A Killer Plot (2010)

Chapter 11

It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy;—it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insuffecient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others.

—JANE AUSTEN

Two days later, Jethro Bragg was still being held in a county cell. The townsfolk vacillated between quietly believing in the local man’s guilt and complaining vociferously that the police had arrested Jethro in an act of discrimination against fishermen.

“The cops always point the finger at one of us when somethin’s wrong!” Olivia heard a fisherman call to another at the Exxon station.

The second man shook his head in disgust. “Whoever killed that queer was a yellow belly. He weren’t one of us. We go at it face-to-face-look our enemy in the eye when we take him down. It ain’t our way to creep up on a man like that.”

Olivia considered this exchange. The fishermen were right. The killer must have wanted to surprise Camden, to rob him of his life with stealth and quickness. Yet there was an element of cowardice to the murder that wasn’t in sync with Jethro Bragg’s character. She’d seen him at the meeting. He’d spoken his piece against the new development and wore his heart on his sleeve while doing so. He was a former soldier and proud of his heritage—hardly the type of man to attack an unarmed stranger in the dark.

“No, the real killer wanted to remain anonymous to his victim, yet he wanted to get public attention by writing the poem,” she mused as she filled the Rover’s tank. “A person of contradictions.” Inside the car, she turned to Haviland. “Is Jethro Bragg that complex? I don’t think so. They’ve got the wrong man, Captain.”

Haviland stuck his head out the window and watched the fishermen drive off in nearly identical Ford pickups. He let loose several short barks, a sign of agreement.

Olivia was just offering Haviland an organic dog treat when her phone rang. It was Cosmo.

“I can’t stay here another day!” he exclaimed into the phone.

“What’s happened?” Olivia shoved the treat bag inside the center console.

“Nothing! Nothing besides the fact that my best friend in the world is dead and gone! Gone!” he shouted. Olivia could hear a dry sob through the phone. “Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just starting to sink in. I woke up in a strange bed with the sun pouring in through the windows and the sound of birds twittering outside and I . . . can’t . . . stand . . . it another second! I need car horns and smog, people speaking Spanish, and my own pillows. I want to go home!” He exhaled loudly. “There. I’ve said it. I feel like the biggest heel, but I want to go home now.”

Olivia understood. She couldn’t imagine two places more opposite in nature than the city of Los Angeles and the town of Oyster Bay. “Of course you do. There’s nothing wrong with your wanting to leave this place. Go home if you want to. It doesn’t mean you loved Camden any less if you do. How can I help?”

“You are an angel.” Cosmo began to cry. “I want to take Cam with me, so I’ve decided to have him cremated. I just can’t leave him here, Olivia. I can see letting him drift away on a wave in the Pacific, someplace nice like Carmel or Malibu, but not in this ocean! This isn’t his home either.”

“Has the chief released Camden’s body?” Olivia inquired gently.

Another sniff. “I met with Rawlings first thing this morning. They checked him ... his body over carefully, but there were no clues. Apparently the monster who killed him wore gloves and a mask. There are no fibers or fingerprints or any of that stuff you see on those TV crime shows.” His voice broke. “Poor Cam must have been so scared to see that creature rise out of the dark. What was he doing in that alley? Stupid, darling Cam! Look what you’ve done to us!”

Olivia could hear Cosmo banging on something. “Cosmo!” she shouted, reeling him back into their conversation. “What about the killer’s handwriting? Is it being analyzed?”

After a pause, Cosmo answered. “Yes. Photos were sent to some state lab. It’ll take weeks. At least that’s what Rawlings told me.”

Unable to think of what other information the chief might have volunteered to Cosmo, Olivia said, “Would you like me to help with the arrangements? I know Annie took you to the funeral home, but do you need someone to stand beside you during the cremation?” She hoped he’d refuse her offer. She couldn’t think of anything she’d rather do less than bear witness to Camden’s funeral pyre.

Cosmo didn’t answer immediately.

