Estelle was unfazed by the cool reception. “That’s probably because I haven’t been at the company too long and Harris and I aren’t in the same division. See, he’s an artist!” She stared at Harris as though he might walk on water at any moment. “I’m just a receptionist. I got hired because of my phone voice and because I can stay calm no matter how upset others might get. I help keep our customers happy.”
“What an exceptional talent,” Millay remarked but Laurel quickly stepped in and began to chat with Estelle about her favorite Harry Potter characters.
Harris thanked Estelle for being such an exuberant cheerleader and then made his excuses to his coworker explaining that he needed to get going to his book writer’s meeting.
“Oh, Harris!” Estelle clung to his arm. “You’re a writer too? There are so many sides to you! What else are you good at, I wonder?”
Harris blushed and gently disentangled himself from the pretty woman’s grasp. “See you Monday, Estelle.”
“Not if I see you first!” she shouted after him.
Millay remained silent about Estelle until the other writers had finished critiquing her chapter. Olivia shared her observations first and then listened intently as Rawlings pointed out examples of well-crafted prose followed by two sections of writing requiring further work.
“The battle scene was very well done,” he told Millay. “I had no difficulty imagining the sea witch rising out of the black waters. I agree with Olivia about closing the distance between reader and character. Tessa is fascinating but often strikes me as too collected for someone of her age and situation.” He studied his notes. “I realize the traditions of her culture prepared her to be a warrior, but I wonder if it’s wise to keep her so solitary. She has no confidante, no one to show her affection or even share a joke with. The loneliness must be affecting her, but I’m not sensing any desire to make a connection on Tessa’s part.”
Millay sent a withering glare in Harris’s direction. “Not everybody needs to be fawned over.”
Rawlings, who hadn’t been present for the Regatta’s awards ceremony, sent Olivia a questioning look. She gave a little shake of the head as if to say, “Leave it be.”
“Enough of Tessa,” Millay declared regally. “I need something to eat. Harris, you got anything in that bachelor fridge of yours?”
Harris sprang up from the plaid sofa in his living room and crossed the industrial beige carpet to the laminate floor of his kitchen. The entire apartment had been decorated in shades of light brown. Whether khaki or tan or an unattractive taupe, the walls, floors, and furniture was utterly lackluster. As though he were still living in a college dorm room, Harris had tacked a variety of posters to the walls. Most were of science-fiction movies and had seen better days. Water stains and small tears gave them a bedraggled appearance, making them the perfect accompaniment to the mismatched chairs in his kitchen, the sagging sofa in the living room, and the tattered shades on every lamp.
“What are you going to do with your winnings?” Olivia asked Harris as he dug around inside his refrigerator.
He emerged, examined the expiration date on a hunk of cheese, and tossed it in the trash. “I’m going to buy a house.” He picked up the phone. “But first I’m going to order pizza. Anyone object to mushroom and pepperoni?”
No one did. While they waited, Laurel peppered Harris with questions about where he planned to look for houses and what style he favored. As Harris didn’t know the difference between a Cape and a ranch, Laurel used the homes featured in television shows as examples.
“I think the house from The Brady Bunch is the most famous ranch-style house in the world,” she said.
“Okay!” Harris understood immediately. “So the house from Six Feet Under is Victorian, right?”
The two continued to name famous television houses until the pizza arrived.
The delivery boy from Pizza Bay had barely left when Rawlings’ cell phone rang. Excusing himself, he took the call on the tiny balcony overlooking the apartment’s parking lot.
Olivia accepted a slice of pizza, informed Haviland that under no circumstances was he allowed to partake of the junk food, and watched Rawlings through the glass of the sliding door.
Initially, the chief’s face registered surprise, but the wide-eyed expression was quickly replaced by one of consternation. Millay, who had raised her slice toward her mouth, was observing the chief as well. With remarkable stealth, she stuck out her bare foot and used her toes to pry the door open by several inches.
Rawlings’ voice floated inside. “. . . Yes, it sounds like the same perps. I hadn’t expected them to strike again. It seems they’re willing to take more risks. Did this family have kids?” He listened to the answer and nodded. “Same as the Howards. But the homeowners were away, right? No one was hurt?” His mouth turned down in a deep frown. “Dolls?” A shake of the head. “This is the first time they’ve deliberately destroyed the homeowner’s belongings. Up to this point, they’ve taken what they wanted and cleared out. With the exception of the assault on Felix Howard, which I certainly don’t mean to belittle by what I’m about to say, these have been the most respectful and delicate thieves I’ve ever seen.”
Millay and Olivia exchanged curious glances. By the time they turned their focus back to Rawlings, he was staring directly at them. “See you in twenty minutes.” He studied the phone for a moment and then released a heavy sigh. Olivia wondered what emotion had been released into the air through the chief’s exhalation.
“There’s been another robbery,” he announced as he stepped back into the room. “I’ve got to drive to Beaufort County and meet their officers at the scene.”
Laurel swallowed and covered her mouth with her hand. “There wasn’t another—”
“No. The family entered a boat in the Cardboard Regatta so they were here in town all day. They only returned home about forty-five minutes ago.”
Millay picked a piece of pepperoni from her pizza and folded it in half between her fingers. “What’s with the dolls?”
Collecting his car keys and a can of Coke from the kitchen table, Rawlings paused. “This isn’t to be discussed beyond this room, but this family had an antique doll collection. The thieves smashed in the faces, probably using a hammer. One was left intact, but the mouth was drilled wider and a silver spoon was inserted into the opening.”
Everyone immediately fixated on the reference to the silver spoon. Millay and Olivia began to speak, but Harris shouted louder than both women. “Born with a silver spoon in one’s mouth!” He grimaced. “Man, that is a creepy thing to do. To the dolls, I mean. Leaving clichés are one thing, but the dolls are like little people.”
“They killed a person,” Laurel reminded Harris in a small voice. “They obviously don’t place much value on a human life.”
The chief put his hands on his hips and stared down at the writers. “I’m only mentioning this detail because I want you to think about the significance of these messages. My men and I have been researching the clichés and what connections are shared among the families, but nothing these folks have in common has led us to a suspect yet.”
Millay responded quickly. “We’ll do what we can, Chief. I’ll introduce the subject of the thefts at work and listen as the gossip spreads around the bar. If the Fish Nets crew repeats anything useful, I’ll let you know.”
“Can the rest of us do anything specific?” Harris inquired.
Rawlings shrugged and reached out for the doorknob. “I really don’t know. I’ve had men calling pawnshops and auction galleries up and down the East Coast looking for the missing artwork and we’ve had no luck. Unless you know of a black market for electronics, I’m not sure what you can do.”