Writing All Wrongs (10 page)

“It’s on the southeast corner of the house.” Charles spread his hands. “I guess I can make myself useful by putting out some food for the cops. I’m no cook, but I can run to the market and get soda and sandwich fixings.”

“That’s a great idea. Very thoughtful,” Rawlings said, clearly relieved that Charles wouldn’t be hanging over his shoulder while he searched Silas’s belongings.

The moment Charles was gone, Olivia and Rawlings headed upstairs. Haviland came along too. He stopped to sniff every other stair, his tail wagging with curiosity.

“It’s convenient that you don’t have to secure a warrant,” Olivia said. “Is Peterson okay with us doing this?”

“He doesn’t know,” Rawlings said. “I plan to be very discreet, but I have to seize this opportunity. Try not to disturb anything. Just look for dirty clothing or suspicious items.”

Olivia entered the bedroom on the right. Though the bed was made, the seashell quilt was wrinkled and partially obscured by a tote bag, a voluminous handbag, and a pile of fashion magazines. A pair of Louis Vuitton suitcases had been dumped on the braided rug, and a cosmetic case and hairbrush sat on top of the bureau. “This looks like Leigh’s stuff,” she said to Rawlings, who was close on her heels.

Rawlings poked his head into the bathroom. “No male grooming items. No razor, shaving cream, etcetera. Just a purple toothbrush and a bunch of hair products.”

“I don’t think Silas and Leigh planned on sharing a room,” Olivia said.

Silas’s things were in the second bedroom. His clothing was hung in the closet and folded neatly in the drawers. There was no sign of wet or sandy clothes or of anything else that obviously linked him to Leigh’s murder.

The moment Peterson arrived, Rawlings pulled him aside to repeat what Charles had told him while Olivia took Haviland outside for a bathroom break.

Emmett’s house was visible through a break in the foliage, but Olivia turned away from it. She knew that Peterson—possibly with Rawlings in tow—would soon be headed next door, and she didn’t want to witness that scene.

Olivia went back inside the cottage, told Rawlings that she planned to join the rest of the Bayside Book Writers, and drove Haviland to the house where her friends were staying.

“Don’t look!” Harris cried as she pulled into the parking nook. “My masterpiece isn’t complete!”

Harris threw a piece of plastic sheeting over the front of his golf cart and stood, hands on hips, glaring at her. “Have you come to spy on me? Laurel and Millay said they’d try to recruit you.”

“The golf cart parade may not occur at all.” Olivia took Harris’s arm. “There’s been a murder.”

Harris cocked his head as though he hadn’t heard her correctly. “Say that again. Because I swear you mentioned murder.”

“Let’s go inside,” Olivia said softly. “That way, I can talk to all of you at once.”

Laurel and Millay were at the kitchen table, blowing up inflatable fish toys.

“Olivia! I’m so glad you’re here!” Laurel gestured at an inflated angelfish. “We could really use an extra pair of lungs. We’re running short on time.” She pushed a flattened clown fish across the table.

Harris drew a finger across his neck. “Forget about the fish, ladies. The parade might not happen.”

Millay stared at Olivia. “What’s going on?”

“I found Leigh Whitlow’s body on the beach this morning. Just after daybreak,” Olivia said and went on to describe the scene.

While Millay and Harris absorbed the news, Laurel fired off a series of questions.

“I’ll tell you what I know,” Olivia said. “But not so you can whip up a story for the
Gazette
. We need to help the local cops. They’ve never had a murder on the island before.”

“I can write about it later,” Laurel promised. “Is Rawlings with the Riverport Police?”

“Yes. They’re at Charles’s rental cottage. Both Silas and Leigh were staying with him.”

Olivia brought her friends up to speed. When she told them about Emmett, they frowned in unison.

“Why would the professor kill Leigh? Has he even met her before?” Harris asked.