“I need to do this by myself,” he finally declared. “It’s not that I don’t want you there, it’s just that this act is the last thing I have of him that’s all mine. And then I’m booking a flight out of here. I know that sounds cold, but they have a man in custody and I can’t do anything else for Cam. I wanted to take in everything about this town because it’s where I lost him, but now I’ve seen it and I’m ready to go.”

“I understand. In fact, I’ll drive you to the airport.” She hesitated. “And know that I won’t forget about Camden or his case, Cosmo. I promise you that.”

“I know.” His voice grew stronger. “That’s why I feel free to leave.”

Cosmo departed later that same day. He tearfully hugged Annie good-bye and kissed Roy on the cheek after the older man had loaded Cosmo’s garment bag and newly purchased souvenir duffel bag into Olivia’s car. Atlas was on his knees spreading pine straw in one of the perennial beds, but he put down his tools and stood up in order to properly wave good-bye as the Rover drove away from the inn.

Opening his window, Cosmo yelled, “Go get ’em, tiger!”

Olivia watched Atlas’s figure recede in her rearview mirror. “What was that about?”

“He’s interviewing with Talbot Properties today. Roy’s been keeping him plenty busy, but Atlas would rather work building new houses.” Although Cosmo looked washed out and weary, he managed a thin smile. “With all those shirt-less men in tight jeans, who wouldn’t?” He patted the top of the cardboard box containing Camden’s ashes. “Remember those two who redid our bathroom, darling? Simply gorgeous! Beautiful, strapping Italians in white overalls.” He glanced out the window, remembering, and his face lost some of its drawn look. “Cam and I didn’t want to leave the apartment for a second! I think we ate out of cans for three days until we finally had to go out for more coffee. One cannot survive without coffee, no matter how magnificent the asses on the men bending over your tub are!”

Laughing, Olivia felt a lightness course through her. She was suddenly certain that Cosmo would recover from this blow.

Losing Camden would scar him, change him, and haunt him, but he was capable of living a full and colorful life despite his lover’s violent death. The realization comforted Olivia.

As though sensing her thoughts, Cosmo reached over and squeezed her arm. “How long did it take you to get over your parents’ death? I know you’ve never brought it up, but Annie told me they died within a few years of one another. Poor you.”

Olivia suppressed a surge of anger over being the source of idle gossip once again. After all, it was almost a given that Annie would tell Cosmo about Olivia’s past. Perhaps the innkeeper hoped to let the young man know he wasn’t alone in his grief. Perhaps Cosmo wanted to get a more complete picture of the woman who’d recently befriended his lover. Either way, Olivia knew she needed to stop being so prickly when asked about her personal history.

“My mother left our house in order to pick up my birthday present during the onset of a hurricane,” Olivia began. “She’d left it at the library—that’s where she worked. After she’d gotten it from her office and returned to the car, a strong gust of wind gave a rotting telephone pole a fierce push.” She swallowed. It never grew any easier to talk about the next part. “It fell, smashing right through the windshield. They say she probably didn’t even know what hit her. Her death was instantaneous. I turned seven the next day.”

Cosmo covered his mouth with his hand. “Oh! That’s horrible!” He tightened his hold on the cardboard box in his lap. “Why didn’t she wait? It was a hurricane for crying out loud.”

Olivia shrugged. People had been asking her the same question since her mother was laid in the ground. “Around here, one can grow complacent about storms. They’re such a part of our regular rhythm. Living on the coast, hurricanes and tropical storms are commonplace.” She smiled wanly. “They’re like unwelcome relatives. Sometimes, we don’t give the weather the respect it deserves. This hurricane was only a category two by the time it reached Oyster Bay, and us locals can get pretty cocky about anything under a category three.”

“Not me.” Cosmo paled. “Give me a nice earth tremor anytime!”

“My father understood storms,” Olivia continued as though Cosmo hadn’t spoken. “He tried to stop her. It was the biggest fight they’d ever had! My mother usually listened to him, but she wouldn’t back down this time. The last image I have is of her blowing me a kiss as she ran out to the car.”

