A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

was clearly elsewhere. Olivia had the feeling the young lawman viewed his being sent out to the lighthouse when the real action was happening downtown an insult to his abilities.
    Irritated by his arrogance and disinterest in their observations, Olivia strongly suggested he radio Chief Rawlings and track down Blake Talbot as soon as possible.
    “Officer Cook.” Olivia walked over to the policeman and did her best to stand even taller than her five-eleven frame. “You might be handing the chief a suspect on a silver platter. Camden Ford was our friend and we want to see justice done. We’ve told you all we know, now please share our information with your superior.”
    Cook bristled at her choice of words and informed the writer’s group that he knew how to do his job.
    Millay rose from her position on the couch and came to stand next to Olivia. “Then prove it! Stop pissing around here and find out what Blake Talbot was up to over the last twenty-four hours!” she shouted. “I believe that’s called ‘chasing down an alibi’ in cop talk.”
    Listening to Millay, Olivia had to fight to keep from smiling.
    Thus bullied by the pair of aggressive women, Cook retreated, but only after issuing a final command that the Bayside Book Writers needed to make an appearance at the station first thing in the morning to review and sign their official statements.
    “We’ll be there,” Harris promised. He opened the door and practically shoved the truculent officer out.
    After Cook had left, Laurel began to weep again. “I’m sorry, everybody. I’m just so tired. All I want to do is put on my nightgown and sleep for a week. It’s selfish, I know, but I’m scared and mixed up and mad all at once.” She gazed at Olivia with moist eyes. “I wish I could be strong like you.”
    “Go on home,” Olivia had answered quietly. “There’s nothing else we can do tonight, and though it might not show, I’m every bit as muddled and shaken, I assure you.”
    As the tumult of emotions reflecting the onset of grief assaulted the writers, they said good night to one another and dispersed.
    Now, only a handful of hours later, Olivia watched the light turn from an orange pink to a yellow-tinged white. Finally, she kicked off her covers and went into the kitchen to brew coffee. Haviland sat in front of the door, waiting to be let outside.
    “Make it brief, Captain. I’m going to fix your breakfast and we’ll have a quick walk before we have to go into town.”
    Olivia removed a covered casserole dish filled with organic ground beef cooked in beef broth from the refrigerator. She put water on to boil and poured herself a cup of coffee. While she waited for the water, she placed a bowl of instant grits in the microwave. By the time she’d cooked a cup of rice and mixed it with some fresh peas in a large stockpot, she was done with her cereal. As soon as Haviland reappeared, panting and shaking his ears friskily, she served him his meal and then walked out to the deck to eat a peach.
    She listened to the rush of the waves curling onto the shore and relished the ripe, tender fruit. She felt a sudden, unexpected pang of guilt for experiencing such a moment of pleasure and peace.
    “Poor Camden,” she whispered into the faint, salty breeze.
    Later, she and Haviland took a brisk walk along the shoreline and then Olivia changed out of her sweatpants and dressed in black cotton slacks and a chartreuse scoop-neck T-shirt for her trip to the station.
    As she neared Main Street, the bells from the Methodist church began to chime. A second later, those from the Baptist church rang out and the two melodies overlapped each other. Instead of sounding disjointed, the effect was that of a melodious echo and Olivia rolled down her window in order to welcome the music into her car.
    On such a morning , she thought, it doesn’t seem possible that last night truly happened.
    The Oyster Bay Police Department had been located in the same charming brick building since the late forties. Complete with large arched windows and a façade covered by ivy, it stood across the street from the modern, boxlike two-story building that housed the sheriff’s department and the county jail.
    One could walk out the side door of the police station and arrive at a small square with neatly trimmed grass, carefully tended flower beds, sets of wooden benches, and a flagpole flying both the American and the state of North Carolina flags. Just beyond this tidy little