A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

friends now to discuss that and other things,” she answered elusively. “Was Mr. McNulty helpful?”
    Rawlings hesitated. “He thought it felt unfinished. Not the poem itself, but the message of the poet. Specifically, Mr. McNulty felt there was a sense of pause in the last word, ‘slumber.’ A pause in lieu of closure.”
    Looking over the chief’s shoulder at the bookstore proprietor, Olivia nodded. “I’d have to agree with that assessment. I too felt alarm over the seasonal nature of the poem. If this haiku is meant to represent winter, then will a spring follow?” She shook her head, as though trying to dispel the fear. “Without knowing his motive, I can’t see why the killer wrote a poem at all. But the possibility that his message hasn’t been completed worries me.”
    Rawlings nodded. “Me as well. I see those three lines whenever I shut my eyes.”
    Behind the checkout counter, Flynn thanked his customer, noticed Olivia, and waved at her. She felt a quickening in her blood as their eyes met and, for a brief moment, wondered if Flynn McNulty would make a good candidate for a casual affair. “It’s too bad this store didn’t open sooner,” she said, returning her gaze to the chief. “You’d know the name of every person who reads verse in this town.”
    “I’ve got an officer at the library as we speak,” Rawlings answered and then reached down to allow Haviland to sniff his palm.
    Olivia glanced at her watch and, seeing she was a few minutes early for the meeting, succinctly told the chief about Camden’s interest in the Neuse River Community Park. “So if you go through his cell phone and review the list of ingoing and outgoing calls, you’ll know who was feeding him information on the locals and our prime tracts of land.”
    Rawlings looped his thumbs under his belt. “We will be questioning an individual regarding a series of calls to Mr. Ford’s phone.” He turned back to Olivia, humor twinkling in his eyes. “Any other suggestions, ma’am?”
    Thinking about the township meeting, Olivia wished she’d had the foresight to check the agenda printed in last week’s Gazette before leaving her house. “Not right now, but perhaps after my friends and I exchange ideas we’ll come up with something useful.”
    “In that case, I’d like to accept your offer of a drink. Would Wednesday evening do? That gives your group twenty-four hours to come up with theories about the haiku’s meaning.”
    Olivia felt relieved they weren’t to be entirely excluded from the investigation. “Yes. I’ll be at The Boot Top from four o’clock on.” A movement near the door caught her eye.
    It was Harris. The young man exchanged polite greetings with the chief and then looked at Olivia expectantly.
    “Is anyone else here?” he asked.
    The chief answered. “If one of your writers is the mother of twin toddlers, then she’ s here.” He smiled and opened the door. “If you all can work around those two, you’ve got more discipline than a platoon of marines.”
    Harris stared after the departing policeman. “Does he have any leads?”
    Olivia shook her head with regret and she and Harris walked to the back of the store. Upon entering the rainbow-hued children’s area, their ears were accosted by dual howls emanating from behind the wooden puppet theater.
    “Give Mommy the sippie cup. Give it to Mommy, please,” Laurel cooed, her face hidden between the red curtains. “Dermot, do not hit your brother with the owl puppet. Dallas ! Stop that this minute! Be my good baby boys? Please?” Laurel sounded close to tears. “Do you want Cheerios? If you want Cheerios you need to give Mommy the sippie cup.”
    “What’s with the freaking noise?” Millay croaked from behind Olivia and Harris. Dressed in a gauzy, mango-colored sundress, her streaked hair hidden beneath an orange bandana, Millay looked more exotic and lovely than ever.
    It’s as if she just stepped from a Gauguin canvas, Olivia thought as Millay moved behind the puppet theater with swift grace.
    “Listen, you two,” she whispered urgently. “The grown-ups need to have a secret meeting. There are monsters coming and we need to stop them! If you want us to beat the monsters, then be very quiet.” She reached out to a rather stunned Laurel, gesturing at the diaper bag. Laurel handed her two baggies filled with oat cereal and raisins. “This is magic food. If you hide back here and eat super quietly, then you’ll turn