Cosmo’s eyes were glistening. “What was the gift? The one she drove through a hurricane to bring you?”

Olivia glanced at Haviland’s image in the rearview mirror. His eyes had been closed, but even in sleep he seemed to sense her need. He lifted his head and met her gaze, as though saying, “I’m right here.”

“It was a puppy,” Olivia answered. “And before you ask, he was on the front seat of my mother’s car when the pole fell. He lived, but I wasn’t allowed to keep him.”

“Why not?” Cosmo was shocked.

“Because he survived,” Olivia whispered.

A silence descended and the passengers listened to the sound of road passing beneath the tires. After a few miles, Olivia said, “I have Haviland now. The finest dog ever born. Not only that, but I believe Michel has packed us another bountiful lunch. Would you mind reaching for the picnic basket? It’s behind my seat.”

Cosmo graciously accepted the change of subject. “I’ll tell you one thing, my dear. If you ever want to open a restaurant in LA, I’ll be your first investor. That shrimp prosciutto risotto Michel made the other night will live on in my dreams.”

“We aim to please,” Olivia replied, pleased by the compliment.

For the rest of the ride, Olivia questioned Cosmo about his decorating ideas for his new client. As he talked, Cosmo distributed the courses of their delectable lunch. The Rover’s occupants dined on curry glazed duck legs, vegetable tortillas, succulent peaches, and truffles until they were satiated.

At the airport, Cosmo insisted Olivia drop him curbside.

“I’d make a scene otherwise,” he told her. The pair embraced next to the Rover.

On the return drive, Olivia thought about what Cosmo’s life would be like during the next few months. She visualized his first days alone. He’d take a cab from the airport and, after a stiff drink or two, fall asleep, too tired for the tears he’d expected to shed. The following morning he wouldn’t want to get out of bed. He’d linger there, replaying memories in his mind. But after a few hours he’d grow bored or hungry or be forced by other physical needs to rise.

Later, he’d open the fridge and smell the milk. It would be sour. The fruit would be spoiled and the cheese tinged with green. Not really hungry, he’d end up making toast with butter and jam just to see what food tasted like. He’d try to concentrate on at least one article in the paper, but reading would be an exercise in futility. He’d throw out the rotten food and take the trash to the street. Eventually, perhaps not until nighttime, he’d go out to the grocery store and empty the mailbox.

The next day he might have cereal because there was milk now. He might eat a banana. The small victory of having replaced the ruined food would be enough to encourage him to shower and, perhaps, to water the plants.

Cosmo would drink too much and talk aloud to Camden for hours on end. When Camden wouldn’t answer, Cosmo would rage and then, his anger spent, he would weep. But each day he’d wake up and eat something. He’d get dressed. He’d drink orange juice without the vodka. One day, he’d finally venture out to his local Starbucks, the dry cleaners, and the outdoor market. He’d open a few letters and return a few calls. He would begin to live again.

“Cosmo will be fine,” Olivia told Haviland. “Give him a year and he’ll be on the cover of every interior design magazine on the rack.”

Haviland looked out the window and whined.

“I’ll miss him too. And Camden. There’s no one like them in Oyster Bay,” she said as she approached the town limit sign. She glanced at the billboard featuring the Ocean Vista Condos and muttered, “Oyster Bay’s changing, Captain. Who knows what our little population will look like in ten years.”

Picturing dozens of Talbot Fine Properties building projects springing up all across town like mushrooms after a long rain made Olivia feel glum. It was Friday evening. Her restaurant would be filled with lively laughter and tantalizing aromas, but she didn’t feel like being there. At home, her unfinished chapter waited for her, but she wasn’t in the mood to write.

She was restless, craving something different. She wanted company—to share a bottle of wine and quiet the tumult of thoughts whirling around in her head.

If only for a short while.

Without being fully conscious of her actions, Olivia parked across the street from Through the Wardrobe. She approached the front door just as Flynn was turning the dead bolt with his key. Seeing her, he smiled.

