Writing All Wrongs (12 page)

“I didn’t want them to get wet before jumping into bed with me,” Emmett said. “I dote on them, but I prefer not to sleep on damp sheets or to wake up with sand in my hair.”

Fields removed the cuffs from his belt and advanced
toward Emmett. “Time’s up. Place your wrists together, please.”

“Get a lawyer,” Olivia said without breaking eye contact with Emmett. “I believe you. Okay? I believe you, and I’ll do anything I can to help you.”

A glint of hope appeared in Emmett’s eyes. “You will?”

“You’ve helped me in the past,” Olivia reminded him. “And you and I are friends. This is what friends do for each other.”

Fields put a hand under Emmett’s right arm and coaxed him to his feet.

“Thank you for taking care of Calpurnia and Caesar. They’re my family. Knowing they’re with you will keep me going,” Emmett said before he was led from the room.

Olivia stayed where she was until another policeman arrived and escorted her back to the lobby.

Thank you
, Olivia mouthed to the desk clerk.

The clerk gave her a small, sympathetic nod.

Olivia didn’t want her sympathy. The clerk’s expression said that she felt sorry for Olivia for being friends with a killer. It was a look that spoke of hopelessness and wasted effort.

Bursting through the doorway and out into the waning afternoon, Olivia began to run. She didn’t stop until she reached the ferry ticket office. After boarding the boat, she made her way toward the bow. She stared across the river as the ferry headed east and waited for Palmetto Island to come into view.

“I’m coming for you,” she whispered into the wind. She wished the real murderer could hear the determination in her voice.

Olivia watched a pelican dive-bomb into the water, and felt a deep satisfaction when the bird rose up again with a fish trapped in its beak. The fish had time to wriggle
once—a flash of silver in a black maw—before disappearing down the pelican’s throat.

*   *   *

Olivia drove straight to Emmett’s house. Ignoring the yellow seal placed across the front door to warn trespassers against unauthorized entry, Olivia found the spare key in the duck decoy by the back door and entered Shifting Sands by the rear entrance. The moment she was inside, she called Caesar and Calpurnia.

There was no response. No barking. No clicking of nails on hardwood. The house was empty.

Olivia took out her phone, which she’d turned off at the police station, and noticed the string of text messages and missed calls. She dialed Rawlings’s number.

Rawlings didn’t bother saying hello. “Where are you?”

“I’m back on the island,” she said. “Emmett asked me to look after his dogs. Please tell me they weren’t taken to the county shelter.”

“Your father has them.” Rawlings was angry. “Damn it, Olivia. I’ve been trying to reach you for the past two hours. We all have.”

Olivia glanced around Emmett’s living room. “He didn’t do it, Sawyer. Give me five minutes. After that, I’ll meet you and explain everything.”

“Olivia—” The note of reproach in his voice was unmistakable, and Olivia had a bad feeling that he knew exactly where she was.

“Please, this is important,” she said. “Just tell the others that we’ll be spending most of the cocktail hour coming up with a game plan.”

Rawlings grunted. “Five minutes, Olivia, and don’t take anything from the professor’s house. You can’t help him if you’re in a holding cell.”

“I won’t,” Olivia said and hung up.

She went straight to Emmett’s bedroom to see if the book on Theodosia Burr was still on his nightstand. It wasn’t, and Olivia assumed the police had bagged it as evidence. What remained, however, were two nonfiction books about a nineteenth-century North Carolina merchant. Flipping through the hardbacks, Olivia spotted photographs of a plantation house overlooking the Cape Fear River. Emmett had also marked the pages detailing the drowning death of the merchant’s daughter with sticky notes. On one of the notes he’d written:
Add death to chapter 10. Murder by slave? Servant? Jilted lover?

Olivia sank down on the bed. She hadn’t realized until this moment that a small part of her had doubted Emmett. She’d wanted to believe him, but she’d been deceived by people she cared about before. She also knew that Emmett’s story could be sprinkled with just enough truth to throw her off balance. And there was his bottle opener to consider as well. If Emmett hadn’t dropped it at the scene, then how had it gotten there?

“That’s almost as perplexing as the idea of your gaining access to the museum,” she said to the empty room. “How could you possibly have gotten inside and stolen that antique dress?”

Amy.

The name surfaced, unbidden, in Olivia’s mind.

She headed for the door. She needed to be with Rawlings and her friends. She needed to tell them everything so they could help her sort her addled thoughts and make sense of her contradictory emotions.

