The Last Word (35 page)

Olivia looked at the blonde, who’d pulled back her arm and was preparing to throw her takeout cup into a trash can on the sidewalk. At the same moment she launched the cup, the doc flicked his used toothpick into the street, put the sports car in drive, and launched out of the parking spot. The cup missed the rim of the receptacle by several feet and bounced off a lamppost, splashing coffee onto a parked car, the newspaper box, and the bare legs of a teenage girl. The girl shouted, her face registering pain and surprise.

Dixie swore through gritted teeth as the orange Corvette raced out of view.

“Maybe the witch can put a curse on those two cretins,” Olivia suggested, sharing Dixie’s indignation over the couple’s behavior. It was bad enough that they’d both blatantly littered, but to drive on after splattering a young woman’s legs with hot coffee bordered on criminal conduct.

Collecting Haviland’s empty plate, Dixie put a hand on the black curls of his head and sighed. “I wish all humans had your manners, Captain. But the spell thing isn’t a bad idea either. We just need to hop a boat, cross the harbor, head up a creek borderin’ the Croatan National Forest ’til it ends, and hike a trail for a few miles.”

“She’s hardly Oyster Bay’s witch then,” Olivia noted.

“Born and bred,” Dixie retorted. “Anyway, what kind of mystique would she have if she lived in a beachfront condo? A shack in the swamp is way better for business.”

This statement peeked Olivia’s interest. “What kind of business?”

Delighted to have her friend on the hook, Dixie was just about to answer when Grumpy rang the order bell in the kitchen. The breakfast rush was nearly over, but the family of four in the
Evita
booth was casting expectant glances at Dixie. When she skated over with a tray laden with stacks of buttermilk pancakes, sizzling sausage patties, cinnamon-laced French toast, and an omelet the size of a beret, their eyes grew round with appreciation.

“That should hold ’em for five minutes,” she said, coming to an abrupt stop at Olivia’s booth, her silver tutu billowing as she applied the brakes. “Back to the witch. Her name is Munin, and one of my cousins went to see her over the weekend.” Dixie pulled a stray thread from her left tube sock and lowered her voice. “He and his woman want a baby real bad, but it’s just not happenin’. They’ve both been checked out and there’s nothin’ wrong, medically speakin’. Been goin’ on five years since they started tryin’. Munin is kind of their last hope.”

Olivia dabbed her lips with a paper napkin. “And can they expect a healthy set of triplets nine months from now?”

“I reckon not,” Dixie replied. “See, Munin doesn’t take cash or checks. You have to bring her somethin’ that’s real precious to you to get her help. If the witch doesn’t think what you brought is special enough, she won’t lift a finger for you.”

“What does she do with the objects?”

Dixie shrugged. “Who knows?”

Impatient to return to her manuscript, Olivia offered to tell Laurel about Munin. “The big shot of the
Oyster Bay Gazette
staff might not cover the story herself, but maybe one of the Features writers would be interested.”

With a scowl, Dixie picked up Olivia’s empty plate. “I’m not tellin’ you about the witch so that you can turn her into a Disneyland attraction. I’d rather have my teeth pulled than visit her remote hideaway, let alone spread word about the woman. I’m only tellin’ you about her because she sent a message back with my cousin.”

“For you?”

“No.” Dixie piled Olivia’s silverware and crumpled napkins on top of the dirty plate. “For you.”

Bomb dropped, Dixie skated off to the kitchen with her tray. She then tarried at the two remaining tables, filling water cups, delivering a fresh syrup jug, fetching extra napkins, and exchanging small talk.

Haviland stood up, yawned, and stretched, indicating he’d had enough of the diner for one day.

“Just a few more minutes, Captain,” Olivia promised him. “Let me strangle the resident dwarf, and then we’ll be on our way.”

As though sensing her friend’s ire, Dixie lazily coasted back over to the window booth. “Ah, so now you’re chompin’ at the bit to hear about our witch. Well, I won’t keep you in suspense another second.” She grinned wryly. “Munin asked my cousin if he knew you. He said everybody knows who you are, but only a couple of folks know you well. The jackass mentioned my name and told Munin that you and I were friends. So the message came to me.”

Olivia felt a constriction in her gut. She sensed that once Dixie relayed the message, her life would be altered yet again. Perhaps not greatly, but she didn’t welcome any more change.

In the last year alone, she’d opened a second restaurant, reunited with a father she’d believed dead only to watch him die, discovered the existence of a half brother, and fallen for Oyster Bay’s chief of police. Olivia Limoges was a woman who liked to be in control of her own future, and as of late, she’d been unable to exert much influence over her fate.

She turned toward the window, observing locals and tourists going about their business unburdened by the press of circumstance. “What does the witch want from me?”

Dixie’s grin faded, replaced by a look of solemn concern. Because she was adept at concealing her feelings, it was easy to forget that Olivia had been put through the wringer over the past few months. Dixie spoke to her friend very gently. “Munin wants you to come to her. Says she’s got somethin’ of your mama’s to show you. Apparently, she’s been waitin’ for the right time to send for you, and now the time’s come.”

Olivia was unprepared for this. “That’s ridiculous. Why would my mother, a librarian and do-gooder, have given something to a woman known as the local witch? And I use that term loosely.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Dixie warned. “If your mama handed over somethin’ she treasured, then she was lookin’ for help outside the normal realm. She obviously had a problem that couldn’t be fixed by the folks she knew. The question is, did she get what she needed from Munin?”

The tightening sensation in Olivia’s chest increased. It was difficult for her to picture her gentle and beautiful mother, the quiet and kind librarian, traipsing through a barely discernible track in the swamp in search of answers.

“I am
not
going to respond to this woman’s summons,” Olivia announced. “It’s probably a scam, though more creative than most, I admit.”

The family of four ambled out the door, waving at Dixie before leaving. Her mouth formed a smile, but her ale-brown eyes were troubled. “Munin said you wouldn’t agree at first. That was part of the message. I was supposed to wait for you to refuse and then tell you the rest. I wonder how she knew . . .”

Her impatience morphing into full-blown annoyance, Olivia growled, “Oh, please! What’s the magic word then? What’s going to convince me to hire a boat and douse myself in mosquito repellant so I can waste an entire day finding some crazy hag?”

Dixie gestured at the hollow in Olivia’s throat. Resting there was a golden starfish pendant attached to a delicate gold chain. Olivia’s mother had given it to her only child shortly before her tragic death. Since reclaiming the necklace from the dollhouse in her childhood room, Olivia wore it every day. She touched it during rare moments of uncertainty or distress. It was her talisman.

Knowing that she was pointing at a sacred object, Dixie swallowed hard and then continued. “Munin said she has your mama’s starfish, and if you want to know why, you’ll have to come. And soon.”

Olivia reached her hand out for Haviland, and he obediently moved closer. Her fingers sank into his soft curls, and her tilting world steadied itself. “This is a hell of a way to start my day,” she grumbled, overpaid Dixie for breakfast, and strode out into the sunshine, one hand gripping her laptop case, the other curled protectively around the gold starfish on her neck.

Ellery Adams grew up on a beach near the Long Island Sound. Having spent her adult life in a series of landlocked towns, she cherishes her memories of open water, violent storms, and the smell of the sea. Ms. Adams has held many jobs, including caterer, retail clerk, car salesperson, teacher, tutor, and tech writer, all the while penning poems, children’s books, and novels. She now writes full time from her home in Virginia. For more information, please visit
www.elleryadamsmysteries.com
.

A KILLER PLOT
A DEADLY CLICHÉ
THE LAST WORD