The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

forearms. She locked her hands on to his flesh, attempting to free herself from his hold, when in truth, she longed for him to put his lips on the skin just below her jaw line. She wanted to turn her head and capture his mouth in hers, to lock her fingers in his thick hair, pushing the world and all of its interferences away for just a moment.
    “See? You’d scratch and claw at my arm, desperate to breathe, doing anything in your power to break free.” Rawlings resumed his seat across from Olivia. He averted his gaze, and she knew he’d felt her hunger for him, that it had shocked him with electricity, like water dripping onto a live wire.
    Reaching for her glass, Olivia nodded. “You expected to find the killer’s skin under Nick’s nails.”
    “Yes. The nails obviously weren’t cleaned, so I’ve begun to believe that Mr. Plumley also wore gloves.”
    Several thoughts vied for attention once the chief voiced this theory. Olivia remembered Shala Knowles and her fellow curators donning their white gloves to examine Harris’s painting. She also envisioned Ray Hatcher showing up at Nick’s house with the photographs the author was so desperate to examine. Plumley would have gladly put on a pair of latex gloves in exchange for the right to view images of Camp New Bern.
    Rawlings had come to the same conclusion. “I need to pay a visit to Mr. Hatcher tonight. There are far too many suspects in this case, too many people who’d take a risk in the hope of walking away with a pile of money.”
    “Or for the chance at possessing an original work by Heimlich Kamler,” Olivia pointed out. “There must have been half a dozen art aficionados in the curator’s office. Who knows how many people they told about the painting? They knew my name and that I’d come to Raleigh from Oyster Bay. I would have been easy to find . . .” She trailed off, feeling foolish.
    The chief dismissed the notion. “The murderer wanted Nick dead, not you. I don’t know how the painting fits into the case or if it has any connection at all, but I need to find Hatcher before it gets any later.”
    He put his hand on her shoulder in passing. “Nice work, Olivia.”
    Without turning, she felt him leave. It was as if the room grew suddenly duller, the warmth on her skin where his breath and fingers had touched her was replaced by the cool exhalation of air-conditioning. Even the candle sputtered, sending fractured shadows onto the table where Rawlings’ empty coffee cup sat.
    At that moment his sister entered the bar, her cheeks flushed from an evening of celebration. “There you are!” she exclaimed merrily. “You shouldn’t have paid for my birthday supper! We barely know each other.”
    Olivia smiled. “Fifty is a milestone. I couldn’t resist the chance to do something to contribute to your party.”
    “And maybe impress my brother at the same time?” Jeannie winked impishly.
    Holding her hands out in surrender, Olivia had to laugh. “You got me. I did have an ulterior motive.”
    Jeannie squeezed her on the arm. “Thank you all the same. We’d better be going so you all can close. I’ve never been the last person in a restaurant before, but it sure makes me feel young and adventurous. Good night!”
    “Wait! Please.” Olivia put out her right hand, hoping to impede the woman’s departure.
    The chief’s sister drew close again. “Go on, I can see that you want to ask me something about Sawyer.”
    Olivia cast her gaze down. “I screwed up with him. He was willing to be with me, but . . . well . . . I pushed him away,” she confessed miserably. “How can I prove that I’m ready now, that I know I made a mistake the morning I let him go?”
    Jeannie took a long time answering. She seemed to be deciding whether Olivia Limoges was worthy of her brother. Finally, her eyes softened. “He was torn in two when Helen died, so he’s not going to come knockin’ on your door if you’ve already shut it in his face once. He’s going to protect his heart now. You want to claim him?”
    Uncomfortable in the face of such a direct question, Olivia clenched her jaw to hold in the uprising of feeling and nodded, her sea blue eyes glittering with intensity.
    “Well, then. You’re going to have to do something big . And I don’t mean buy him a yacht or write his name across the sky. Something big is something that scares the life out of you, that makes you tremble in your shoes because it’s chock-full of risk. You show