The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

not too well, and talk well but not too wisely.
    —WILLIAM SOMERSET MAUGHAM

    T he following Monday Olivia began her search into the history of Harris’s house at the offices of the Oyster Bay Gazette. She could have just asked Laurel to look into the matter, as her friend wrote for the paper, but Laurel had enough to juggle as it was.
    The receptionist at the Gazette listened politely to Olivia’s request to root through the paper’s archives but was quick to offer her an alternative to spending hours going through decades’ worth of dusty tomes. “You should just talk to Mrs. Fairchild over at the library. She’s lived here forever and has a larger memory capacity than my computer. If your research has anything to do with this town or its residents, she’s the person to see.” She shook her head. “Wow, I’m having a major case of déjà vu. I made the same suggestion to that good-looking author, Nick Plumley, last month.”
    Olivia did her best to appear disinterested in this bit of gossip. Thanking the woman, she got back in the Range Rover and drove to the public library. She didn’t park in the lot, opting for a space in front of the historical society instead.
    She opened Haviland’s door, and the pair strolled along the sidewalk. Olivia slowed to a halt as they arrived at the tree-lined parking lot.
    “I haven’t been inside that building since I was six years old,” she told Haviland. “Nearly seven. I’d just finished reading Misty of Chincoteague , and the librarian, her name was Miss Leona, gave me a horse sticker as a prize.” Olivia smiled at the memory. “I didn’t need any incentive, of course. Even then, I knew the stories were their own reward, but Miss Leona used to put all my favorites on hold. She made me the prettiest bookmarks out of felt. I cherished every one.”
    Haviland veered off to the left, his attention diverted by a squirrel chattering in one of the high branches of an oak tree. Olivia followed the poodle’s gaze, her eyes traveling over the sun-dappled foliage and the aged bark, and then she reached out and touched the trunk.
    It was here, a few feet away, that Olivia’s mother had died. She’d worked as a librarian in the building at the end of the lot. There were three full-time librarians back then. Miss Leona, Mrs. Dubney, and Olivia’s mother. The women were a tight-knit group. Olivia knew this from the tenderness that would enter her mother’s voice whenever she spoke of her coworkers. At a time when most careers were dominated by males, this triumvirate of women ruled the Oyster Bay library with wisdom and kindness.
    They also looked after one another outside of work. When Miss Leona was diagnosed with breast cancer, the other women covered her shifts and cooked her meals. When Mrs. Dubney’s husband died, they offered her food and company. Olivia remembered tagging along to the older woman’s house weekend after weekend.
    She’d weed the vegetable garden or sweep the front path while her mother whispered words of comfort. Mrs. Dubney would take out photo albums or sit on the porch swing and tell rose-colored stories about her husband. Her entire body would shake with sobs, and the tears would stream down her cheeks until there were no more left. Olivia’s mother would hold her friend’s hand and listen, long after the stories began to repeat and the widow was able to smile during her reminiscences.
    Eventually, the weekend visits to Mrs. Dubney became less frequent, yet there was always another townsperson who required compassion or cookies or a ride to work, and Olivia’s mother never failed a neighbor in need. Olivia did not resent the time or affection bestowed on these people because her mother always set out on each visit by saying, “They’re not lucky like I am, Livie. From the moment you were born and I held you in my arms, I knew I could never be unhappy again.”
    Naturally, Olivia’s doting mother wanted her only child’s seventh birthday to be truly memorable and refused to allow the onset of a category two hurricane to stop her from picking up Olivia’s special gift. The big surprise, a Labrador puppy who’d been dropped off at the library by the breeder, was being cared for by Miss Leona until Olivia’s mother could collect the dog from the library staff room.
    Because Olivia’s mother had been preoccupied decorating the house and baking her daughter a butterscotch cake, it was evening by the time she left the lighthouse