A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

poisoned?”
    Haviland rested his snout on her leg. Olivia stroked his head and cooed, “Don’t worry, Captain. I’m just thinking aloud.”
    Olivia was aware that she was trying to reassure herself as much as her poodle.
     
     
    After two more hours of futile research, Olivia had no clearer idea of the haiku’s meaning. She’d refreshed her memory of high school English literature classes, in which she’d once known that haiku were poems made up of three lines containing five syllables in the first and last lines, and seven syllables in the second line. She was also reminded that one of the four seasons was usually referenced in the poem and that haiku were written using simple language so that a large audience could understand the imagery, yet still be awakened to a unique perspective of a familiar object, setting, or emotion.
    What seemed like new information was the requirement of something called a cut . Appearing in the first or second line, cutting was meant to divide the short poem into two sections. Each section could have a different meaning, but the overall poem would remain cohesive. The line containing the cut would end with distinct punctuation such as a colon or a dash.
    “Camden’s killer is no fisherman—or a very well read one,” Olivia remarked to Haviland as she drove west toward Raleigh. “He placed a cut in the first line and used proper punctuation according to the rules of haiku. His syllable count was also exact. I must find out more useful information about Blake Talbot. I wasted a good hour sifting through fan pages and Hollywood claptrap. The only interesting tidbit I came across was that his rock band is named Blackwater.”
    Haviland turned his head and stretched his neck as far over the center console as he could, avidly sniffing the air.
    “You’re being impolite, Captain. It is not time to eat. Is this how you’re going to behave when Mr. Volakis is in the car?”
    The poodle gave an apologetic bark and resumed his seat.
    “According to Wikipedia, Blackwater is a military company based right here in the beautiful state of North Carolina.” Olivia resumed her lecture. “How do you think the employees of this private security corporation feel about five spoiled twenty-two-year-olds screaming in microphones while garbed in designer fatigues and diamond-studded dog tags?”
    Haviland made a rumbling noise in his throat.
    Olivia laughed. “Oh, so you did hear the title track I played from their latest CD. I was hoping you’d be under Michel’s butcher block by then, the sounds of Blackwater happily obscured as your favorite chef hacked merrily away at hapless carrots and cucumbers.
    “Don’t worry,” she assured the poodle. “I’m not going to play a single note from ‘Wreckage’ ever again. Let’s listen to the rest of our Ancient Evenings audiobook. It’ll help refresh the Egyptian setting for Kamila’s chapter involving ...” She trailed off, her hand frozen on the volume knob. “I hadn’t thought about my writing future, Captain. I wonder if the Bayside Book Writers will continue without Camden?”
    Haviland cocked his head, giving his mistress a version of the canine shrug.
    Feeling gloomy, Olivia drove the rest of the way in silence, surrendering herself to the melodious voice of the narrator as he led his listeners through the climax of Norman Mailer’s tale of reincarnation set in 1100 B.C.
    Upon arriving at the airport, Olivia parked in the short-term lot and informed Haviland that he’d need to wait in the car. Haviland frowned and turned his face away when Olivia reached out to pet him.
    “There are limits to where you can go, Captain. I might get away with trotting you around Oyster Bay, but we’d get in trouble if we went strolling into the terminal like we owned the place.”
    Giving his mistress a cold, hard stare, Haviland settled down on the seat and closed his eyes.
    Inside the air-conditioned terminal, Olivia joined a cluster of limo drivers waiting on one side of security. Withdrawing her own sign from her purse, Olivia stood stiffly upright next to a driver dressed in an inexpensive black suit, white shirt, and midnight blue tie.
    “Excuse me.” Olivia smiled at the man. “Could you tell me whether the US Air flight from Los Angeles has arrived yet?”
    The driver’s southern upbringing dictated he come to the aid of a woman in need. “Let me run over and check the board, ma‘am. Be back in two shakes. You just wait right