A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

longingly at the tempting images of orange creamsicles, Astro Pops, ice cream sandwiches, king cones, strawberry shortcake bars, and chocolate éclair bars.
    “It’s well executed,” Olivia told Wheeler. “But I like this other one better. Do you know the woman?”
    “Aye. Sawyer’s wife, Helen, that is. Died a few years back. Caught the cancer.”
    Olivia had never heard the disease described as catch-able before, but Wheeler had spent the better part of his life trolling for tuna across the Atlantic, and like many of Oyster Bay’s older fishermen, had developed a unique dialect of blended accents and phrases.
    “I don’t recall hearing Chief Rawlings’ first name before,” Olivia answered as she studied the painting. It was a simple scene showing a woman reading. She was reclined in an Adirondack chair with a hardcover propped open on her knees. Her intelligent eyes were opened wide, her expression one of guilty pleasure. The nail of her index finger was held captive between her upper and lower teeth and her lips curved in a slight, secretive smile. The woman was not beautiful, but it was difficult to turn away from her animated face. Olivia immediately liked how the picture championed the notion that time spent reading was a treasure to be cherished.
    “Wheeler, you met Camden Ford, didn’t you?” Olivia turned away from the art. “He was visiting from California.”
    “The writer fellow. Acted girly.” Wheeler grunted. “Dressed girly too.”
    “Yes, Camden did prefer pastels,” agreed Olivia. “Did he ask you any questions about Oyster Bay or any of the people here?”
    Wheeler nodded. “Sure enough. Wanted to know when those houses first startin’ goin’ up on the bluff. I told him they slapped them up in no time like everythin’ they build these days. The first real storm and those things’ll blow over like a feather in the wind.”
    “Talbot Fine Properties at work,” Olivia muttered.
    “He wanted to know about those folks too. Daddy Talbot was in here a time or two this spring. Never talked to him direct though. He’s got helpers to order his drinks, fetch him a cookie, and stir the sugar in his coffee. Wonder if they wipe his ass for him too.” Wheeler gave a dry chuckle.
    “Was Camden interested in any other subjects?”
    Wheeler pulled a damp cloth from his pocket and began to wipe the table. Olivia moved her elbows off the surface and watched as the old man’s hands moved in slow, careful circles. The motion seemed to help him think. “He wanted to know about the soldier graveyard—if there was livin’ kin to the boys buried there. I reckon there are a handful of folks sharin’ names with those written on the stones, if you can read ‘em anymore. I haven’t been out there in years, but even way back they were almost picked clean by the weather. Not too much can stand up to bein’ scrubbed clean by wind and sun and sand.”
    The park again, Olivia thought, mystified.
    The tinkle of the sleigh bells dangling from the front door hinge caused Wheeler to lift his head. “No more chitchat, Miss ’Livia.” He leaned closer to her. “But I’m right glad you came in. I wanted to thank you for not raisin’ the rent this year. I’m doin’ fine, but I had to hire another kid for the summer and I wanna pay the boy a decent wage or he’ll be off cuttin’ grass instead. I gotta have decent young folks for the evenin’ shift ‘cause I can make it here at five A.M. every day, but by three o’clock I gotta go ’cause I’m all done in.”
    “Five in the morning? You’re amazing, Wheeler,” Olivia told him. The octogenarian winked at her and returned to his station behind the counter.
    Outside, the humidity hit with full force. The wet, languid air shimmered above the asphalt, distorting the images of parked cars and storefronts across the street. Olivia removed her sunglasses from the crown of her head and put them on. She poured water from an insulated cup into Haviland’s travel bowl and placed it in the ground beneath the nearest awning. When he was finished drinking, she belted him into his seat, put down all the windows, and headed south. Olivia loved the heat and had never quite grown accustomed to more than a hint of air-conditioning.
    The Neuse River Community Park had never been a popular place. Olivia had been dragged there in elementary school to identify the bird species portrayed on the colored plaques lining the walking paths. She had found the