Millay held up an index finger. “Motive.” She then raised her thumb. “Opportunity.” She fired her air gun while whistling the first three notes of Beethoven’s Fifth.
“It’s not that simple, I’m afraid.” Rawlings glanced at his watch. “Without any tangible evidence, we’re going to have to let the couple go.” He stood up and carried his plate to the sink. “This is where I could use some unofficial help.”
Olivia grinned. “We thought you’d never ask.”
“The two of them are hiding something. I don’t know what it is, and my hands are tied. I’ve questioned them, they’ve been relatively cooperative, and their statements match. Their alibi is weak, so I’ve sent officers to Emerald Isle to confirm the few facts that can be confirmed. That’s all I can do for now.” He looked at Olivia. “They plan to have a meal at The Bayside Crab House before driving back. It was my hope that you could see to it that their drinks were poured with a very liberal hand and that someone”—he cast a meaningful glance at Laurel, Millay, and Harris—“could strike up a casual conversation with them.”
Harris rubbed his hands together. “Recon! Sweet.”
“If possible, find out why they don’t have any money. Boyd’s a personal trainer and Cora’s an interior decorator. I don’t expect them to be rich, but it looks like Boyd’s maxed out his Visa card with this vacation and Cora’s credit has been shot for years. They’ll certainly benefit from the insurance payout.” He paused. “Just try to get a sense of what makes them tick. Are they greedy? Compulsive? Jealous? There was more than a trace of ire on Mrs. Vickers’ part when I questioned her about her ex-husband’s literary success. I got the sense that she feels she was owed a piece of Plumley’s earnings even though the book was published long after their divorce was final.”
Laurel drained her glass and set it so roughly on the coffee table that it tipped over and rolled onto the floor. Rawlings scooped it up in his large hand and quickly dabbed at the splatters on the rug with a napkin. “I’d better drop you off on my way back to the station,” he told her gently.
“I’m fine,” Laurel argued with a noticeable slur.
Olivia touched Rawlings on the arm. “I’ll take her home. I need to get going anyway if I’m going to talk to my staff about treating the Vickers like royalty tonight.”
Rawlings took a step closer, as though trying to transmit his reluctance to move away from her touch. “Thanks. Let’s meet for coffee at Bagels ’n’ Beans tomorrow morning. I know you’ll have something to tell me.”
“I’ll be there at nine.” Olivia dropped her hand. “What angle will you be running down in the meantime?”
The chief shifted his gaze toward the placid ocean. “I’ll be spending the rest of the evening reviewing Mr. Plumley’s financial records. Murder is usually about money, and I need to see what he was doing with his.”
“Well, if I don’t show up for my shift, I won’t be making any,” Millay said with an unhappy frown. “But I can’t leave this to you and Harris. You need me behind the bar.”
Olivia considered the dilemma as Rawlings walked out of the cottage. “Call in sick to Fish Nets. I’ll need your special talents tonight and will double your regular Saturday-night salary. And don’t worry, I’ll make certain Cora and Boyd end up seated in front of you.” She turned to Harris. “Carry a copy of The Barbed Wire Flower with you. Don’t talk to the newlyweds until Millay gives you the signal. I’m willing to gamble that once she works her magic, they’ll be falling all over themselves to talk about Nick Plumley and a whole host of other intimate topics.”
“I just hope you don’t have some dorky dress code,” Millay mumbled. “I am not wearing a white shirt and bowtie or anything made from a polyester blend.”
Olivia grimaced. “It’s not a T.G.I. Friday’s. You have to wear a Bayside Crab House T-shirt, but you can stay in your boots and skirt. Just don’t give away liquor and food to anyone but the Vickers.” She smiled indulgently at Harris. “Notwithstanding a beer or two for this one.”
“What about me?” Laurel whined.
Millay slung a shoulder around her friend and helped her to stand. “You’re cut off, lady. You and Bacchus got a bit too hot and heavy tonight.”
Harris took Laurel’s other arm, and together, he and Millay escorted her to Olivia’s Range Rover. Haviland jumped to his feet and gave Olivia an inquisitive look. She told him that they were going to work and he was out the door in a blur of black fur, undoubtedly envisioning bowls of butter-drenched seafood or cubes of choice beef steeped au jus.
After promising to meet Millay and Harris downtown, Olivia drove Laurel home in silence. When she and Haviland were alone, Olivia preferred to listen to an audiobook or to put all the windows down, inviting the whirl of the wind to fill the void within the Range Rover’s cabin. Now, the humming of the road moving beneath the tires seemed poignantly loud.
“Do you want to talk?” Olivia asked, desperately hoping Laurel wouldn’t take her up on the offer. She had enough on her mind without having to listen to her friend’s marital woes.
Laurel was quiet for so long that Olivia began to believe she’d be spared, but finally, her friend released a mournful sigh and pressed her cheek against the window glass, as though welcoming the coolness against her skin. “You can’t have it all, you know. The media makes it look like any woman can have well-adjusted kids and a happy marriage and a successful career, but that’s total crap. The most we can hope for is kids who won’t grow up to be serial killers, a marriage that exists out of habit, and a career where you take on more than you can handle because if you don’t, you look weak.”
“So which part of living an imperfect life bothers you the most?” Olivia glanced at her friend in the rear-view mirror.
Laurel’s voice quavered. “Not being a good mother. Nothing matters more to me than those boys.”
“And quitting your job? Will that make you a better mother?”
“I don’t know,” Laurel whispered after a lengthy pause.
Olivia could hear the pain in her friend’s voice but was unsure how to console her. After all, she had no experience juggling a family and a career. She’d never had to worry about her checkbook balance or raise children or hold the interest of any man for more than a few months. Yet she firmly believed that everyone deserved their share of happiness as long as they were working at fulfilling their dreams. Laurel was a fighter at heart, and Olivia disliked seeing the younger woman so deflated.
“As you may know, my mother worked at the local library,” she spoke softly and put one hand on Haviland’s neck, her eyes locked on the road. “Some of my fondest memories were of her packing our lunches each morning—hers for work and mine for school. I’d sit in the kitchen and watch her get ready for the day while I ate breakfast. I remember how carefully she’d iron her blouse and that her hair looked so professional pinned up away from her face. She’d hum as she got ready for work, and I knew she looked forward to it every day.” Olivia paused, reveling in the memory.
With the smoke gray road in front and a washed-out sky overhead, it was easy to become lost in the cozy scene. Olivia could almost smell the oatmeal cooking on the stovetop, hear the bustle of her mother’s skirt as she moved about the room, and feel the sunbeams coming in through the window over the sink, marbling the table with warmth. With her father at sea, these mornings with her mother were filled with a simple kind of peace, and Olivia held on tightly to the vision until the lights of town seemed to burn it away.