“You caught me! I’m closing a full hour early.” He gestured at the periwinkle sky. “It’s just too nice a night to be stuck inside.”

Olivia followed his gaze and nodded. “Dry though. I could use a cold drink.”

Flynn studied her face. “I’d love a beer, myself. Where should we go?”

Hesitating, Olivia wondered if what she planned to say would turn out to be a grave error in judgment. Still, the sultry air and hazy moon convinced her to follow through on her impulse. Shrugging idly, she said, “How about your place?”

Flynn’s Caribbean-style cottage was located on a sleepy street not far from Through the Wardrobe. Olivia and Flynn had shared a few drinks on his back patio. The drinks had led to a kiss, which quickly became heated, but Olivia wasn’t ready to explore anything further with the attractive bookstore owner. Despite Flynn’s coaxing and cajoling in hopes that she would stay a little longer, Olivia firmly said good night a few minutes shy of midnight. Seeing any further attempts at persuasion were futile, Flynn walked her through a jade green living room decorated with murals of tropical fish and waited on the front porch until she was inside her car.

Once she’d pulled away from the curb, Olivia whispered to her poodle, “His decor is wanting, I know.” She laughed, feeling weightless and invigorated.

Olivia spent the remainder of the night in her own bed and woke early, stretching her long limbs languidly beneath her cool, white cotton sheets.

After taking a walk, Olivia finished critiquing Millay’s chapter. She was impressed with the younger woman’s imagination and the unique voice that grew stronger with each page. Having never enjoyed the fantasy genre, Olivia found herself eager to read more of The Gryphon Tamer, though one of her first recommendations was that Millay come up with an alternate title.

Your current title calls to mind a circus performer wearing sequins and brandishing a long whip, she wrote on Millay’s draft. She went on to praise Millay’s use of voice, the success of the suspense created by the opening scene, and her pacing. Olivia’s main criticism was that Millay needed to tone down her use of alliteration and provide more description about the gryphon’s lair.

Overall, an excellent start. You have definitely captured my interest! She scribbled at the end of the chapter. I am curious to discover what happens now that Tessa has been claimed by her gryphon.

While Olivia worked, the morning sky had grown overcast. A front was moving in from the south and by afternoon, an exhilarating summer thunderstorm would set upon the town of Oyster Bay. The rain would carry the smells of the deep ocean and childhood and everyone would welcome its arrival. Even the tourists would smile as it fell, watching from porch rockers or from covered balconies as they sipped coffee and propped paperbacks on their thighs.

As Olivia placed Millay’s chapter into a folder, the phone rang. Flynn’s voice rumbled through the speaker, his low baritone sounding like a distant train or the surf splashing over a jetty of stones. Olivia gravitated toward it but made no move to pick up the phone. Flynn kept his call brief, merely thanking her for last night and inviting her to join him for dinner. Olivia wasn’t ready to see him again just yet, so she deleted the message the moment he was finished speaking.

“Let’s take another look at the specs for the proposed housing development, Haviland. We can have a picnic lunch in the old park’s gazebo while it’s still standing.”

Haviland sat on his haunches and raised his eyebrows high, questioning her decision.

“Why, you ask? Because if I feel like going to war for the current park I’d like to be armed with all the information I can get my hands on. I can’t influence Ed Campbell, our local mortgage man, but I could possibly sway Roy or Grumpy.”

Yawning, Haviland turned toward the door.

Irritated by this show of disinterest, Olivia scowled. “I should have adopted a nice mixed breed from the ASPCA! He might have been more polite. You don’t have to be so cross just because you had to eat dog food for breakfast. You are of the canine species, Captain, regardless of how intelligent you are.”

Haviland ignored her. The two drove into town without making eye contact and only when Olivia stopped at Bagels ‘n’ Beans to buy an egg salad sandwich on a sesame seed bagel did the poodle attempt to make amends.