“I don’t know, but there are plenty of strange and surprising connections. Emmett used to teach Amy Holden. Now Amy works for Silas. Charles went to college with Silas. I
don’t like all these seemingly random coincidences. Neither does the chief.”

With their golf cart decorations completely forgotten, Laurel, Millay, and Harris argued theories and raised more questions.

“Call Rawlings,” Harris said when they’d run out of ideas. “Have him ask Peterson if the parade is still on.”

Millay rolled her eyes. “Would you shut up about the parade, already?”

“Don’t you see? If I win the contest, I’ll have a reason to get close to Silas. It’ll give me an excuse to watch him and Amy. Maybe chat her up a little.” He looked at Olivia. “You’ll have to do the same with the professor. You’re friends. If the cops don’t find out what he was doing walking the beach at night wearing a backpack, then you’ll have to get the truth out of him.”

Laurel touched Olivia’s arm. “He’s right. Emmett obviously likes you, so he’s bound to be more open with you than with the police.”

Olivia wanted to tell her friends that she didn’t know Emmett the way she knew them. While she trusted the three people at the table with her life, she couldn’t say the same about Emmett. However, the words stuck in her throat, so she called Rawlings instead. When he didn’t pick up, she sent him a text.

A few seconds later, she received a short reply saying,
The parade is on
.

She read the text aloud.

Harris shoved his chair back from the table. “I need to get back to work! Olivia, can you give me a hand?”

When Olivia made to rise, Laurel pointed at the clown fish and whispered, “Traitor.”

*   *   *

After a lunch of chicken salad sandwiches, which Laurel prepared and served on paper plates, Olivia drove to the marina to meet Rawlings.

“How did it go with Emmett?” she asked anxiously.

“Peterson didn’t invite me to sit in on the interview. It was fairly short, and he didn’t detain Professor Billinger. Mr. Black was located and is with Peterson now. The police have created temporary headquarters at the library.”

Olivia was troubled by the fact that Rawlings was no longer using Emmett’s first name. This meant Rawlings viewed Emmett as a suspect.

“Our friends think Emmett will be more forthcoming with me than with the police. They’re full of all kinds of ideas, including the possibility that Leigh threatened Amy once too often and that Amy finally snapped.”

“A plausible theory, except that Ms. Holden is much smaller and lighter than Ms. Whitlow. It’s hard to picture her overpowering Ms. Whitlow and then dragging her body up the beach.” Rawlings’s expression turned thoughtful. “Then again, Ms. Holden could have had help.”

“I wonder if Silas will be released in time to judge the golf carts,” Olivia said, gazing down the road, where the parade was expected to appear any minute.

Rawlings jerked his head toward a raised platform where the judges sat. Marjorie Tucker, Vernon Sherrill, and the manager of the Marina Market occupied three of the four seats. The empty chair was presumably reserved for Silas.

As if thinking about the man conjured him from thin air, Silas suddenly materialized on the dock behind where Olivia and Rawlings were seated. Silas waved to Dirk, the young archaeologist, who stood at the wheel of a small motorboat. Dirk flashed a bright grin, saluted Silas, and put the boat in reverse.

The grassy area surrounding the docks was just as crowded as it had been for the arrival of the pirates, but the spectators were facing away from the water. No one but Olivia and Rawlings seemed to have noticed Silas’s arrival.
As for Silas, he strode down the dock with a light step and a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

“He’s hardly the picture of a man in mourning,” Olivia said to Rawlings.

Rawlings grunted. “If anything, he looks relieved. Lightened of a burden.”

Before ascending the raised platform, Silas rearranged his face into a more sober expression. He responded to the words of comfort from all three judges with lugubrious nods and downcast eyes. Marjorie Tucker patted his arm and gestured at the empty chair. Silas sat with slumped shoulders and fixed his gaze on the empty road.

It wasn’t long before the first carts came into view. The bystanders gave a rousing cheer.

