A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

front seat. Haviland? Up!” When the poodle didn’t move, Olivia scowled. “Just this once, Captain. You’ll get a reward from the picnic basket, I promise.”
    Haviland’s ears perked at the word “basket” and he launched himself into the backseat. Olivia removed the seat protector from the passenger seat, transferred it to the trunk and tried to relieve Cosmo of his garment bag. “Please. Allow me,” he insisted.
    Consenting, Olivia removed the take-out containers Michel had packed, noting with a grin that Haviland’s was labeled in Michel’s neat script. She placed the poodle’s meal on a napkin on the backseat within reach of Haviland’s quivering nose and then handed a meal to Cosmo.
    “I own a restaurant in Oyster Bay and my chef has prepared these treats for our ride home. I haven’t traveled recently, but from what I remember, the airlines have replaced any semblance of an in-flight meal with a sprinkling of peanuts or a package of six tiny pretzels.”
    Cosmo nodded but made no move to open the parcel. “Thank you, but I haven’t eaten all day. I don’t know if I can swallow anything.”
    Olivia started the engine and maneuvered the Range Rover out of the parking area. “Try a few, small bites. Not to sound like a cliché, but you’ll need to keep up your strength. You can’t help Camden if you fall to pieces.” She opened a napkin with a flourish and let it fall gently on Cosmo’s lap. “There you are.”
    Both human and canine passengers ate in silence as Olivia exited the airport and began heading east toward the ocean. She crunched on her portion of herb crostini with goat cheese, but her inability to offer comforting words or maternal assurances to the young man beside her eventually put her off her food. As Cosmo focused on the passing scenes out the window, his beautiful profile was a portrait in anguish. The sky was morphing from its summer day yellow blue haze to a reluctant charcoal.
    Nearly an hour into the ride, Cosmo ran his hands through his wavy locks and sighed deeply. “I’m ready to hear the horrible details now. Can you tell me what happened to my Cam?”
    Olivia did. Succinctly and as painlessly as possible. However, there was no way to soften the specifics regarding the cause of death and when Cosmo’s eyes grew moist, his agony evident as he heard how his lover had been killed, Olivia’s own eyes filled with tears. Swallowing hard, she immediately tried to distract him by reciting the mysterious haiku.
    “Does anything about that poem seem familiar?” she asked him gently.
    Cosmo pressed a handkerchief to his eyes. “No! No !” He sobbed into the fabric. “None of this makes sense!” His shoulders shook and he turned away from her again.
    He grew calm quickly. “Forgive me, dear lady. When the police chief called me, this seemed like some mixed-up nightmare. Part of me thought I’d fly here and find out they’d made a huge mistake. It would be some other beautiful gay man who got killed, not my Camden. But hearing it from you ... now I know he’s really gone. There’s ... God, I feel like there’s a hole in the middle of my chest. Like I’ve died too.”
    Wordlessly, Olivia removed her right hand from the steering wheel and found Cosmo’s. She squeezed his soft flesh and he grabbed her hand in both of his and clutched it against his chest, just above his heart. “Tell me! What monster could have done this to him?”
    Olivia shook her head. “I don’t know. Camden didn’t mention making any enemies in Oyster Bay? Conflicts?”
    “No!” Cosmo was crushed to have no helpful information to share. “He was digging up dirt on the Talbots, but he was happy doing the research. Last time we talked, he was full of ideas for this book of his. Said his publicist already had a publishing house drooling for the thing. Did you know about the novel?”
    “Yes. I’ve read one of the chapters. Camden was a gifted writer.” She carefully reclaimed her hand. “Did you read the Milano Cruise stories before they were published?”
    After a pause, Camden’s lover grinned. “Only the seriously juicy ones. I’m no good at writing, but sometimes I could get Milano a story or two. I’m an interior designer to the stars, so Camden was always careful to make sure none of the scandalous tidbits could get traced back to me.” He gestured toward the trunk, his youthful face infused with pride. “That garment bag? A castoff of Sharon Stone’s.”
    Olivia