The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

of her shoulders. Whatever she said had no effect on Boyd or Harris, but Cora’s reaction was dramatic. Olivia saw the new bride’s stricken face in the mirror and watched as she jumped down from the barstool and lurched through the doors leading outside, Boyd staring after her, his mouth ajar in astonishment. After a pause, he took off in pursuit of his wife.
    Olivia waved Harris over. “What happened?”
    “Millay made some glib remark about them not having a kid at home to worry about, what with the day they’ve had. Cora’s eyes filled with tears and she tore out of here.”
    Perplexed, Olivia pressed a wad of bills in Harris’s hand. “Drive them to a hotel, would you? They’re both blind drunk and I’m responsible for their state of inebriation. Tell them you picked up their dinner tab too. Let them think you’re some rich dot-com guy.”
    With a nod to Olivia and a salute for Millay, Harris dashed outside.
    Millay cleared the Vickers’ plates and glasses and then sank down in the chair opposite Olivia. “I didn’t touch a nerve until I mentioned kids. We talked about the cops, Nick, money, divorce, sex, and God knows what else and didn’t get so much as a facial tic. Drop the word ‘kid’ and Cora looks like she’s been kicked in the gut.”
    “Well played,” Olivia told the bartender. “So Cora has something to hide and it has to do with a child.” She took a final sip of her wine and stood up, lost in thought. “The question is, what about a child? Did she want a baby? Did she lose a baby? Or did something tragic happen to her child? And if she had one, who’s the father?”
    Millay fell into step with her as Olivia walked to the office to wake Haviland. “Not Boyd. He doesn’t know a damn thing about it.”
    Olivia paused, an image of Laurel hesitating before entering her own house appearing in her mind’s eye. “Married people have secrets too. If Boyd wasn’t aware of that before, he is now. Poor fool.”

Chapter 10
    I have lived long enough. My way of life is fall’n into the sere, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends I must not look to have.
    —WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

    C hief Rawlings showed up at Bagels ’n’ Beans wearing a particularly unattractive Hawaiian shirt. Olivia took one look at the yellow and green pineapple print and grimaced. “I take it you’re off duty?”
    He placed a basket containing a toasted asiago bagel smeared with a generous layer of cream cheese on the table and sank into his chair with a sigh. “For the moment. I’m never really off the clock during an investigation as serious as this. I expect the media to descend on Oyster Bay today.” He glanced around the café, quickly assessing whether potential gossipmon-gers were close enough to overhear their conversation, but most of the eatery’s patrons were tourists. His hazel eyes softening, he focused his gaze on Olivia’s face. “How’d it go last night?”
    Olivia proudly recapped Millay’s brilliant performance. “The lovebirds are going to have a hell of a hangover this morning,” she declared at the end of her narrative.
    Rawlings rubbed his chin, lost in thought. “Cora only cracked when Millay brought up the subject of children. I wonder why.”
    “I have a theory,” Olivia said. “If Cora and Nick had a child, then that kid would surely be entitled to a share in his estate.”
    The chief took a bite of his bagel and chewed heartily. Then he shrugged. “In that case, why didn’t Mr. Plumley name his dependent as a beneficiary on his life insurance policy?” He scribbled a notation in his pocket notepad. “This will have to wait until tomorrow. I’ll need to get ahold of Cora’s medical records, and without her being an official suspect, that won’t be easy.”
    Taking a sip of coffee, Rawlings pointed at the framed photographs hanging from the brick wall above their table. “What do you think of these?”
    Olivia had kept her eyes averted from the images since she’d sat down. The smiling infant faces served as a pointed reminder that she hadn’t called Kim to see how Anders was doing. “Wheeler usually displays such tasteful art,” she said. “Yours, for example.”
    “These are more certainly commercial than Wheeler’s usual selections, but the photographer isn’t without skill.” Rawlings grinned. “Still, I’d never have pegged Wheeler as a fan of kittens, puppies, or babies.”
    Olivia