Poisoned Prose (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

from wherever she was going. But she never came back.” He relaxed his hands and laced his fingers together. “I tried to find her. For two years, I thought about nothing but her, but then the company offered me a promotion and I decided to get on with my life. I moved to Raleigh and did my best to forget her.”
    “And did you two ever meet again? Before this retreat?”
    He nodded. “I went to one of her performances shortly before moving to Oyster Bay. When she came onstage, it was like I’d been sleeping for years and had been waiting for the sight of her face, the sound of her voice, to bring me out of my trance. I hung around until the end of the show and then followed her out to her car. She looked at me as if I were a stranger. She told me that I was part of her old life—that
that
Violetta Devereux was dead. She wore lots of makeup and was dressed like you saw her Saturday night, but I only saw the young woman I fell in love with. I knew then that I’d never stopped loving her. Never would.”
    Olivia considered her feelings for Rawlings. He was the only man she’d ever known who was just the right fit for her. With him, she could let down her guard. She trusted him with her heart, and in return, he treated it with the utmost tenderness. She’d found love in her middle age. Flynn had found his as a very young man. Olivia knew that love didn’t abide by anyone’s rules. It came along unexpectedly, tiptoeing like a thief, and changed everything. It was obvious that Flynn had been terribly wounded by love. The question was, had his feelings for Violetta turned black and bitter? Had he sought vengeance against the woman who’d run off with his money and his hopes for happiness?
    “Were you the man in Violetta’s hotel room Thursday night?”
    A noise rose from deep in Flynn’s chest, somewhere between a growl and a moan. It took Olivia a moment to recognize that the sound was the word “no.”
    “Flynn, if you know who wanted Violetta dead or sought the Devereaux treasure, you should tell me. Don’t you want to see her killer brought to justice?”
    Flynn stared out into the night. “What if it was me? What if I couldn’t stand to be ignored? Why do you think I set up this whole retreat? I wanted her to come to Oyster Bay, to come to me. I called Lowell and arranged everything. She came to perform, to receive the adulation she craved, but did I get what I wanted? No. In the end, she turned me away. She turned me away. Again.”
    Olivia remembered what Leona had said about Flynn the night Violetta was murdered—how he’d gone into the restroom looking distressed. And that his tie was loose and askew. Was he in turmoil because he’d just killed the only woman he’d ever loved?
    Before she could ask him anything else, Flynn got to his feet. “Believe what you want about me,” he said wearily. “It doesn’t matter now.”
    Flynn stepped around Haviland, who watched him with wary eyes until he was halfway between Olivia and his car. The poodle edged closer to Olivia, his ears raised and his body alert and ready for action.
    “You shouldn’t drive!” Olivia called when Flynn opened his car door. Ignoring her, he slid behind the wheel, turned on the ignition, and backed slowly down the driveway.
    She waited until the beam of his headlights had been swallowed by the darkness before going inside.
    • • •
    Rawlings found her on the deck an hour later. She was wearing a white cotton nightgown and sipping very slowly from a glass of sparkling wine.
    Pulling a chair closer to hers, he sank into it and took her hand. “Hi.”
    Olivia turned and gave him a tired smile. His hand felt good in hers. Warm and strong and solid. “Flynn was here a little while ago. I don’t know if he was confessing to murder or to something else entirely.”
    Rawlings went rigid. “And you let him in? Seriously, Olivia. This is yet another reason for us to live together. Dangerous men wouldn’t show up at your door if they knew it was my door too.”
    “I didn’t ask him in for tea and crumpets,” Olivia snapped. “He was sitting on my steps when I got back from the restaurant, and I maintained a safe distance the whole time. Besides, Haviland was here.”
    Rawlings released an exasperated sigh. “Haviland can’t protect you from everything.”
    “Neither can you,” Olivia said. “And I’m not looking for a protector. Never was.”
    They both fell silent. Olivia tried to quell her frustration and