A Killer Plot (2010) bbtbm-1

by Ellery Adams

  “It’s your fault!” he snarled at Olivia. “She’s dead because of you.”

  The black sea seemed to rise with his anger, and for the first time, Olivia was terrified he would strike her. He’d raised his calloused and weathered hand above her many times, but the blows never landed.

  Springing out of his reach, Olivia scrambled into the dinghy tied to the side of her father’s boat. She jerked the rope securing it to the larger vessel from its cleat and leapt aboard. Ignoring her father’s wrathful threats, she pulled in the wet mooring line and began to row in the opposite direction.

  The clouds multiplied, obscuring the little craft in a shadow of dense, protective fog. After rowing until her arms ached and the blisters erupted on her palms, Olivia slept. When she woke, she looked around at the dark and unreadable ocean. It still felt like night, but there were no stars, no moon, no horizon line to distinguish the ocean from sky. There was only the fog.

  Hours later, a shrimper heading out with the dawn light found the drifting dinghy and brought the mute girl back to dry land.

  She never saw her father again.

  Chapter 10

  When one’s character begins to fall under suspicion and disfavor, how swift, then, is the work of disintegration and destruction.

  —MARK TWAIN

  The dream clung to Olivia like a sweater slung over the shoulders. Though night was long over and the dawn had brought light and heat and a high tide, Olivia couldn’t wait to get out of bed and escape the air of her room. The darkness might be gone, but the space was crowded by the memories the dream had conjured.

  Gathering her metal detector and the bag holding her folding trench shovel and nylon dishwashing brush, Olivia followed Haviland as he raced to the beach in a blur of black fur.

  As she walked past the lighthouse keeper’s cottage, Olivia glanced at the window of her childhood room, half expecting to see her child self gazing back at her. But the glass only reflected twinkles of sunlight. The day was simply too fresh and full of promise to be held captive by the past, so Olivia turned her face toward the ocean, slipped on her headphones, and felt the presence of the dream dissipate.

  She walked along the flat sand for three quarters of a mile and then headed away from the water’s edge into the dunes. It was more challenging to walk there, but she hadn’t hunted this deep around the grass-covered sand before.

  Swinging the Bounty Hunter’s disc back and forth, Olivia listened carefully to the chirps and blips, ignoring the low sound signaling pull tabs or nails. Finally, a high-pitched bleep indicated the possibility of a buried coin and Olivia removed her trench shovel from her bag and began to dig up the heavy sand. About a foot down, the tip of her tool struck something metal. Olivia tossed the shovel aside and reached into the damp hole with her fingertips.

  Haviland appeared like a phantom from behind a dune and sniffed at the pile of displaced sand.

  “Just a shotgun shell,” Olivia told him, placing the find in her bag. “That makes four this year.”

  Standing up, Olivia surveyed the flat ocean. “I think we’ll bend the rules a bit this morning. Let’s walk back by the road and see if we can discover something more interesting.”

  Trotting up to the unpaved track, Haviland happily searched the unfamiliar scents along the side of the road, his nose quivering with excitement.

  Olivia hadn’t gone more than fifty yards before the metal detector indicated another coin possibility. However, after digging through the less yielding soil, she unearthed a second shotgun shell.

  “Was someone picking off your relatives with a twelve gauge?” she demanded crossly of a curious gull and shoved the spent shell in her bag.

  Overtly disregarding her customary rule to stop after a single find, Olivia continued to move the Bounty Hunter back and forth in a gentle sweep as she and Haviland turned toward home. A few hundred yards along the road, the buzz signaling yet another coin echoed in Olivia’s ears. She almost ignored it.

  Haviland barked impatiently. He was ready for his breakfast, but Olivia wanted the ground to provide a distraction from Camden’s death, the upcoming Planning Board meeting, and her inability to complete the chapter describing Kamila’s reception by Pharaoh’s other concubines.

  “We’ll go to Grumpy’s this morning, Captain. If you help me dig.”

  Together, the pair set to work. After moving about a foot of dirt, Olivia sat back on her heels and wiped the sweat from her brow.