The leading golf cart had been wrapped entirely in pink paper. A large pig face covered the hood and grill, and the driver was dressed as a piece of bacon. Following behind the pig was a haunted house complete with ghosts, spiderwebs, a vampire in the passenger seat, and a witch at the wheel. The next four carts had been decorated to resemble a Chinese dragon, a tugboat, a fire truck, and Cookie Monster. The group after that contained a puppy with a wagging tail, a pioneer wagon, a flamingo, a locomotive engine, and a whale. The whale’s driver, who was surrounded by trash, was a Biblical Jonah.

“I see Millay and Laurel!” Rawlings pointed at a golf cart covered with blue paper, nets, and a dozen different kinds of inflatable fish. A purple octopus made of foam pool noodles held a sign reading,
CATCH OF THE DAY
.

“I like their fishermen’s caps,” Olivia said, smiling.

Rawlings grinned. “I can’t wait to tell them how attractive they look with those pipes dangling from their mouths.”

Millay and Laurel threw small bags of Swedish Fish to the children in the crowd and then drove on to the parking area.

The next cart looked like a car from
The Flintstones
cartoon. Wilma waved to the spectators while Betty pivoted in her seat to blow kisses at the driver of the cart behind them. That driver happened to be a bearded man in a Santa suit. His cart, which had been transformed into a sleigh complete with eight cardboard reindeer, was clearly a crowd favorite.

“That’s going to be tough to beat,” said Rawlings. “Where is Harris?”

“There.” Olivia pointed at the approaching pirate ship.

Harris had covered the entire cart with cardboard, which he’d then painted to resemble wood. He’d also added portholes and cannon holes. The foam cannons held lit sparklers, and a Jolly Roger flew from pillowcase sails. Harris was in the driver’s seat, dressed in full pirate regalia. When he approached the judge’s platform, he shouted, “Ahoy, me hearties! Show me yer treasure or I’ll blast ya to the briny deep!”

Several people standing along the road yelled in approval, but Harris was focused on the judges. “You’ve no pieces of eight for me, you curs? What a shame. See how I deal with lubbers such as yerselves.” Harris stopped his cart in the middle of the road, opened a hatch on the side of his ship, and pushed a cannon through the aperture. A loud
pop!
echoed through the air, and a missile of glitter and confetti soared toward the judge’s platform.

The bystanders whooped and applauded in approval. Harris gave a rakish bow and put his golf cart into drive again.

Olivia glanced at the remaining carts and said, “He has a good chance.”

“It was clever of him to pick a pirate ship. Silas was definitely amused.”

In the end, Harris was declared the winner. He shook hands with Silas, who quickly passed him off to Amy Holden. Amy pulled Harris aside while Silas focused on congratulating the second- and third-place winners.

While they waited for Harris, Olivia and Rawlings walked over to where Millay and Laurel stood by their golf cart.

“I think you should have placed based on your pipes alone,” Rawlings told his friends.

“We had fun, and that’s all that matters,” Laurel said.

Millay glowered at her. “Speak for yourself. I like to win. And what are we going to do with all those inflatable fish?”

“Why don’t you use them to decorate the bar?” Olivia teased.

Millay reached up to the roof of her golf cart, pulled a foam octopus leg free, and whacked Olivia on the rump with it.

The four friends were still laughing when Harris joined them.

“Well, Mr. Hollywood?” Millay slung the octopus leg over her shoulder. “Aren’t you supposed to be hanging out with Silas?”

“I can’t.” Harris threw out his arms in a show of helplessness. “The guy just disappeared. Just like that!” Harris snapped his fingers. “Like a freaking
ghost.”

There is more treasure in books than in all the pirate’s loot on Treasure Island.

—W
ALT
D
ISNEY

O
livia looked at Rawlings. “What do we do now?”

“We split up,” Rawlings said. “I’ll go back to Charles’s cottage and see if he can find out what happened during Officer Peterson’s interview with Mr. Black.”

