Writing All Wrongs (14 page)

“And secrets,” Olivia whispered.

She turned away from Palmetto Island and focused her thoughts on home.

*   *   *

When they landed in Riverport, Rawlings tried to secure a visit with Emmett, but the desk clerk at the police station informed him that Mr. Billinger was meeting with his attorney.

“He’s hired one of the best defense attorneys in the state,” Rawlings said when he rejoined the others in front of the station. With three dogs in their company, Olivia had deemed it best to wait outside.

“That’s really good news,” Olivia said. “Emmett now stands a chance at his bail hearing. Did you leave a note for him about the dogs?”

Rawlings nodded. “Let’s go. There’s nothing else we can do for him right now.”

“When should we get together again?” Laurel asked as they turned toward the parking lot. “I don’t want to wait until Millay’s book launch.”

“Me neither,” agreed Harris. “Why don’t we take you out on Thursday, Millay? We should celebrate your official release day.”

Millay smiled at him. “That would be cool, but my parents are coming to town. I’m sure they’re hoping that my becoming an author will inspire me to quit my job at the bar, take out my piercings, and trade in my miniskirts for khakis.”

Harris shuddered. “You wouldn’t.”

“You know me better than that,” Millay said with a grin.

Suddenly, Olivia had an idea. “Why don’t we meet for dinner Friday night? If we invite Charles, Silas, and Amy, we’ll have an opportunity to ask them questions on the sly.” She looked at Millay. “But only if you’re willing. Your book release is a big deal to all of us. I don’t want our investigation to detract from what should be one of the most memorable moments of your life.”

Millay shrugged. “I would never have made it to this point without you guys, so let’s go for it. I want to nail the bastard who committed these crimes, and whatever we do, whether it’s writing or catching lowlife scumbags, we do it better together.”

Laurel sniffed. “That was beautifully put.”

Millay cast a woeful glance at Rawlings. “Is there room in your car? She might be like this the whole way home.”

Rawlings laughed. “Between Olivia’s luggage and three dogs? Not a spare inch. See you in Oyster Bay.”

*   *   *

For the first time, Olivia had to employ a dog sitter. Haviland had always accompanied her whenever she went, but Caesar and Calpurnia weren’t adjusting well to their new surroundings and only seemed content when Haviland was around. The greyhounds’ anxiety left Olivia no choice but to hire Haviland’s favorite groomer to exercise all three dogs twice a day.

Without Haviland hanging out in her office, Olivia felt out of sorts. She found it difficult to concentrate on the many tasks awaiting her at The Boot Top Bistro, but she knew she had to get something done or she’d never catch up. Not only did she have tons of work to do, but her head chef, Michel, was also in a tizzy due to the impending visit of a famously harsh and influential food critic.

“The man eviscerates chefs in print,” Michel complained as Olivia tried to balance the budget. “And my food won’t be the only thing on the chopping block. He’ll rate everything from the cocktails to the starch in the napkins. Last week, he completely ruined a five-star restaurant in Vegas. He wrote that his drink tasted like formaldehyde, the music sounded like monkeys shrieking, and his soup tasted like fish guts mixed with runny eggs. Just thinking about that review is giving me palpitations.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Olivia said, smiling indulgently at Michel. Her head chef had a penchant for drama.

Michel crossed his arms over his chest. “You clearly don’t understand the gravity of the situation. If Jonathan Randolph wants to take us down, he will.”

Olivia stood up, took Michel by the hand, and led him back into the kitchen.

“Close your eyes and pretend that you and Shelley aren’t
already married,” she said. “Imagine you’ve just met. You’re intrigued by her. And a little intimidated. Eager to impress this woman, you invite her to dinner at The Boot Top Bistro. A table for two awaits you in the far corner of the dining room. The lights are dimmed, Ray Charles is crooning softly in the background, and you’re hoping to win Shelley’s heart with one meal.” Olivia waited a moment before continuing. “Now open your eyes and tell me what you’d cook for a woman who knows as much about food as you. A woman who also trained at a culinary school in Paris. A woman with a highly sophisticated palate. What can you prepare to seduce her?”

