The locals were equally relieved to see the last of what had been a particularly long and damp winter. Oyster Bay’s economy depended heavily on tourism, and a dry and sunny spring meant replenishment for the town’s depleted coffers.
Olivia Limoges was landlady to many downtown merchants, but she spent most of her time overseeing the management of her five-star restaurant, The Boot Top Bistro. Today, she drove right by the entrance, searching for a parking spot closer to Grumpy’s Diner, but decided on a space in a loading zone.
A middle-aged dwarf wearing roller skates and pigtail braids met her at the diner’s door. “As I live and breathe!” Dixie Weaver declared, waving at her flushed face with her order pad. “Miss Punctuality is
late
!”
Frowning at her child-sized friend, Olivia stepped aside as Haviland entered the diner. He placed his black nose under Dixie’s palm and gazed up at her in adoration.
“You sure know how to turn on the charm, Captain.” Dixie ruffled the poodle’s ears and then accepted one of his gentlemanly kisses on the back of her hand. “I know you’re just anglin’ for a juicy steak or some turkey bacon, but I’m the closest thing you’ve got to a godmother so I might as well spoil you silly!”
It was unlikely that Haviland had heard anything beyond the word ‘bacon’ as he’d turned tail and made for Olivia’s customary window booth before Dixie could finish speaking, but the diner proprietor gave him an indulgent smile nonetheless.
“You’re certainly in a good mood,” Olivia said, still holding the door. An elderly couple shuffled in and headed for the
Evita
booth.
Dixie had a strange fascination for Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musicals. As a result she’d plastered Broadway paraphernalia on every inch of available wall space. Each booth had its own unique theme, and while most patrons found the décor charming, Olivia did not share in her friend’s Webber Worship.
Her eyes gleaming with excitement, Dixie looked over her shoulder and then whispered, “You’d be happy as a cat in tuna factory too, if you knew whose lovely, rich buns were planted on the leather in the
Cats
booth.”
Olivia stole a glance at the middle-aged man dining on a chicken salad sandwich and a mountain of fries. He looked vaguely familiar but she couldn’t place him. “He’s handsome in a bookish sort of way. An older version of Brad Pitt in spectacles. I suppose he’s a celebrity since you’re
this
flustered. Let me guess. He played the lead in
Jesus Christ Superstar
?”
Placing a hand over her heart, Dixie released a dramatic sigh. “You’ve got the wrong field, but he does work in the arts. Keep guessin’. He’s good-lookin’, smart, is in great shape for a man in his fifties, has got the Midas touch, and I just read in
People
that he sold the film rights to his famous
book
for a figure with lots and lots of zeros.”
Now Olivia knew the identity of the diner. “Ah, it’s Nick Plumley, Booker Prize-winning author of the international bestseller,
The Barbed Wire Flower
. I wonder if he’s here conducting research. The Internet’s been rife with rumors regarding a sequel, and his groundbreaking novel was set down the road in New Bern.”
“You’ll have plenty of chances to ask him,” Dixie replied enigmatically. When Olivia didn’t rise to the bait by asking her how, the diner proprietor gave an irritated tug to her sequin-covered lavender top. “You’re about as fun as a preacher at a strip joint, but I’ll tell you anyhow. Mr. Plumley’s rented a house down the beach from your place. You two can bump into each other on a lonely stretch of sand.” Her eyes were shining with mischief. “There’ll be an instant spark between you. Passion will ignite! You’ll tear off your clothes and have wild, steamy—”
“Dixie! You’d better go. The lady in the
Evita
booth is waving her menu at you. I promise to ogle Mr. Plumley during my meeting with April, but we both have far too much work to do for me to stand here staring at him any longer.” Olivia turned away.
“First you dump Oyster Bay’s most eligible bachelor, and now you don’t give a fig that a gorgeous, unattached, and gifted
writer
is sittin’ ten feet away, ripe and ready for the pluckin’.” Dixie muttered loudly enough for Olivia to hear. “Maybe what folks say is true: you
do
have ice runnin’ through your veins.”
