A Killer Plot (2010)

Chapter 7

He is dead and gone, lady,

He is dead and gone,

At his head a grass-green turf,

At his heels a stone.

—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (HAMLET, ACT IV)

After a night of troubled sleep, Olivia rose just as dawn was breaking over the water. A pale light seeped into the sky, followed by a washed-out sun. Already the summer haze was sitting on the land like an animal resting on heavy haunches. Only the ocean breeze kept Oyster Bay’s residents from being completely weighed down by humidity, though the northern tourists sweated so copiously that they often needed to change clothes twice before lunchtime.

After breakfast, Olivia and Haviland took their customary walk on the beach. The poodle raced after gulls and sandpipers, did some cursory digging in clam holes, and frightened crabs into scuttling for cover in the white-bubbled foam feathering the shore. Haviland’s mouth hung open in a joyful smile and his bright eyes darted from the moist sand to the grass-speckled dunes to his mistress. Olivia smiled back at him, taking in deep breaths of ocean air. It had taken decades of travel and a dozen different addresses for her to realize there was nowhere else on earth she’d rather be than on the beach she ran across as a child.

Once the pair had walked a little over a mile, Olivia climbed a small rise and settled on the sand. Hugging her knees against her chest, she sat still as a stone as the sun bathed her face.

She thought of Camden and Cosmo and their life together in Los Angeles and wondered what it would be like when Cosmo returned home alone. She could almost see him passing through the clean, chic rooms of their apartment, picking up photographs, listlessly shifting throw pillows, opening and closing the refrigerator—anything to avoid the empty truth that his friend and lover would never enter the space again. Eventually, Cosmo would be confronted by the scent of his lover lingering on a bathroom towel or clinging to a silk shirt hanging in the closet and then the beautiful young man would crumple to the floor, a piece of cloth pressed against his face, as grief asserted itself with overwhelming power.

“But he can’t really begin to mourn without closure,” Olivia murmured to herself. “Oyster Bay is a small town. Someone knows something about this death. I just need to ask the right people the right questions.” She brushed away the stirrings of melancholy as she shook loose sprinkles of sand from her gray yoga pants.

Haviland trotted over and licked the side of her neck, gracing her with one of his rare, gentlemanlike kisses. She cupped his ears in her hands and pressed her face against his soft cheek. “Come on, darling. We’ve much work to do.”

Their morning walks were always restorative, and by the time Olivia pulled the Range Rover in front of the cheerful yellow Victorian with the wraparound porch and the lavender front door, she felt as though she had an abundance of strength of will to share with Cosmo. The Yellow Lady was one of the most beautiful houses in Oyster Bay and Olivia felt there was no rival in the entire county for its wild and colorful gardens.

Though it was nearly ten o’clock, Olivia half expected to learn that Cosmo was still asleep, so she’d come prepared with a James Michener novel and a plump nectarine in case she had to wait. But not only was Cosmo awake, he was showered, immaculately dressed in pressed khakis and a hot pink polo shirt, and dining heartily on the inn’s bountiful breakfast spread.

Annie Kraus, co-owner of The Yellow Lady, hovered at his elbow. She placed a steaming cup of black coffee next to Cosmo’s plate and solicitously arranged a creamer of steamed milk and a porcelain sugar bowl adorned with silver sugar tongs within easy reach. After giving him a maternal pat on the shoulder, she passed behind his chair in order to adjust the blinds so that the burgeoning sunlight didn’t fall across his eyes.

Olivia had met Annie and her husband Roy several times. As business owners, all three were involved with the chamber of commerce. Roy and Olivia were also committee members on the town’s Planning Board. Despite the fact that the meetings were often tedious, Olivia enjoyed being in the know about the changes occurring in Oyster Bay and she suspected the Kraus’s shared her pleasure over being able to direct those changes through their voting power.