Moving past the kitchen, she caught sight of the empty food bowls on the floor. She paused just long enough to wonder what would become of Emmett’s greyhounds should he be denied bail.

But Olivia already knew the answer to that question. She would keep the dogs until Emmett was free to reclaim them.

If
he’s set free
, the niggling voice inside her head whispered.

Olivia hurried back to Lifesaver. When she entered the house, Haviland was waiting for her on the other side of the door. He rushed forward, his tail wagging with happiness at the sight of her, and pressed his nose against her hip. It was his canine version of a kiss hello. Olivia put her arms around his neck and held him while listening to the familiar sound of the members of the Bayside Book Writers engaged in animated discussion.

“Home,” she whispered into Haviland’s ear and then walked into the living room.

*   *   *

Olivia refused to tell her friends what had happened at the station until Rawlings explained how Charles had ended up with Emmett’s greyhounds.

Rawlings described how Olivia’s father had argued with the officers in charge of securing Emmett’s house until they finally relented and granted him custody of the dogs. Charles had even thought to take their food and leashes, as well as a box of dog waste bags, before the officers locked and sealed the house.

Olivia felt a surge of affection for Charles. It was hard to imagine such a fastidious person dealing with dog hair, wet paw prints, or kibble crumbs. Olivia sensed that he’d taken the dogs for her sake and was deeply moved by the gesture.

It took two cocktails for Olivia to describe her visit with Emmett. When she was done, Millay said, “Whoa. That story is almost too crazy to be made up.”

Harris studied Olivia. “Do you believe the professor?”

“I want to,” Olivia said. “The evidence seems pretty circumstantial to me, so unless the cops find Emmett’s prints on Leigh’s body—”

“They won’t,” Rawlings said. “Sand and salt water make
collecting evidence nearly impossible. And though the bruising on the neck was likely created by a man’s fingers, I doubt even the state forensics lab can match the marks to a specific individual. Even if they could, it would take a week, or weeks, before the tests were complete. So unless the ME finds traces of Leigh’s DNA under Emmett’s nails or somewhere in his house, Peterson may not have enough to hold him.”

Laurel raised her index finger. “If they can tie him to the museum break-in, he won’t be going anywhere. Sorry, Olivia. I’m just playing devil’s advocate.”

Olivia looked at Rawlings. “The curator was quick to name Amy Holden as the likely culprit. Do you know if the police questioned her?”

“I was with her when the cops showed up at Land End Lodge,” Harris said. “Our food had just arrived too. It was such a bummer. I could hardly stuff my face while Amy was being interrogated.”

Millay poked him in the ribs. “You’re such a gentleman.”

“I am. After all, there’s no such thing as a delicious
cold
platter of calamari. The whole thing went to waste.”

“What questions did Amy answer?” Olivia asked impatiently.

Harris shrugged. “Despite my position with the Oyster Bay Police Department, I wasn’t exactly given the same level of respect as the chief. The cops took Amy to a separate room, while I was left with the calamari. When Amy returned to the table, she didn’t want to talk. In fact, she just took off.”

“Seeing as the cops didn’t arrest her, Amy must have convinced them that she wasn’t the thief,” Millay said.

Rawlings picked up the notebook he’d been using to record plot ideas during the festival and flipped to a blank page. “There was no sign of forced entry at the museum, correct?”

“That’s what Vernon Sherrill said. Both he and Rosemary,
the docent, were positive that the robbery was committed by someone familiar with the museum’s inventory.”

“Are there other staff members?” Rawlings asked.

“The third employee is caring for his mother following her hip replacement surgery,” Olivia said. “He phoned Mr. Sherrill from his mother’s house in Mississippi, so he’s in the clear.”

Rawlings scrawled something in his notebook and then stared at the page. Olivia didn’t want to disrupt his thoughts, but she was eager to hear what the rest of the Bayside Book Writers had learned while she was in Riverport.

“What did you and Amy talk about before you were interrupted?” she asked Harris.

Harris took a quick sip of beer. “She didn’t say so outright, but she definitely has a thing for her boss. She didn’t bother to hide her dislike for Leigh either. She said that Leigh never gave Silas any space and that she couldn’t understand why Silas hadn’t dumped the ‘albatross’ years ago.”

“I’ve heard the same sentiment from several people, Charles included,” Olivia said. “And Silas? Why isn’t
he
a suspect?”

“According to your father, Mr. Black was able to supply a credible alibi for the time period in which Ms. Whitlow was murdered,” Rawlings said.

