A Killer Plot (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

regarding the preservation of the graveyard and readily agreed.
    “Talbot Fine Properties shouldn’t raise too much fuss about having to move the putting green. That’s a sound solution you’ve come up with, Ms. Limoges.”
    Roy wiped at his face and Olivia noticed the sweat stains on his T-shirt.
    “Shouldn’t Atlas be giving you a hand? This looks like a major job.” Olivia craned her neck to take in the gutters above the second story.
    “He’s out truck shopping,” Roy replied lightly. “I think he’s about done being the odd-job man around here. Luckily, it’s summer and I can get a few kids to help out. It’s what we’ve always done before.” He grinned. “I’d better get back to this. Annie’s honey-do list is as long as my arm.”
    Olivia smiled sympathetically at him.
    Satisfied by her conversation, Olivia stopped by the Neuse Community Bank next. Her talk with Loan Manager Ed Campbell wasn’t as fruitful, however.
    “A change like that is going to cost Talbot Properties a pretty penny,” Ed explained. “They’ll have to level the ground, run a line to install the irrigation system, add a bunch of French drains to keep the greens dry when there’s too much moisture, et cetera, et cetera.”
    “It’s worth a few extra dollars to keep that cemetery intact,” Olivia argued, but she could see that Ed was unwilling to challenge the Talbots’ proposal by the slightest fraction.
    Knowing Dixie would speak to Grumpy and that Marlene planned to vote against the resolution no matter what adjustments were made, Olivia spent the remainder of the afternoon in her office at The Boot Top reading the online articles about Dean’s death. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised by how quickly information was collected and dispersed via the Internet, but she was. Papers from across the country featured stories of the real estate tycoon’s “tragic death” on their homepages. Links to dozens of photographs showing Dean and the rest of the Talbot clan were prominently featured on Yahoo! and Google.
    As she watched video clips of the Talbots, Olivia paid careful attention to any appearance of Max Warfield in the footage. She then muted her iMac’s volume and studied the facial expressions and body language of anyone who routinely appeared in public with Dean Talbot.
    “No one liked that man,” Olivia informed Haviland as pleasant aromas drifted in from the kitchen. “Look at his kids. They’re all partially turned away from him. None of them will look him in the eye. They probably felt inferior all their lives and their wounded pride and lack of affection eventually turned into anger. The mother is never at any of their public outings. Year after year, she hid at home or was checked into some rehab center, so Dean was the only parent available to receive the full share of his children’s ire.”
    Olivia turned her attention to the articles she’d printed out from the Internet, picking up the top sheet. “Dean’s controlling share of Talbot Fine Properties goes to Blake Talbot,” she reread the sentence she’d highlighted. “I can see why he didn’t pick the older son if he’s got a cocaine problem, but why Blake? The daughter clearly has the business smarts while Blake sings in a rock band. Dean didn’t trust him to manage the band’s money, yet he entrusted him with a multimillion-dollar corporation? It doesn’t make sense.”
    Having exhausted her search on the computer, Olivia walked out to the bar and turned the wall-mounted television to Headline News . As she waited for the top of the hour, in which the show was certain to lead off with a story on Talbot’s death, Olivia read through her notes once more.
    “Blake Talbot had the motive, if not the means to kill his father. He has the necessary skills to write poetry. And he is definitely possessed of a darkness of spirit. Listen to this song lyric, Haviland.”
    Haviland sank to his belly and lowered his head to his paws.
    “Stop that. I’m not going to sing!” Olivia remonstrated. “ ‘I’ll push you into the black water. Fish are gonna swallow your last breath. I’m gonna tear down your towers and rip down your signs. People are gonna remember my name. You shouldn’t have tried to hold me, fool. You shouldn’t have tried to keep me down. Look at me. I ain’t no sheep, man, I am the wolf.’ ”
    Groaning, Haviland rolled onto his side.
    “Well, you have to imagine the verse accompanied by pounding drums, feverish