“A large cup of your excellent coffee should clear that ailment right up. You can decide what I want for lunch too. You always seem to know what’s best,” Olivia said over her shoulder and then greeted April Howard, the woman in charge of interior design for the Bayside Crab House.
Olivia and April spread swatches of fabric, paint palettes, and carpet samples across the booth, barely leaving room for their lunch plates. April had chosen Grumpy’s famous country fried steak, and Olivia was envious of the lightly battered meat smothered in gravy until Dixie appeared with her lunch—a generous wedge of cheese, shrimp, and mushroom quiche, Olivia only had to taste one bite of the golden crust to know that she’d been given the superior dish.
After serving the two women, Dixie lingered at their booth. She gave Haviland a platter of ground sirloin mixed with rice and vegetables and then asked after April’s kids. She voiced her opinion on the array of fabric samples, picking the gaudiest one of the lot and chiding Olivia for being too conservative.
“This place should be lively! Red, white, and blue with a few disco balls here and there!” Dixie exclaimed. “Where’s your sense of adventure? Folks are gonna be crackin’ crab claws with little mallets and tearin’ at the meat with their front teeth. This isn’t fine dinin’, you know.”
“We’ll have checkered tablecloths,” April said with a conciliatory smile. “But we need to keep the wall color relatively neutral because we plan to hang dozens of nautical flags in place of framed photographs or posters. Trust me, it’ll be bright and busy.”
“Bright and busy, huh? Just how I like my men,” Dixie joked and skated away to clear dishes from the countertop.
Olivia concluded her business with April, insisted on paying for lunch, and then remained behind while her employee left to make phone calls to suppliers before meeting her kids’ school bus.
Watching April jog across the street, Olivia recalled how she’d first met the talented designer. Last September, April’s husband had been murdered and Olivia had been involved in the investigation. She’d appeared at the Howard’s home in search of a clue and had found one that helped break the case wide open.
Slowly, April was healing from the devastating loss. She often called in sick and on those days Olivia guessed the mother of three had been assaulted by a wave of grief too potent to overcome. Olivia knew plenty about the grieving process and was fully aware that time wasn’t the consummate healer people claimed it to be. There were stretches of time in which the pain surfaced with such a raw and unexpected power, that it crippled the grief-stricken until it required an immense feat of strength just to get out of bed.
“You did a good thing, takin’ her on.” Dixie had appeared bearing a fresh carafe of coffee.
Olivia waved off the suggestion. “I needed an interior designer and she needed a job. Nothing more to it than that.”
Dixie snorted. “You’re a transparent as a ghost, ’Livia. I know you’re payin’ for her kids to be on that special soccer team. Fixed it up to look like some kind of sports scholarship, but you can’t fool
this
dwarf.”
Olivia put her fingers to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone about that. April isn’t looking for handouts.”
The bells above the diner door tinkled and a man wearing a pale blue blazer strolled in. Both women recognized the logo on the name tag pinned to the man’s lapel. Engraved with a beach house, a lone wave, and the words Bayside Realty, the tag indicated that Randall McGraw had come to Grumpy’s to meet with a prospective client. He headed straight for Nick Plumley’s booth and, after shaking the author’s hand, pulled a sheet of paper from a yellow folder bearing the realty’s name and placed it reverently on the table.
Dixie and Olivia exchanged curious glances.
“What are you waiting for?” Olivia hissed. “Get those wheels spinning! I’m dying to know which property he’s looking at.”
With a toss of her bleach-blonde pigtail braids, Dixie zipped over to Nick’s table, held out the order pad she only pretended to use as she’d never forgotten an order in her life, and beamed at the real estate agent. She then took her time clearing Nick’s plate and finally skated into the kitchen.
Before Dixie had the chance to report back to Olivia, Nick was pulling bills from his wallet. He collected the sheaf of paper from the Realtor, folded it in half, and left the booth. Instead of exiting the diner, however, he walked right up to Haviland and stopped.
“Your companion is beautiful. Male or female?” he asked Olivia, his eyes on the poodle.
“His name is Captain Haviland,” Olivia answered. “No need to be shy. He’s extremely friendly.”
The author extended his hand, palm up, and Haviland immediately offered him his right paw in return.
