Writing All Wrongs (16 page)

Eventually, Olivia did. She sat with Rawlings for another hour, but after that, he convinced her to go to bed. She’d barely hit the pillow when she was pulled down into sleep like a stone dropped into a dark, deep ocean.

*   *   *

Through the Wardrobe was buzzing when Olivia arrived. Charles unlocked the front door, and together, they walked into the café, where they found Jenna giving a pep talk to the employees. When she was done, she yielded the floor to Rawlings.

“You’ll see a significant police presence at this event,” he told the staff. “Our primary purpose is crowd control, but we’re also on the lookout for two men who may have malicious intent toward Mr. Black. Officer Cook will distribute photos of these men.” He waited a heartbeat. “If you see either of these men, alert an officer immediately. Do not approach them.”

“What’d they do?” one of the café workers asked as Cook began to distribute the candid shots of George and Boyd Allen that Harris had luckily captured during the Legends of Coastal Carolina Festival.

“At this point, we have no evidence that they’ve done anything unlawful or will appear today at all,” Rawlings said. “We’re viewing them as a possible threat as a precaution and wanted you to be aware of the situation. Thank you for your cooperation.”

It had taken Rawlings half a dozen phone calls to the Riverport Police to learn that the Allens were not at home, nor had anyone seen them in the past twenty-four hours. So while he told the bookstore and café staff that the police presence was just a precaution, Olivia knew better. Rawlings and his men were on high alert.

Olivia, who’d hoped to corner Charles and demand that he tell her what he and Silas had to hide, was soon swept up in last-minute prep for the launch party. The bookstore phone rang nonstop, employees positioned signs and tied balloon bouquets to chair backs, and police radios contributed to the overall din.

With only minutes left until it was time to unlock the front doors, Millay and Silas mounted the stage in the back corner of the café. They sat behind a sturdy library table, coffee cups and pens at the ready. Both authors were smiling widely, and for a moment, Olivia stood still and reveled in Millay’s happiness.

Millay caught her staring. “Not you too. I’ve had plenty
of gushing from Laurel already. She’s in the restroom wiping off mascara tracks for the second time today.”

“Just enjoy yourself, okay?” Olivia said. “And know that I’m extremely proud of you.” She gave Silas a pointed look. “Make sure to send your fans her way.”

“She’ll sell out before this event is done. I guarantee it.” Seeing Amy enter the café, Silas waved her over. “You ready, honey?”

Amy smiled and nodded, and Olivia was struck by the effect Silas’s use of an endearment had on the younger woman. Amy’s face glowed, and she hummed softly as she adjusted one of the stanchions that would keep Silas’s fans in an orderly line.

Unless she was playing a part, Amy’s blushes and shy glances convinced Olivia that the romantic relationship between Silas and Amy was new. Amy might have harbored feelings for Silas for a long time, but Olivia got the sense that Silas hadn’t returned those feelings until recently. Very recently.

Could the night he spent with Amy—the night Leigh was killed—have been the first time the two of them were together? Has Silas been telling the truth about that night all along?
If so, then who stole the dress from the museum
,
and how did this person convince Leigh to wear it and walk the beach at night, following the sound of a ship’s bell?

When Charles appeared in the doorway separating the bookstore from the café, a pair of gold ceremonial scissors in his hand, Olivia knew that she’d have to put these questions on hold. After wishing Millay luck, she joined Rawlings by the front door. He finished speaking into his radio, slid it into the holder on his utility belt, and looked at Olivia.

“Still no sign of the car?” she asked softly, concerned by his haggard appearance. Rawlings was too old to be pulling all-nighters.

He shook his head and Olivia moved closer to him. “When this is over, I’m taking you straight home.”

“I’ll drink to that.” He smiled and raised a coffee cup to his lips. “I’m riding high on a double espresso. The barista knows his stuff. Your father does too. This place is going to do very well.”

Charles beckoned to Olivia. “It’s time to charm the members of the press, Olivia.”