Olivia held out her hands. “Wait. Wasn’t
Charles
his alibi? Silas was staying at his house. And if Charles was awake late enough to see Emmett leave on his late-night walk, then wouldn’t Charles have been the one to confirm Silas’s whereabouts?”

“No, because Silas wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the house at all,” Rawlings said. “Your father didn’t mention this to us because he felt the matter was private—that it was between Mr. Black and the authorities.”

Staring at Rawlings in confusion, Olivia asked, “Where
was
Silas?”

“With Amy.” Millay smirked. “After Silas and Leigh had
their little spat, Leigh stormed out and Silas sought consolation in Amy’s arms.”

“Or so she says,” Olivia muttered. “What if Amy is just covering for him? She’s obviously smitten with him. Not only that, but he’s also her employer. She might be afraid
not
to lie on his behalf.”

Rawlings tapped the point of his pen against his notebook. “I agree that it’s a weak alibi. I’ve shared my opinion on the subject with Officer Peterson, but I fear that he may be starstruck. Officer Peterson is far too impressed by Mr. Black’s fame and wealth. I believe it’s clouded his judgment.”

“In that case,
we
need to discover the truth!” Olivia hated the shrill note in her voice but did nothing to suppress it. “If Emmett is innocent, then we must secure his freedom. And if Silas is guilty—”

“Then we need your father’s help,” Rawlings said softly. “He tried to reach Mr. Black all afternoon but was unsuccessful.” He looked at his watch. “The closing banquet starts in an hour. That doesn’t give us much time to get ready.”

Olivia downed the last of her Chivas Regal and got to her feet. “You’re right. We’d better move fast. We only have tonight to catch a
killer.”

Without wearing any mask we are conscious of, we have a special face for each friend.

—O
LIVER
W
ENDELL
H
OLMES

R
awlings whistled when Olivia reached the bottom of the stairs. She wore a floor-length dress with a fitted white halter top and a flowing black skirt. She carried a red beaded clutch and wore bold red lipstick. The festival program had called for the attendees to come to the closing banquet “dressed to kill,” in black or white cocktail attire with “a splatter” of red.

“You’re stunning,” Rawlings said.

She smiled at him. “So are you. Seeing you in your tux makes me think of our wedding.” She crossed the room and then turned, displaying her bare back.

Rawlings reached for the zipper pull and slowly closed her dress. The tips of his fingers lingered on the nape of her neck. He traced infinity symbols across her smooth skin, raising gooseflesh along her arms and shoulders. “This vacation wasn’t what I’d imagined it would be. I wanted to collect more moments of happiness,” he whispered into her hair.

Olivia pivoted so that she and Rawlings stood face-to-face.
“We’re not like those couples in the getaway brochures. Some people attract darkness. I know that sounds melodramatic, but I believe that all five of us are such people. That’s probably why we gravitated toward one another in the first place. Joining the Bayside Book Writers changed my life. And falling for you made me realize that we can handle the darkness as long as we’re together.”

Rawlings cupped her cheeks in his hands and then pulled her in for a kiss. After releasing her, he said, “We should be eating, drinking, and dancing. We should be thinking about our writing projects. Instead, we’re forming a hunting party.” He stepped back to admire Olivia once more. “Or a very well-dressed war party.”

Olivia grinned. She was straightening the folds of the red handkerchief peeking from his breast pocket when the doorbell rang.

“The rest of the warriors have arrived,” she said and headed for the kitchen.

Haviland bounced in excitement as Harris, Millay, and Laurel entered the house.

“We were just here, you silly boy.” Laurel gave Haviland’s head a fond scratch and then stared at Olivia. “You’re gorgeous. What I’d give to be that tall and slender.”

Millay responded to Laurel’s remark with a dismissive wave. “We have different weapons in our arsenal, lady. You’re the only woman I know who could pull off an all-white pantsuit without channeling Don Johnson in
Miami Vice
.”

“Pantsuits are hot,” Harris agreed. “Especially with the red pumps. You should snap a selfie and send it to your husband.”

“Who says I haven’t already?” Laurel replied with an enigmatic smile.

Olivia complimented Millay on her short, formfitting, black-and-white silhouette dress. She’d traded her boots for a pair of black stilettos with silver tips and dyed a stripe of
her dark hair bright red. Any other woman would have looked trashy in such an outfit, but Millay managed to make it look chic.

“And you,” Olivia said to Harris. “For years I saw you as a grown-up version of Peter Pan. But tonight, you’re a ginger-haired James Bond.”

Preening, Harris smoothed his white tux jacket. “The red bow tie isn’t too much?”