A faraway look came over Michel’s face. “It’s autumn, so I’d begin with an artichoke, sweet potato, and pomegranate salad. I’d follow that with a creamy risotto. Parmesan with fresh mushrooms and herbs. There’d be scallops with caramelized spaghetti squash. And then duck. Perfectly crisped, with a sour cherry sauce. And for dessert? It has to be an apple. Poached with coriander meringue. And a side of apple sorbet sprinkled with sugared hazelnuts.”

“It sounds like you have the perfect meal for Jonathan Randolph all lined up,” Olivia said. “Make a shopping list. You can practice by serving this tasting menu to Millay and the rest of us tomorrow night.”

Michel wrapped Olivia in a bear hug. “You’re a genius,
ma cherie
!” Releasing her, he snapped his fingers at his staff, who’d wisely kept silent during the exchange. “Look alive, my friends! We’re going to dazzle this man. The only thing he’ll complain about is that he can’t dine at The Boot Top Bistro every week!”

Satisfied that Michel’s worries had been conquered, Olivia went back to her office. She managed to finish the budget and had just turned her attention to the supply orders when her cell phone rang. The caller was Emmett Billinger.

“I’m out on bail,” he said. “And I’m heading your way.”

Olivia felt joy, sweet and pure as honey, course through
her. “Thank God! And the dogs are fine, Emmett. They’re at my house. They’re okay. They miss you terribly, but they’re okay.”

There was a long expulsion of breath, and Olivia knew she’d said what Emmett needed to hear.

“I’m still pretty shocked that I was granted bail, but my attorney pressed the point that my DNA wasn’t found on Leigh’s body and that none of hers was found on me or in my house. He also showed my manuscript to the judge and explained my notes on Theodosia Burr. He argued that there’s no evidence of my having broken into the museum or having previous contact with Leigh. My cell phone records show no calls to her. That bottle opener is the most damning thing the prosecution could come up with, but my attorney declared that their entire case was circumstantial. Thankfully, the judge agreed.”

Olivia found herself nodding. “As would anyone with common sense.”

“But I’m hardly in the clear.” Emmett hesitated. “I know I’ve asked so much of you already, Olivia, but have you made any progress in finding the real killer?”

“Not yet, but we’re having dinner with Silas and Amy tomorrow night and hope to get something out of them. We’re particularly interested in grilling Amy. She and Leigh didn’t like each other, and Amy used to work at the maritime museum. The curator believes she might have had keys to the place.”

Emmett made a noise between a grunt and a growl. “That girl’s caused me enough grief. If she’s responsible for the mess I’m in, I won’t handle it well. When she tried to ruin my life before, I responded by moving away. There won’t be any escape for me this time if I can’t offer up another suspect in my place.”

When Olivia spoke again, her tone was low and gentle, as though she were placating a child. “Emmett, you can’t
be involved. Let me and my friends handle Silas and Amy. After you get Caesar and Calpurnia, you should return to Palmetto Island. Speak with the Allens. I swear they know something, but they wouldn’t talk to me. They know you, so you might have better luck.”

Emmett snorted. “I’d hardly consider myself lucky, Olivia. Not anymore. I used to lead a charmed life, but that was before Amy Holden became one of my students. If she’s responsible for what’s happened to me . . .” He trailed off.

“The best way to make this disappear is to think deeply and act carefully,” Olivia said. “You have a brilliant mind, Emmett. Use it.”

After a long moment of silence, Emmett thanked Olivia for listening and then told her when he expected to arrive at her house.

Later that afternoon, Olivia had the privilege of witnessing Emmett’s reunion with his beloved greyhounds.