Rawlings gave her a goofy wink and stood to the side as she and Charles cut through a length of blue ribbon. While Olivia posed for photographs, she noticed the queue of customers waiting to enter the store. There were dozens of men dressed as pirates, and it seemed like half the crowd wore
No Quarter
T-shirts or baseball caps.

She laughed out loud when she spotted Harris in a green Gryphon Clan T-shirt. He walked slowly, pulling a red wagon piled high with folded shirts and enticing the crowd to choose between the Gryphon and Wyvern Clan shirts. Harris had designed and ordered the T-shirts as a surprise, and Olivia couldn’t wait to see Millay’s face when the first person wearing a shirt based on characters from
The Gryphon Rider
asked her to sign their book.

Despite the festival air both in and outside the bookstore, Olivia was unable to relax. She kept scrutinizing the customers, especially the males. She took in every face, continuously watched the doorway leading into the café so that no one slipped by unnoticed, and checked in with Rawlings every twenty minutes or so.

“No sign of them yet,” he’d say, keeping his gaze on the line of people waiting to enter the store. “How are things going for Millay?”

“Really well,” Olivia would answer.

In truth, Millay was connecting with everyone she met. Even those who’d come for the sole purpose of meeting Silas found themselves lingering at Millay’s end of the table. Her stack of books quickly shrank, and Jenna had to pull more boxes from the storeroom. Silas’s books, which were
available in both hardcover and paperback reprints, were also disappearing from the table and waterfall displays in the front of the store. Wherever Olivia looked, she saw customers with a Through the Wardrobe shopping bag in one hand and a coffee cup in the other. All the café tables were occupied, as were the reading chairs in the original part of the shop.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder, and she turned to find Charles holding out a plate with a pumpkin scone. “I have two forks. Come on, put your feet up for a second.”

“There’s no place to sit.”

Charles laughed. “I reserved seats at the window bar.”

After signaling Millay that she’d be back shortly, Olivia followed Charles to the bar in the front of the café. An employee, who’d been saving their seats for them, quickly wiped off their chairs and then moved off to clear empty coffee mugs from a nearby table.

“I can’t believe how many people are still out there.” Olivia gestured at the crowd on the other side of the window.

“The event is officially over in thirty minutes,” Charles said, dividing the scone in half with the side of his fork. “Silas and Millay will be out of books by then. I thought Jenna had ordered more than enough, but I underestimated Silas’s draw. The chocolates Shelley made are gone, as are the T-shirts Harris designed.” He pushed the plate closer to Olivia. “Eat something. You look like you need a sugar pick-me-up.”

Absently, Olivia raised her fork and speared a piece of pastry. The scone was warm and incredibly moist. She tasted comfort in every bite and could easily imagine how delightful it would be to spend an hour in the café with a cup of tea, a scone, and a book.

“After this turnout, we’ll be able to lure other big-name authors to Oyster Bay,” Charles said brightly. “We can put them up in the bed-and-breakfast, host a ticketed dinner at The Boot Top Bistro—turn every signing into a major social
event. If we get a response like this each time, the bookstore will become a regular stop on author tours.”

Olivia nodded. “If we’re going to have high-stress events, we’d better make sure the employees are well paid and well prepared. So far, I’ve been very impressed by the café staff. They’ve been as efficient as machines, while being exceedingly friendly at the same time.”

“The manager is from New York. He’s used to running things at breakneck speed, but he also understands that Southern hospitality requires plenty of smiles and small talk. The guy was dying to exchange his shoe-box apartment for a house, a yard, and a more temperate climate. He would have taken the job at half the salary.” Charles glanced around the café and sighed in satisfaction. “But I took your advice and offered everyone a bit more money than I’d originally intended.”

