A Killer Plot (17 page)

Tossing the bookmarks aside, Flynn gestured for Olivia to follow him back to the children’s section. “Are you their fairy godmother?” he teased.

“Certainly not,” Olivia replied. “I’m merely an adult who realizes that the only chance they have of growing into decent human beings is by becoming enamored of books. Laurel can’t afford new ones, but I can. It’s as simple as that.”

Eyes twinkling, Flynn selected several board books from a lower shelf. As he did so, Olivia chose two macaw puppets and added them to the books in Flynn’s arms. “Those too.” She pointed a finger at him. “And no more references to fairy godmothers or I’ll be forced to sic my dog on you.”

Haviland curled his upper lip, exposing a row of pointy, white teeth.

Flynn’s fingers paused over the cash register. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t poke fun at you after what happened to your friend. I’m not normally insensitive. Please accept my apology.”

Olivia knew everyone in the small town would have heard about the murder by now, but she couldn’t help bristling a little. “No matter how private the pain, it becomes everyone’s business in a town as small as this. Skeletons don’t stay in closets in Oyster Bay. They’re brought out and paraded through the streets.”

Accepting Olivia’s credit card, Flynn held the plastic in his hand and gave her a sympathetic look. “Sounds like you know about this custom firsthand.” He waited for her to respond and when she didn’t, he turned away in order to tender the sale. “I suppose it’s a good thing I’ve got such a dull past,” he stated airily, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “You can’t get into too much trouble trapped in cubicle land for half your life. Borrow someone’s stapler and not give it back, jam the fax machine, use the last of the powdered creamer at the coffee station—that’s about as far as you dare go.”

When Olivia reached out to take the bag, Flynn’s fingers folded over her hand. “Remember, I’m new to Oyster Bay. Keep your secrets locked away from me as long as you want. I only want to see what you’d like to show me.”

Unused to hearing such frankness, especially delivered by such a handsome and charismatic man, Olivia found herself at a loss for words.

When a mother carrying an infant in some kind of sack across her chest approached Flynn in search of a book called
The Baby Whisperer
, Olivia politely excused herself and left the store.

Outside, the air was twenty degrees warmer and stiflingly moist. Haviland blinked against the sun’s glare and cocked his head at his mistress.

“All right, so I’m flustered!” Olivia snapped. “He is very good-looking and it has been quite some time since my last—”

Haviland barked.

“Point taken, Captain. My mind should be on other matters.” She hastened to the Range Rover. “But there’s no need for you to act jealous either.”

Ten minutes later, Olivia parked in the employee lot of The Boot Top and, giving her kitchen staff the most cursory of waves, went straight back to her office. Haviland perched firmly in the threshold, thereby increasing his chance of being fed choice tidbits by Michel.

Olivia called her aesthetician in New Bern and listened as the woman recommended several products to render Harris’s skin condition less irritating.

“I’m in search of something more permanent than a topical cream,” Olivia explained. “We’re talking about a good-looking boy here, but because of this issue, he probably hasn’t had a proper date since high school. And he’d be a real catch. Harris would treat some lucky girl like a queen.”

The aesthetician laughed. “Then send him my way!”

“Can you help him or not?” Olivia was impatient to get to her computer.

“Only if you bring him into the spa,” the woman replied sweetly. She never seemed bothered by Olivia’s abruptness. “I can see if he’d benefit from a series of laser treatments or IPL, which stands for intense pulse light. I can’t prescribe a treatment over the phone.”

Olivia wondered how she’d ever raise the subject to Harris. She didn’t know him well enough to pull him aside and embark on a discussion about his facial rash, let alone drag him to a posh spa in New Bern to have it treated by a laser while she footed the bill.

“I’ll find a way,” Olivia promised.

Next, she pulled up the website for the
Oyster Bay Gazette
and searched for an announcement about the township committee meeting. By law, the time, place, and items to be discussed had to be posted for the public prior to the meeting. The notice had appeared in last week’s paper and could also be found on the library bulletin board and on the town’s website. Olivia easily found the link on the Gazette’s online site, opened the PDF file, and began to read.

