A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

a phone call away and in this town, it’ll never take me more than fifteen minutes to get to you,” Olivia assured him. “Now, can we peek in Camden’s room?”
    Annie shook her head. “The chief gave me strict instructions to leave it be. Cosmo already asked me to look inside for Mr. Ford’s computer, but it’s gone. He always left it square on the writing desk, with his phone and a notepad lined up right beside it. Neat as a pin, that one was.”
    “There are no printouts of his manuscript either,” Cosmo said dejectedly. “Annie was nice enough to check. I just couldn’t go in. The cops must have it all.”
    Olivia fell silent. Not only did she need to acquire a copy of Camden’s work in progress, but she now wanted to know the identity of the caller feeding Camden information regarding the town park. At the moment, she couldn’t think of a single connection between the Talbot family and a seldom-frequented community park. Luckily, there were several locals who might be able to enlighten her.
    Cosmo took hold of Olivia’s hand. “You go on ahead with CSI Oyster Bay. I’ve got to make ... arrangements. I can’t stand the thought of my darling Cam spending another day lying on some cold piece of metal.” His eyes filled with tears again. “The least I can do is buy him the most decadent, velvet-lined coffin ever made and cover him with heaps and heaps of flowers.”
    “I could drive you over to Woody’s Funeral Home,” Annie offered kindly. “You shouldn’t have to do that task on your own.”
    “Oh, you’re a treasure!” Cosmo exclaimed with relief. “It’s going to be a very small affair. After all, Cam’s family cut him out of their lives the day he came out. That was almost twenty years ago. Can you imagine? They don’t even realize what a wonderful person they’ve missed knowing— I got the best of him.”
    He hid his face in the napkin for a long moment. “Enough!” He resurfaced and sniffed. “I have to face Oyster Bay’s men in blue at one o’clock sharp. ” Cosmo’s gaze returned to Olivia. “I must be assertive with these people if I want to find out if they have any idea who did this. I simply cannot go through another day imagining that sick bastard walking around out there. Do they still use the electric chair in this state?”
    “Do your best to speak directly to Chief Rawlings,” Olivia counseled. “And might I suggest you change your shirt into something a little less—”
    “Gay?” Cosmo guessed wryly.
    “I was going to say ‘pink.’ ” She grinned and pulled out another business card from her purse. She’d written both her mobile and home numbers on the back. “Call me if you need a ride to the station. I’ve got a decent measure of influence in this town and I’ll make certain you’re treated with the consideration and respect you deserve.”
    Annie began placing dirty dishes on a lacquered tray. “You’ll do well with Ms. Olivia watching your back, young man. But it’s my job to see that you’re up to all this, which you won’t be if you don’t finish your breakfast. At least eat some strawberries and polish off the bacon.”
    Cosmo saluted. “Eat protein. Change shirt. Stop blubbering. Yes, yes, mommy dearests. Whatever you say.”
     
     
    Olivia left the inn and drove straight to Bagels ‘n’ Beans. She ordered Wheeler’s home-brewed orange iced tea and then asked him if he had a minute to spare for a chat. She selected the table closest to the back door where she was least likely to be overheard. Her seating choice also allowed her to view Chief Rawlings’ newest paintings. Haviland, clearly sensing there were no treats to be had in a room smelling, to a dog at least, of burned cocoa beans and rubbery dough, went to sleep.
    Wheeler finished making soy lattes with no foam for a pair of tourists, gave them a gummy smile when they stuffed a few bills into the tip jar, and then shuffled over to Olivia’s table. He pointed at the paintings. “You gonna snap these up too?”
    Though the nearest painting was of a subject Olivia would not choose to display, she had to admit it was charming. It depicted a little boy in overalls standing alongside an ice cream truck. The whole truck wasn’t in view—only one of the wheels and the colorful menu board. The boy, who was barefoot and generously freckled, gripped a dollar bill in one hand and had the other shoved deep into the pocket of his denim overalls. His eyes gleamed as he gazed