, but no matter what she said, he refused to take a week off to be with his wife and daughter. She knew fear kept him from making the right decision. Not only did Hudson fear his newborn son’s fragility, but he was clearly terrified that the restaurant would fail and he’d have moved his family to Oyster Bay for nothing. And though Olivia understood both fears, she still chastised him for putting his job ahead of his family. He stood firm though.

Eventually, he did accept the key card but made no move to return to his wife’s room. “I know what I’m doing in the kitchen,” he muttered miserably. “I belong there.”

An image of Anders’ little face, his translucent skin covering the rivers of blue veins carrying fresh blood from his newly stitched heart flashed through Olivia’s mind. She narrowed her eyes in anger. “You belong with your son. And with your wife. It’s probably killing her that she can’t be at that baby’s side. You might not know how to handle this, but you’re going to figure it out. You’re a father to two children, so start acting like one.” Her tone allowed no argument. She handed him a slip of paper. “That’s the combination to the hotel room’s wall safe. If Kim and Caitlyn are going to live there for the next two weeks, I want them to be comfortable.” Her brother looked so terrified that she relented a little and gave his thick shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “I’ll see you tomorrow, after you get back from driving your family to their temporary home.”

Nodding in compliance, Hudson grabbed her hand and clung to it for a moment before walking away.

Olivia watched him go, imagining how tomorrow morning would pass for the Salters. Kim would be taken by wheelchair to the hospital’s front door. She’d climb out of the chair, the pain in her belly from her cesarean forcing her to cringe, and get into Hudson’s car. She’d sit in the back, holding her daughter and comforting her as she and Hudson spoke of the future. Kim would try to keep everyone’s spirits up while silently noting the passing of every mile marker, her hands clenched in impatience as the distance closed between her and her tiny son.

“Enough with the maudlin imagery,” Olivia chided herself, got back in the Range Rover, and headed for the office park east of town.

Harris worked in a three-story concrete box that was completely unremarkable except for the Yoda replica in the lobby. The green-skinned, elfin-eared Jedi rested on a podium in the middle of a fountain surrounded by tropical plants. He welcomed visitors with a wise and wrinkled gaze and a plaque bearing the company logo.

Olivia glanced at the statue in puzzlement and then turned her attention to the young receptionist who was jotting a message onto a pink memo pad. She recognized the girl’s pretty face immediately.

“Hi, Estelle.”

Estelle beamed as though the very sight of Olivia had made her day. “How nice to see you here! And your cute doggie came too! Are you visiting Harris?” Her words tumbled forth rapid-fire, every syllable infused with a shrill energy. Before Olivia could answer, the phone sitting directly in front of Estelle began to ring and she answered it with a lengthy, well-rehearsed greeting. She filled out another sheet on the pink memo pad and then, as the caller continued talking, her hand drifted to a massive desk calendar, where she idly drew a series of small hearts around Harris’s name.

Finally, she said good-bye and replaced the receiver. She was about to speak to Olivia when the phone rang again. Estelle held out her index finger, signaling for Olivia to wait until she finished with her next caller.

“Could you just tell me where to find Harris? It’s important,” Olivia said, placing her hand on the edge of Estelle’s desk. The phone continued to ring.

Something ugly flickered in the young woman’s eyes, but she blinked it away and pasted on a bright smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll call him for you. But I’ve got to answer this first.”

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she repeated the extensive greeting she’d used on the previous caller, her pen poised over the memo pad.

Annoyed, Olivia covertly examined Estelle’s calendar. To her surprise, she saw that Estelle had added