Millay patted her messenger bag. “I’m coming with you. I need to plop down on a sofa for a few minutes and interact with my readers online.”

“Don’t you mean fans?” Harris asked.

“Seriously, I cannot use that word,” Millay said, instantly embarrassed. “I’m a bartender, okay? Silas Black has fans. I have customers. Regulars. Men—and a handful of women—who drink too much, curse too loudly, and aren’t overly concerned with personal hygiene.”

Olivia smiled. “And yet, Fish Nets is more interesting on a Saturday night than any other Oyster Bay establishment.”

Harris glanced over at the raised platform. “I’m going to hang around Amy. Maybe I can get her to have coffee with me. After all, how can she resist this face?” Harris winked
at his friends. “Let’s regroup at Lifesaver later. Text me if there’s any news, and I’ll do the same.”

“Look at that swagger,” Millay scoffed after Harris walked away. “See what you’ve done, Chief? Ever since you hired Harris, his head’s swelled like our inflatable puffer fish.” She gestured at the fish in question.

“No one can hold a candle to him when it comes to research,” Rawlings said and then turned to Olivia. “Are you going to speak with Emmett?”

She shook her head. “Not right now. I need to figure out how to approach him first. My immediate plan is to track down the museum curator and see if he can elaborate on the Theodosia Burr legend.”

“I’ll join you,” Laurel said. “I can pick up some goodies for the boys in the gift store.”

Rawlings examined his watch. “As Harris said, we’ll keep in touch by text message. Why don’t we regroup at Lifesaver for cocktails around five? Hopefully, one or more of us will have discovered a useful clue by then.”

“We’d better find something,” Olivia said. “Peterson only had two suspects, and he hasn’t made an arrest.”

“Not yet,” Rawlings said. “But my guess is that he’s being very, very careful. This will be a high-profile case within the hour. The only reason the whole island isn’t aware of the murder is because people were attending the golf cart parade. However, those with rental houses where Ms. Whitlow’s body was found are bound to notice the tent erected on the beach any moment now. Soon, this place will be flooded with reporters, and their presence will make Peterson’s job all the more difficult.” He paused and gave Laurel an apologetic smile. “I’m not referring to you, of course.”

Laurel gave her ponytail a tug. “Maybe you should. My editor will expect me to cover this story. I’m a journalist, and I’m right in the thick of things. I’ll have to e-mail at
least a teaser article tonight, though I promise not to write anything that would interfere with the investigation.”

“I trust you,” Rawlings said. “You’ve always shown excellent judgment.”

Buoyed by Rawlings’s compliment, Laurel practically skipped as she, Oliva, and Haviland struck out for the museum.

Haviland was also in excellent spirits. He pranced at Olivia’s side, his gaze raking the ground in search of a stick or something else that might work in a game of catch.

“We’ll play after our museum visit,” Olivia assured him. “I bet there are wonderful sticks in the maritime forest.”

“Just don’t wander off the path,” Laurel cautioned. “Jan Powell told us that the alligators are probably hibernating by now, but I paid close attention to her use of the word ‘probably.’”

Olivia had nearly forgotten about Jan Powell. “Peterson should speak with Jan too. If someone wanted to threaten Silas Black, to get him to leave, then the head of the conservancy might be that person. How far would she go to protect the status quo, despite the sale of the land?”

“It’s worth checking out,” Laurel agreed. “Do you want me to send a text to Rawlings? I know you’re not fond of texting while walking.”

Olivia scowled. “No, I’m not. I can’t seem to type and walk in a straight line.”

By the time they reached the maritime museum, the text had been sent. However, it didn’t look like they’d be gaining entrance to the museum. A
CLOSED
sign hung in the window.

Olivia stepped up to the door and peered inside. “The lights are on. And the woman I met the other day is standing in the threshold of the gift shop. I believe her name is Rosemary. She looks upset.”