Caesar and Calpurnia became different dogs the second they saw their owner. They leapt on him and covered his face with canine kisses, yipping in ecstasy and relief. Their tails whipped back and forth with such fury that Olivia half expected the dogs to rise off the ground.

“I can never repay you for taking such good care of them,” Emmett said after his dogs had settled down. “I don’t know what would have become of them if you hadn’t been on the island.”

“Rawlings and I have enjoyed their company, and Haviland will be especially sorry to see them go,” Olivia said and opened the sliding glass door leading to her deck. “I guess we should let them stretch their legs before the long car ride. Maybe you and I can work a few things through while they exercise.” She led Emmett over the dunes and paused when they reached the open beach. “What we’re missing is the killer’s motive. Why did this person bring North Carolina ghost stories to life? What message did he
or she want to convey? And to whom? That’s what we need to figure out.”

Emmett nodded. “I’ve had many hours to consider motive, and it seems to me that the Allen’s Creek land sale triggered the events. My initial thought was that someone in the conservancy was responsible.”

“It wasn’t Jan Powell,” Olivia said. “According to the police, she had a solid alibi for the night of Leigh’s murder. Of course, I don’t have much faith in Officer Peterson. The chief suspects that Peterson might be protecting Silas in exchange for shares in the new development, and we’ll be sure to ask Silas about that tomorrow night. But let’s assume Jan is innocent. Who else would want to drive Silas away? Because I think these acts focus on Silas. The killer chose his girlfriend for a reason.”

Emmett stared out over the water. South, in the direction of Palmetto Island. “Maybe it’s not about the development. Maybe everything happened because of Silas Black. What if someone wants to stop him from filming on the island?”

“Who would be so opposed to a television show that they’d commit murder?” Olivia asked. “The Allens would undoubtedly object to their history being fictionalized. But could you picture either of them shooting a deer with an arrow or holding Leigh under the water until she drowned?”

Emmett shook his head. “No, but I’m going to speak with them and to Vernon Sherrill anyway. The Allens are the island’s only year-round residents, and Vernon knows all the conservancy folks because a portion of their meetings are held in the museum. If these men know anything, I’m going to make them tell me.”

They passed under the shadow of the lighthouse, and when they stepped into the sunlight again, Emmett stopped to gaze up at the majestic structure.

“It’s a shame they’re all automated,” he said. “I like the idea of a keeper. Of a man whose job is to keep a light
burning for those out at sea. I like the thought of someone watching out for others through the dark and the raging storms. I can almost see a man climbing the stairs to the top over and over again—making sure the light never goes out.”

Olivia thought of the lighthouse keeper she’d known as a child. “I think it was both a noble and very solitary existence.”

“Except for these two”—Emmett gestured at the greyhounds, who were frolicking along the waterline with Haviland—“I live a solitary existence. But my job isn’t noble. I don’t save lives. I don’t keep people safe.” He looked at Olivia and suddenly seemed older and sadder than the man she used to know. “This whole experience has made me question myself. Jail time can be dangerous because there’s nowhere to go but here.” He tapped his temple.

“Put your midlife crisis on hold, Professor,” Olivia softly admonished. “You can buy a sports car and date a woman ten years your junior
after
you’ve been exonerated.”

Emmett threw back his head and laughed. “Ah, it’s good to be with you, Olivia.” He smiled at her. “Through all this, you’ve been my lighthouse keeper.”

Touched by the compliment, Olivia returned his smile. “Come on. The chief should be home by now, and he’s been looking forward to seeing you. We’re all on your side, Emmett. None of us will rest until you’re safe. And free.”

“I take back what I said earlier,” Emmett declared. “I am a lucky man. Very lucky. After all, I have the Bayside Book Writers as my
champions.”

A person who publishes a book willfully appears before the populace with his pants down. If it is a good book nothing can hurt him. If it is a bad book nothing can help him.

