The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

and a surprise call from Nick Plumley. Apparently, he was still renting the house down the beach from hers and said to stop by anytime she wanted.
    Olivia copied down his number from her caller ID and then dialed.
    When Plumley answered, she immediately apologized for phoning so early in the day. “It’s just that I have a historical object here that you might be interested in seeing,” she explained.
    “Don’t tease me,” he complained good-naturedly. “I haven’t even had my coffee yet.”
    Olivia hesitated. She wanted to see Nick’s face when he first looked at the painting, but something prompted her to show more of her hand right now. “Harris found a watercolor hidden inside one of his stair treads. Turns out, the artist was Heinrich Kamler. Does that name ring a bell?”
    She heard a sharp intake of breath over the line. The name definitely meant something to Plumley. “Is there a connection between this artist and your sequel? Didn’t you already write about how he murdered a prison guard in order to make his escape?”
    There was a long moment of silence. “May I see the painting today? How about now?” The eagerness in Plumley’s voice was transparent.
    “Sure,” Olivia replied brightly. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, but I expect an answer to my question first.”
    “Kamler’s story might not be finished,” Nick murmured cryptically, and Olivia could sense that a measure of anxiety, perhaps even a little desperation, tinged the writer’s mumbled words. Soon, she would discover why Heinrich Kamler was so important to him. Was it possible Kamler was still alive?
    Olivia glanced at the canvas tote containing Harris’s painting. “Walk time, Captain,” she told Haviland and jogged upstairs to put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.
    Outside, the air bore all the signs of summer. The edge of crispness lent to the breeze by spring had been replaced by the heavy breath of humidity. Memorial weekend was supposed to be hot and sunny, and Olivia predicted that both of her eateries would be packed with tourists.
    She gazed out at the sparkling ocean as she walked, feeling incredibly distanced from yesterday’s highways and hospital rooms. Haviland splashed about in the surf, eagerly searching for gulls or crabs to chase, but the beach was quiet, as though its creatures still slumbered in their burrows of damp sand.
    Reluctant to disturb the serenity, Olivia took out her cell phone and dialed Harris’s number. When he picked up, he shouted a hello over the throb of hip-hop music. “I’m heading to work!” Abruptly, the music stopped. “Sorry, this is how I get fired up for the day. A cup of joe and some P. Diddy.”
    Having no idea who P. Diddy was, Olivia repeated what she’d learned during her visit with Shala Knowles.
    “Holy crap!” Harris exclaimed. “Good thing I’m at a red light or I might have just driven into the ditch! That little winter scene could be worth twenty grand?”
    “Yes. In fact, I believe the curator was being cautious in her estimation. She indicated that if the painting were sold at auction, it could bring even more.” Olivia grinned, imagining her friend digesting this bit of happy news. “What are you going to do?”
    Harris exhaled loudly. “Dunno. I wouldn’t even know which auction company to take it to.”
    “The curator gave me a name. Before you sell the painting, however, she and her colleagues would like to examine it further. They’re also willing to give you a document stating that they believe the artist is Heinrich Kamler.”
    “Sweet!” Harris declared. “I’ve got to tell Nick about this! He probably knows all about this guy after researching him for The Barbed Wire Flower .”
    Olivia’s mouth curled into a wry smile. “I’m headed to his place as we speak. I didn’t think you’d mind if I let him have a look at your soon-to-be-famous painting.”
    “Not at all,” Harris stated with his customary affability.
    Leaving her friend to his rosy visions of newfound wealth, Olivia pocketed her phone and picked up a stick. She hurled it into the water and watched Haviland lunge into the waves in pursuit.
    As she paused to wait for the poodle, a memory of her return home after her father’s death crept into her head. Once her father was gone, Olivia had fled Okracoke Island immediately. She’d called Rawlings and asked him to meet her on the beach in front of the lighthouse. Without requiring her to explain where she’d