A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

tropical storms are commonplace.” She smiled wanly. “They’re like unwelcome relatives. Sometimes, we don’t give the weather the respect it deserves. This hurricane was only a category two by the time it reached Oyster Bay, and us locals can get pretty cocky about anything under a category three.”
    “Not me .” Cosmo paled. “Give me a nice earth tremor anytime!”
    “My father understood storms,” Olivia continued as though Cosmo hadn’t spoken. “He tried to stop her. It was the biggest fight they’d ever had! My mother usually listened to him, but she wouldn’t back down this time. The last image I have is of her blowing me a kiss as she ran out to the car.”
    Cosmo’s eyes were glistening. “What was the gift? The one she drove through a hurricane to bring you?”
    Olivia glanced at Haviland’s image in the rearview mirror. His eyes had been closed, but even in sleep he seemed to sense her need. He lifted his head and met her gaze, as though saying, “I’m right here.”
    “It was a puppy,” Olivia answered. “And before you ask, he was on the front seat of my mother’s car when the pole fell. He lived, but I wasn’t allowed to keep him.”
    “Why not?” Cosmo was shocked.
    “Because he survived,” Olivia whispered.
    A silence descended and the passengers listened to the sound of road passing beneath the tires. After a few miles, Olivia said, “I have Haviland now. The finest dog ever born. Not only that, but I believe Michel has packed us another bountiful lunch. Would you mind reaching for the picnic basket? It’s behind my seat.”
    Cosmo graciously accepted the change of subject. “I’ll tell you one thing, my dear. If you ever want to open a restaurant in LA, I’ll be your first investor. That shrimp prosciutto risotto Michel made the other night will live on in my dreams.”
    “We aim to please,” Olivia replied, pleased by the compliment.
    For the rest of the ride, Olivia questioned Cosmo about his decorating ideas for his new client. As he talked, Cosmo distributed the courses of their delectable lunch. The Rover’s occupants dined on curry glazed duck legs, vegetable tortillas, succulent peaches, and truffles until they were satiated.
    At the airport, Cosmo insisted Olivia drop him curbside.
    “I’d make a scene otherwise,” he told her. The pair embraced next to the Rover.
    On the return drive, Olivia thought about what Cosmo’s life would be like during the next few months. She visualized his first days alone. He’d take a cab from the airport and, after a stiff drink or two, fall asleep, too tired for the tears he’d expected to shed. The following morning he wouldn’t want to get out of bed. He’d linger there, replaying memories in his mind. But after a few hours he’d grow bored or hungry or be forced by other physical needs to rise.
    Later, he’d open the fridge and smell the milk. It would be sour. The fruit would be spoiled and the cheese tinged with green. Not really hungry, he’d end up making toast with butter and jam just to see what food tasted like. He’d try to concentrate on at least one article in the paper, but reading would be an exercise in futility. He’d throw out the rotten food and take the trash to the street. Eventually, perhaps not until nighttime, he’d go out to the grocery store and empty the mailbox.
    The next day he might have cereal because there was milk now. He might eat a banana. The small victory of having replaced the ruined food would be enough to encourage him to shower and, perhaps, to water the plants.
    Cosmo would drink too much and talk aloud to Camden for hours on end. When Camden wouldn’t answer, Cosmo would rage and then, his anger spent, he would weep. But each day he’d wake up and eat something. He’d get dressed. He’d drink orange juice without the vodka. One day, he’d finally venture out to his local Starbucks, the dry cleaners, and the outdoor market. He’d open a few letters and return a few calls. He would begin to live again.
    “Cosmo will be fine,” Olivia told Haviland. “Give him a year and he’ll be on the cover of every interior design magazine on the rack.”
    Haviland looked out the window and whined.
    “I’ll miss him too. And Camden. There’s no one like them in Oyster Bay,” she said as she approached the town limit sign. She glanced at the billboard featuring the Ocean Vista Condos and muttered, “Oyster Bay’s changing, Captain. Who knows what our little