—E
DNA
S
T
. V
INCENT
M
ILLAY

O
livia had ordered enough copies of Millay’s book to give to the staff of The Boot Top Bistro and had asked her friend to arrive a bit early for her celebratory dinner in order to sign each copy.

“This will be good practice for tomorrow.” Olivia placed the books in neat stacks along the length of the bar and then smiled at her friend.

“Too bad I won’t be drinking cocktails at the bookstore,” Millay murmured. She looked at Olivia with dark, unhappy eyes. “I’m only saying this because the others aren’t here yet, but I’m freaking out.”

Olivia was about to present Millay with a gift-wrapped box, but she kept it hidden behind her back. “Over the launch party?”

“Over everything.” Millay rubbed the cover of one of her books. “My parents are partially to blame. They spent their entire visit, which was mercifully short, grilling me about advances, contracts, sales numbers—you name it. Every
conversation centered on money. How much I’d made so far. How much I could expect to make. What had I spent on promotion? Had my agent negotiated the best deal?” Millay pressed her fingers to her temples. “They sucked all the joy out of the official release day.”

Sitting on the bar stool next to Millay’s, Olivia tried to hide the resentment she felt toward her friend’s parents. “You once told me that they tend to focus on facts when communicating with you. Maybe they just don’t know how to express their pride in your accomplishment. They don’t know how to speak your language.”

Millay smirked. “That’s for sure. They never have. And they have all the warmth of a pocket calculator.”

“Perhaps their zeal in collecting data was their way of showing an interest,” Olivia said. “I don’t blame you for being disappointed in how they acted, but they care. They just have a crappy way of showing it.”

“If they’d only asked
one
question about the
story
, I would have been cool with the rest of the inquisition.” Millay took a generous swallow of her drink. “Forget it. I’m not going to let them bring me down. They’re gone now, and I won’t hear from them again unless I make a bestseller list.”

Olivia shrugged. “Anything’s possible. Jenna tells me that your preorder numbers were very strong. She said she hasn’t been so excited about an event since she was made manager of the bookstore.”

“I keep checking my sales rank on Amazon, but I have no clue what it means.” Millay spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “Numbers are my parents’ field. And I’m terrified to read the reviews, so I haven’t. I can’t believe how many have been posted already.”

“The ones I’ve seen are very positive, and I’m not surprised. I’m quite familiar with
The Gryphon Rider
, remember? I know how good it is.” Olivia put the gift on the bar and slid it over to Millay. “Hundreds of thousands of people
believe they have a book in them. Out of all of those people, you completed a manuscript, were signed by an agent, and landed a three-book deal with a major publishing house. You’ve beaten incredible odds, so don’t you dare be glum. I can take modest. I can take flippant, because that’s so you, but in your heart, you’d better be proud and happy.”

“Is that a threat?” Millay’s mouth curved upward.

“Definitely.” Olivia pointed at the box. “Open your present.”

Millay tore off the gift wrap and removed the box lid to reveal a lime-green fountain pen on a bed of cushioned silk. “Cool color,” she said, looking pleased.

“Give it a try.” Olivia tapped the top book on the stack. “This one’s for Gabe. He’s in the kitchen getting lemons.”

“I’ve been obsessing over how to inscribe people’s books,” Millay admitted sheepishly and then put the tip of her pen to the title page. She’d just started the first letter when she stopped. “Purple ink! Awesome. Thanks, Olivia.” Smiling widely now, she wrote,
Fly high and fight hard
, which was the credo of her protagonist’s clan, and signed her name with a confident flourish. “That felt good,” she whispered and Olivia knew that she was referring to more than just the fountain pen.

Olivia passed her the list of employee names. “I’ll leave you to it. I need to check on Michel. I’m sure he’s in a complete tizzy.”

When Olivia entered the kitchen, she realized that “tizzy” was far too tame a word to describe Michel’s condition. The head chef was red-faced, frantic, and loud. He’d tasked the sous chefs with preparing the food for the rest of the diners so that he could concentrate on the special autumn tasting menu, but it was clear that he couldn’t stop interfering with their work.