One of the pine floorboards creaked, announcing Olivia’s presence. Annie looked up and produced a tentative smile. Annie and Roy had purchased The Yellow Lady shortly before Olivia’s return and Olivia sensed they were still uncertain what to make of the attractive and imposing female entrepreneur. Having been married for more than two decades, Annie seemed slightly wary of unattached women, as though she believed it unnatural for a woman to remain single and childless. Annie was fifteen years older than Olivia and had been raised by religious parents who placed great value upon both marriage and procreation. When the youngest of her four children left the nest, Annie didn’t have anyone to cook or clean for, so it seemed only fitting to continue those tasks for paying clientele.

“Good morning, Ms. Limoges,” she greeted Olivia formally. “Would you care for some coffee? My dear guest is on his second pot.” She beamed at the young man.

Cosmo stood and quickly held out a chair for Olivia. As she grew closer, he pulled her into a brief but gentle embrace. “I can see why Camden loved this town,” he declared. “Roy and Annie have been such darlings. And the room—gorgeous! Crisp, cotton sheets, fluffy white duvet cover, a pillow-top mattress, and not a framed needlepoint in sight. It looks like something I would have designed.”

Olivia thanked Annie for the coffee. She added some of the steamed milk, stirred, and took a sip while studying Cosmo over the rim of her cup. “This is delicious coffee,” she said after swallowing the rich, creamy brew.

It was the right thing to say. Annie’s stiff shoulders relaxed and her smile became genuine. “It’s the beans. They’re pure Kona and I grind them fresh every morning.” She paused. “I know you’re used to fancier food than this, but you’re welcome to breakfast too.”

“The biscuits are to die for,” Cosmo said, pushing a basket toward her. “If I eat like this, I’ll have to get elastic-waisted pants.”

Annie swatted at him with the corner of her apron. “I’ll have you know that some of us have been wearing those for years.” Her tone was indulgent.

“I already had Raisin Bran and a banana, but if I’d known this is what you serve your guests, I would have skipped breakfast and gotten here sooner.” Olivia saluted Annie with her coffee cup.

“Would you sit down for a minute, Annie? Please!” Cosmo pleaded. “I know we talked a bit last night—actually,

I blubbered and you listened—but could you tell Olivia what Cam was like on ... his last day?”

Hesitating, Annie smoothed her apron and looked to Olivia for guidance. Olivia gestured at the seat across from her own as though they were gathered in her dining room and not Annie’s.

“Mr. Ford was a charming gentleman,” Annie began. “Kept his room ever so tidy, complimented me on my cooking (though he never ate any sweets or bread or whatnot—he was very health-conscious), and he was always humming or singing. He just filled this house up when he was in it. You couldn’t help but smile when he was around. He was a real ray of sunshine.”

Olivia nodded. It was an apt description of Camden. “Did you see him on Saturday?”

“Only in the morning and for a few minutes in the evening when he came in to change his clothes.” She directed a smile at Cosmo. “He wore such lovely things. Ironed them himself too. Of course, I offered to do that for him,” she added defensively. “We aim to coddle our guests here at The Yellow Lady, but Mr. Ford said ironing helped him think, so I left him to it.”

“Well, I hate ironing,” Cosmo replied in an attempt at humor, but Olivia noticed that he’d put down his utensils and seemed unable to eat any more of the biscuit, thick-sliced bacon, or ripe strawberries on his plate.

Annie patted the tablecloth close to Cosmo’s hand. “You don’t need to worry about a thing while you’re here, dear.” Sensing Olivia’s impatience, she finally answered the original question. “Now I could tell that Mr. Ford had been doing his best to get to know folks from our town, from fishermen to librarians to little Dixie Weaver. He also talked on his cell phone quite a bit.” She flashed a look at Cosmo. “Please understand. I make it a point to give my guests their privacy, but because this whole house doesn’t get the best reception, Mr. Ford often talked out on the front porch and I’d hear bits and snatches now and then. When I was tidying up and such.”

Olivia didn’t buy this explanation for a moment. Annie was clearly an inquisitive innkeeper. “Did you hear any bits and snatches on Saturday?” she asked.

