A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

went to one of those fancy, fascist boarding schools too,” she answered cryptically and then hurried on. “In Camden’s last chapter he described how Blake’s character wanted to be in control of his own future. Remember how angry he was? At the end of the scene, he stared at the broken glass like he was planning to do something violent.”
    Laurel nodded. “That’s true! He also said, ‘ Time to take control.’ ”
    “The line implies Blake is ready to get out from under his father’s thumb,” Olivia pointed out. “Perhaps he wants to break away from both parents, as it seems his mother was incapable of providing much in the way of parenting. He may be just as bitter at her for being negligent. And you’re right, Millay. If we can believe Camden’s interpretation, these children are all very angry.”
    “So how would murdering a gossip writer grant them revenge against a controlling father and a neglectful mom?” Harris wondered aloud. “Could they even have known Camden was working on this book?”
    Setting a copy of US magazine on top of the dress-up chest, Laurel pointed at a photograph on the bottom left of the cover. “I don’t know about the rest of the Talbots, but the oldest son, Julian, isn’t a threat to anybody but himself. Here he is being escorted into a drug-treatment center by his ... entourage.” She seemed pleased by her word choice.
    Olivia craned forward. The image provided a close-up of the profile of an ashen-faced young man wearing mirrored sunglasses and a black baseball hat.
    “I read the whole article,” Laurel gushed excitedly. “No official comment from the Talbot camp, but Mrs. Talbot came to visit Julian soon after he was admitted. According to this writer, the two have grown close over the last few years.”
    “I can’t believe she’s still married to that cheating scumbag, Dean. I would have hooked his favorite appendage up to a pair of jumper cables by now,” Millay growled. “Must be no prenup.”
    Harris picked up the magazine and flipped through the pages until he found the short article proclaiming Julian Talbot’s humiliation. “He tried to follow in his father’s footsteps, but it looks like he couldn’t handle the pressures of Wall Street. Cocaine addiction, outrageous debt, a few DUIs—this guy’s in trouble.”
    Olivia sighed and Haviland raised his head from where he’d been happily napping behind a blue beanbag. “Millay, did you learn anything significant at work last night?”
    Millay began picking at her cuticles. “Fish Nets was buzzing, that’s for sure. I heard some of the narrow-minded crap I expected. Six or seven of our hillbilly homophobes were saying, ‘Now there’s one less fag in the world,’ but most of the people were rattled.” She kept her eyes fixed on her hands. “It takes a lot to shake these guys. They’ve all stared death in the eye out on the ocean, but this is a death they don’t recognize. This had nothing to do with storms or waves, but a straightedge and a poem. They don’t get it and neither do I!”
    She glanced up at the kites as though wishing she could climb aboard one and float away, her eyes glistening.
    “One of your patrons saw Camden, didn’t they?” Olivia asked softly. Millay’s shoulders stiffened. Olivia leaned forward and hardened her voice. “With whom, Millay?”
    “Look, it might just have been the booze talking,” Millay spoke after a lengthy pause. Seeing that she was backed into a corner, she sighed and went on. “Davie Malone thought he saw Jethro Bragg talking to Camden outside the bar.”
    Laurel squeaked. “Outside? As in ... in the alley?”
    Millay nodded her head miserably. “Yeah. Camden never stepped foot inside Fish Nets. Davie saw Camden and him at the mouth of the alleyway. No one saw Camden after that. But Jethro’s not the killer. Trust me. He’s not the type to take a man down in an alley, let alone spray paint an obscure type of poetry on the wall.”
    “I appreciate your loyalty to your, ah, clients, but Chief Rawlings will need to know this,” Olivia said, holding Millay’s gaze. Why does Jethro Bragg’s name sound familiar? she wondered. She was pretty sure she didn’t know the man. Millay met Olivia’s dark blue stare and shrugged. “I’ll tell the chief, but he won’t be able to do anything about it. Jethro goes away for days at a time to work over the clam beds, and his boat’s gone. His motor boat, that is. He lives on a