“Michel, you can’t play the dictator tonight,” Olivia scolded. “You have to focus all your energy on the tasting
menu. Trust your staff. They’re more than capable of handling the main dining room. Pretend you’re cooking for Shelley. Get into the zone.”

Michel’s shoulders sagged. “I wish I was cooking for Shelley. I’ve been so preoccupied with this menu, and she’s been so busy making chocolate gryphons and wyverns for tomorrow’s book launch that we’ve barely seen each other.”

“I keep telling you to take off more than one day a week,” Olivia said. “Even if you ended up helping Shelley at the desserterie during that extra day, the two of you could spend more time together. You both put everything you have into your food, but you need to take time for your marriage too.”

Michel grinned, and Olivia knew that she’d gotten through to him. “I like the idea of working at Decadence once a week. If I helped in the kitchen, Shelley could take a half day and let her employees handle closing up. I’m going to talk to her about this when I get home.
If
she’s awake.” Michel turned to his staff. “You are now invisible to me. I am devoting all my attention to my tasting menu. Do not get in my way, and I won’t get in yours.”

The sous chefs shot Olivia a grateful look just as Rawlings poked his head around the edge of the swing door. “Everyone’s here,” he said.

“
Bonne chance!
” Olivia shouted before leaving. From her office, Haviland chimed in with a single bark, and the entire kitchen staff laughed.

“They sound merry,” Rawlings said and kissed Olivia hello.

Olivia smiled at him. “I’m feeling strangely optimistic too. Emmett’s been released—albeit temporarily—Millay’s debut novel is on bookstore shelves across the country, and we have another chance to question Silas and Amy.”

Rawlings gazed at her, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. “Yes, but we have to treat our dinner guests with kid gloves if we want them to open up. If either of them
sense that we’re interrogating them, our big chance will be blown.”

“In other words, I should keep my mouth shut?” Olivia asked playfully.

“Just be the gracious hostess,” Rawlings said. “Let me take a crack at Ms. Holden. For whatever reason, she seems to be attracted to father figures. According to the rumor mill, her parents disapprove of her entering into a romantic relationship with Mr. Black, as do other people who knew her when she was younger, including Vernon Sherrill. She used to intern at his museum, remember? If I show interest in her career and express approval in Mr. Black, she might confide in me.”

Olivia nodded in agreement. “What about Silas?”

“Laurel’s in charge of Mr. Black. Not only is she pretty and charming, but she’s also a reporter. She plans to get Silas to talk about the new season of
No Quarter
and to tap into his love of history. Once he loosens up, she’ll ask what happened the day you saw Mr. Black and Ms. Holden at the maritime museum.”

“That was the day Vernon refused to lend Silas certain artifacts,” Olivia said, recalling the scene with clarity. “The curator was rude to both Silas and Amy. Perhaps it was all the motive Amy needed to steal the antique dress.”

Rawlings touched the tip of Olivia’s nose with his index finger. “Perhaps.”

“We shouldn’t keep our guests waiting.” Taking Rawlings’s hand, Olivia drew in a fortifying breath, and together, she and Rawlings left the kitchen.

By this time, Silas, Amy, and Charles had joined Laurel at the bar. Gabe was busy serving them drinks while Millay continued to sign books. A small crowd of curious patrons had gathered around her.

“You should come to her launch party tomorrow,” Silas informed them. “I’ll be signing my books, and Ms. Hallowell
will be signing hers. It’s going to be an unforgettable event. Not only can you witness the unveiling of the state’s coolest bookstore, but anyone purchasing one of our novels will also receive a piece of chocolate from the town’s desserterie.”

“Chocolate
and
books? Count me in!” a woman declared.

“I heard we need to get there early,” someone else said. “People are coming from all over the region to visit
our
bookstore.”

