Fear flickered through Laurel’s eyes and Harris scowled at Millay. “How about showing a little sensitivity? The lady’s had a scary morning.”
Returning his frown, Millay mumbled an apology to Laurel and then focused her energy on consuming the rest of her drink.
Haviland appeared behind the bar, having been fed a selection of gourmet goodies by Michel. The chef fussed and cooed over the poodle even after Laurel explained how Olivia had ended up with her arm in a sling.
“I’d give you oodles of sympathy,” he told his employer briskly, “but I know how you’d react, so I’ll just skip it and say that I’m overwhelmingly relieved that the person who signs my paychecks isn’t left-handed.” Michel then tried to be extremely solicitous to Laurel, but she only smiled weakly and thanked him.
Soon, Gabe would arrive to put the bar in order and the kitchen would be filled with steam, noise, and delectable scents. Olivia was on the verge of breaking up their impromptu party when Rawlings stepped through the front door. He nodded at the ensemble and then crooked a finger at her.
“Could you step outside for a moment?” he asked and then turned, giving Olivia no choice but to comply.
Millay shook her head in sympathy and jumped down from her barstool. “Oh, man. You must be in major t-r-o-u-b-l-e. I’ll do the pouring until you come back.”
“That’s fine as long as you answer my cell phone if it rings. I’m waiting for an important call.”
“Secretarial services will cost you extra,” Millay replied with a saucy curtsy.
Outside, it took Olivia’s eyes several seconds to adjust to the afternoon light. Rawlings was waiting for her at the end of the path leading to the parking lot, his cell phone pressed to his ear. Upon seeing her, he quickly ended his conversation and watched her approach with close scrutiny.
Olivia’s heart beat faster beneath the intensity of his stare. “Why are you looking at me like that? Am I about to be frisked?”
The chief ignored her attempt at playfulness. “How’s your arm?”
“Stitched, sore, and ugly. I won’t be wearing sleeveless tops over the next few weeks,” she stated airily while her insides churned. Why did the very sight of this man leave her feeling so unsettled?
Rawlings drew so near that Olivia thought he’d kiss her. He didn’t. He reached an arm around her back and gently eased her forward so that her sling barely touched his chest. He put his cheek against hers and used his free hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingertips then moved under the lobe, tracing a slow line down the skin of her neck to her collarbone. He breathed into her ear. “We got them. Full confessions. It’s done.”
He pulled back so that he could look into her eyes, leaving Olivia instantly hungry for his touch. “The moment the Donald siblings were out from under their parents’ thumbs, they began to plan their revenge against their classmates. Anyone who repeatedly taunted them with the cliché ‘the cat got your tongue’ was to be punished. They had an entire list of enemies to terrorize and a dozen more cliché tableaus to create.”
“I’ll certainly think twice about using one in my writing,” Olivia joked softly.
Rawlings continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “And when the paperwork involving the Donald siblings has been filed and all the press interviews are done and Oyster Bay falls quiet again, I will want one thing and only one thing.” His gaze was electric. “I’m here to see whether you will grant me this one thing.”
Olivia took his wide, strong hand in her own. “What would that be?”
“An evening. A bottle of wine. Some time to see what this is. In short . . .” His eyes met hers, green and golden brown in the light. “You.”
Pushing aside thoughts of the dramatic morning, her blood test, and the fact that she needed to tell Rawlings that she was no longer involved with Flynn, Olivia smiled. “I think we can work something out.”
Behind Rawlings, a delivery truck pulled into the parking lot and Olivia dropped the chief’s hand. “Come inside. I believe there’s a chocolate milk with your name on it.”
Millay looked up when the pair reentered the bar. “Gabe’s got a nice setup back here. I could get used to not standing on beer-covered concrete all night long. Chief? What’ll it be?”
Rawlings placed his order and then informed the Bayside Book Writers that the case of the Cliché Killers was closed. “I’ll grant you the first interview if you’re interested,” he told Laurel.
“Of course she is!” Harris shouted. “Having one of us being published on a regular basis gives this group some weight. You’re our pathfinder, Laurel. You can’t stop now!”
Laurel laughed. “When you put it that way . . .”
Millay put both palms on the bar. “Olivia. I need some whole milk. Gabe only has half-and-half in this fridge, so unless the chief wants to clog an artery before he starts giving Laurel here a bunch of stellar quotes, you’d better grab some from the kitchen.”
Olivia was about to walk away when Millay called her name again. “And some lab called. I pretended I was you and they told me that your blood test was positive.” She grinned. “You’re a little old to be getting knocked up, aren’t you?” She paused, seeing the stricken look on Olivia’s face.” Hey, I’m just messing with you. You’d have the smartest, best-looking, richest kid in town. You’d be single mother of the year! Olivia?”
It was all Olivia could do to wave off Millay’s ridiculous assumption and continue on toward the kitchen. She could feel every eye upon her as she walked away, yet the simple act of putting one foot in front of another was remarkably difficult.
The entire kitchen staff had arrived and had begun preparations for a busy Friday night. Olivia moved through the activity and chatter like a zombie. The milk was forgotten. Rawlings was forgotten. The throbbing in her arm came at her from a great distance.
In her office, she sank into her chair and struggled to breathe normally.
“My father is alive,” she told the room. She looked from the desk to the telephone to the computer. “My father is alive.”
The objects remained blissfully mute. There was no living thing to bear witness to the mixture of hope and agony surging through Olivia’s heart. For that, she was grateful.
She didn’t know when Haviland trotted into the office, but his presence allowed Olivia to function again. She looked up the Okracoke Ferry schedule and calculated how much time it would take to reach the port of departure. The last ferry left from Cedar Island at five. It was already after three and the drive would take over two hours. She couldn’t make it.
Olivia signaled for Haviland to follow her. She would go home, pack a bag, and make a few calls. Okracoke was less than fifty miles from Oyster Bay by boat. Confident that she could hire a vessel if she offered its captain enough cash, Olivia planned to be on the island before nightfall.
Someone in the kitchen spoke to her as she pushed open the door leading outside, but the words never reached her.
“My father’s alive,” she told the September afternoon and wondered how she could possibly process this momentous truth.
As it hit her full force, she did the only thing that made sense. She got inside the Range Rover and sobbed.
Chapter 17
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
—THOMAS GRAY
Olivia sat in front of the instrument panel next to the owner of the JoFaye, a sleek, hardtop super-yacht that cut through the waters east of Oyster Bay at thirty-seven knots. The man at the helm was accustomed to taking inlanders out on pleasure cruises up and down the Carolina coast. He’d had a good season and had managed to put away enough money to see his family through the winter, but when Olivia Limoges called and offered him enough cash to cover his monthly mortgage payment, he couldn’t refuse. One of her stipulations was that he ask no questions and tell no one of her visit to Okracoke.