  “Nothing!” she shouted in annoyance. Rising, she scanned the displaced soil with the metal detector and, when the panel blinked red, spooned the dirt into a sifter. Furiously shaking the dirt free, she ended up with several large pebbles, a twig, and a corroded circle the size of a penny.

  Surrendering, Olivia dumped the unknown coin into her bag and increased her pace so that by the time she reached her house, she felt completely spent. After refreshing Haviland’s water bowl and taking a quick, tepid shower, Olivia grabbed her laptop and drove into town.

  Dixie had a sixth sense when it came to her regular customers. She always seemed to know when they’d arrive and what they were in the mood to eat. Olivia’s usual table by the window had been wiped clean and set up with gleaming utensils, a spotless coffee cup, and a glass of tap water without ice.

  Haviland jumped onto the booth across from Olivia and, after greeting Dixie with a toothy smile, focused his gaze on the passersby on the other side of the window.

  “Florentine egg-white omelet for you, ma’am?” Dixie asked, her small hands looped under a pair of pink suspenders. The unlikely accessory was clipped to the waistband of a purple crinoline skirt, under which Dixie wore a pair of white spandex shorts. Frowning, she held up her pointer finger. “Nope. You don’t feel like eggs today. You want some comfort food. Something sweet and buttery. Am I right?”

  “As usual,” Olivia agreed. “I’ll be decadent and have the Oyster Bay French Toast.”

  “With a side of carcinogenic bacon?”

  Olivia smiled. “Yes, please.” She examined the pieces of fabric covering her friend’s forearms and elbows. “Are those arm socks?”

  “Arm warmers,” Dixie corrected. “They’re all the rage with the teenage girls. I borrowed my daughter’s just to see what all the fuss was about. Any luck on this morning’s treasure hunt?”

  Haviland issued a muffled bark.

  “Two shotgun shells and a coin. The coin’s soaking, but from what I could see, it’s an Indian Head penny. Can’t read the date yet.”

  Dixie shook her head. “That’s a lot of effort for a penny, isn’t it? No wonder you stay so damned thin. Let me put your order in and then I’ll come back and fill you in on some gossip you’ll find very interesting.” With a wink, she skated off to the kitchen.

  Booting up her laptop, Olivia tried to immerse herself in her ancient Egyptian setting. She imagined Kamila bathing in a cool, shallow pool filled with floating lotus blossoms. Afterward, she’d rub her skin with costly oils and drape herself in the thinnest linen shift. Sitting on a low stool in the morning’s sunshine, Kamila would comb out her long, black tresses as she watched an ibis strut around the lush, private garden.

  Just as Kamila was attempting to make friendly overtures toward a group of three older concubines, Dixie returned with Olivia’s bacon and a platter of meat and eggs for Haviland.

  “So,” Dixie began. “You know Grumpy’s got a cousin who works at the airport?”

  “Grumpy’s got a cousin working in every profession in the county,” Olivia remarked.

  Dixie smirked. “Probably three counties. But this cousin likes to tell us when the fancy planes come in. He keeps a list of them in a notebook. Writes down the rich or famous passengers whenever he can recognize them.” She paused, waiting for Olivia to sample her bacon. “Guess who flew in as early as the cock crows this morning?”

  “One of the Talbots?” Olivia deduced.

  Looking disappointed, Dixie scowled. “You’re no fun. How’d you know th
at?”

  “Our writing group has been researching the family. Dean likes to appear and soften up the locals prior to any vote that might influence one of his bigger projects. He’s got less than a week to butter up all the Planning Board members. I guess the Ocean Vista condos weren’t grand enough to get him down here,” Olivia remarked. “’ Course, we all approved that development in a flash. It was the first time somebody realized Oyster Bay was a real gem. Shows you how smart Talbot is. He decided to build before that Time article was ever written.”

  A ring sounded from the pick-up window and Grumpy’s quizzical eyes searched out his wife. Seeing her positioned for a good long chat, he pointed at the platters of food and then turned away to focus on his grill.

  “Be right back.” Dixie skated off to deliver tall stacks of pancakes to the patrons seated in the Phantom of the Opera booth. She whisked back to the kitchen, grabbed Olivia’s order and two stainless steel containers of warm pure maple syrup and, after depositing the first with the pancake eaters, returned to Olivia’s table.