“I miss having a dog,” Nick said wistfully. “But I travel so much and it wouldn’t be fair to leave a pet in someone else’s care all the time.”
Olivia grinned, for Nick had given her just the opening she needed to satisfy her curiosity. She gestured at the man in the blazer who was pouring sugar into a glass of iced tea. “It appears as though you might be thinking about staying in one place for a while.”
The writer adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. “I’m renting a place at the moment, but I’d like to put down roots here. I have ties to Oyster Bay and I feel like I can achieve a level of anonymity in this town that I’ve yet to find in other places.”
Playing dumb, Olivia cocked her head. “Should I recognize you?”
Nick laughed and attractive crinkles formed at the corners mouth and eyes. “That’ll bring me down a peg.” He extended his hand. “I’m Nick Plumley, author and dog lover at your service.”
Olivia was pleased that his handshake was firm and that his eyes held a smile as he asked for her name.
“I knew who you were,” Olivia confessed after introducing herself. “Still, I couldn’t resist giving you a hard time. Consider it one of our new resident initiation rites.”
“As long as you don’t shave my eyebrows while I sleep,” Nick replied smoothly and took a seat across from Olivia. “It’s taken me years to perfect this arch.”
The pair had begun exchanging ideas for other pranks when one of the local school librarians entered the diner. She stopped just inside the door and scanned the room. When she saw Nick, her eyes widened and she scurried over to the window booth, clutching a hardcover against her chest.
“I am
so
sorry to interrupt, Mr. Plumley.” Her voice was an animated whisper. “But when I heard you were here,
in our little diner
, I had to rush right over. I am
such
a big fan. This book—!” She gently eased the novel away from her body and touched the cover with reverence. “I thought of those German soldiers as my own brothers. Now
that
is skillful character development, to make
me
empathize with Nazis when I lost
two
uncles to that war.”
My, but Dixie got the word out fast
.
What’s she doing? Sending out tweets about the diner’s guest?
Olivia wondered, watching the author’s reaction to failing to avoid his celebrity status.
Nick Plumley opened his mouth to thank the elderly librarian, but she didn’t give him the opportunity. “And the
murder scene
! Utterly chilling. I researched the actual events, of course. We even had the nephew of one of the Nazi prison camp guards speak at the school’s annual fundraiser.” She glanced behind her as though the rest of the diners were hanging on her every word. “If you’re working on the sequel, you should interview him. He says he remembers all kinds of stories from those days.
I
could introduce you.”
Something altered in Nick’s expression. The change was subtle. The laugh lines became shallower and a shadow darkened his eyes until he blinked it away. His smile, which had been sincere when the librarian first approached the booth, became stiff.
He recovered quickly, however, and offered to sign the woman’s book. She prattled on about area book clubs, wringing her hands in delight as she spelled her last name with deliberate slowness.
“I have
quite
a collection of signed books,” she informed Nick. “And this one will be given a place of pride among the John Updikes and the Dan Browns.”
Olivia was growing bored with the librarian’s fawning and wondered how the man seated opposite her had survived hundreds of events in which he was subjected to an endless horde of such sycophants.
Without regard for the librarian’s feelings, Olivia cleared her throat and made a show of examining her watch. Luckily, the older woman took the hint and scuttled off, the book once again pressed against her chest.
“Sorry about that,” Nick said, looking strangely weary from the encounter. He sat back, withdrawing into himself, and all traces of the amiable camaraderie that had begun to bloom between them evaporated.
Her curiosity aroused, Olivia tried to draw Nick into revealing more about his personal life, but he politely deflected all of her questions and began to shift in his seat. In a moment, she knew, he’d be gone.
“At least let me see the house listing you’ve got there. I know the best contractor in town should you need an inspection or repairs.” She gave Nick her warmest smile, opening her deep sea-blue eyes wide.
It worked. “Showing you where I hope to live doesn’t say much for my ability to guard my privacy, but for some reason I trust you.” He slid the paper across the table to her.
Olivia unfolded the sheet and drew in a sharp breath. Of all the houses in Oyster Bay, the wealthy writer wanted to purchase the one Harris was dead set on buying.