“Maybe she heard about the murder,” Laurel said, removing her fisherman’s hat and tossing it on the seat of the golf cart.

“Only one way to find out.” Olivia knocked on the door.

Rosemary jumped in surprise and made a waving motion, indicating that Olivia should go away.

Olivia knocked again and gestured for Rosemary to come closer.

Reluctantly, she took out a pair of keys and turned the dead bolt. After another click, she opened the door a crack.

“I’m sorry, but we’re—”

“Closed,” Olivia said apologetically. “I don’t mean to bother you, but when my friend saw the wonderful things I bought in the gift shop, she was dying to get several items as well. Is it possible for us to make a few purchases without entering the museum itself?”

Rosemary was clearly tempted. Having sat on several museum boards, Olivia knew that small museums relied heavily on donations as well as profits from their gift shops, and the maritime museum seemed in desperate need of funds.

“Christmas is right around the corner,” Olivia added. “I’m sure I could find additional gifts for my niece and nephew. We’ll be in and out in five minutes.”

“All right,” the woman capitulated. “But I’ll have to lock the door behind you. We’ve had a theft.”

Laurel’s eyes widened dramatically. “That’s terrible! Were you here when it took place?”

Rosemary shook her head. “No, it happened after hours. Mr. Sherrill reported the crime first thing this morning, but the police
just
showed up. Mr. Sherrill is livid, and with good reason.”

They don’t know that the cops are busy with a murder investigation
, Olivia thought.

“What was stolen?” Laurel asked in a sympathetic voice. “Something valuable?”

“
All
of our artifacts have value,” Rosemary said, ushering
the women into the gift shop. Her stern face softened a little as she watched Haviland sit on his haunches next to Olivia’s right leg. “We don’t know what’s missing yet,” she continued. “Mr. Sherrill and I were trying to take an inventory when the police finally arrived. One item is definitely gone, though I don’t know why anyone would steal such a thing.”

Olivia and Laurel exchanged glances.

“Does your collection include antique clothing?” Olivia asked, handing Laurel a pirate costume kit.

Rosemary inhaled sharply. “What makes you say that?”

Olivia passed Laurel a second costume kit. Rosemary’s eyes followed the movement and then returned to Olivia’s face.

“Was it a dress?” Olivia asked quietly. “A white dress with an empire waist?”

Gasping, Rosemary retreated a step. “How could you know that? Unless . . .”

“We had nothing to do with the theft,” Olivia hastily assured her. “But the dress is part of a bigger mystery. Can you please take us to Mr. Sherrill? I think he’ll want to speak with us.”

Laurel glanced down at the pirate costumes in her hands. “Um, should I buy these first?”

Rosemary quickly rang up Laurel’s purchases and shoved them in a plastic bag. She then told Olivia and Laurel to follow her and marched through the first two exhibit spaces and through a door marked with a
STAFF ONLY
sign.

The curator was at the end of a narrow hallway, gesticulating wildly at a very young policeman.

“I’m trying to help you do your job. Amy Holden worked in this museum for three summers when she was a teenager. Don’t you see what that means? She’d have known where every item in our collection was stored. She may still have a key to this room. We haven’t changed the locks in this building since I’ve been the curator, and you said there was no sign of forced entry, right?”

The officer jotted something on his notepad, murmured something to Mr. Sherrill, and disappeared through the doorway behind him.

Rosemary cleared her throat and raised her hand in an awkward little wave. “Mr. Sherrill? I’m sorry to interrupt, but these women might know something about the theft.”

“At this point, I’d accept help from SpongeBob SquarePants,” Mr. Sherrill nearly shouted. “That cop is as green as a Girl Scout. I don’t know why they sent him. This is a museum robbery, for Chrissakes!” He glared at Haviland. “And now there’s a
dog
in my museum? What’s next? A plague of locusts?”