  Easing the heavy porcelain platter onto the table, Dixie said, “Don’t see that Talbot’s got too much convincing to do on this project either. Grumpy and Roy are voting for the new development and you know damn well Ed Campbell is going to say aye. After all, he’ll be signing a load of new loans for the folks who want to buy those houses. Shoot, Ed’ll probably be made president of the bank before they finish pouring the first foundation.”

  Chewing on a piece of soft, cinnamon-laced French toast, Olivia silently agreed. “That leaves Marlene and me and whether the two of us have issues with the lack of green space or the displacement of wildlife doesn’t much matter, does it? Cottage Cove is going through. It only takes a majority to pass a proposal and the majority will vote in favor of this one.”

  Dixie chucked Olivia on the arm. “Don’t sound so down. Think of the treasures you could find when they start digging up the park land.”

  Olivia immediately envisioned the grumbling excavators as they crunched the soil with their metal teeth. Thinking of an excavator biting through the crumbing steps and collapsing the iron fence surrounding the tiny graveyard forced her to put her fork down.

  “How did you find out how Roy was going to vote so quickly?” she asked Dixie, hoping to expunge the image of the decimated burial site from her mind.

  The customers in the Cats booth were signaling Dixie for their check. She smiled and nodded at them but didn’t move. Turning back to Olivia as though she had all the time in the world, she leisurely continued their conversation. “Annie and Roy and that brother of his were parked right next to us last night. We couldn’t help but trade thoughts on the proposal.”

  “I met Atlas Kraus after the meeting as well. He seemed ... odd.” Olivia was fishing, hoping Dixie would reveal her take on the stranger. Olivia trusted her friend’s ability to read people.

  “Not odd. I can warm up to odd. I’m odd. You havin’ a dog for a best friend is odd. No offense, love.” She blew a kiss at Haviland. “Annie told me that her brother-in-law used to have a family of his own in Idaho or Iowa. Wife left him and took their kid to another state. Told him not to call or visit. Ever. Can you imagine? Anyhow, word is he hasn’t been the same since.” Dixie pulled a sympathetic face and began to skate away. Looking over her shoulder, she paused. “He’s got a damaged look to him, but maybe this town can heal him like it’s been healin’ you.”

  With Dixie’s words echoing in her head, Olivia left Grumpy’s and drove straight to The Yellow Lady. Cosmo waved to her from the front porch, looking refreshed and comfortable. He was seated in one of the cushioned wicker chairs and had his feet propped on a pillowed ottoman. He cradled a mug of coffee in both hands and a selection of newspapers sat on an end table nearby. A stack of eight-by-eleven typed papers rested on his lap.

  “Good morning, Goddess of the Carolina Coast.” Cosmo set down his coffee, clasped the papers against his chest, and jumped up in order to kiss Olivia on both cheeks. He then performed a sweeping bow in Haviland’s honor, but the poodle was more interested in finding a shady spot to rest than in flattery. His belly stuffed, he waddled over to one of the mammoth potted ferns, stretched out beneath its emerald fronds, and closed his eyes.

  “Excuse Haviland’s rudeness. He overindulged this morning. But you’re looking well,” Olivia informed Cosmo pleasantly as she took the seat on the other side of the end table. The wicker creaked and crackled as she settled into the chair. She placed her forearms on the armrests, frowning. She didn’t like furniture that protested over having to bear the weight of a human body.

  Cosmo waved off her compliment. “If I let Annie feed me one more comfort meal you’re going to have to transport me in a pickup truck bed. Go right ahead and line it with hay. Then a nice, talking spider can write words in her web to spare my being turned into Greek sausage links!”

  Olivia laughed.

  The two of them fell silent for a moment, listening to the buzzing of insects and the sound of a lawn mower rumbling in a neighboring yard.

  “I hear they’re questioning a suspect down at the police station,” Cosmo said softly and caressed Camden’s pages. “Some man named Jethro. Do you know him?”

  “I didn’t know he’d been taken into custody, though I was aware that the chief had questions for him,” Olivia answered after a moment. “Jethro’s an army vet. He makes his living selling clams and oysters. Resides on a houseboat and generally keeps to himself.”

