The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

started it all; the snow scene of the cabin in the woods.
    “I’m glad to see you together tonight,” Olivia said, and surprisingly, she meant it. She pointed at the cabin on the hill. “Maybe you and Steve could find a place like that and hide away for a few days.”
    Laurel nodded. “That’s not a bad idea. One of my friends has a cabin in Boone. I bet she’d let me borrow it for a long weekend.” Her blue eyes grew watery, and she spoke so quietly that Olivia barely heard her. “I wonder what it’s like, to know a love that powerful.”
    Olivia gave her friend’s hand a brief squeeze.
    “During our interview, Wheeler told me about the art lessons he gave Evelyn. They were chaperoned at first, but after a few months, the guards gave them more and more space. It was as if the whole camp wanted to believe that the two of them could make it together, despite the odds.” Laurel dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “Everyone shared in their story, everyone wanted to play a part in the fantasy. I guess a world at war has no magic left.”
    “No. Their world was filled with propaganda and rations and uniformed men at the front door, holding telegrams,” Olivia said softly. “But Heinrich and Evelyn were the antithesis of all that—they were young and full of laughter and as bright as the stars.”
    Catching a tear with the tip of her finger, Laurel sighed. “It was the hardest article I’ve ever had to write. It was nearly impossible to remain objective.”
    “You did an amazing job,” Olivia said. “What did Steve think of the job offers you got from papers in Raleigh and Charlotte?”
    Laurel smiled. “He asked me if I wanted to leave Oyster Bay, especially after all that’s happened to our town, but I told him that I loved every inch of it. Even the ugly parts. We’re not going anywhere.” She winked at Olivia. “In fact, the retired schoolteacher I hired to watch the twins started work this week. The boys are crazy about her.”
    “Who’s crazy?” Harris inquired, joining the women in front of the winter scene.
    Millay materialized seconds later, a vision of jade green silk, and took the arm Harris offered. He looked every inch the southern gentleman in a tux with a white jacket, and Olivia gazed at him fondly. Having been with him when he’d been shot, having pressed her shirt against his wound, she would forever feel protective of Harris Williams.
    “Harris! You could be the next James Bond!” Laurel exclaimed. “Very debonair.”
    Dipping his chin in recognition of the compliment, Harris produced a rose from the inside of his jacket and presented it to Millay. She rolled her eyes and pretended to be embarrassed but accepted the flower. Snapping off the stem, she put the rose behind her ear, a splash of red against the canvas of her black hair. Olivia did not miss the smile in Millay’s eyes as she shot a quick look at Harris.
    The entire party turned their attention back to the Kamler snow scene until Millay crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. “Does anyone want to tell me what happened to Plumley’s sequel?”
    When Olivia didn’t answer, Harris scowled at Millay. “You don’t have to talk about those things tonight, Olivia. We’re here to enjoy the art and some champagne and each other’s company, remember?”
    “It’s all right, Harris. I know that it can be difficult to move forward without having a complete picture.” Olivia waved her friends over to the next painting—a scene of a lone fisherman in a small skiff. Though his line was in the water, the man’s upper body was slightly hunched over, giving the impression that he’d gone to sleep, lulled by the gentle waves and the soft sunlight.
    “This isn’t something you can publish, Laurel,” Olivia began and pointed at the fisherman. “Wheeler gathered all of Nick’s materials—his notebooks, laptop, thumb drives, and so on and stuffed them into a garbage bag. Later, he dumped the whole collection into the ocean.”
    Harris rubbed his chin and stared at Olivia, perplexed. “Come on, Nick must have had backup drives in his Beaufort house.”
    Olivia shook her head. “It’s been searched.”
    “What about a remote storage unit? His laptop was a Mac. He must have had off-site back up!” Harris was growing more and more flustered by what he clearly viewed as carelessness on the writer’s part.
    “All I know is that Plumley’s agent has called Rawlings a dozen times, pleading with him to turn