“All I know is that while he was talking on the phone, he wrote down the name of our little park south of town—the one right on the river with the bird plaques and that old Civil War cemetery. If you can even call it a cemetery. It’s just a few graves, really.” She shrugged. “Mr. Ford planned to visit the park that very afternoon, though he wasn’t wearing the right shoes, if you ask me.” She clucked her tongue in disapproval. “He also told the person on the phone that he was real interested in what he had to say and would like to meet in person. And I only know this much detail because Mr. Ford came to me in search of pen and paper. I didn’t hear anything else.”

“Well, that’s quite a comprehensive tidbit,” Olivia mused aloud and turned to Cosmo. “Was Camden a nature lover?”

“Of course not.” Cosmo grimaced at the idea. “The man hated the outdoors. Give him air-conditioning and double-paned windows or he’d complain like a starlet who’s lost her sunscreen! In LA, Cam only went outside for Starbucks or the newspaper.”

“Therefore, going to the Neuse River Community Park would be out of character?” Olivia pressed.

Cosmo leaned forward on his elbows. “As out of character as me going to a women’s fashion show to ogle the models instead of the clothes.” He shook his head. “I’m assuming there’d be bugs at this park too? Mosquitoes? Ticks?” He shivered in distaste. “He’d only go there if he could borrow a hazmat suit!”

“I don’t think our souvenir shop keeps those in stock.” Olivia took a sip of coffee. “Truly excellent brew, Annie.” The innkeeper flushed. “Can you tell us anything else?

What was Camden’s mood when he came home to change for the evening? And what time was that?”

Annie looked out the window. “Let’s see. I was in the kitchen making scones to put in the freezer. I had to stop to register the Parker couple and ring Roy to carry their luggage upstairs. That must have been around six because the scones were already in the oven when I saw Mr. Ford.” She tapped her watch. “Must have been a bit after seven when he came down from his room. He’d been in jeans and a cotton shirt that afternoon, but he was fresh as a spring day in white pants and a pink shirt. He smiled and gave me a friendly wave but didn’t stop for a chat like he usually did. Still, his eyes were twinkling, like a kid on Christmas Eve. He was real worked up, like he couldn’t wait to get where he was going.”

Cosmo sighed. “So he wasn’t scared when he left. Cam wanted to see this person. But he didn’t meet a person. He met a monster!” His voice cracked and his eyes filled with tears.

Pushing her chair away from the table, Annie got up and put an arm around Cosmo and squeezed. The young man leaned back into her pillowy chest. Olivia also rose. She and Annie exchanged a look. They both knew Cosmo needed to be taken under someone’s protective wing and Olivia hoped her face portrayed her relief over sharing the responsibility with such a capable woman.

“I think you should stay at The Yellow Lady,” Olivia whispered gently to Cosmo. “You’re perfectly safe here and Annie and Roy can care for you better than I ever could. If you stayed in the cottage, you’d have to cook your own meals, make your own bed, and you’d be all alone. Besides, I don’t even own an iron.”

Cosmo waved his hands in front of his face and blinked away a fresh round of tears. “I have got to get a grip!” He sniffed several times. “Okay. Since you two insist, I’ll stay here and be spoiled, but don’t you try to disappear on me, Olivia Limoges!”

“The thought never crossed my mind. I’m only a phone call away and in this town, it’ll never take me more than fifteen minutes to get to you,” Olivia assured him. “Now, can we peek in Camden’s room?”

Annie shook her head. “The chief gave me strict instructions to leave it be. Cosmo already asked me to look inside for Mr. Ford’s computer, but it’s gone. He always left it square on the writing desk, with his phone and a notepad lined up right beside it. Neat as a pin, that one was.”

“There are no printouts of his manuscript either,” Cosmo said dejectedly. “Annie was nice enough to check. I just couldn’t go in. The cops must have it all.”

Olivia fell silent. Not only did she need to acquire a copy of Camden’s work in progress, but she now wanted to know the identity of the caller feeding Camden information regarding the town park. At the moment, she couldn’t think of a single connection between the Talbot family and a seldom-frequented community park. Luckily, there were several locals who might be able to enlighten her.

