A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

the overhang, Olivia lifted her chin and closed her eyes, letting the sun bathe her head and neck and burn away the gooseflesh on her arms.
    Bert touched her lightly on the shoulder, repeating his query.
    Mechanically, she pivoted to face him, her eyes wide and unfocused. “He’s off the leash. That’s what the dog collar means. The killer’s not following someone else’s agenda anymore. Yet he likes the poems, the progression of the seasons, the orderliness of it all. And he’s got one more season to go.” She reached out for Haviland.
    Bert dropped his hand from her shoulder, frightened by Olivia’s incoherence.
    “Who is meant for autumn?” she asked, turning her gaze toward the blinding ocean.

Chapter 16
     
    There’s always a period of curious fear between the first sweet-smelling breeze and the time when the rain comes cracking down .
    —DON DELILLO
     
     
     
     
     
    O livia waited for Chief Rawlings in Bert’s office. After turning Max’s condo over to the pair of officers responding to the 911 call, Bert had retreated to the only restroom, unscrewing the cap to a flask as he slipped inside. His secretary paced around the front sidewalk, her lips moving double-time as she enthusiastically shared the news of Max Warfield’s death into her headset phone. Meanwhile, her unattended office phone rang with such noisy insistence that Olivia felt like knocking on the restroom door and demanding Bert share the contents of his flask.
    Instead, she sat in the chair facing Bert’s impressive mahogany desk, stroking the back of Haviland’s head and trying to ignore the ringing phone. She fixed her gaze on a promotional poster showing a sunset over the Ocean Vista condos. Staring at the green palmetto fronds, which had been painted into a slight curl in order to give the feeling they were being caressed by a gentle sea breeze beneath a mango- and raspberry-colored sky, Olivia tried to still her agitated mind.
    Several thoughts vied for attention and Olivia began to record each one in her notebook. She became so engrossed that she didn’t hear Rawlings enter the office. “Ms. Limoges.” He spoke softly, trying not to startle her.
    Arresting the motion of her pen, she looked up at him. “I’m sorry, Chief. I didn’t come here today expecting to find Max Warfield’s body. I know it seems like I’ve done my best to insert myself into your investigation ...”
    “Then what were your expectations? Why were you here?” Rawlings took a seat in Bert’s chair, instantly asserting his position of authority.
    Olivia felt it was the chief’s prerogative to treat her with professional formality considering the circumstances. “Honestly, I believed Max Warfield knew more about the previous murders than he pretended. I simply couldn’t get the phone call he placed at The Boot Top out of my mind. Max has played second fiddle to Dean for a long time. It seemed logical that a man his age and status might grow tired of being treated like a servant. I felt strongly that he must be involved at some level.”
    “Mr. Warfield’s alibis were airtight for both murders,” the chief argued. “Trust me, I checked and rechecked his movements, as he fit the suspect bill quite nicely. We’ve also been monitoring his financial statements very closely. There hasn’t been a suspicious dime deposited to his accounts. On paper, Mr. Warfield is clean. And before you start pointing a finger at Blake Talbot as your next suspect of choice, allow me to inform you that we’ve had a tail on him all day. He never came near this location.”
    Olivia nodded in approval. “That’s good, because someone seems intent on bringing down Talbot Fine Properties and Blake is now the new face of the company.” She held up her notebook. “And even though I don’t know the identity of Max Warfield’s killer, I can tell you that he did not write all three haiku.”
    Rawlings shook his head slightly. “Today’s poem is clearly amateurish, yet the writer still got his point across. ‘The summer air chokes,’ just as he choked the life out of his victim.”
    “And the dog collar implies Max was someone’s pet. He followed orders. If the killer obeyed another’s command, then he’s not willing to any longer.” Olivia touched the place on Haviland’s neck where the blue collar used to rest and the poodle looked up at her with inquisitive eyes.
    “I’ve called in some help,” Rawlings said. “Officers from the New Bern Police