  Cosmo’s lovely eyes turned dark. He suddenly squeezed them shut in pain. “Why would he hurt Cam?”

  Olivia’s gaze traveled beyond the porch to a bed of calla lilies and lantana. “Honestly, I can’t see why he would, but I don’t know him personally, Cosmo. I do have a hard time believing he reads or writes poetry, but the chief must have his reasons for considering him a suspect”

  “There must be thousands of those little poems out in the world, Olivia.” Cosmo gestured at the packet in his lap. “There’s all kinds of creative writing for the taking on the Web. Maybe the poem wasn’t an original. Maybe this Jethro is some kind of plagiarizing psychopath.”

  Choosing her words carefully, Olivia said, “You raise a valid point about the poem. I shouldn’t have assumed it was original just because I couldn’t find it on the Internet. You may also be on target regarding Jethro.” She paused, considering. “He may be unstable. He may even suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. Still, I can’t help but wonder why he’d randomly attack Camden. There’s no connecting factor between the two mean.” Olivia thought of Millay’s strong conviction that Jethro wasn’t involved in the murder. She had to talk to her soon and find out once and for all why the young bartender had such unshakable faith in Jethro’s innocence.

  Cosmo raised both hands into the air. “Do you think only LA has crazies? There are broken people everywhere! In every apartment complex, every mansion, and every house—even the floating kind.” He sank back into his seat and took a deep breath. “Anyway, this is all trickle-down gossip delivered by the friendly, neighborhood mail lady. I want to go down to Chief Rawlings’ office this minute and find out if he’s beaten a confession out of this . . . person.”

  At first, Olivia thought Cosmo might be joking, but one look at his face confirmed that he was completely serious. She reached over, ignoring the complaining wicker, and grabbed his hand. “The chief may still be interrogating Jethro or searching his boat. He isn’t going to provide you with specifics. It’s more likely Rawlings will politely send you on your way and you’ll be more stirred up than before.” She squeezed his hand. “Come to The Boot Top for dinner tonight. I’m having drinks with Rawlings beforehand. Any information I can wheedle out of him during the cocktail hour will be yours for the hearing over a bottle of my finest wine.”

  Sighing theatrically, Cosmo relented. “Fine. I have work to do anyway. When I checked my voicemail yesterday, I had a message from the agent to that American Idol star. I can’t remember his name
at the moment. I don’t watch those silly reality shows. I prefer fantasy.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Well, this rich, handsome singer wants his Malibu beach house to remind him of a southern beach, so I’m going to spend the morning collecting seashells and taking a billion photographs.”

  “You should visit the town’s new bookstore as well,” Olivia suggested. “The owner’s name is Flynn McNulty and he has some gorgeous coffee table books on Coastal Carolina with one-of-a-kind color plates.” She rose and snapped her fingers lightly. Haviland got to his feet, blinking sleepily, and leaned his head against her leg. Her hand automatically reached down and stroked the soft fur of his ear. “I’ll send one of my employees to pick you up at eight. Good luck with your research and if you do visit the bookstore, Through the Wardrobe, do not drink Mr. McNulty’s coffee.”

  Cosmo, who had stopped in the act of raising his coffee cup to his lips, paused. “Is there such a thing as bad coffee? If I can drink Starburnt I can drink anything.”

  “If you say so, but I felt it was my civic duty to warn you. See you tonight.” Olivia smiled and walked away.

  Olivia returned home to work on her latest chapter and to check on the soaking coin. She let Haviland loose in the yard and removed the penny from its vinegar-based solution. Scrubbing the remaining debris from the surface, she rinsed it off beneath a gentle flow of warm tap water. The penny felt slightly thicker between her fingers than a modern penny.

  Excited, Olivia grabbed a jeweler’s loupe from her desk drawer and moved to the window. Holding the coin beneath the magnifying tool, she could see the distinct profile of an Indian Head penny. Though the edges of the coin were well worn, the raised silhouette was in good shape. The native’s mouth hung open as though he was in a state of shock and his eye sockets seemed dark and haunted. Olivia traced the feathers of his headdress with her fingertip.