Laurel shook her head. “Bow ties are sexy. You could be the next Doctor Who
.
They need a ginger Doctor Who. Like pantsuits, gingers are in.”

Millay rolled her eyes. “All right, I think we’ve stroked one another’s egos enough. Can we go now?”

Rawlings offered her his arm. “Permit me to escort you to your golf cart.”

Feigning annoyance, Millay took his arm. The five friends said good-bye to Haviland and stepped into the chilly night.

Olivia was glad she’d had the foresight to pack a long coat and wasted no time putting in on. Millay pulled a red pashmina from her handbag and grudgingly allowed Rawlings to drape it over her shoulders. She then started up her golf cart and drove off, the ends of her pashmina trailing behind her like ribbons on a little girl’s braids. Harris and Laurel were in the backseat, their white jackets glowing in the moonlight. Rawlings and Olivia followed in their own cart.

“I still find it hard to believe that tonight’s banquet wasn’t canceled. Tell me again what the lodge manager said when you called,” Olivia said as the sign for Land End Lodge came into view. A cluster of reporters and cameramen waited on the main road, held at bay by a line of sawhorses and lodge employees wearing reflective vests. They shouted at the attendees, who were momentarily blinded by camera flashes.

“Just that Mr. Black insisted that the show must go on.” Rawlings pulled into the parking lot and brought the cart to a halt. “Mr. Black is either very resilient, or he doesn’t care that the woman he’s been with since college is dead.”

Olivia frowned. “You saw his face right before the golf cart parade started. He was relieved, if not downright happy. His only challenge will be playing the part of the grieving lover.”

Together, the Bayside Book Writers entered the lodge.

In the dining room, all traces of the autumnal theme were gone. The tables were now covered with black cloths, and red napkin fans sat on white plates. The centerpieces were hollowed plastic skulls filled with purple calla lilies, dark red roses, and Spanish moss.

“It’s surreal to see the crime-themed décor after what happened to Leigh Whitlow,” Millay said as the group located their table. “Normally, I’d love this stuff, but it’s kind of creepy to have a skull staring at you while you eat, considering there’s been a murder.” She picked up a place card. “Someone’s crashing our party.”

Laurel examined the card. “Charles Wade? No offense, Olivia, but he might put a damper on our plans.”

Rawlings took the card from Millay’s hand and put it back on the table. “I asked Charles to join us. He’s our only connection to Mr. Black. We need him.”

“Maybe we should get the two of them drunk,” Harris suggested. “It’s a cash bar, but I’m willing to blow some of my hard-earned money if there’s a chance that Charles and Black will talk.”

Olivia looked at Harris. “You think Charles is hiding something too?”

“I do,” Harris admitted sheepishly. “He and Silas have been friends for a long time. You can’t maintain a friendship like that without having each other’s backs. I’m not saying that Charles is one of the bad guys, but I’d hazard a guess
that his loyalties are torn between protecting his college buddy and supporting you. I think that’s why he took the professor’s dogs. He’s playing both sides. That isn’t easy to do, and it must be stressing him out.”

“Where are you getting this from?” Millay stared at Harris. “Last time I checked, you didn’t have a degree in psychology.”

Harris tapped his temple. “I used my massive brain to process everything Charles has said since his arrival. Think about it. Why is Silas Black coming to Oyster Bay? Because Charles asked him for a big favor.” He glanced at Olivia for confirmation. “Isn’t that a direct quote?”

“Yes,” Olivia answered.

“Silas came to Palmetto Island because he’s ready to start filming the next season of
No Quarter
. The guy has a timeline, and yet, he’s willing to stop his work and bop up to Through the Wardrobe for its grand reopening?” Harris smirked. “Even if he’s a nice guy, which we’re all seriously doubting at this point, why would he be willing to do a signing at an independent bookstore in a small town when he needs to rent warehouse space, hire extras, fly the cast out here, and get the cameras rolling? Every day that he wastes, he’s losing money, so why would he waste a single day?”

“Silas must feel compelled to do this favor for Charles. We need to find out why. I like your idea of using alcohol to loosen their tongues, Harris.” Olivia started toward the bar.

The five friends read the cocktail menu. The drinks, which had names like Jailbreak, Smooth Criminal, Crime of Passion, and Death Sentence, were various shades of red. Laurel chose the Crime of Passion, a cosmopolitan served in a sugar-rimmed glass. Millay opted for the Smooth Criminal, which was a blend of pomegranate and lime juices, vodka, bitters, and vanilla cardamom syrup. Harris ordered the Jailbreak because he liked the idea of mixing cherries, whiskey, amaretto, and cola. Rawlings and Olivia both asked
for a Death Sentence, a cocktail made of champagne, strawberries, and Campari.