Olivia gazed out the window. “It’s a shame this day ended up being tainted. I wanted it to be perfect for Millay. Even though she’s been incredibly busy, part of her must have been expecting something to happen. She’s probably studied every face, just as I have. Just as Harris, Laurel, and Rawlings have.” She looked at Charles but kept her gaze soft. “Please. If you know anything about Silas—anything from his past that could have initiated this mess—please tell me. He’s your friend. I get that. But don’t I matter too?” She waved her hand around the room. “What about what we’re trying to build together?”

Charles’s expression immediately became closed off, distant. He lined up the two forks on the empty plate and made to stand.

“Please,” Olivia repeated.

Just then, Jenna appeared behind his shoulder. “We’ve sold out,” she announced gleefully. “Millay’s books are totally gone, and there are only a handful of Mr. Black’s hardcovers left. I’m taking orders from people and
promising to ship copies with signed bookplates so as not to lose sales, but our computers are running super slow.” She looked at Charles. “Didn’t you say that you knew a way to make the spinning rainbow wheel of death disappear?”

“I most certainly do,” Charles chuckled, clearly relieved by the interruption. “I’ll be right there.” He then turned back to Olivia. “Silas will return to Palmetto Island in the morning. He’ll have plenty of film people to protect him, and you and I can focus on what we’re doing here.”

Olivia’s anger flared. “A woman died. There’s no return to normalcy in the wake of a murder. Murder creates its own kind of shrapnel. It flies out in all directions, injuring everyone in its path. I’ve seen the damage it inflicts. We can’t just pretend nothing happened. We have a responsibility, Charles.”

“Yes,” he agreed unconvincingly. “And right now, mine is to help Jenna.”

“Damn it,” Olivia muttered when Charles was gone. She carried the plate to a busing station and returned to the author table. Both Millay and Silas were on their feet, stretching and drinking thirstily from their water bottles.

The event had come to a close more quickly than Olivia had anticipated. She looked out the window and found that there were no more customers waiting to get into the bookstore. She could also see that the sky had gone from a dull gray to a murky charcoal hue, as though the empty sidewalk had given night permission to fall.

Rawlings entered the café and, after seeking Olivia with his eyes, waved at her before heading over to where Silas stood talking to a group of teenage girls. Rawlings pulled Silas aside and seemed to be relaying instructions to him. Silas nodded, shook Rawlings’s hand, and then signaled for Amy to gather their things.

Olivia waited for the group by the steel wardrobe.

“We’re taking Mr. Black and Ms. Holden out through the back door,” Rawlings quietly explained. “It’ll be easier to
guard them at the B&B, especially now that it’s getting dark.”

Suddenly, Rawlings’s radio crackled and he held it up to his ear.

Olivia, close on his heel, heard two words. “Victims” and “paramedics.”

Rawlings swung around and raised his hand. “Stop,” he commanded sternly. “Wait here.” Putting his hand on Olivia’s shoulder, he squeezed her hard and said, “You too. I mean it, Olivia.”

Seeing the mixture of fear and sorrow in his eyes, Olivia knew she couldn’t obey. She knew that following him would cause her pain, but she couldn’t stop herself. She had to see.

Casting a frantic glance around the café, she noticed Millay chatting with a barista. She hurried into the bookstore and spotted Laurel and Harris speaking with Dixie and Shelley.

Trailing after Rawlings, she made a mental catalog of the people she cared about. They were all present. All safe.

All but one.

Charles
. The name reverberated through her mind.

Charles
.
Charles
.
Charles
.

She was unaware that she was whispering his name over and over as she followed Rawlings through the children’s section and into the storeroom. She didn’t know that she was chanting it like a prayer until she came to a halt at the back door.

She only stopped speaking when she saw the blood.

So much blood.

Her dazed murmur became a
scream.

He did not wear his scarlet coat,

For blood and wine are red,

And blood and wine were on his hands

When they found him with the dead.

—O
SCAR
W
ILDE

T
he scream turned into a strangled cry as Olivia clamped a hand over her own mouth.

