A Killer Plot (31 page)

“You smell nice,” Olivia remarked. “Did they give you a bath?”

Haviland barked happily and curled his mouth into a smile.

Olivia couldn’t seem to stop running her hands over the poodle’s soft, black curls. He appeared genuinely unharmed, but it was reassuring to feel his healthy, wiggling body under her fingers. Finally, Olivia kissed Haviland once more on the nose and straightened. Tugging on her disheveled shirt, she placed her drool-covered sunglasses inside her purse and waved at the groomers who had paused in their work to witness the reunion.

Inside the vet’s office, Diane’s pretty young assistant tabulated the bill and then gestured at the paper plate bearing a sandwich and a pile of potato chips on her tidy desk. “Thanks for lunch, Ms. Limoges. You didn’t need to do that. We just love taking care of Haviland. If all our patients were as well mannered as the Captain, our jobs would be a lot easier.”

Pleased by the compliment, Olivia reached out and cupped Haviland’s snout in her palm. “Thank Diane again for me, would you?”

“I sure will. She’d see you both off, but she’s in surgery.” The woman lowered her voice. “Doris Fielding
finally
brought Muffin in to be fixed. That bitch has given birth to every feral mutt in this town. God love them, but each one of her litters is dumber than the last. It’s high time for Muffin to close her legs and start acting like a lady.”

Laughing, Olivia led Haviland out of the vet’s and headed for The Boot Top. The moment the pair walked through the back door, Michel rushed over to Haviland and hugged the poodle’s neck.

“I’ve been waiting for you, my friend.” He cast a worried glance at Olivia but continued to address Haviland. “I heard what happened and have been cooking ever since.” He removed a bowl from the warming oven and began tossing the contents with a wooden spoon. “This will restore you completely.” He set the bowl down beneath Haviland’s quivering nose and whispered in all seriousness to Olivia, “I hope the ground beef he ate was at least
organic.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “I hardly asked the vet for an analysis, Michel.”

She left Haviland in the kitchen happily gulping down his lunch and went into the office to phone Dixie.

“Please tell me you are
not
callin’ me in the middle of my lunch rush to talk about those Talbot kids and their airplanes,” Dixie scolded.

“I am. When did they arrive and who were they with?”

Dixie sighed, but Olivia knew it was all for show. Dixie would keep her customers waiting until suppertime if it meant passing on a choice morsel of gossip. “Let me hand out some bacon burgers and grab my phone bill. It’s all I had handy to write on when I was talkin’ to Grumpy’s cousin.”

Putting the phone on speaker mode, Olivia began to sort through her emails. When Dixie picked up the receiver, she cleared her throat and spoke clearly so Olivia could hear her over the din of the lunch crowd.

“Blake Talbot flew in Sunday afternoon. His girlfriend was with him, that Heidi St. Claire from TV. My girls are wild about her. They say she’s going to be bigger than Hannah Montana.” She paused dramatically. “And guess where she and her man are right now?”

“Where?” Olivia asked, imagining the glimmer in Dixie’s eyes.

“The love birds are here! In the
Evita
booth!” Dixie dropped her voice to an excited whisper. “They’re both wearin’ baseball hats and those big ole sunglasses that make people look like horseflies, but I know it’s them. Okay, back to the report: The older brother and his wife flew in Sunday evenin’ around six and then the sister and Dean’s widow came in together around eight. No other flights. No other passengers. And don’t you forget you owe me dirt on Flynn for this.”

Olivia frowned. Every single Talbot was out of town when Dean had his fatal fall. “And Saturday? Did any private charters arrive?”

“Just two. One stopped for repairs before headin’ down to Myrtle Beach and the second was full of guys on one of those corporate fishin’ retreats. Nothin’ dark and sinister, darling.” She placed her hand over the receiver and shouted something. “Gotta go. See you tonight for the fireworks show.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Olivia replied with a smirk, but Dixie was already gone.

Next, Olivia dialed the number to the rental management office of the Ocean Vista condos. The phone was answered by a woman with a musical voice and Olivia sweetly asked to be put through to the manager.

“Bert Long. Can I help you?”

