One of the twins whined in the background. “I’m sorry, but I need to take care of Dermot.” Laurel clearly wanted to get off the phone. “You do the interview if you want. I’ll e-mail you the address. Meanwhile, I am going to cook a delicious dinner for my family, even if it takes me all day to do it!” The sound of whining escalated into a full-blown howl and a second high-pitched voice joined in.
Haviland’s ears lifted in alert.
“I gotta go!” Laurel shouted and hung up.
Olivia scowled at the phone. “Well, how do you like that?” She drummed her long fingers on the kitchen counter and recalled the chief’s promise to compare notes with her that evening. If she didn’t interview the other burglary victim, she might not have any useful information to impart and she very much wanted to be able to provide Sawyer Rawlings with a solid lead at the most and a few possible theories or relevant clues at the very least.
Picking up the phone, Olivia made another call. “Did I wake you?” she inquired genially when a very groggy Millay grunted out a hello. It didn’t take long to fill the young woman in on the role Olivia wanted her to play. “You’re sharp and you can read people, which is a surprising attribute for someone in their mid-twenties.”
“I’m a bartender,” Millay reminded her irritably, still half asleep. “If I didn’t have that skill, I couldn’t pay my rent.”
“So you’ll come with me?”
Millay produced a muffled grunt. “It’s either that or do laundry. I’ll be your wing man.”
Pleased, Olivia had a final thought. “And I hate to say this, being that I admire most expressions of individuality, but could you strive to dress more conservatively for today’s interview?”
Snorting, Millay replied, “Just for you, I’ll take out one or two eyebrow rings.”
“That would be a start,” Olivia answered and rang off.
An hour later, Olivia pulled in front of Millay’s apartment complex. When her young friend waved in greeting, Olivia almost failed to recognize her. Millay was wearing a simple black skirt, sandals with a wedge heel, and a short-sleeved white blouse beneath an argyle vest. Her hair was pulled under a beige cap and, instead of her customary black eyeliner, deep purple eye shadow, and crimson lipstick, she wore very little makeup. Olivia was struck afresh by the girl’s beauty.
“Not bad,” she said as Millay hopped into the car and reached around to pet Haviland.
“I only do this in the name of Truth and Justice,” Millay answered. “And I’m not going anywhere without coffee, so swing into the Exxon on our way out of town.”
Olivia was horrified. “You’re going to drink gas station coffee?”
“Yeah, and I might eat a pink hot dog and a bag of pork rinds too,” Millay taunted.
“Cover your ears with your paws, Captain,” Olivia suggested. “This girl speaks of food whose existence is best forgotten.”
Haviland spent most of the ride to Beaufort County sniffing the air in the Range Rover’s cabin. True to her word, Millay had bought a large coffee at the Exxon station, but in lieu of a chemically enhanced hot dog, she’d purchased a custard-filled donut. She polished off the pastry before Haviland could even beg for a bite.
“No sugar for you, Captain,” Olivia remonstrated. “You can have a nice organic Buffalo knuckle bone while we’re inside the . . .” She gestured for Millay to read the paper resting on the dash. “What’s Sue’s last name?”
Licking the fingers of her right hand, Millay examined the sheet. “Ridgemont.” She read the address aloud. “Sandpiper Shores. Jesus, who names these developments? The same people who write Hallmark cards and listen to Christmas music all year long?”
Olivia laughed. “Everything has to have a theme. Her house is on Blue Heron Circle, right? So, in this case, we have a shorebird theme. How original.”
“Hey, not everyone has our vivid imaginations,” Millay replied. “Personally, I’d like to see a bunch of streets named after food. I could live on Steak Street, you’d be on Pickle Place, and all the people we didn’t get along with would be stuck on Cauliflower Court.”
“I take it you don’t enjoy the nutty flavor of the cruciferous vegetable,” Olivia remarked. “Do you like other members of the cabbage family? Broccoli or Brussels sprouts.”
“Ick, ick, and ick,” was Millay’s only response as they pulled into the driveway of a Dutch colonial.
“You’re missing out,” Olivia said, turning off the engine. “Michel makes the most unbelievable broccoli dish. He tosses market-fresh broccoli with olive oil, garlic, and pine nuts. Adds a little salt and viola! Perfection.”
Millay frowned. “I get my fiber by eating edamame. Enough about food. I can only stand this preppy girl outfit for so long.”
The Ridgemonts obviously had children, for their pricey SUVs were plastered with gold bear paw-print decals, the mascot of one of the area’s prestigious and very expensive private schools. In addition, decals in support of various sports’ teams, from lacrosse to swimming to tennis, declared that athletics played a major role in the Ridgemonts’ lives.
Unlike Christina Quimby’s house, this home lacked curb appeal. The lawn had been mowed and the bushes trimmed, but there wasn’t a flower in sight and the potted ferns on the stoop were brown and wilted. Several newspapers littered the welcome mat, and the door’s brass kick plate and knocker were being eaten away by rust.
Sue Ridgemont answered the bell wearing paint-splattered jeans and an equally colorful T-shirt.
“Oh, dear! I forgot you all were coming today. Sorry! Come on in.” She gestured at her clothes. “I’m in the middle of a do-it-yourself project in the guest room.” Leading them into the kitchen, she pushed a pile of books, newspapers, unread mail, two pairs of balled-up socks, and a Nerf football to the other end of the table.
“Thank you for agreeing to see us,” Olivia said, trying not to frown at the dirty dishes in the sink or the brown bananas on the countertop. “I’m sure you’re busy.”
Sue blinked. “You mean because of the hurricane?” She laughed merrily. “I have two teenage boys. My whole life is a hurricane!”
Olivia smiled, quickly warming to Sue Ridgemont.
“So tell us about the robbery. Just start at the beginning and try to give us as much detail as possible.” Olivia waved a hand at Millay. “My assistant will take notes as we talk.”
Millay did better than that. She produced a mini recorder from her bag, pressed a few buttons, and placed it on the table near the pile of unopened mail. She then settled a notebook on her lap and grinned at Sue. “Just pretend the recorder’s not there. I only brought it to ensure accuracy on our part.” She then uncapped a pen and looked at Sue expectantly.
Sue’s story was remarkably similar to Christina’s except the Ridgemont family hadn’t gone out of town. They’d spent the better part of a Saturday at a Little League All-Star game in Fayetteville.
“When we got home, we didn’t think anything was wrong.” She gestured at the kitchen. “It’s pretty tough to tell if something’s missing in this chaos, but it didn’t take long for the boys to notice the big holes where their TVs, computers, and stereos had been. The thieves took my good jewelry, my husband’s Rolex, and our emergency cash. We kept it in a lockbox under the bed. I guess we should have been more creative, but there you have it.”
Olivia was struck by the fact that both the Quimbys and the Ridgemonts had been attending athletic events during the robberies. She asked Sue if they knew the Quimbys.
“Afraid not,” she said. “I wondered about that when I read about their robbery case in the paper, but I think her kids go to Neuse River Academy. We’re at The Bellhaven School. Goooo Bears!”