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A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

Titel: A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery) Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Ellery Adams
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She waited while Laurel complied. “I’m going to push the boys under the pharmacy’s awning.”
    Mutely, Laurel allowed Olivia to claim her position behind the stroller. Olivia gave the vehicle a light shove.
    “The brakes are on,” Laurel whispered and stepped on a lever with her heel.
    Olivia maneuvered the sleeping children farther up the block and then insisted Laurel sit down on one of pharmacy’s wide steps. Laurel drank down half of the water, then passed the glass back to Olivia. Her hands were trembling.
    “Take your time.” Olivia pivoted the twins out of the sun and sat down next to Laurel, keeping a firm hold on the stroller’s oversized front wheel. “You ran past the bulletin board outside the town hall and saw what?”
    Laurel nodded. “I don’t usually stop to read the notices, but I got a cramp as we were going by. There was a bright red piece of paper tacked up there. I needed to catch my breath, so I started to read it.” She wiped her perspiring forehead with the bottom of her pink Adidas shirt. “It’s another poem, Olivia. I couldn’t even tell you what it said, but I know it meant something bad. It . . . the words turned my blood cold.”
    Olivia was dumbstruck for a moment. “Another haiku?”
    Laurel glanced at her sleeping children. “I didn’t count the syllables, but it was three lines long. It sounded a lot like the other one. Like the same person had written both poems. Olivia, it felt . . . evil.”
    “Was it handwritten?”
    “No. It was typed.” Laurel pushed a damp lock of hair off her forehead. “Would you call the police? I really need to go home and sit down.”
    “Let me give you a lift” Olivia felt acutely protective toward the younger woman. “You’ve had a shock. I’m worried about you walking home.”
    “I doubt there’s a pair of car seats in that Range Rover of yours,” Laurel replied with a weak smile. “I’ll be okay now that I’ve told you. I know you’ll handle this better than I ever could. Will you call me after you’re done with the chief?”
    “Of course.” Olivia waited for Laurel to rise to her feet and begin walking the stroller at a slow, controlled pace before hustling to her car. She dialed the chief’s number as she headed for the town hall, irritated by the clot of traffic caused by vacationers in search of parking spaces and journalists on the lookout for photo ops. Rawlings didn’t pick up his cell phone so Olivia left him a brief message.
    Several minutes later, she drove the Rover into the crowded town hall lot and selected a spot reserved for jurors only. She stuffed her phone back in her purse and pumped her long legs double-time until she reached the bulletin board. There was the poem, just as Laurel had described.
    Olivia read it once, and then twice, before copying the lines down into the notebook she always kept in her bag.
    She then read them aloud to see how the words, once spoken, grew in power:
    Cherry branches bow—
Petals pushed into the wind
Pale as a new moon.
     
    From the bottom of her purse, her phone chirped. Olivia glanced at the number. “Chief? I know you’ve probably got your hands full answering questions for the media, but you need to take a quick walk down the block. I’m standing at the bulletin board in front of the town hall and there’s something posted here you must read immediately.”
    “What is it? I can’t leave the station whenever the fancy strikes me,” Rawlings replied impatiently as phones rang noisily in the background.
    “It’s a poem, just like the one written above Camden’s body. It may also be a clue that Dean Talbot’s death was no accident,” she whispered urgently. “You might want to bring an evidence bag with you. I’ll stand guard until you get here.”
    She could hear the creak of the chief’s chair. “Give me five minutes.”
    Before he could hang up, Olivia felt compelled to give him what was probably an unnecessary piece of advice. “And you don’t want the press following you here. Trust me. If you have a back door, then use it.”
     
     
    Olivia waited on a nearby bench as Rawlings read the haiku. He then directed an officer to dust the entire metal case for prints before opening the lid to remove the sheet of red paper with a pair of tweezers.
    “The font makes it look almost like real handwriting,” Officer Cook remarked as he examined the bag. “This guy knows enough about computers to use a special font.”
    Another policeman

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