Carrying her own drink in one hand and a Smooth Criminal for her father in the other, Olivia returned to their table. As she put the drinks down, she spotted a cop standing by the entrance to the dining room. It was the young policeman from the maritime museum. Olivia assumed that Peterson had sent one of his men to make the guests feel more secure in light of the recent murder. Peterson clearly didn’t anticipate further violence, or he would have assigned an experienced officer to the task.

Glancing away, Olivia saw Charles weaving his way through the crowd. “Here comes Charles,” she told her friends. “And he has Silas Black in tow.”

Charles headed straight for Olivia. “You outshine every woman in this room,” he said and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek.

“Thank you.” Olivia gave him a small smile. “How are Caesar and Calpurnia?”

“They’ve been walked and fed, but I don’t think they’re happy.” Charles looked genuinely concerned. “I have very little experience with dogs, and I’m sure they can sense that.”

Olivia picked a dog hair off the arm of Charles’s tux jacket. “Still, it was really sweet of you to intervene on their behalf. I’m grateful, and I know Emmett will be as well. Do you want me to take them from you after the banquet?”

Charles shook his head. “Silas isn’t staying with me tonight, and to my surprise, I enjoy their company. I’m worried that moving them again might distress them even more.” He turned and, slinging an arm around Silas’s shoulders, pulled him toward Olivia. “I hear the two of you met the other day, but I don’t think you realized at the time that Olivia is my daughter. Well, now you know.”

Silas took Olivia’s hand. “It’s obvious that you get your good looks from your mother.” He nudged Charles in the
ribs and smiled at Olivia. “Charles showed me a photograph of Camille once. She was lovely. She had the face of a classic movie star. Grace Kelly or Kim Novak.”

“She wasn’t very interested in movies or television shows for that matter,” Olivia said woodenly.

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

“We’re very sorry for your loss,” Rawlings said, stepping forward and extending his hand to Silas. “It must be difficult to engage in small talk after what happened.”

Silas nodded somberly. “It is, but I wanted to be here tonight. There’s nothing I can do for Leigh. The authorities aren’t ready to release her body, so I can’t make funeral plans, and I didn’t want to sit alone in some hotel room across the river feeling sorry for myself. I’d rather be surrounded by people and by noise. It’ll be too quiet all too soon.”

If you’re not staying with Charles and you’re not staying in a hotel room, then where are you staying?
Olivia thought and searched the room for Amy.

Suddenly, she remembered that she was supposed to be plying her father with drinks. Picking up her own cocktail, as well as the one she’d ordered for Charles, she offered the drinks to the two men. “We’ll do our best to distract you,” she said, addressing Silas. “After you’ve wet your whistle, you can tell me what Charles was like when he was a college boy. It’s hard for me to picture him in anything but a tailored suit.”

Silas laughed, and the mournful look he’d worn seconds ago vanished. “Your dad was a slob. He wore the same clothes for days, his room looked like the aftermath of a hurricane, and he ate like a barbarian. I don’t think he used a napkin until our junior year.”

Charles mustered a scowl. “I know you enjoy your creative license, Silas, but there’s no need to get carried away.” He turned to Olivia. “I was a little untidy, but my mind was on other things.”

“Women, sports, and drinking my fraternity brothers under the table,” Silas said. He’d downed his cocktail and was staring into his empty glass.

“I’m going for refills,” Rawlings announced and headed for the bar. Laurel trailed after him but then veered off to speak with Vernon Sherrill. Olivia noticed that Harris and Millay were making their way over to where Amy sat alone at a table in the center of the room. Amy’s gaze was locked on Silas’s back and she looked on edge. Her hands danced from her flatware, to the stem of her wineglass, to the flowers in the centerpiece. She couldn’t seem to stop them from fluttering about.

Is she frightened? Guilty? Or both?
Olivia wondered.

By the time Rawlings returned with more drinks, Charles and Silas were caught up in memories of their time at William and Mary.

“What was special about our school was how much both the faculty
and
the students valued history,” Silas explained to Olivia and Rawlings. “We didn’t just study history. We revered it. The past was sacred. No matter what town you came from, the story of your home—your origins—was important. And when our classmates learned that Charles and I came from locales where pirates once operated, they wanted to know every detail about our seaside havens.”