Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

told him what Leona had seen. “I’ll be there in forty minutes,” he said, which meant he was leaving immediately. Oyster Bay wasn’t large enough to support a hospital, so the residents traveled to New Bern for their major medical needs.
    Olivia used the time to take Haviland to a pet boutique on Middle Street. She bought her poodle a generous amount of Sam’s Yams, a package of Buddy Biscuits, and for waiting patiently in the car while she visited Leona, he was also treated to a granola “Pupcake.”
    After a brief walk, Olivia returned to the hospital parking lot. Haviland had exercised and snacked, and Olivia hoped he’d take a nap while she was with Leona and the chief. She sat right next to Leona’s bed while the librarian gave her statement to Rawlings. He stood near the window and listened without interrupting. When Leona was done, he asked her a few questions and then told her he’d like to have an officer type up her statement when she was feeling better.
    “I know that was difficult for you and that you and Mr. McNulty are friendly,” Rawlings said, gazing at Leona kindly. “Thank you for speaking with me, especially in your current condition.”
    “With this new stent, my condition’s just fine,” she said, brushing the notion aside. “Though I confess that I’m very tired now that I’ve unburdened myself to you.”
    Rawlings got to his feet. “That happens. But you’ve done the right thing, so rest now because I hope to see you back at the library soon. You’re one of Oyster Bay’s institutions. We couldn’t do without you.”
    “Nonsense,” Leona protested but looked pleased all the same. She waved them both out of her room, and Olivia promised to call the next morning.
    Rawlings walked Olivia to her car.
    “Do you think Flynn is capable of murder?” she asked, opening her door and peering in to check on Haviland.
    Rawlings leaned on the doorframe and studied her. “You’re more qualified to answer that question than I am,” he said. “I don’t know the man, and one of my officers took his statement on Saturday.”
    “Apparently, I don’t know him either,” she said, feeling suddenly defensive. “What we had—we didn’t peer below the surface, okay? What about your research into his background?”
    “So far, we’ve made two relevant discoveries. The first is this: in his midtwenties, Mr. McNulty worked for Dexter Pharmaceuticals in Banner Elk, a town less than an hour from the Devereuxes’ home. Five years later, he was promoted to a sales position at Dexter’s headquarters in Research Triangle Park. He worked there until an elderly aunt died, leaving him the majority of her money. Retiring from Dexter at the ripe age of forty-five, McNulty used his savings and the boon from his aunt to buy Through the Wardrobe and his house in Oyster Bay. His financials indicate that the shop is operating in the red. He’s in danger of losing it if he doesn’t make a significant payment to the bank soon.”
    Olivia winced at the unwelcome news. Suddenly, there was too much of that. Too much negativity and doubt. She didn’t want the bookstore to be in trouble. She didn’t want her former lover to be a killer. She didn’t want Rawlings to call Flynn “Mr. McNulty.” He only used surnames when referring to suspects. Normally, she admired the way he treated everyone with equal respect, but right now the formality angered her. “So that’s his motive, I suppose. The sinking ship that is our town’s only bookstore.”
    “Nothing’s clear at this point,” Rawlings said gently. “If Violetta had been in possession of something truly valuable, then yes, perhaps we’d have a motive. But at this point, the theory that she owned some sort of priceless treasure is nothing more than that. A theory. A story.”
    Olivia felt herself growing more incensed. “If she wasn’t killed over the treasure, then what? She was a storyteller, for Christ’s sake. An entertainer from the sticks.”
    “She was also very beautiful,” Rawlings reminded her.
    “Yes,” Olivia agreed after she took a moment to calm down. “Enchantingly so.” She stared at Rawlings, willing her anger to abate. “Did Violetta sell plants to Dexter Pharmaceuticals? Did Mabel? Has Flynn known them all along?”
    Rawlings shook his head. “I don’t know yet. Two of my officers are with Amabel now. They have orders to—” He was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. He answered it, and Olivia