Cosmo took hold of Olivia’s hand. “You go on ahead with CSI Oyster Bay. I’ve got to make ... arrangements. I can’t stand the thought of my darling Cam spending another day lying on some cold piece of metal.” His eyes filled with tears again. “The least I can do is buy him the most decadent, velvet-lined coffin ever made and cover him with heaps and heaps of flowers.”

“I could drive you over to Woody’s Funeral Home,” Annie offered kindly. “You shouldn’t have to do that task on your own.”

“Oh, you’re a treasure!” Cosmo exclaimed with relief. “It’s going to be a very small affair. After all, Cam’s family cut him out of their lives the day he came out. That was almost twenty years ago. Can you imagine? They don’t even realize what a wonderful person they’ve missed knowing—I got the best of him.”

He hid his face in the napkin for a long moment. “Enough!” He resurfaced and sniffed. “I have to face Oyster Bay’s men in blue at one o’clock sharp.” Cosmo’s gaze returned to Olivia. “I must be assertive with these people if I want to find out if they have any idea who did this. I simply cannot go through another day imagining that sick bastard walking around out there. Do they still use the electric chair in this state?”

“Do your best to speak directly to Chief Rawlings,” Olivia counseled. “And might I suggest you change your shirt into something a little less—”

“Gay?” Cosmo guessed wryly.

“I was going to say ‘pink.’ ” She grinned and pulled out another business card from her purse. She’d written both her mobile and home numbers on the back. “Call me if you need a ride to the station. I’ve got a decent measure of influence in this town and I’ll make certain you’re treated with the consideration and respect you deserve.”

Annie began placing dirty dishes on a lacquered tray. “You’ll do well with Ms. Olivia watching your back, young man. But it’s my job to see that you’re up to all this, which you won’t be if you don’t finish your breakfast. At least eat some strawberries and polish off the bacon.”

Cosmo saluted. “Eat protein. Change shirt. Stop blubbering. Yes, yes, mommy dearests. Whatever you say.”

Olivia left the inn and drove straight to Bagels ‘n’ Beans. She ordered Wheeler’s home-brewed orange iced tea and then asked him if he had a minute to spare for a chat. She selected the table closest to the back door where she was least likely to be overheard. Her seating choice also allowed her to view Chief Rawlings’ newest paintings. Haviland, clearly sensing there were no treats to be had in a room smelling, to a dog at least, of burned cocoa beans and rubbery dough, went to sleep.

Wheeler finished making soy lattes with no foam for a pair of tourists, gave them a gummy smile when they stuffed a few bills into the tip jar, and then shuffled over to Olivia’s table. He pointed at the paintings. “You gonna snap these up too?”

Though the nearest painting was of a subject Olivia would not choose to display, she had to admit it was charming. It depicted a little boy in overalls standing alongside an ice cream truck. The whole truck wasn’t in view—only one of the wheels and the colorful menu board. The boy, who was barefoot and generously freckled, gripped a dollar bill in one hand and had the other shoved deep into the pocket of his denim overalls. His eyes gleamed as he gazed longingly at the tempting images of orange creamsicles, Astro Pops, ice cream sandwiches, king cones, strawberry shortcake bars, and chocolate éclair bars.

“It’s well executed,” Olivia told Wheeler. “But I like this other one better. Do you know the woman?”

“Aye. Sawyer’s wife, Helen, that is. Died a few years back. Caught the cancer.”

Olivia had never heard the disease described as catch-able before, but Wheeler had spent the better part of his life trolling for tuna across the Atlantic, and like many of Oyster Bay’s older fishermen, had developed a unique dialect of blended accents and phrases.

“I don’t recall hearing Chief Rawlings’ first name before,” Olivia answered as she studied the painting. It was a simple scene showing a woman reading. She was reclined in an Adirondack chair with a hardcover propped open on her knees. Her intelligent eyes were opened wide, her expression one of guilty pleasure. The nail of her index finger was held captive between her upper and lower teeth and her lips curved in a slight, secretive smile. The woman was not beautiful, but it was difficult to turn away from her animated face. Olivia immediately liked how the picture championed the notion that time spent reading was a treasure to be cherished.