Placing his nose against her palm, he nudged her hand and then opened his liquid brown eyes wide as she glanced down at him. “That teddy bear look might work on old ladies and little children, but you’re not fooling me for a second.”

Wheeler overheard the exchange and, grinning, prepared a turkey and cheese lettuce wrap for Haviland even though Olivia hadn’t asked for one. As he was particularly fond of the poodle, he added two pieces of bacon to the dog’s customary order.

“This is to go, Wheeler,” Olivia said.

“You havin’ lunch outside?” the old man asked. “There’s gonna be a storm within the hour. The ache in my left hip says it’s movin’ fast, so get this down your throat by one o’clock, ya hear?”

Olivia smiled. With all the barometric body parts in Oyster Bay, no one needed The Weather Channel. The locals had ancient ways of predicting the weather and they seemed to be far more accurate than anything Doppler radar could produce. Olivia trusted Wheeler’s hip, the pouf in Dixie’s hair, and all the fishermen’s forecasts without question.

“I’m just going to the Neuse River Park,” she answered. “I haven’t spent much time there since I’ve been back and I’d like to sit there awhile.”

“You gotta figure out which way you’re gonna vote,” Wheeler stated as though he had second sight. “Sittin’ a spell will make things clear, I reckon.”

Olivia shook her head in wonder. “You’re nearly as informed about Oyster Bay’s goings-on as Dixie.”

Shrugging, Wheeler placed a paper bag filled with the two sandwiches, a plump apple, and half a dill pickle on the counter. “I just keep my antenna up, is all.” He held on to the bag and met her gaze. “That real estate man has been lookin’ for you. The slick Yankee fellow who’s too high and mighty to order his own coffee.”

“Dean Talbot.” Olivia wasn’t surprised. Even though his proposal was likely to pass, the man was shrewd enough to feel out every member of the Planning Board. “If he comes in today, go ahead and tell him where I’ve gone. I’ll be at the restaurant after the park. I’d rather not have him knocking on my door at home.”

Wheeler nodded. “I know you can take care of yourself, Miss Olivia, but you watch out for that one. He’s used to gettin’ his way. I’ve seen men like him before. They can turn from snake charmer to the snake quick as a lightnin’ strike.”

Moved by Wheeler’s concern, Olivia reached across the counter and touched the man’s leathery cheek. “Don’t worry. I know how to handle snakes,” she stated firmly. “Especially the ones that come out into the open.”

Haviland snarled as if to remind the pair of humans that he was no pushover either. Both of them laughed, breaking the serious mood. Wheeler moved away to serve his next customer and Olivia headed for the town hall. She dashed inside to pick up a copy of the drawings of the proposed community park as well as current maps showing the town’s utilities, water, sewage, and zoning data.

She was carefully studying these maps in the shade of the Neuse River Park’s vandalized gazebo when a rental car pulled in next to the Range Rover.

Haviland, who had settled down at Olivia’s feet in order to digest his sandwich, leapt to his feet, his hackles rising.

It was an unusual reaction on the poodle’s part and Olivia steeled herself for a confrontation. Haviland must have sensed an aura of animosity from one or both of the car’s occupants.

Max Warfield and Dean Talbot slammed the doors of their black Lincoln Town Car and glanced around the park as they attempted to locate their quarry. Olivia remained still, watching them.

As usual, Max wore a tailored business suit, but Dean was more casual in tan slacks, a green polo shirt, and hiking boots. As he drew nearer, Olivia could see that the baseball hat he wore was embroidered with the logo of an exclusive golf club in Scotland. His mirrored sunglasses made it impossible to tell what he was thinking as he headed Olivia’s way. Max followed closely behind his boss, dabbing at his perspiring brow with a wad of tissues.

“You’re a hard woman to find,” Dean stated without preamble as he mounted the gazebo’s first step. “May I come in, Ms. Limoges? I don’t want to interrupt your meal.”

“Do what you like,” Olivia responded ungraciously. “This is public property. At least for the time being.”

