The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

tell all of you . . .” She paused to drink and then rested the bottle on the top of her knee. “Never mind, I’ll wait until Harris is here.”
    “The chief has a plan to net Plumley’s killer,” Olivia replied to Millay as though Laurel hadn’t spoken.
    Rawlings nodded. “First, I need to get you up to speed on alibis. Raymond Hatcher was at work the morning Mr. Plumley was killed, but he took a break for an hour. He claims to have driven off-site to get a McMuffin, but the McDonald’s employee who worked the drive-through doesn’t remember him and the security video is taped over every twenty-four hours. So he’s still on our suspect list.”
    “Along with Cora and Boyd?” Millay asked.
    “Yes.” Something flickered in the chief’s eyes, and Olivia knew he had solved one of the many riddles of the investigation. “Three months after Cora and Nick Plumley divorced, Cora discovered that she was pregnant with Nick’s child.” A mild flush appeared on Rawlings’ cheeks. “Apparently, they had good-bye sex after the papers were signed. She learned late in the pregnancy that her child would most likely be born with Down’s syndrome.”
    Laurel sucked in her breath but didn’t speak.
    “Cora never told Nick about their son. He didn’t know she was pregnant or that she gave the baby up for adoption. She was living in Asheville when the child was born.”
    “What happened to the baby?” Laurel wanted to know.
    Rawlings gave her a reassuring smile. “He was adopted by a loving family and is still with them today.”
    Millay’s face clouded with anger. “Then Nick’s insurance money should go to those people and to his son ! What kind of person doesn’t even tell a man that he’s a father? She totally robbed him of any say in that kid’s future!”
    The chief nodded in agreement. “That’s true, but the boy, Colby, is not legally tied to Nick, so he stands no chance of receiving any benefits from Mr. Plumley’s life insurance.”
    Olivia shot Rawlings a quick glance. “So the Vickers may still get their hands on Nick’s money?”
    “I believe they’re desperately counting on a payout,” he said.
    “Add to that the fact that their alibi was as weak as watered-down whiskey,” Millay remarked. “But they’re not sitting in a cozy, post-nuptial jail cell, are they?”
    “We’re not on TV,” Rawlings replied curtly. “The police can’t hold people without evidence. We have theories, but for now, that’s all they are. That’s why I need to push things along. I’ve spent the last few nights creating a Heinrich Kamler reproduction. Watercolor isn’t my medium, but it’s good enough to fool a novice. However, to make the bait irresistible, I’ll need your help, Laurel.”
    She shrank back into the sofa, instantly on guard. “What can I do?”
    “Get an article on the front page of the paper announcing that two paintings by a famous German POW have been discovered in the home of Harris Williams. Exaggerate the value of the second painting and don’t mention that the first one’s gone missing.”
    Millay jerked upright. “Missing? What happened?” She shot looks of accusation back and forth between Olivia and Rawlings.
    “It’s my fault,” Olivia quickly admitted. “Harris entrusted me with the painting and I was careless.”
    Setting aside her beer, she told the other women about her day. As she spoke of the unrequited love between Henry and Evie, Laurel began to weep. Millay shot her friend and fellow writer a perplexed glance, and Olivia felt a surge of sympathy for Laurel. The story had struck a nerve in her too, and she knew that Laurel was in pain. The hurt united all of them—a German boy, a haunted young woman from a newspaper photograph, Olivia, and Laurel.
    When Olivia finished by describing how the painting had been stolen, Millay jumped to her feet, her body coiled like a spring. “We’ve got to do something!” She looked around wildly, her hands curled into white-knuckled fists. “Where is Harris anyway? It’s his painting, his house!” She pointed at Rawlings. “Do you plan to use him as bait without even discussing it with him? Why are we wasting our time talking about all this World War Two bullshit when Harris isn’t even here ?”
    The level of Millay’s ire stunned Olivia, but Rawlings saw it for what it was. Fear. “I’m worried about him too,” he told her quietly. “I’m going to put a call in to the unit watching his place.”
    The