“The meeting is
tonight,
” she murmured under her breath. “Here it is! Listen to
this!
” she shouted, breaking Haviland’s trance. He leapt up and barked nervously. “Committeeman Johnson proposes a discussion followed by a vote to sell the Neuse River Community Park land to Talbot Fine Properties for a sum of eight and a half million dollars.”

She leaned back in her chair, lacing and unlacing her fingers together as excitement and anxiety coursed through her blood. She could feel it rushing through her heart, surging through her extremities as she rose from her chair.

“The Talbots want a bigger piece of Oyster Bay.” Taking Chief Rawlings’ card from her wallet, Olivia picked up the phone and began to dial his number. “The question is: How far will they go to get it?”

—EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY

 

 

 

 

T
he smell accosted Olivia as soon as she stepped through the poppy red double doors of the Edward Thatch Middle School. Ammonia, sweat, and greasy food mingled with an animalistic odor of surging hormones. Like all large public buildings, the polished laminate floors still looked dingy beneath rows of dust-covered fluorescent ceiling lights. Without windows, the school’s central hallway could belong in any hospital, mental institution, or low-security correctional facility across the country. Only the self-congratulatory trophy cases and forcibly cheerful bulletin boards identified the corridor as being a part of a building dedicated to learning.

Olivia followed the sound of murmuring voices, relieved to have left Haviland at home. Not only would his olfactory senses be overwhelmed but the impassioned arguments she expected to take place during the meeting would also cause her poodle far too much anxiety.

Previous notices listed the township meetings as being held in Classroom 105, but as Olivia passed the room, she noticed the door was shut. A purple sign had been hung across the narrow window slit, announcing that the meeting had been moved to the auditorium.

To Olivia, the word “auditorium” conjured an image of cushioned seats, velvet curtains, crystal chandeliers, and flashes of gilt. Having left Oyster Bay before middle school, she had never actually seen the Edward Thatch auditorium.

“It’ll be just like Lincoln Center, I’m sure.” Olivia chuckled to herself. “Instead of amateur productions of
The Wizard of Oz or Cheaper by the Dozen
, the citizens of Oyster Bay are surely treated to stellar performances of
Aida
and
Tosca.
”

Turning down another locker-lined hallway, the murmur of conversation swelled. The meeting hadn’t started yet and townsfolk were standing in clusters outside the cavernous room, heads bent as they rapidly exchanged opinions. Words ricocheted off the sand-colored cement walls in a sharp staccato. Already Olivia could see tension in the furrowed brows and balled fists of those waiting just outside the propped auditorium doors.

Suddenly, the clang of a bell blasted through the wall-mounted speakers, cutting through the clamor as the adults jumped to attention, their memories triggered by the sound. Though some of them hadn’t trod a public school hallway for nearly forty years, the local business owners, lawyers, Realtors, shrimpers, stay-at-home mothers, waitresses, builders, and barbers responded to the signal as if they were still clad in letter jackets and poodle skirts.

The townsfolk chose seats quickly, arranging themselves by cliques just like the school’s current students. Despite the fact that she had always kept herself apart from such groups, Olivia couldn’t help herself from searching for a familiar, comfortable face. Therefore, she was delighted to feel a tug on her arm and to look down at the darkly tanned, heavily made-up face of Dixie Weaver.

“Have they started yet?” Dixie licked her finger and scrubbed at a smudge on the top of her left roller skate. In addition to the milk white skates, Dixie wore boys’ tube socks, a plaid miniskirt, and a navy sailor top. Her feathered hair had been styled into high pigtails and she held a Blow Pop in one hand.

Dixie noticed Olivia’s appraisal. “I’m channelin’ Britney Spears’s first video. You probably never saw it, but that’s because you don’t have teenage boys. I can lip-synch the whole thing and Grumpy loves me in this outfit. Can you spot him in this herd?”

Scanning the crowd, Olivia noticed Annie Kraus and her husband Roy in the second row. The B&B proprietors smiled in greeting. Olivia waved her hand briefly, her gaze drawn to the man sitting next to Roy. His appearance was similar to Roy’s as both men were tall and lean with dark hair and eyes, and Olivia assumed the man was likely Roy’s brother. But while Roy’s face was rounded by rich foods, his brother’s was gaunt and more weathered, like those of the fishermen in the room. His lips were drawn together and an unpleasant thought seemed to have settled between his creased brows.

