The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

answer, of course. Olivia and Rawlings stood side by side for a long moment, and then he gave his gun belt a tug and gestured at the front door.
    “I’d prefer your exit be less dramatic than your entrance,” he said with the ghost of a smile. “You made the right choice, Olivia, in coming to Mr. Plumley’s aid, but his killer could have still been inside. I wish you’d learn to curb your impetuousness.”
    Olivia waved off his concern. “Haviland would have rescued me from harm, even if it meant shredding his paws on broken glass. I have complete faith in him.” She touched the chief’s shoulder before stepping outside. “And in you too.”
    Pleasure flitted across the chief’s face, but he quickly hid it by sliding on a pair of mirrored sunglasses. The pair stepped outside, and Rawlings raised a hand at the officer waiting in the police cruiser. He then asked Olivia if she’d like a ride.
    “No, thanks. I’ll provide an official statement when I come into town. I need to get to the hospital by eleven to give Hudson the key card for the hotel in Greenville.”
    “You’re the only person in Oyster Bay who dictates when they’ll show up at the station.” Rawlings shook his head in mild exasperation. “Still, I know you’ll fit us into your schedule. And, Olivia, I might call on you to help dig up information on the previous inhabitants of Harris’s house.” His sunglasses glinted in the light. “I want to know what connection, if any, they had to that painting and, possibly, to Mr. Plumley.”
    While Rawlings had been speaking, the other officer had eased out of the car, leaving the driver’s door open and the engine running. Obviously, it was now his task to watch over the house until it could be properly sealed, but he kept his distance until Rawlings made it clear that he was ready to leave both the crime scene and Olivia behind.
    “I’d be glad to help, Chief,” Olivia replied, pleased that he’d asked. She kicked at some loose gravel, reluctant to part from Rawlings.
    At that moment, Haviland ambled around the house from his napping place under the chaise lounge. He glanced at the chief and yawned widely, his white teeth gleaming in the midmorning sun.
    Rawlings gave the poodle an affectionate pat on the flank.
    “Keep her safe, Captain,” he murmured just loud enough for Olivia to hear. And with a professional nod in her direction, he climbed into the car.
    Olivia watched the sedan reverse down the driveway in a cloud of sand-infused dust, gave a friendly but fatigued wave to the officer left in charge of the house, and climbed over the dunes toward home.

    Standing in her kitchen, Olivia surveyed the three objects on her kitchen table. Her fingers moved past the canvas tote bag containing Harris’s painting and the hotel key card she needed to deliver to Hudson within the hour, to a tumbler filled with two ice cubes and an inch of Chivas Regal. She preferred to consume the twenty-five-year-old blend of Scotch whiskies before dinner, but her thoughts were too fractured, too frenzied for her to continue on with the day’s plans. Downing the contents of the glass in one gulp, she felt a rush of steadying warmth flow through her.
    “That’s better,” she told Haviland, who was busy consuming his second breakfast.
    She refilled the tumbler with tap water and drank it with more deliberation. Her hands stopped trembling and the tumultuous images swirling in her mind separated into cohesive, orderly thoughts.
    Rawlings needed her help. She’d be no good to him if she couldn’t find the time to research the families who’d lived in Harris’s house.
    Decisively, Olivia grabbed her car keys and the other items off the table and drove to the hospital. She told Haviland his wait would be brief and called Hudson from the lobby. Olivia wasn’t ready to see Kim today. She just did not possess the strength or the proper words to comfort a woman separated from her newborn son.
    Hudson was as taciturn as always. He took the key from Olivia with mumbled thanks and then told her he was sorry to be missing the staff meeting at The Bayside Crab House.
    “You don’t need to be there. You’ve got everyone trained perfectly and this isn’t my first rodeo, Olivia assured him. After all, she was well accustomed to giving orders to the staff and supervising their practice runs. For the soft opening tonight, a motley assembly of diners had been hand-selected to test the wait and kitchen staff.