Olivia failed to understand the connection between her well-mannered poodle and a Biblical plague, but decided to ignore the remark. “Could we sit down for a moment? In your office, perhaps? There’s something I’d like to ask you as well.”

Mr. Sherrill’s red face took on a purplish hue. “If you know anything about what happened here, I highly suggest you tell me this minute.”

“All right,” Olivia said. “I believe it has to do with the legend of Theodosia Burr. My friend and I don’t know much about her other than she was lost at sea off the North Carolina coast. Is she connected to Palmetto Island in any way?”

Olivia had correctly guessed that the curator wouldn’t be able to resist demonstrating his knowledge, and he told them a story very similar to the one Emmett had shared during his lecture.

“Professor Billinger gave a talk on haunted landmarks two days ago.” Olivia jumped in when Mr. Sherrill paused for breath. “He said that witnesses saw Theodosia’s ghost on the beach. Do you know which beach? Or what she was wearing?”

“It’s always been the South Beach, but . . .” He trailed off and all the color drained from his cheeks. “Our dress.”
His eyes blazed. “If someone used it to play a prank, I will—”

“Was the dress from Theodosia’s time?” Laurel asked.

The curator looked confused. “Yes. It was given to us by a collector of vintage and antique clothing. While we’d certainly love to own a genuine article belonging to Theodosia Burr Alston, we didn’t. This dress was something she, and the ladies of her age and class, would have worn, however.”

Olivia was puzzled. “Why give a dress to a maritime museum?”

“It was the donor’s wish that we use her collection to create a tableau called The Widow’s Walk,” Mr. Sherrill explained hurriedly. “Her brother had been lost at sea during World War Two, and she wanted us to honor the women who’d watched and waited for their men to return safely from their sea voyages. We honor her request every Memorial Day weekend. Now, I’ve been exceedingly patient. Where is our dress?”

Olivia knew that word of Leigh’s death would be all over the island soon, so she decided to be forthcoming with the curator in hopes that he’d have a theory concerning the killer’s motive. “Somehow, your dress ended up being worn by Leigh Whitlow, Silas Black’s girlfriend.”

“What?” The word was an exhalation of shock and fury. Mr. Sherrill turned. “That useless cop can arrest—”

Reaching out to grab his arm, Olivia said, “Leigh’s dead. I found her body on the beach this morning. She was wearing a white dress. Do you have a photograph of your dress so I can confirm that what I saw matches the one you’re missing?”

Mr. Sherrill looked at Rosemary. “Would you?”

“Of course,” she said and entered a room at the other end of the hallway.

While they waited, Mr. Sherrill seemed to sag.

“Why has this happened?” he whispered after a full minute of silence.

“I overheard you say that Amy Holden used to volunteer at the museum,” Olivia said softly.

The name immediately brought the curator back to life. “
Amy!
” he cried angrily. “Once upon a time, that girl loved coastal history—more than any other young person I knew. But look what’s become of her now. If Black told her to leap from a ship into shark-infested waters, I believe she’d do it. And if he wanted her to steal that dress, she’d do it! He asked to borrow some of our artifacts, and I turned him down. So what does he do? He sends his lackey to steal them!”

“Did Mr. Black ask to borrow the dress?”

Mr. Sherrill appeared to be in a daze, and Olivia had to repeat the question.

“What?” he said as though stunned. “No, he didn’t. Here’s Rosemary. Please look at the image. Is this the dress you saw?”

Rosemary proffered an eight-by-eleven color photograph of a mannequin wearing the white dress, white gloves, and a wig of dark curly hair. A white ribbon held the curls in place, and a strand of pearls encircled the mannequin’s slender neck.

“That’s it,” Olivia said. “Do you have any idea why someone would give that dress to Leigh Whitlow before killing her on the South Beach?”

“What would be the point of making Black’s woman look like Theodosia Burr Alston?” Mr. Sherrill demanded. “How was she killed? Is the dress . . . Was there blood?”