Tearing her gaze from the discomfiting visage of the stranger, Olivia spotted Grumpy toward the back, a few rows shy of the rear wall and the enormous painting of Blackbeard standing at the prow of his ship,
Queen Anne’s Revenge.
Blackbeard, also known as Edward Thatch or Edward Teach, was an unusual personage to choose when selecting the name for a middle school, but Olivia liked the choice. She imagined that children caught between childhood and young adulthood could identify with the romanticized version of Blackbeard’s life, which elevated his supposed skill, smarts, and wiliness to legendary heights. To these confused and insecure youths, the rebellious nature of the eighteenth-century pirate, who plundered from North Carolina to the Caribbean and had rousing parties with fellow buccaneer Charles Vane along the banks of the Pamlico, was cause for idolization.

“He’s up there.” Olivia showed Dixie where her husband was seated.

Dixie scowled. “Now how does he expect me to climb up all these damned stairs with my skates on!” She sighed. “Men. Thick as mules, I swear.”

Following Dixie was a slow process. She’d stop every few aisles in order to chat with the person seated at the end of each row and only hurried when Mayor Guthrie picked up a handheld microphone and called the meeting to order. He rapped on the podium with a wooden gavel and then quickly stepped aside to allow one of the local ministers to recite an opening prayer. By the time the audience bowed their heads, Dixie and Olivia had finally taken their seats.

After the Pledge of Allegiance, Oyster Bay’s portly mayor called for the minutes of prior meetings to be approved and the townsfolk settled down for a long wait. After completing mundane business such as passing a proposal for a universal speed limit within the downtown area, voting on the budget for mosquito and litter control, salary increases for certain town employees, and a review of the maintenance contract for the parking lots serving the public beaches, the committee members were ready to discuss the final proposition of the evening.

It had taken an hour and a half to get to the agenda item of interest. During that time, in which the townsfolk coughed, fidgeted, cracked gum, knitted, snacked on beef jerky or hard candies, and muttered softly to one another, Olivia had noticed a man carrying a laptop slip into the auditorium wearing an expensive tailored suit and a politician smile.

Committeeman Earl Johnson rose to his feet. A hush fell over the crowd as he took the microphone from the mayor. A good-looking man in his mid-fifties, Earl owned the marina and the general store supplying the rising numbers of boaters stopping overnight in Oyster Bay’s sheltered cove. Genuinely liked by almost everyone in town, Talbot Properties had won the right man to their side. And since Earl was the person putting forth the proposal for a vote, Olivia wondered if the marina would soon be expanding.

Earl smiled as he tapped on the microphone and then stuck one hand in his pocket. His casual dress and posturing seemed to relieve some of the apprehension in the air, but the sheen of perspiration on his brow gave away how important the proposal was to the committeeman.

“As many of you know, our little town has been experiencing quite a growth spurt.
Time
magazine put us on the map and now people want to vacation here, live here, and start businesses here.” He held out his arms in a brief shrug. “I know change isn’t always neat and tidy and isn’t always welcomed by all. But it’s coming to our town, that much is certain.”

He paused and Olivia was impressed by his sense of timing and calm delivery. “This past year, as a result of Oyster Bay’s population boom, we’ve seen some exciting new businesses open.” He consulted his notes. “Recently, some of our long-vacant retail spaces have been transformed into a boutique clothing store, a bookstore, and my favorite, a toy store named Animal Crackers.”

This earned him a few chuckles. Even though Animal Crackers wasn’t housed in one of Olivia’s buildings, the revitalization of those adjacent to hers were a boon. Most of her rentals had been filled by boutiques she was more than happy to patronize. She especially liked Possessions, an upscale consignment store, and Palmetto’s, a woman’s clothing store specializing in colorful, washable cottons in stylish cuts and colors. The last lease she’d signed had been for The Potter’s Wheel. The owner, a master potter from western North Carolina, planned to sell his own wares while conducting workshops for both children and adults. At first, Olivia had been reluctant to house a business requiring three kilns capable of reaching two thousand degrees, but the potter had showed her how some simple renovations to the back room could safely accommodate the equipment. In the end, her own willingness to support the arts had allowed her to be swayed into agreeing to the potter’s terms.