Haviland bared his teeth.

The real estate tycoon looked at the poodle with disingenuous amusement. “Does your dog see me as a threat?”

Olivia folded up the map she’d been studying. “I don’t know. Are you?”

“Not at all. Our proposition is sound.” He gestured at the maps. “However, I’m glad to see you doing your research. It makes our job easier when we’re dealing with informed board members.” Dean leaned with deliberate nonchalance against the support post, and Olivia was satisfied to keep a measure of space between them. Being on higher ground than the ambitious real estate mogul and his crony made Olivia feel as though she had an advantage. Haviland’s proximity also solidified her sense of confidence. She wasn’t afraid of either man, but this was her town they sought to change and she wanted to come to a decision without their influence.

“Since you’ve come all this way to see me, I’ll tell you exactly what I think of your proposal. While the new park seems to be quite people-friendly, it does not provide an equitable habitat for the wildlife that will be displaced from the current park. There is a great deal more marsh-land here.” She watched their faces closely for signs of irritation or anger, but both men kept their expressions guarded. “And I cannot approve of the burial ground’s destruction. I think you should build around it. If someone doesn’t want to live in a house too close to it, then surround the graveyard with additional green space.” She tapped one of the maps. “I consider Cottage Cove’s current amount to be minimal, at best.”

“You’ve raised valid points, Ms. Limoges, but surely you agree that this new Talbot community means homes, jobs, and revenue for Oyster Bay,” Dean replied pleasantly. “The fishing industry is waning. As a native of the town and the daughter of a fisherman, I’d have thought you’d want new opportunities to be available to the men who work from sunup to sundown and still can’t make ends meet”

Olivia flushed. He’s done his research, she thought, doing her best to quell a surge of hostility.

“Your tenants and employees will all benefit from this project,” Max Warfield added smoothly. “I’m sure you’re more interested in their futures than in the nesting locations of a few birds.”

“I hope that isn’t the tack you took when speaking to Marlene Gibbons.” Olivia took a sip of Wheeler’s sun tea. His secret was that he steeped fruit-flavored tea bags in the open air for hours. On any given sunny day, one could walk behind his eatery and find rows and rows of covered glass pitchers lined up on a pair of old card tables. No one else in Oyster Bay could rival the flavor of Wheeler’s iced tea. Today, the tea was peach flavored and tasted like bottled summer.

Dean gazed around the park, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “We have something to offer everyone, Ms. Limoges. For example, Talbot Fine Properties has decided to add a feature to our new park. Would you care to see it?”

Olivia inclined her head and Max stepped into the gazebo, his nervous eyes fixed on Haviland.

“He won’t bite unless commanded to do so,” Olivia remarked coolly. “At least, not usually.”

Skirting around the poodle as though Haviland might suddenly lunge forward and sink sharp teeth into the costly material of his pant leg, Max unfurled another bird’s-eye view of the new park and tapped on a section of green toward the lower right-hand corner. Olivia wasn’t sure if the man was addressing her or Haviland when he said, “This space is specifically for dogs.”

“Yes, I can read the words ‘Dog Free Play Area’ quite easily,” she said. “So this is an open field where dogs are welcome to play unleashed?”

Dean’s smile grew larger. He came a little closer, fearful of scaring the fish he believed to be so near his sharp hook. “Exactly! There will also be garbage cans with disposal bags available, agility equipment for the dogs to exercise on, and a wading pool for those hot paws.”

“A lovely touch.” Olivia silently wondered if Haviland would condescend to join his furry kin in a communal pool. “Do you have a dog, Mr. Talbot?”

Sliding his eyes toward Haviland, Dean stuck his hands in his pockets. “No pets for me. I practically live out of my suitcase.”

Olivia produced a sympathetic look. She wanted to prove that she’d done her own share of research. “That must be hard on your wife.”

Dean shrugged. “Oh, I think my other half is happiest when I’m hundreds of miles away. We both have our own hobbies and interests. That happens in a marriage sometimes.”