Olivia introduced herself as the owner of The Boot Top and proceeded to outline a proposal to reward new condo buyers and long-term renters with a dinner for two at the restaurant. “We are the only five-star restaurant in the area, Mr. Long. I’m sure your clients would appreciate the incentive.”

“I know
I
would!” the manager declared. “I’ve only been to your place once, but I swear I can still taste the lobster and the wine I enjoyed that night.”

Knowing her fish was on the line, Olivia began to reel him in. “Do you recall the exact vintage?”

Bert recited the French label perfectly.

“Why don’t I swing over with a bottle and we can discuss this in more detail?” Olivia suggested. “I need to pay a visit to one of your guests anyway. Can you tell me which unit Max Warfield is occupying?”

“Two-twelve. A two-bedroom unit with one of our finest ocean views,” Bert answered, switching into salesman mode. “But Mr. Warfield isn’t here right now. He always parks his rental car in front of the office to catch the shade and it’s gone.”

Suppressing her irritation that Max was unavailable, Olivia said, “Would you mind giving me a call when he returns? I don’t want to waste your valuable time and we’re expecting a full house at the restaurant tonight. If you’d be kind enough to alert me, I’ll have time to locate that bottle for you and perhaps bring over a sample of this evening’s chef’s special.”

“Splendid!” Bert bellowed.

Olivia recited her number and then sat back in her chair, wondering what to do next. She opened her notebook and flipped through the pages, hoping some clue would leap off the page and allow her to identify the murderer. As time slipped by, bringing her closer and closer to the evening’s meeting, she felt the helpless anger that had been growing within her since Camden’s death swell like a cresting storm wave.

A copy of Camden’s manuscript sat on her desk. She began to read it again, but couldn’t concentrate on the typed words. Her restless mind instead traveled back to the moment in which she’d first met the charming and gregarious gossip writer at Grumpy’s.

She continued to reminisce as she served herself a cup of decaf, and the strong, hot coffee helped quell the emotions warring within. Calmer now, Olivia was able to pick up the phone and place yet another call. This time, a phone rang on the other side of the country.

Cosmo answered on the sixth ring. “Olivia! I thought you’d forgotten all about me!”

“Of course not. I’ve been preoccupied but that’s no excuse. I apologize for being neglectful.” She did feel rather guilty for not checking on him sooner. “Did you hear about Dean Talbot?”

“Who hasn’t?” Cosmo responded. “All of Hollywood is abuzz about Blakey boy. What will he do with all that money? The power? You see, when someone Blake’s age has been handed the reins to a multimillion-dollar company, one of two things will happen. The little rocker will party like the end of the earth is coming and burn out like a B-movie actress, or he’ll suddenly act older than his years to prove to the other power players that he belongs in their exclusive club. Blake’s either headed for rehab—he can share a room with his brother and Mommy Dearest—or he’s going to start wearing Brooks Brothers suits and cutting the ribbons of new hospital wings.” He paused. “And if he legally hitches his star to Heidi St. Claire, those two will be a
serious
power couple. Brangelina will be old news.”

Even though she’d read Camden’s chapter on Blake, Olivia couldn’t predict how becoming the majority share-holder of Talbot Fine Properties would impact the behavior of the young musician. “Never mind the Talbots. How are
you
doing?”

“Oh, I alternate between believing I can make it through this to wanting to fill my pockets with boulders and step off the end of the pier. Do you know how hard it is to find decent boulders in LA?”

Olivia smiled sadly into the phone. “It’s going to take a long time, Cosmo.”

“I know.” He sighed. “I’m working a lot and that helps the daylight hours pass, but the nights ...”

“Last forever,” she finished for him.

Cosmo sniffed. “I swear. It’s like a big, heavy cat jumps onto my chest the second I lie down. I can barely breathe, let alone
sleep
. I have never,
ever
been this tired. Or looked this bad! I’m avoiding mirrors altogether—isn’t that shocking?”

“You are one of the loveliest people I’ve ever met and your grief is only going to add another dimension to you.” She clucked her tongue. “I fear you’re going to become so irresistible that your head will swell like a blimp and there’ll be no talking to you.”

A laugh boomed into the earpiece. “Oh, that hurts. I haven’t used those stomach muscles since I left Oyster Bay. If only you were here I could practice the laughing bit some more...”

