Olivia briefly left the room to let Haviland outside and see to his dinner, but afterward she waved off Betty’s offer to stay with the patient through the night.
“I’m not going to give up our last bit of time,” she told the nurse.
Returning to the soft chair by the window, Olivia sat as the sky morphed from steel gray to soot black, nodding off here and there but still alert enough to welcome the ochre dawn.
The entire time she sat, listening as her father’s exhalations mingled with the lapping of the waves, she never released her hold on his carving. Olivia knew it was the only gift her father would ever give her, and even then, she’d had to discover it for herself.
To Olivia, who’d watched her father whittle dolphins, sharks, and mermaids in front of the fire for countless winters and yet had never carved a token for his only child, it was enough that he’d finally done so.
And he’d put all he had into that last carving; she could feel it in the wood. In the dawn light, it glowed with life, even as her father’s began to fade.
Chapter 18
Olivia left her father’s side only when Betty insisted that she take a hot shower and eat some breakfast. Kim served her toast with cream cheese, bacon, and a bowl of fresh blueberries on the patio while Haviland explored the small garden behind the house.
“Caitlyn’s keeping an eye on your dog,” Kim said, pouring herself a cup of coffee and sitting down across the table from Olivia. “He won’t run off, will he?”
Olivia shook her head. “He’s obedient and very gentle. You don’t have to worry about Haviland becoming aggressive toward Caitlyn or your guests. He
“How old is your daughter?” she asked instead.
Kim brightened. “Six. I thought she’d been our only one, but as you can see, we’re having a second. Betty says I’m going to have a boy. She’s got a way of knowing these things.” Her cheeks flushed. “I’m so sorry about the letter, about her asking you for money.”
“It’s not your fault,” Olivia assured her. “And I don’t have the energy to be angry with her. There’s too much going on in here.” She tapped at her chest, just above her heart.
Glancing across the garden, Olivia watched as Caitlyn hesitantly reached a hand out to Haviland. The poodle sniffed her palm and gave her a friendly lick. The girl’s face, heart-shaped and covered with freckles, glowed with delight. With the sunlight streaming over her long hair and a secretive smile on her face, she looked like a fairy among the flowers.
Olivia ran her finger around the rim of her coffee cup. “What does Betty say about my father? Does she have a sense about how much time he’s got left?”
Kim uttered a sympathetic sigh. “She said it’s only a matter of hours now. I wish it wasn’t happening so fast.”
“I should have been here sooner,” Olivia stated mournfully. She thanked Kim for breakfast, carried her plate to the sink, and called Haviland.
He obeyed reluctantly, sulking over having been forced to dine on dog food instead of bacon and eggs, but Olivia didn’t feel comfortable asking Kim if she could cook the poodle a meal using supplies meant for the restaurant.
Hudson intercepted Olivia at the garden gate. “Your town’s on TV. You might want to see this.” He gestured for her to follow him to the bar.
A reporter was standing in front of Oyster Bay’s marina. In a carefully somber tone, he gave a brief overview of the robberies and murders committed by the Donald siblings. The image then switched to a taped segment showing Rawlings speaking at a press conference. Olivia’s shoulders dropped a fraction in relief as the chief told a throng of journalists that Rutherford and Ellen Donald had signed detailed confessions and were now in the capable hands of the North Carolina court system.
The camera view returned to the docks and the reporter promised an exclusive interview with one of the Donalds’ robbery victims at noon. “We’ll also be hearing a chilling account from Laurel Hobbs, a staff writer for the local paper, who survived what could have been a fatal visit from Rutherford and Ellen Donald.” A photograph of Laurel appeared on the screen. “If not for the heroism of Hobbs’ friend, local entrepreneur Olivia Limoges, and officers of the Oyster Bay Police Department, Hobbs might not have lived to share her story with us today. Ms. Limoges could not be reached for comment.”
The reporter swiveled slightly as he spoke and Olivia saw that the live shot included her Range Rover. Someone must have tipped off the press about her sudden departure by boat. The media would now haunt the docks until she returned to claim her car. Olivia could already visualize the tabloid headlines: “Heiress Wounded in Knife Fight.”
She groaned.
“We’ve been reading about those robberies,” Kim whispered in awe. “Look. There’s a big article about it in
Olivia tucked the paper under her good arm and picked up her coffee cup. “If you want to know what happened, you’ll have to listen to the story upstairs. I’ve been gone too long already.”
Hudson and Kim trailed behind Haviland as he followed his mistress back to the sick room.
Betty had her crocheting out again. The morning light winked off her needles and Olivia recognized that she was making a baby blanket. It seemed unreal that this woman and the couple behind her were preparing to welcome a new life while her own reason for being there was to bear witness to the end of another.
Settling herself in a ladder-back chair in front of the room’s other window, Olivia stared at her father. He looked the same as he had before she left to shower, but his breath sounded raspier. She listened to the harsh rattles emitting from between his lips for several minutes. Without taking her eyes off her father’s face, she began to talk.
Telling Kim, Betty, and Hudson about the Donalds gave Olivia a measure of closure. The narrative had a beginning and a middle and an ending in which justice prevailed.
When she was finished, her audience was kind enough not to pepper her with questions. The three of them sat quietly, absorbing the unbelievable tale, until Betty’s needles ceasing moving. “So what happened to their folks? What did their kids do as payback for making them go through childhood with twisted tongues?”
Abashed, Olivia realized she hadn’t given a second thought to Mr. and Mrs. Donald’s fate. She’d concentrated solely on reaching Okracoke and had left her friends, her business, and several unanswered questions behind.
“I don’t know, but this article is quite long. Perhaps it will tell us.” She unfolded the paper and found the story on the Cliche Killers quickly. When she was done reading it to herself, she returned her gaze to her father’s pallid face.
“The parents were injured, but are recovering in the hospital. The paper doesn’t give any more specifics other than to say that their injuries were inflicted by Ellen and Rutherford.” She handed the newspaper to Kim. “Are there any photographs of my father and his life in this room?”
Kim and Betty exchanged nervous glances.
“I’ve got a couple,” Hudson mumbled. “But he didn’t like for people to take pictures of him.”
That came as no surprise to Olivia. “What of Meg? What happened to her?”
Moving closer to her husband, Kim leaned against his thick arm. “She died of a brain aneurism,” she whispered. “It was very sudden.”
“What about children?” Olivia asked. “I’m assuming they had none.”
At that moment, Caitlyn entered the room. Her eyes fixed on the figure in the bed; she stepped across the floor on her tiptoes like a prima donna ballerina. Her movements were so quiet and unobtrusive that it was clear she was accustomed to avoiding attention, but it was impossible not to take note of her grace. Without looking at any of the adults, she knelt by the bed and took the sick man’s hand in her own.