Rawlings tried to pull her away, but she wrested her arm free and knelt beside Charles’s body. A police officer pressed a folded cloth against Charles’s stomach, and Olivia could see that it was already saturated with blood.

“Paramedics are en route,” another officer said.

“Get clean dishcloths from the café!” Olivia shouted to him without looking away from Charles’s ashen face.

Charles was lying in the stockroom, a few feet from the back door. The door was ajar, and when Olivia shot a brief glance through the opening, she saw more officers clustered around another body.

Only the victim’s legs were visible, and it took Olivia’s brain a moment to register that the black skirt and camel-colored ankle boots belonged to Jenna.

“No, no, no,” she whispered. Not knowing where else to look, she focused on the officer trying to stop Charles’s
abdomen from bleeding. “What happened?” she asked him. “Was he stabbed?”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s a nasty wound, I’m afraid.”

Olivia put her hand on Charles’s forehead. It felt simultaneously cold and clammy. She gently pushed a strand of damp hair off his brow, and he groaned. He opened his eyes, though not all the way, and peered at Olivia from beneath heavy lids.

“Jenna,” he croaked.

“Shhhhh.” Olivia continued stroking his hair. “Don’t try to talk. Help is coming.”

Someone proffered a wad of dish towels to the officer tending to Charles, but Olivia grabbed them. “Let me,” she told the officer.

Clamping his fingers around her wrists, he forced her to push the fresh towels against the wound. Olivia was sickened by the deep gash in Charles’s belly and terrified by the sight of so much blood, but she didn’t flinch.

“Apply firm pressure.” The officer positioned Olivia’s hands so that both of them covered the towels. “Use your body weight.”

Olivia wished she could pour her strength into Charles’s body. With every passing second, he seemed to be weakening, to be growing paler and less substantial.

She searched the area, her eyes passing over half a dozen police officers. “Where are the damned EMTs?” she yelled, her voice shrill with fear. “Rawlings!”

He came in from outside at once. “They’re here. They’re just backing in. Hold on, Olivia. Keep holding on.”

“He’s running out of time!” she cried, and then she saw that Charles’s lips were moving.

Keeping her arms taut, she leaned over, putting her head as close to his lips as she could without releasing any of the pressure she was applying to his wound. “Dad,” she said for the very first time. “You’re going to be okay.”

The policemen near the door parted, allowing the paramedics through.

“The secret,” Charles murmured. “The cup . . . Silas . . . took it. Long . . . time ago.”

“That’s what this is all about?” Olivia asked. She hated the way Charles’s words were faint whispers of breath. They sounded like a deathbed speech. And though she didn’t want to hear them, she had to know. “A cup?”

Charles, too weak to nod, blinked his eyes once, and then closed them.

“Ma’am, we’ve got this.” An EMT touched Olivia’s arm, indicating she should move.

Numbly, Olivia backed away. She watched the paramedics apply an oxygen mask and a blood pressure cuff to Charles. He turned his head to the left and right, his fingers stretched, searching.

“I’m here,” Olivia said loudly as he was loaded onto a gurney. His skin was chalk white. “I won’t leave you.”

She started to follow the paramedics to the ambulance, but Rawlings caught her by the shoulders. He tried to block the door, to keep her from seeing Jenna. “Cook can take you to the hospital.”

“No, I need to be with him.” Olivia twisted away. The urgency to be with Charles was overpowering. She had lost too many people already. She felt that if she could just stay with Charles, he would stay with her.

She took two paces forward and then stopped.

Jenna was lying on the ground, injured. Or dead.

A paramedic was pressing a thick wad of gauze against the delicate flesh of her neck.

In the disco flashes created by the ambulance light bar, Olivia met Jenna’s glassy stare. Just when Olivia was on the verge of crying out, Jenna blinked.

She wasn’t dead. She was in shock. Olivia guessed that Jenna had been stabbed, or cut, in the neck. She’d probably
lost a great deal of blood and needed to be rushed to the hospital as quickly as Charles.

