Let us in, Olivia wrote at the end of the chapter. What is Tessa feeling? Even when she defeats the sea witch, she just flies off into the sunset. I know she’s exhausted from the experience, but you’re keeping the reader at a distance by not sharing what’s going on in Tessa’s mind.
The phone rang again, but by this time Olivia was ready for a break. When she saw Will Hamilton’s number on her caller ID box, she snatched the receiver from the cradle.
“I hope you have news for me, Mr. Hamilton,” she said.
The private investigator cleared his throat, which Olivia sensed was a sign that he was about to impart bad news.
“Mr. Burkhart picked up the package in question at quarter past eleven on Thursday morning. While still inside The UPS Store, he examined your return address carefully, and then tossed the envelope on the passenger seat of his truck. It’s been there ever since.”
“That’s it?” Olivia didn’t bother to hide her irritation.
“He made a phone call as soon as he got in the truck but the package has remained unopened.”
This surprised Olivia. “Are you certain?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Hamilton paused. “And seeing as that envelope contains a thousand bucks in cash, I’d say Mr. Burkhart isn’t exactly hurting for money. Either that or he’s holding the envelope for a third party.”
Olivia considered the latter theory. “You may be on to something there.” She sighed. “I haven’t been completely forthcoming with you, Mr. Hamilton, but it’s high time I was. When I first hired you, I was afraid that I was being made a fool of, but now I’m so confused that I don’t know what to think. I have no interest in entering into a business arrangement with Rodney Burkhart. That was an untruth.” Having confessed as much, she told the private investigator about the letter she’d received concerning her father.
“I’ve handled dozens of missing persons cases, ma’am,” Will answered solemnly when she was done. “They rarely have happy endings.”
“I want to know who sent me this damned letter! And I want to know why! Is this only about money or is there some possibility that my father is alive?” Olivia felt her cheeks flush in indignation. “After all this time, to have this wound reopened . . .” She struggled to steady her voice. “Mr. Hamilton, I need closure. Once and for all. Keep watching Mr. Burkhart. I can wait a little longer to see where that envelope ends up and it’s well worth the cost of your services if you can identify the bastard who’s ruined any chance I have of a sound night’s sleep!”
The private investigator heard her anguish. “I won’t let you down, ma’am. On my honor, I’ll find out who’s behind this.”
Satisfied, Olivia hung up and went upstairs to change into a silver-hued sheath dress and a necklace of large turquoise stones. The Boot Top would soon be packed with tourists in town for the Cardboard Regatta and she wanted to be present to ensure that her restaurant sparkled like Oyster Bay’s crown jewel.
She’d barely had time to settle Haviland in her office before patrons began streaming into the bar. Most of the Cardboard Regatta participants attended the race year after year and had come to know one another on a first-name basis. In general, they were an extremely friendly and funloving group and the locals were glad to have them.
Gabe was hugged and kissed like a long-lost relative and Olivia received her fair share of hearty handshakes and embraces as well. Wine, beer, and cocktails were consumed in hedonistic amounts and the noise in The Boot Top’s dining room escalated beyond its traditional murmurs and soft laughter. As the evening progressed, the competitors exchanged boisterous boasts and taunts while the wait staff scurried about, frantically trying to keep glasses filled and to set course after course of Michel’s exquisite fare in front of the diners.
Saturday promised to be even more hectic. The Bayside Book Writers were planning to watch the races and then gather for a midafternoon critique session. Millay had to be at Fish Nets earlier than usual and Olivia wanted to be at The Boot Top by six, so their time together was limited.
The regatta was Oyster Bay’s last tourist-driven revenue generator until spring returned, and by nine o’clock Saturday morning, there wasn’t a parking space to be found within miles of the harbor.
The downtown merchants had dressed their store windows with the deft touch of Fifth Avenue designers. The flower planters lining the streets were bursting with a vibrant mix of gold lantana and red geranium, and canvas flags celebrating the Cardboard Regatta hung from every signpost. The streets closest to the docks had been closed to automobile traffic and local vendors were selling a variety of wares, from beaded necklaces to handmade ceramics to funnel cakes, at a rapid rate.
Olivia and Haviland strolled among the tourists, enjoying the September sunshine and a strong sense of community pride. One would never know that Ophelia had done her best to cripple the town. Every piece of broken glass or tattered shingle had been replaced. New coats of paint freshened front doors and shutters, and the sidewalks had been swept until they glimmered in the late morning light.
Unable to resist buying roasted corn on a stick, Olivia chewed on the salty, buttery snack until her attention was caught by a display of oil paintings. She recognized Sawyer’s work immediately.
“Gorgeous day, isn’t it?” a woman asked, looking up from a book of crossword puzzles. Her gaze was friendly and warm, but sharpened slightly as she recognized the tall woman with the white blond hair. “Ms. Limoges. I don’t believe we’ve ever met. I’m Jeannie, Sawyer’s sister.”
Olivia reached out to shake Jeannie’s hand. She was a handsome woman closing in on fifty, with a trim figure and soft waves of auburn hair.
“I was hoping you’d stop by,” Jeannie said. “Sawyer put me in charge of giving something to you.” She lifted the skirt of the cobalt tablecloth and peered around. “Now where did I put that thing?”
While she hunted, Olivia examined the paintings. Much smaller than the chief’s usual works, they were all simplistic beach scenes. Though skillfully executed, they lacked the central object or figure Sawyer traditionally placed in his large-scale paintings. However, the tourists thronged around the booth, looking over this work with keen interest. A husband and wife grabbed a painting each and entered into a good-natured debate over whether to purchase a landscape of the beach at sunset or a painting of three children flying kites along the water’s edge.
“What the hell, let’s get them both!” the man declared and was rewarded with a kiss from his spouse.
Meanwhile, Jeannie had found what she’d been looking for. “Give me a sec to take care of these lovebirds first. I don’t want to miss your reaction to this,” she added with a wink.
Turning away to toss out her corncob, Olivia felt an inexplicable impulse to walk away. She could disappear within seconds and simply allow the throng to carry her off like a powerful current. What had Sawyer entrusted to his sister? Olivia doubted he wanted to pass along information regarding the robbery cases and it was unlikely that his chapter had been rewritten and was now ready for her perusal, so what was Jeannie about to deliver? Olivia thought of how Sawyer had placed her hand on his chest and her face grew warm. If only she could be alone with him again, to figure out why he possessed the ability to stir her feelings as no one else had before.
“Here we are!” She carefully reached over a group of paintings displayed on wooden easels in order to place a rectangular package in Olivia’s hands. “Go on, open it, honey.”