“Wheeler, you met Camden Ford, didn’t you?” Olivia turned away from the art. “He was visiting from California.”

“The writer fellow. Acted girly.” Wheeler grunted. “Dressed girly too.”

“Yes, Camden did prefer pastels,” agreed Olivia. “Did he ask you any questions about Oyster Bay or any of the people here?”

Wheeler nodded. “Sure enough. Wanted to know when those houses first startin’ goin’ up on the bluff. I told him they slapped them up in no time like everythin’ they build these days. The first real storm and those things’ll blow over like a feather in the wind.”

“Talbot Fine Properties at work,” Olivia muttered.

“He wanted to know about those folks too. Daddy Talbot was in here a time or two this spring. Never talked to him direct though. He’s got helpers to order his drinks, fetch him a cookie, and stir the sugar in his coffee. Wonder if they wipe his ass for him too.” Wheeler gave a dry chuckle.

“Was Camden interested in any other subjects?”

Wheeler pulled a damp cloth from his pocket and began to wipe the table. Olivia moved her elbows off the surface and watched as the old man’s hands moved in slow, careful circles. The motion seemed to help him think. “He wanted to know about the soldier graveyard—if there was livin’ kin to the boys buried there. I reckon there are a handful of folks sharin’ names with those written on the stones, if you can read ‘em anymore. I haven’t been out there in years, but even way back they were almost picked clean by the weather. Not too much can stand up to bein’ scrubbed clean by wind and sun and sand.”

The park again, Olivia thought, mystified.

The tinkle of the sleigh bells dangling from the front door hinge caused Wheeler to lift his head. “No more chitchat, Miss ’Livia.” He leaned closer to her. “But I’m right glad you came in. I wanted to thank you for not raisin’ the rent this year. I’m doin’ fine, but I had to hire another kid for the summer and I wanna pay the boy a decent wage or he’ll be off cuttin’ grass instead. I gotta have decent young folks for the evenin’ shift ‘cause I can make it here at five A.M. every day, but by three o’clock I gotta go ’cause I’m all done in.”

“Five in the morning? You’re amazing, Wheeler,” Olivia told him. The octogenarian winked at her and returned to his station behind the counter.

Outside, the humidity hit with full force. The wet, languid air shimmered above the asphalt, distorting the images of parked cars and storefronts across the street. Olivia removed her sunglasses from the crown of her head and put them on. She poured water from an insulated cup into Haviland’s travel bowl and placed it in the ground beneath the nearest awning. When he was finished drinking, she belted him into his seat, put down all the windows, and headed south. Olivia loved the heat and had never quite grown accustomed to more than a hint of air-conditioning.

The Neuse River Community Park had never been a popular place. Olivia had been dragged there in elementary school to identify the bird species portrayed on the colored plaques lining the walking paths. She had found the assignment dull and pointless, as most of the children had been able to name the birds since they could talk. Unlike school, which at least had a playground, the park’s pluses were limited to walking paths (grass-pocked trails of sand) and a few picnic tables. There were no restrooms and the water fountain had been rusted beyond use. The benches were made of coarse wood that zealously dislodged splinters into their bare thighs, and the single gazebo had been covered by layers of excrement left by mischievous Canadian geese.

“Not much has changed,” Olivia commented to Haviland before he lurched forward, dashing after a pair of startled mallards.

Allowing the poodle his canine pursuits, Olivia took a cursory look at the closest plaque. The photo of the royal tern was too faded to appear regal any longer. Its orange beak was now a muted brown and the black tail feathers were a dull, watery gray. The font describing the bird’s habits and habitats was no longer legible. Here and there, a letter would show itself clearly, like a tiny fish rising to the surface of a pond to feed.

Strolling past the gazebo, she noted the weathered structure had been used as a carving board. Names, initials, expletives, and symbols covered every inch of the tired wood, adding to the park’s atmosphere of neglect and disuse.