Suddenly, Olivia became disoriented. The lights confused her. There was too much noise. Too many colors. She tried to walk, but her legs wouldn’t respond.

And then Rawlings had his arm around her waist. He led her to the closest of the two ambulances and helped her inside.

Feeling nauseated, Olivia found Charles’s hand and clasped it. Nothing else made sense but the feel of his flesh on hers.

“He’s in custody. It’s over,” Rawlings said from what seemed like a great distance. He spoke other words too, but they failed to penetrate the fog in Olivia’s head. Before she knew it, the ambulance doors slammed shut and they were moving.

Olivia bobbed back and forth in the cabin, deaf to the siren’s shriek, the abrupt turns, and the bursts of acceleration. She felt like a buoy cut from its mooring line, set adrift in rough seas. The only thing keeping her from going under was the hand in her hand. There was a pocket of warmth where her skin met her father’s, and she focused on this fragile tether with everything she had. The warmth meant that her father was with her. The warmth meant that he was not letting go.

*   *   *

A nurse had given Olivia a pair of scrubs and showed her to the women’s restroom.

“You can put your clothes in here,” she’d said, handing Olivia a red plastic biohazard bag.

When Olivia hesitated, the woman had smiled kindly. “If there’s any news, I’ll come get you. Until then, you should change and have some caffeine. You can only help if you stay strong.”

Olivia obediently put on the scrubs, stuffed her bloodstained clothing in the plastic bag, and was now drinking hot chocolate from the vending machine.

The waiting room was cold and quiet. Olivia huddled into her thin sweater and wished she’d taken the blanket the EMT had offered her, but she’d been too fixated on her father to respond.

My father
, she thought in surprise.

Charles Wade hadn’t raised her. He hadn’t known her as a child. And yet she carried his genetic code. If someone were to unroll her like a blueprint, he’d be there, visible in the lines and corridors.

And since Olivia had already lost the man she’d thought of as her father, she didn’t want to lose her second chance at being someone’s daughter.

She finished her drink and cradled the empty cup between her hands and mulled over what Charles had murmured about a secret until Harris, Millay, and Laurel entered the waiting room.

Laurel had a blanket tucked under her arm, and Harris carried a takeout tray of Starbucks.

“There you are.” After draping the blanket around Olivia’s shoulders, Laurel rubbed her back in wide, circular motions. “You’re freezing.” She gestured at Harris. “Give her a coffee.”

“I added shots of whiskey to all of them,” Harris said. “We need to warm up from the inside. I feel cold right here.” He pressed his fist against the center of his chest.

Millay sat down next to Olivia and jerked her head at the OR doors. A bold red plaque reading
NO ADMITTANCE
was attached directly to the wood. “How’s he doing?”

Olivia followed her gaze. “He’s lost so much blood. That wound . . .” She shook her head. “And Jenna. God. Jenna. She’s back there too.” She looked at Laurel. “Was it the Allens?”

“It was Boyd,” Millay said. “He’d been hiding in the store since yesterday.”

Laurel shuddered. “He must have slipped in when one of the employees brought something out to the Dumpster or a
delivery was being made. There are so many boxes in the storeroom that he just hid behind them, in the far corner. There was no reason for anyone to go back there.”

“Why would he attack Charles and Jenna?” Olivia was unable to process what she was hearing. “I thought the Allens were after Silas.”

“We don’t understand it either,” Harris said. “But the chief is with Boyd now. He’ll get answers from him.”

Olivia took a sip of coffee. The woody, slightly metallic taste of whiskey coated her tongue and burned her throat. It also woke her from her stupor. She drank some more, allowing the heat to sear through a layer of shock. “This is more than a shot, Harris, but it’s just what I needed. Thank you.”

A chorus of voices echoed down the hall and, suddenly, Rawlings appeared in the waiting room. He and one of the hospital security guards held a short conversation, and then he joined the rest of the Bayside Book Writers.

