The Last Word

losses Evelyn and Heinrich had experienced. Plumley had had the chance to assuage a small bit of Evelyn’s pain, but he couldn’t do it.

After listening to Evelyn White’s stories, Plumley must have suspected that he was the son of the real murderer. Evelyn didn’t know this, of course, because he wasn’t going by the name of Ziegler. This left Nick the freedom to continue burying the truth, filling his novel with the same lie the newspapers had printed, and profiting from the deceit.

Worst of all, the bastard had betrayed Evelyn. She’d given up her child, lived a lifetime apart from the man she loved, and then, in what was probably her last chance to seek a measure of redemption for her Henry, had been denied that small opportunity.

“So were both the Zieglers murderers? Father and son?” Olivia demanded angrily when Rawlings returned with their drinks. “And cowards? Stabbing a man in the back and killing an old lady!”

Rawlings squatted at her side, his eyes softening. “I knew this would upset you. You felt a connection to Ms. White.”

It wasn’t a question. Olivia said, “Tell me how she died.”

“I will, but remember that this is all hearsay,” the chief reminded her gently.

“Tell me,” she insisted.

He took a swallow of Chivas Regal. “When Ms. White read the escape scene in the draft of The Barbed Wire Flower, she grew hysterical. Mr. Plumley panicked, fearing that Ms. White’s nurse would come running and would find out that he’d broken his promise. He was afraid that Evelyn would tell her story to others, to the nurse perhaps. According to his ex-wife, Mr. Plumley silenced Evelyn White by smothering her with a pillow.”

Olivia closed her eyes, trying to keep her features under control. It was too easy for her to visualize Nick Plumley grabbing the pillow from under Evelyn’s head and pressing it against the old woman’s face. She could see Evelyn’s limbs jerking below the bedsheets, her thin nails clasping at the arms that were robbing her of breath, of life.

“Why would he give her a copy?” Olivia managed to ask after several long moments of silence.

Rawlings threw out his arms in a helpless gesture. “Mrs. Vickers claims that Nick had come to view Ms. White as a sort of mother figure. He desperately wanted her approval and had convinced himself that she’d be so dazzled by his skill as a writer that she’d overlook the details of the escape scene. Perhaps he was convinced by his own fiction.”

Disgusted, Olivia pushed the ice around in her glass with the tip of her finger. Suddenly, she was struck by a thought. “Did Cora talk about this to anyone else?”

“She said that only her new husband knew what Mr. Plumley had done. She promised Boyd that he’d be able to open his own gym one day with the payments they received from Mr. Plumley. When they stole the painting from your house, they planned to sell it and use the funds to pay off their credit cards and secure a loan. Between the painting and the life insurance payout, they could finally climb out of debt.” Getting up slowly, Rawlings went back to his seat.

“Cora knew that Nick had come to Oyster Bay in search of that painting. Evelyn must have told him about it, but why did he want it so desperately? Was he afraid that Kamler had written something about his father on the back instead of a love letter to Evelyn?”

Rawlings rubbed his chin. “Perhaps he simply wanted to possess one of her treasures. They must have spent a great deal of time together and she obviously told him things she’d never told anyone else.”

“That’s it!” Olivia’s eyes flashed. “Evelyn told him that her greatest treasures were in Oyster Bay. Treasure s. Plural. The painting was one of them, but the second was not made of canvas and paint, but of flesh and blood. I think Evelyn knew exactly who adopted the child fathered by Heinrich Kamler. That child’s been right here the whole time.”

“Her son. The living reminder of the man she loved.” The glimmer in Olivia’s deep-sea eyes was reflected in the chief’s excited hazel gaze. “He’d be in his midsixties, just like our suspect, Mr. Hatcher.”

“Exactly,” Olivia said, barely above a whisper. “Raymond Hatcher was raised by Agnes Hatcher. Dave was his adopted brother. Ray was brought into the Hatcher home from an orphanage months after James Hatcher was killed. Ray claimed to have never known the identity of his biological parents. So if Raymond Hatcher is Evelyn’s son, then he has two motives: money and revenge. Nick Plumley tarnished his father’s name and benefited financially from his mother’s story. Hatcher is big and strong. He could have easily strangled Plumley.”

The chief’s face grew stony. “Could have, Olivia. Don’t form a lynch mob just yet.” He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and made a call. “This long day is about to become a long night. I’ve got to order some coffee.”

Olivia waved for him to stay put. “You have some time before your men bring him in. Please, let me order you something for dinner. If you’re going to be up for hours, you’ll need food.”

Rawlings smiled at her, and she felt the warmth of it spread through her body. “Actually, if you could make me two dinners to-go, I’ll share a meal with Mr. Hatcher. It’s amazing what folks will say over a piece of steak and a bottle of beer.”

“That’s quite an unusual interview technique,” Olivia quipped with a raised brow. “But then again, you never fail to surprise me.”

The smile grew wider and warmer still. “Is that why you find me so irresistible?”

Olivia was fully aware that the chief was teasing her, but she walked to his side and looked at him, hoping the intensity of her desire would leap from her eyes into his like a jumping spark.

“That’s one of the reasons.” Her voice was deep and low, filled with the caress she longed to bestow upon him here, in front of everyone, if only she had the courage. “When this is all over, I’d like to discover more.”

Chapter 16

The eyes indicate the antiquity of the soul.

—RALPH WALDO EMERSON

Thursday passed with Olivia attending to a vast array of tasks at both restaurants. She and Laurel also went on a whirlwind shopping excursion to prepare for the homecoming of her young nephew.

To keep her mind off the fact that she hadn’t heard a word from Rawlings since he’d left The Boot Top to interview Raymond Hatcher, Olivia threw herself into work, scouring the docks for the freshest seafood, tweaking menus with Hudson and Michel, and answering hundreds of e-mails from customers, suppliers, and food critics.

When the inbox on her desk was barren, she and Laurel drove to the closest megamall, talking about everything under the sun other than Laurel’s marital problems. Her articles on Cora and Boyd Vickers and the love story between Evelyn White and Heinrich Kamler had been picked up by several of the big-name papers. As a result, she’d had job offers from across the country, which she’d used as leverage to gain more flexible work hours and a higher salary.

“I’ll be able to bring the boys to their preschool and pick them up again. And when I can’t be there, I can afford to hire this wonderful retired schoolteacher who lives in our neighborhood,” Laurel told Olivia with a smile. “I’m getting the best of both worlds. I get to be around for my kids and have the job of my dreams.”