Charles walked up to Olivia and smiled. “He’s quite the salesman, isn’t he?”

“He is,” Olivia said. She was determined to get along with her father despite the lingering feeling that he was keeping something from her. They’d met several times throughout the week to discuss the launch party, and judging by the media coverage the event was already receiving, it was going to be an incredible success.

“I dropped by Through the Wardrobe before collecting Silas and Amy from the B&B, and Jenna told me that
The Gryphon Rider
is doing very well,” Charles said. “Loads of favorable reviews and tons of buzz on the social media sites. Jenna thinks Millay stands a strong chance of hitting the
New York Times
list and of having a true breakout book—a book that starts off with a bang and just keeps gaining momentum.”

Olivia liked the sound of that. “For Millay’s sake, I hope that proves to be true.”

Glancing around, her gaze fell on Silas. The famed writer and television producer, who’d brought a box of
No Quarter
T-shirts for Olivia’s employees, was chatting with Gabe. Without missing a beat, Gabe poured a drink into a martini glass and served it to Amy with a bright smile. Rawlings took the bar stool next to Amy and asked Gabe which beers were on tap.

“Should we order a bottle of wine?” Olivia asked Charles, knowing how much he enjoyed perusing the restaurant’s wine list.

While Charles tried to decide between several of the costlier cabernets, Harris and Laurel gestured for Silas to follow them to one of the bar’s seating areas. After settling in the comfortable club chairs, the trio talked and snacked on handfuls of cocktail peanuts.

Charles placed his order with Gabe and then turned back to Olivia. “The chief told me that your professor was released on bail. I’m glad to hear it.”

“I just hope it isn’t a stay of execution,” Olivia said, feeling her jovial mood slip a fraction. “Without another likely suspect in the picture, the police will do all they can to strengthen their case against Emmett.”

Charles indicated Silas with his thumb. “Are you planning to give him the third degree tonight?”

“Not at all,” Olivia said. “I’m going to sit next to you and talk business. I have several ideas for future bookstore events.”

Visibly relieved, Charles smiled. “Excellent. I can’t wait to hear them.”

Olivia waited until her guests had finished their first round of cocktails and were well into their second before catching the hostess’s eye.

The hostess dipped her chin in acknowledgment, showed an elderly couple to their table, and then walked into the bar.

“Your table is ready whenever you are, Ms. Limoges,” she announced.

“I think our published author should lead the way,” Olivia said, indicating Millay.

Millay grabbed Harris by the elbow. “I’ll walk behind you, so that Olivia’s customers won’t wonder who let the riffraff in.”

“I’ll only go first to keep the men from ogling you,” Harris replied. “If I don’t, their wives will catch them staring, marriages will be ruined, and waiters will end up with crappy tips. Stick close, okay?”

Laughing, Millay obliged.

“Silas? Amy?” Olivia beckoned her guests. “Laurel will escort you to the table. I’m going to ask Charles for his advice on wines to accompany our meal.”

Rawlings paused for a moment to wink at Olivia before following Amy.

By the time Olivia and Charles reviewed the tasting menu and Olivia passed Charles’s recommendations along to a waiter, the rest of the party had already been seated.

As planned, Amy was positioned between Silas and Rawlings. Silas was immediately drawn in by Laurel, but Amy clearly didn’t mind. She seemed to have developed an easy report with Rawlings, and Olivia guessed that Rawlings was playing up his roles of aspiring writer, bumbling artist, and history lover while going out of his way to make Amy forget that he was a police chief.

The first course was served and Michel’s sumptuous food went a long way in relaxing the entire group. By the end of the second course, Silas was talking louder, smiling wider, and gesticulating enthusiastically. Amy, on the other hand, had her head bent toward Rawlings like a flower tilting toward the sun. She spoke quietly, casting shy smiles at the chief, and seemed to be basking in his attention. Her eyes glimmered with pleasure and the flush in her cheeks deepened with every glass of wine she consumed.