“Why are you here, Chief?” Harris asked.

“Boyd collapsed,” Rawlings said, squatting down in front of Olivia. He put his hands on her knees and searched her face. “Are you okay?”

She shrugged as though to say she couldn’t possibly answer such a question. “Charles and Jenna are both in surgery. I’ve been told that the wound in Jenna’s neck missed the artery. As for Charles, he’s lost a great deal of blood.” Olivia struggled to keep the panic from entering her voice. It was there, on the edge of each word. “Has Boyd been admitted too?”

Rawlings nodded. “He wasn’t right when we arrested him. He was so weak that he couldn’t stand, and he had a seizure at the station. I don’t even think he was aware that we Mirandized him.”

Olivia wasn’t sure she could handle any more surprises. “I can’t believe this.”

“What about George?” Laurel asked. “Did you find him? Or Emmett’s car?”

“Not yet.” Rawlings stood with a grunt. “Cook is leading the investigation. Because Charles is my father-in-law, it would be a conflict of interest for me to take charge, which is why I’m dealing with Boyd. Cook is doing everything by the book. He has a team searching for George Allen and a second team collecting evidence and securing the scene at Through the Wardrobe.”

Flashing on the image of Jenna’s glassy stare, Olivia pulled the blanket tighter across her chest. “Has Jenna’s family been notified?”

“Yes,” Rawlings said quietly. “They’re on their way.”

“Meanwhile, Silas, who is responsible for all that’s happened, is just fine and dandy.” Olivia shook her head in frustration. “Charles was trying to tell me about Silas’s secret, but all he managed to say was ‘the cup’ and ‘he took it long ago.’”

Harris frowned pensively. “Took? Or stole?”

“If there’s a secret attached to this cup, I doubt Silas got it as a Christmas gift,” Millay said. She looked at Harris. “Time to whip out your phone and start researching. We’re not dealing with the Riverport cops anymore. You work for the good guys, remember?”

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Harris smiled at Millay and reached for his phone. His index fingers flew across the screen, and then he blew out an exasperated breath. “This connection’s too slow. I’m better off using my desktop at home. I’ve modified my Wi-Fi, and I also have access to all the databases from there.”

Olivia nodded. “You should go.”

“I’ll come with you,” Millay said. “I can follow any leads using your laptop.” She shot an apologetic glance at Olivia. “I hate places like this, but I’d stay for you.”

“No,” Olivia said. “You should go with Harris. And Millay? I’m sorry your launch ended the way it did.”

Millay’s eyes darkened with anger. “Are you kidding me?
You and Charles gave me the release party of my dreams. If he doesn’t come out of there okay”—she pointed at the operating room doors—“I’ll kill Boyd Allen myself!”

“We need Mr. Allen to live,” Rawlings said very gently. “Unless we find George, Boyd is the only person who can explain this madness.”

“Screw that. He can go right ahead and die,” Olivia said savagely. “If Charles survives, he’ll tell us about the secret, or we can hold Silas down and beat it out of him!”

Laurel tossed her empty coffee cup into the trash bin. “She has a point, Chief. Why should Silas be treated with kid gloves? Leigh’s been murdered. Jenna’s in surgery, and Charles might be fighting for his life in the next room.” She gestured at the double doors. “If Silas had answers all along—a secret that created a chain reaction—then he shouldn’t be allowed to drive back to Palmetto Island and start filming as if nothing ever happened.”

“You’re right, which is why Cook is interviewing him as we speak,” Rawlings said. “Ms. Holden is being interviewed as well. We’re not on Palmetto Island or in Riverport. We’re in Oyster Bay, and two of our own—for Charles Wade
is
one of us—have been gravely injured.” He looked at each of the Bayside Book Writers in turn. “Just because I sound calm doesn’t mean that I’m not raging inside. If Mr. Black’s actions, past or present, determined what happened at the bookstore today, then he will answer for it. I promise you.”