Derailed by his frankness, Olivia broke eye contact. “The dog area is thoughtful. They don’t have a comparable play space at the moment and the public beach isn’t always the most practical solution, what with little children playing nearby and waste issues and such.”

“Look. I’m not asking you to commit to our project this second,” Dean continued amiably. “I’d just like you to consider the benefits alongside your concerns. Fair enough?”

Max made a move to collect the drawing, but Dean raised a finger, instantly halting the forward motion of his employee. Olivia noticed he was not wearing a wedding ring.

“I’ll be in town until next Wednesday, Ms. Limoges. Would you care to have dinner with me over the weekend? I promise not to discuss business matters.” He smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle from his shirt. “It would be purely platonic—a chance for me to learn about Oyster Bay from a business owner’s perspective.”

“I’m not the only business owner in town.”

“But I’d prefer to share a meal with an attractive, intelligent, and sophisticated woman. I may be married, but I can still admire beauty.”

“Married with three children,” Olivia pointed out. “Are any of them involved in the family business?”

Dean’s face darkened for a moment, but then he shook his head in exaggerated disappointment. “My kids aren’t interested in my field. One son deals with investments, my daughter is into fashion design, and my other son is a musician. I guess I didn’t play enough Monopoly with them when they were little.”

“So Mr. Warfield must be the heir to the throne,” Olivia remarked flippantly, but she’d chosen her words with care.

A disdainful light entered Dean’s eyes. “Max would be perfectly capable,” he said pleasantly. “But I’m not planning on retiring anytime soon.”

“I believe I had the honor of having your youngest son frequent my restaurant recently. Forgive me, but I don’t remember his name,” Olivia lied.

“Blake?” Again, the flicker of disapproval. “Well, we do own a house here and the kids are free to use it.” He paused and asked nonchalantly, “What do you mean by ‘recently’?”

Olivia rubbed her temple as though trying to remember. “He and a lovely young woman dined at The Boot Top about two weeks ago.”

“I see.” Dean fell silent and Max shifted uncomfortably.

After packing up the debris from her lunch, Olivia stood. “I should be getting back to the restaurant.” She held out her hand. “I’d love to have dinner with you on the condition that you allow my chef to prepare something special for us. I have plans this afternoon, but we could dine later this evening if that suits you?”

Dean took her hand and shook it gently. “I accept your terms and look forward to our evening together.” He placed his hand over his heart. “And I solemnly swear not to talk about the proposal. Not one word.”

The two men retreated in haste, shooting nervous glances at the sky. During the past half hour, it had become thick with gunmetal gray clouds, which seemed too heavy to hold their burdens much longer.

Haviland began to pace around the gazebo. He’d never been fond of thunder and Olivia knew he wanted to be safe at home before the storm broke. Olivia let him hop into the Rover and then asked him to be patient for a little longer.

She jogged up the dilapidated steps toward the little graveyard. The breeze had given way to a more persistent wind. The trees branches swayed like the arms of a dancer, and the tiny Confederate flags shivered as though cold.

Olivia opened the gate and stepped onto the soft grass with care. She noticed someone had gathered wild phlox and placed a single stem at the foot of each of the seven graves. The purple, tissuelike petals were crinkled with thirst but still gave off a faint sweet scent.

Someone else besides Jethro Bragg cares about this place, Olivia thought.

She got on her knees in front of Henry Bragg’s head-stone and stroked the smooth rock. There was a stillness to the place, a sense of deep peace Olivia rarely experienced anywhere but at the water’s edge and within the confines of her home.

The wind curled under her white blond hair and flipped it upward. It felt like the flutter of bird’s wings against her face. A feathery caress. It was as if the souls of the men buried beneath her had descended on a current of warm air and, moments before the rain began, blessed her with their presence.

“I won’t let them destroy this place,” Olivia whispered, her fingers tracing the shallow letters carved into the stone.

In her mind, she was seeing another name on another tombstone.

Olivia was still kneeling there when the rain came.