“Call me whenever you want, even in the middle of the night,” Olivia invited. “I’ll put Haviland on the phone and he’ll send that ‘cat’ on your chest running for his ninth life.”

Olivia’s call waiting signaled and she bid Cosmo a warm, but hasty good-bye. Bert Long was on the other line and was eager to inform her that Max Warfield had returned to his condo.

“Michel, I need an eatable bribe and I need it fast!” Olivia announced as she stepped into the kitchen. “I know you’re busy but, ah, I see you have a fresh supply of truffles.”

The chef threw his hands into the air. “If you hadn’t been through what you’d just been through, I’d tell you to shove these truffles where the sun doesn’t shine. Every table is booked for tonight and you want me to whip something up just like that!” He snapped his fingers. “Is it a picnic basket this time or do you require something more sophisticated, like individual dishes served in a lacquer box?”

“A simple truffle quiche would be perfect,” Olivia replied breezily. “I’ll leave you to it. Haviland? Let’s take a quick walk while Michel’s working his magic. I need to think about how to handle Max Warfield.”

Instead of jumping to his feet when he heard the word “walk,” Haviland continued to rest on the floor, his drowsy eyes tracking his mistress. Olivia studied him. “You’re right. You shouldn’t overdo it. But no more snacking either. I need your canine intuition to be finely honed for the remainder of today and your mind is at its sharpest when your stomach isn’t stuffed.”

Olivia left the restaurant and headed for the docks. The heat of the afternoon sunlight poured down on her head and shoulders, but she was remarkably comfortable. Born in mid-July, she was a child of summer and had always welcomed its arrival and rarely wilted even on the hottest of days.

Jethro Bragg’s houseboat was at its slip, but the small motorboat he used for clamming was gone. As she stared at the water, listening as it lapped against the dock’s wooden pylons, she wondered how Jethro had been coping since his release from jail.

An old man carrying a tackle box drew up alongside her. He jerked a gnarled finger toward the ocean. “If you’re lookin’ for Jethro, he’s out collectin’. But you should come down to his oyster fry tonight. Five dollars a plate and you’ll never taste a better bite of shellfish in your life. The boy’s got the touch.” He glanced sideways at Olivia. “And he’s a good lad, no matter what some folks say.”

“I would very much like to sample his cooking and I’m glad to hear that he’s got loyal friends in town,” Olivia answered honestly and continued on her walk. She turned away from the docks and walked around a dilapidated warehouse behind the marina. It had recently been put back on the market after the original buyer had been unable to secure the loan necessary to repair the faulty wiring and plumbing, replace the rotten roof, and remove the asbestos hidden behind the moldy walls.

Olivia stood still, carefully scrutinizing the two-story structure. It occurred to her that Oyster Bay could do with a lively casual restaurant. Brew pub meets crab shack. That would appeal to both tourists and locals. She shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun and continued musing. Balcony seating. Checkered tablecloths. Plenty of televisions in the bar for the sports fanatics.

With images of the boisterous eatery filling her head, Olivia returned to The Boot Top to collect Haviland, a bottle of her second-best Bordeaux and a white cheddar and truffle quiche for Bert Long.

Michel handed her a white shopping bag for the food and the wine. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but it can’t involve taking it easy since you need to bribe someone with my food. Don’t you think you should go home and put your feet up after what happened last night?”

Olivia patted her chef’s hand, which was covered with dozens of small scars and burns. “Thank you for being concerned, but the person I’m going to see might know who came after Haviland. Someone sedated my best friend, Michel. I could have lost him. There’s no chance of my turning the other cheek.”

“Be careful then.” He pointed at Haviland. “And keep your guard up, Captain. We are way too busy to have the two of you sleeping it off at the vet’s office again.”

Noting the slight flush in his cheeks, Olivia wagged a finger at the chef. “So
that’s
how you knew what happened so quickly! You’re dating someone at the Canine Cottage, aren’t you? No? Perhaps the lucky woman is Diane’s pretty assistant? She’s not married, is she?”

Michel picked up a cleaver and advanced on her. “Don’t you have some place to be?”

“I do.” Olivia eyed the sharp tool. “And if I didn’t have my rifle in the car, I’d ask to borrow that.”