Haviland rejoined her and together they mounted the steep flight of cracked cement steps leading up to the small cemetery. Midway in the climb, Olivia caught her toe on a fissure that nearly split one of the steps in two. Looking ahead, she noticed how the three steps nearest the top were swollen and split due to the pressure being forced upon them by the roots of a mature swamp chestnut.

Olivia reached the top and was surprised by the realization that there was no handrail for the flight of stairs leading up to the graveyard. Approaching the cast-iron fence surrounding the space, she paused. Seven white headstones were lined up in two rows—one of four, one of three—beneath the shelter of another old chestnut tree. Grasping a fence finial in each hand, Olivia stared respectfully at the weathered stones.

Unlike the rest of the park, the secluded little graveyard was carefully tended. The grass had been mowed, the fence had recently received a fresh coat of black paint, and when Olivia eventually pushed open the narrow gate, it swung inward on well-oiled hinges. There was a bronze plaque set in cement just inside the gate. The plaque read, “Lest We Forget. Our Boys Sacrificed All,” and was surrounded by a ring of miniature Dixie flags.

Treading softly, Olivia approached the headstones. As Wheeler had said, the text carved into the surface had nearly been sanded smooth by wind and time, but three of the graves in the back row still proclaimed their occupant’s names.

“James Greenhow, Henry Bragg, and Wallace White,” Olivia whispered. “Lest we forget.” Haviland sniffed at the graves and gave his mistress a quizzical look. “Why would Camden be curious about this place?” Haviland barked dismissively. “Good point, Captain. He was researching the Talbots, not the park. So why would the Talbots be interested in this place?” She gazed around and then inhaled sharply. “The park! It must be thirty acres.” Her dark blue eyes swept over the deserted landscape. “Situated on the picturesque Neuse River. Minutes from town, minutes from the beach ... I can almost write the brochure. Of course! The Talbots want to buy this land!”

Turning on her heel, Olivia closed the gate gently behind her and strode to the Range Rover. She dug her pocket-sized planner out of her purse and, after jotting down the names she’d read on the gravestones to research further later on, examined the notations on the calendar page. “The Planning Board meeting isn’t until the end of the month. If the town of Oyster Bay’s been approached about placing this parcel up for sale, it’ll be coming up for vote at the township committee meeting first. I wonder when that’s being held.”

Her cell phone vibrated in the cup holder in her center console. Picking it up, she noted the missed call had come from Cosmo’s phone. She immediately returned his call.

“I’m with the chief,” Cosmo informed her, sounding deflated. “He’s getting me a coffee and a glass of chocolate milk for himself. Can you believe that? What kind of cop drinks chocolate milk? Aren’t they supposed to be caffeine addicts by day and raging alcoholics by night?”

“Do you want me to come down?” Olivia asked. “I can be there in ten minutes.”

“No, no.” Cosmo sighed wearily. “They haven’t arrested anyone yet. Not a single soul saw Cam go inside the bar and only one person noticed him on the sidewalk. It’s like Cam was invisible that night. And their lone witness was already up to his gills in whiskey. Not exactly the picture of reliability. It’s too awful!”

Olivia tried to distract Cosmo from becoming morose. “Did you ask Chief Rawlings about the cell phone and the laptop?”

“No comment on the phone, but he’s letting me look at the laptop right now, but only because I promised to tell him if I saw any unusual files or emails,” Cosmo answered. “The emails are purely social and there are a few of mine on there I don’t want anyone to see!” He was clearly agitated over at the invasion of his privacy. “All of the Milano Cruise files are here and some facts on your darling little town. What you wanted me to look for is here too. Cam saved his manuscript under the name, ‘Book.’ How uncreative of him! I’m emailing it to you this second, and then I’ve got to go. I hear Rawlings down the hall and I don’t want him to catch me. Bye!”

The connection was severed.

“Well done, Cosmo,” Olivia said aloud, relieved that her work email address was printed on The Boot Top Bistro’s business card. Anxious to begin reading Camden’s manuscript immediately, she turned on the engine and backed out of the parking space. The speed of her reversal formed tornadoes of dust that briefly obscured her view out the windshield.