The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

thought.
    “And there was nothing extraordinary about the Whites or the Carters?” she asked.
    Leona shook her head. “Not on paper. I pulled every bit of microfiche that had any bearing on those families and shared them with Mr. Plumley. Like you, I wondered why he was so interested in these rather unremarkable folks.”
    “If Plumley’s working on a sequel, there might be a connection between someone who lived in the house and the prison camp,” Olivia insisted.
    “That was my theory as well, but those families were made up of fathers who went to the office five days a week, mothers who tended house, and children who did their best in school and stayed out of trouble. They were churchgoers and sailors, gardeners and Masons. They played baseball and went to proms. I don’t see them as book material.”
    Olivia didn’t either, but asked Leona for printouts of the same material Plumley had collected.
    “That’ll be quite a bit of work on my part,” Leona said with a playful wink. “I’m perfectly willing to do it and I understand that you feel protective of your young friend, but I doubt he faces any danger from the house or from Mr. Plumley. He seems like a good man and he is an author.
    High praise from a librarian, Olivia thought and decided she would have to find an alternate means of snooping or run the risk of offending her mother’s friend by confessing that she suspected Plumley’s interest in Harris’s house wasn’t as innocent as it seemed. “You’re right,” she conceded. “I’m sure the real source of my anxiety stems from the fact that Mr. Plumley will be a guest at our book writer’s group next week and my chapter is up for review.”
    “You’re writing a book?” Leona clasped her hands together in delight. “My dear girl, your mother would be so proud!”
    To Olivia’s dismay, a lump formed in her throat and her eyes grew moist. Abruptly, she pushed back her chair, stood, and carried her empty mug to the sink. The librarian’s words had caught her by surprise and moved her deeply, but she didn’t want it to show. Gesturing for Haviland to follow, she moved toward the staff room door. “Thank you for your help.”
    Leona didn’t rise but studied Olivia fondly. “She’s still with you, child. We carry those we love in our hearts. It’s where heaven truly exists.”
    Olivia paused at the threshold. “If you believe in heaven,” she murmured to herself as she walked away.

    Thwarted in her detective work, Olivia turned her attention back to the grand opening of The Bayside Crab House. She arrived at the restaurant in a sour mood that neither the smell of fresh paint nor the sight of the banners announcing opening day could dispel. The visit to the library had raised too many old memories, and Olivia disliked how vulnerable she felt whenever the past collided with the present. Failing to discover what Nick Plumley was after was extremely frustrating, but since April Howard was waiting, eager to show off the restaurant’s interior, Olivia did her best to adopt an amicable expression.
    The Bayside Crab House was a formidable structure. The entrance, with its heavy wood entry doors flanked by rows of porthole windows, faced Water Street. Customers would enter under a cheerful red awning, pass by oversized planters brimming with coleus, red geranium, and marigolds, and finally step up onto a gentle ramp built to feel like a dock. Ship’s anchors partially submerged in a sea of blue gravel surrounded both sides of the makeshift wharf.
    Olivia had decided to maintain the original appearance of the warehouse by keeping the clapboard the same dolphin gray hue. Most of the wall space to the right of the entrance now featured an electrified sign bearing the restaurant’s name and the image of a smiling neon red crab.
    Inside, the tables, chairs, and floor were of pine, but the uniform appearance of yellowish wood complemented the bright, checkered tablecloths, red napkins, and multicolored nautical flags pinned to the walls.
    A large bar area occupied the length of the left-hand wall and featured five television screens and a small stage where local musicians would perform on weekend nights. Nautical pennants dangled a few feet above a mirror reflecting an impressive pyramid of liquor bottles. Old barrels, sawed in half and turned on their sides, served as storage vessels for the restaurant’s wine selection.
    “It’s perfect,” Olivia told April, allowing a sigh of