The Last Word (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

three women watched Rawlings, exchanging nervous glances. The chief’s voice took on an edge of sharpness.
    “You saw Mr. Williams drive by in his car? You’re certain? Did you see his face?”
    A pause. A tightening of Rawlings’ jaw. “What time was this?”
    Three pairs of eyes fastened on the chief as he checked his watch. “Get back to Oleander Drive right now. Don’t go inside until I get there.”
    The women’s anxiety transformed into something more powerful, spreading tentacles of dread around the cottage. Olivia slapped her thigh and Haviland sprang to his feet. He raised his black nose, sensing that something had alarmed his mistress. Turning his head in search of a threat, he found nothing. He cocked his head inquisitively and waited for her command.
    “Did they see Harris leave?” Olivia asked Rawlings.
    “They saw someone in a baseball hat driving Harris’s car. He waved to them as he drove by, and the movement obscured his face. Believing that he was safely on his way to meet me, the officers decided to take a dinner break. They’re sitting in front of Pizza Bay waiting on a pair of meatball subs.” The chief pointed at Millay. “Would you lend me your car?”
    Millay had her phone to her ear. She shook her head. “Voice mail. Both numbers.” She pulled her keys from the front pocket of her denim miniskirt. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”
    “I’ll drive,” Rawlings ordered and opened the cottage’s front door. He then blocked the exit and faced the women. “I’d tell you to stay here, but I know you’ll just follow in another car and I’d rather have you with me. When we get to the house, you will all do exactly as I say. Is that understood?” He included Olivia in his authoritative stare.
    “Should I bring my gun?” she asked in all seriousness.
    Rawlings scowled. “Just get in the car.”
    Olivia sat in the back. Haviland was squeezed beside her, his eyes aglow with curiosity, his body tensed for action. Millay was on the other side, her fingers flying over the tiny letter keys on her phone’s touch screen. When she received no response, she called 411 and asked for a listing for Estelle’s number.
    “Estelle? This is Millay. Is Harris with you?”
    Pushing Haviland to a seated position so she could watch her friend, Olivia watched Millay’s shoulder tighten as her fingers gripped her phone like a hawk’s talon closing over the torso of a mouse. “Actually, it is my business. He’s supposed to be at our writers’ meeting but he hasn’t shown. Is he with you or not?”
    Olivia could see that Millay was trying to hold her temper in check as Estelle dished out some coy response. “Could you please tell me when you last spoke with him?”
    Millay had carefully masked her dislike and infused her voice with a calculated blend of courtesy, deference, and concern. Then she frowned. “I thought you volunteered at the senior center on Tuesday and Saturday afternoons. Or was that just a story to impress Harris?” She didn’t bother concealing her disgust. “He’s too good a guy to see the real you, girlfriend, but eventually, your mask will slip and he’ll get a glimpse of your true self and run. Don’t be buying Brides magazine just yet, princess.” Millay snapped the phone shut and shoved it back into her skirt pocket.
    “She hasn’t seen him?” Olivia asked.
    Millay twisted a lock of hair around her index finger. “Not since this morning. I think they’ve had a little spat. Little Miss Sunshine didn’t sound very chipper.”
    Laurel pivoted in the front seat. “Why do you dislike her so much?”
    “Estelle knows nothing about Harris. All she cares about is his nice job and his nice house and that they’d have cute babies together,” Millay said. “She has no idea that his favorite author is Frank Herbert or that he makes the world’s most awesome potato skins or that he’s seen every episode of the original Star Trek shows at least five times. She doesn’t know him.” Millay took a shallow breath. “Can’t you drive a little faster, Chief?”
    Haviland put his forepaws and head on Millay’s lap, and she sank both hands into his fur. Olivia could see that her fingers were trembling.

    Lights were on in the living room of Harris’s bungalow. Yellow stripes escaped through the spaces in the closed blinds and fell onto the front porch. There were no cars in the driveway and the chief’s men had not yet returned, but the house did not