The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

glanced at the photograph hanging above her right shoulder. It showed a toddler with gossamer blond hair being used as a climbing post by a pair of kittens. “All this picture needs is a balloon and a rainbow.”
    Rawlings laughed. “I bet Laurel would think it’s cute.”
    Briefly, Olivia wondered whether her friend had had any success communicating her feelings to Steve last night. Certain phrases surfaced in her mind, and Olivia realized that the time Laurel’s husband spent at the office coupled with his hypercriticism of his wife might have an obvious and unpleasant explanation. “Speaking of Laurel,” she paused, wondering how to broach the delicate subject to Rawlings. “Do you remember when you had to question Steve when you were working on the Cliché Killers case?”
    The chief nodded and his eyes lost their bemused glimmer and became instantly veiled.
    “You checked his alibi without Laurel’s knowledge, which was very thoughtful and sensitive, but you also never told me what that alibi was.” Olivia left the unspoken question dangling in the air between them.
    The chief scraped his chair away from the table and held out his hand for Olivia’s empty coffee cup. “I didn’t tell then and I’m not going to now. Would you care for a refill?”
    Olivia pushed her mug into his palm, her fingertips brushing against his. They smiled at each other for what seemed like a long moment before Wheeler called Rawlings over to the counter to pick up the snack he’d prepared for Haviland.
    “That dog gets better service than I do,” a sunburned vacationer whined.
    Wheeler mumbled, “Reckon it’s ’cause he’s got better manners,” and poured two fresh cups of his Coastal Coffee blend for Rawlings and Olivia. He then pasted on a congenial grin and handed the petulant tourist her order. “Soy latte no foam and an ever-so-gently toasted multigrain bagel with fat-free cream cheese on the side. May I get you anythin’ else, ma’am?”
    The woman scrutinized her bagel but seemed pleased with its even golden hue. She then took the lid off her to-go cup to make sure that Wheeler hadn’t included the offensive froth. Satisfied, she dropped a dollar in his tip jar and walked out the door.
    When she was safely away, Rawlings let out a laugh—a deep and hearty rumble that shook his whole entire torso.
    Wheeler scowled. “Don’t you have criminals to catch, Chief? Go on, now. Drink your coffee while it’s hot.”
    With that reprimand, Rawlings returned to the table and handed Olivia her replenished cup, but he did not sit down. Though his face still held traces of humor, it was evaporating quickly. “He’s right. I have a pile of reading to do on the New Bern prison camp and a phone interview with Nick Plumley’s agent at eleven.”
    “Do you have another task to assign me?” Olivia asked coyly.
    Rawlings put a finger under her chin, forcing her to meet his stern gaze. “Yes. Don’t find any more bodies.”
    The chief held the door for a family of five and then disappeared into the sunshine. Olivia watched Wheeler and one of the teenagers he’d hired for the summer attend to the hungry family. They ordered breakfast sandwiches, complicated espresso drinks, fresh-squeezed orange juice, pastries, and fruit cups. After collecting their food, the father handed Wheeler a wad of bills and, signaling for him to keep the change, he joined his brood at one of the window tables. Olivia finished her own buttered sesame bagel and observed several more families enter, order, and leave, hands filled with carryout bags.
    Eventually, the morning rush eased and Wheeler came out from behind the counter to wipe off the unoccupied tables.
    “You’re amazing,” Olivia told him and studied the old-timer with genuine warmth.
    He smiled wanly. “This place keeps me tickin’.”
    Struck by a thought, Olivia touched his arm as he passed her table. “How long have you lived in Oyster Bay?”
    “Seems like my whole life,” he replied in a tired voice and then saw that Olivia wasn’t satisfied by his answer. “I left a job at a paper mill and settled here in the fifties, a young man with his whole life ahead of him. Worked the docks for a decade, had a warehouse job for a decade, and then got hired here when this place was still a bakery.” He gestured at the room. “This was what I always wanted though. A little coffee shop by the sea. Sometimes life deals you a decent hand. Other times not.”
    Unsure what to