The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

punched me all over again.” He put his glass down, hard, and strung his fingers together. “The next mornin’, I grabbed Plumley’s favorite bagel and drove over to the big house he was rentin’ near yours.” He frowned. “I never thought you’d find him,’Livia. If there’s somethin’ I really regret, that’s it.”
    Olivia touched him on the arm. “Go on.”
    Wheeler nodded. “He was in his robe with a cup of coffee in his hand when I rang the bell. He was surprised to see me, but he asked me in. I sat across from him at the table and told him my real name. I told him how Evelyn White had been the shinin’ star, the brightest memory of my life and how a day didn’t go by that I didn’t think of her.”
    “Wow.”
    “I asked him if what that Cora woman said was true. For a second he thought about lyin’, but he knew I’d already seen the answer in his eyes.”
    It was impossible for Olivia to imagine how Nick’s confession had impacted Wheeler, and she listened in astonishment as her old friend continued to talk about the moments leading up to Nick Plumley’s death.
    “He told me how she’d read his book and nearly lost her mind. She was that upset. He promised that he’d just wanted to get her to hush up, and that before he even knew it, he’d killed her.” Wheeler’s hands curled into fists. “He acted sorry while I was starin’ him down, but then he managed to finish most of his breakfast. What kind of man can do that?”
    Turning her gaze to the horizon, where smudges of gray clouds hung low in the sky, Olivia thought about Wheeler’s question. “A man who could no longer separate fact from fiction. I think Plumley had come to believe his own version of the truth. It allowed him to survive, to act normal.”
    Wheeler didn’t acknowledge Olivia’s reply. “Seein’ him eat with the same hands he’d used to snuff the life outta my Evie . . . I felt myself growin’ cold all over, deep into my bones. Every part of me was cold. I thought I’d surely see my own breath . . . I had the gloves I use for handlin’ food in my pocket and I put them on. Then I unrolled a painting I’d done when I was in prison. It was nothin’ special. Just a bunch of guys smokin’ and play-in’ cards, but I told Plumley he needed to wear gloves if he wanted to touch it.”
    “And he put them on?”
    Wheeler said nothing. The answer was obvious. “Then I walked behind him while he was porin’ over the painting, slid the belt off his robe, and paid him in kind for what he’d done to my sweet, darlin’ girl.”
    After a moment, he placed his hands on his chest. “I know I don’t look strong, but I’ve worked every day of my life. It was over quick enough, but it felt like I was watchin’ myself from far away. I barely remember doin’ it. Then I saw the book . . .”
    “You stopped to read the scene in The Barbed Wire Flower , the one that had upset Evelyn so much, the one depicting you as the villain,” Olivia finished for him. When he still didn’t say anything, she said, “It brought back all you’d lost.”
    But Wheeler had retreated somewhere within himself, and Olivia didn’t try to draw him out. Her time was almost up and she wanted to say something comforting and poignant before Rawlings arrived, but when she most wanted to have the right words at her power, they zipped off like dragonflies.
    “Evelyn always believed in your innocence,” she spoke into the silence. “I visited her old friend Mabel in a nursing home. She told us that Evie never doubted you.”
    A light surfaced in Wheeler’s eyes. “We showed her the painting Evelyn hid inside her house,” Olivia continued. “Do you remember it?”
    Wheeler smiled. “It was her favorite. She’d never seen snow, so I made her snow. She wanted me to paint a place in the woods, a place we’d build someday up in the mountains. Every time we had an art lesson, she’d ask me what a snowflake felt like. If they were really as different as stars. I promised her a million snowfalls as soon as the war was over.” He sighed heavily, decades of sorrow in his breath.
    “It’s a beautiful piece,” Olivia said softly. “People all over the country admire your work. Your paintings are worth tens of thousands of dollars.”
    At this, Wheeler released a dry laugh. “There’s a sucker born every minute. I’ve got a pile of them in the bedroom. Besides fishing, it’s how I pass the time. You can have the lot, ’Livia. I