The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

communication via e-mail. If so, it’d be another reason for the killer to steal Nick’s laptop.” He began to build a tower of Genoa salami, pepperoni, Soppressata, and provolone. “What about his place in Beaufort? Any computers there?”
    Rawlings, who was about to take a sip of light beer, froze, and then lowered the bottle like an automaton, his eyes never leaving Harris’s face. “How did you know about Mr. Plumley’s permanent residence?”
    Instead of answering, Harris pivoted his laptop screen so the chief could read the results of his research. “As you can see, I hit a wall. Prepublication, the man’s a ghost. I figured Plumley was a pen name, but couldn’t find his real one no matter where I looked.”
    “It’s Ziegler. Nick Ziegler.”
    With a grin, Harris saluted Rawlings with his massive sandwich. “Point scored by the blue team.”
    Millay leaned forward eagerly. “So what’s shady in Ziegler’s past? Drug deals? Child porn? A penchant for farm animals?”
    Rawlings raised a brow at the last phrase. “The fact of greatest interest was that he was married. His ex-wife, Cora, is sitting in our interview room as we speak.”
    “Is she a suspect?” Olivia asked.
    “Mrs. Ziegler, excuse me, she’s Mrs. Vickers now, is the sole beneficiary of Mr. Plumley’s life insurance policy. We don’t have a full picture of the victim’s finan-cials, but there was an insurance card in his wallet. We spoke to his agent, who put us onto the ex-wife.” Finished with his sandwich, Rawlings wiped his hands on a paper napkin and then began to steadily wind it around the first two fingers of his left hand. “If she hadn’t been vacationing at Emerald Isle with her new husband at the time of the murder, she wouldn’t have raised my suspicions.”
    Laurel motioned for Millay to pass her the wine. Olivia observed her friend pour herself another generous glass. It was unlike Laurel to consume more than one serving per evening, but tonight, she was drinking zinfandel like a marathon runner chugging water at the end of a race. Millay shot Olivia a concerned glance and, in an exchange of unspoken agreement, Olivia began to fix Laurel a plate of food.
    “Two husbands, huh?” Laurel snorted ruefully. “When did she and Plumley or Ziegfried or whoever he was break up? And did she wait until he was rich and famous to dump him so she could live happily ever after with another man?”
    Rawlings stared at her in bewilderment for a moment before answering. “According to Mrs. Vickers, she and her former husband had an amicable parting years before his novel was published. During most of their three-year marriage, Mr. Plumley had worked as a freelance journalist and photographer. He traveled often, leaving Cora alone and unhappy. One day, he returned from an assignment and she told him that their marriage was over. He took the news well, they divided their things, and Cora moved to the western part of the state. She’s been living there ever since.”
    “Yet she brought her new husband to Emerald Isle? That’s right near Beaufort. Why would she vacation so close to where she and her ex lived?” Harris inquired before attacking his sandwich again.
    “Cora and Boyd were married the day before Mr. Plumley was murdered. We’ve confirmed the details with both the officiant and their sole witness. The Vickers claim to have come to the coast because they wanted a beach wedding and both swore in separate interviews that they spent most of the hours following their nuptials inside a rental cottage. Celebrating.” Rawlings sighed and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “The reason Mr. and Mrs. Vickers have been questioned for the past four hours is that Emerald Isle is an easy drive from here and the Vickers are broke. And in my experience, very few divorces are truly amicable.”
    Millay held up an index finger. “Motive.” She then raised her thumb. “Opportunity.” She fired her air gun while whistling the first three notes of Beethoven’s Fifth.
    “It’s not that simple, I’m afraid.” Rawlings glanced at his watch. “Without any tangible evidence, we’re going to have to let the couple go.” He stood up and carried his plate to the sink. “This is where I could use some unofficial help.”
    Olivia grinned. “We thought you’d never ask.”
    “The two of them are hiding something. I don’t know what it is, and my hands are tied. I’ve questioned them, they’ve been relatively