A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

his report wouldn’t be admissible in court, it reaffirmed the conclusion I’d already reached. Jethro was not our man, and no matter what anyone believed, we had no solid evidence against him.”
    Olivia raised her eyebrows. “He was merely in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
    “He finally confessed to being drunk and sounding off at Mr. Ford. He doesn’t recall precisely what he said, but Mr. Bragg thought Mr. Ford was in the employ of the Talbots. Judging by his dress, accent, and mannerisms, he assumed Camden was in favor of relocating the graveyard. Before he was deployed to Afghanistan, Jethro was a land surveyor. One of his former coworkers told him about the Talbots’ grand plans for the park, so he’s been stewing over this project for a long time.” Rawlings rubbed at a crease in his uniform pants. “He remembers telling Mr. Ford that all queers should burn in hell, but he never touched him. In fact, Jethro would have been free to leave on Wednesday if he hadn’t spit a mouthful of hot coffee right in the face of Sergeant Barrett.”
    “Did the handwriting analysis provide you with any clues about the real killer?” Olivia asked, her interest quickening.
    After studying her face for several seconds, Rawlings opened his notebook and directed his flashlight beam to the white page. “Based on the space between the lines, the angular nature of some of the letters, the narrowness of other letters, et cetera, the killer is likely a single male. An aloof, independent, self-serving, dissatisfied, and frustrated individual. A man filled with hidden aggression.” He paused, tried to interpret his own scrawl, and then continued. “There seems to be an irregularity between the handwriting and the content of the poem. According to the analysis, the handwriting belongs to someone who knows hard work, even drudgery. A laborer. It doesn’t jibe with the writing of an academic type or the type associated with a poet or an artist.”
    So much for Blake Talbot being the killer , Olivia thought, bewildered. I bet the Talbot kids haven’t done a day’s labor in their lives.
    “I’m not telling you anything you won’t read in the paper. Except for the handwriting analysis. Keep those details to yourself, if you would.” Closing his notebook, Rawlings stood. “I’m sorry to have missed the meeting tonight. Whose work will we be critiquing next week?”
    “My head will be on the chopping block next. I should think the press would have come and gone by then, so hopefully you’ll be able to join us.” Olivia gestured at the shadowed land spread before them. “I wonder who will take over the running of Talbot Fine Properties now that Dean is dead.”
    A voice crackled through the chief’s radio. “They’re ready to move the body now, sir. Over.”
    “Meet you at the entrance, Mullins. Over and out.” Rawlings let his eyes linger on the dark woods beyond the gazebo. “I plan to find an answer to that question,” he replied. “It could be telling or it could be that some elusive board of directors is waiting to take the reins.” He placed a hand on Olivia’s elbow and led her out of the gazebo. “I’m sorry your dinner plans were ruined, even if you were only on a fact-finding mission.”
    Olivia shrugged. “Regardless of what elaborate speeches Dean planned to make tonight, I would have and still plan to vote against the proposal as it stands. I’m opposed to the relocation of the graveyard.” She turned to Rawlings. “Chief, I’m certain the development is the reason behind Camden’s death. He found out something about the Talbots that would put a stop to this project. And someone wants the project to go through at any cost—even murder.”
    Releasing her elbow, the chief gave her a hard stare. “When you have as many millions as Dean Talbot had, you don’t go around hiring killers to ensure your projects are brought to fruition. If Oyster Bay voted no, Talbot would have just moved on to the next town. There are dozens just like ours up and down the coast.”
    Olivia’s ears seemed to filter out the majority of the chief’s argument, focusing only on the phrase “hired killer.” “That would explain the handwriting discrepancy,” she muttered too softly for Rawlings to hear.
    The pair left the gazebo and headed back to the park’s entrance.
    “Thank you for coming with such expediency, Ms. Limoges,” the chief said as they approached the waiting ambulance. The hint of