Writing All Wrongs (13 page)

Olivia arched a brow at Charles. “I thought you didn’t want people to know where you grew up.”

“I didn’t,” Charles said. “But Silas did the talking for us both. And people loved to listen to him. He even pledged the school’s oldest and most influential fraternity. He tried to get me to join, but it wasn’t for me. Those guys were from wealthy families who owned beach houses up and down the North Carolina coast. To them, I’d always be a local boy. A fisherman’s kid.”

Silas polished off his second cocktail and carelessly set
the glass on the edge of the table. “I told him that those guys didn’t matter—that we were better than them—but we needed them to get ahead in the world.” A zealous glint appeared in his eyes. “I
told
him we’d come out on top in the end.” He clapped Charles on the back. “And we did, didn’t we?”

A change came over Charles’s face. A shadow dimmed the merriment in his eyes. “Some things are better left in the past. Ah, look, our appetizers are being served.” He gave Silas a tight smile. “You’re welcome to join us, but your assistant appears to be on her own. Where’s your usual entourage of underlings and admirers?”

“Getting ready for our first shoot. We’ll do background shots this week and more of my people will be flying out from L.A. to hire the extras.” Silas suddenly shook his head. “Of course, things might not go as scheduled if I can bury Leigh. She has no family, so . . .”

Charles put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Come on, man. Let’s grab another drink before we eat.”

“Excellent idea.” Silas chortled. “It might make the food taste better.” He winked at Olivia and sauntered off with Charles.

Olivia and Rawlings sat down to plates of shrimp cocktail in a Bloody Mary sauce.

“Did you see how Charles reacted when Silas talked about coming out on top?” Olivia asked Rawlings.

“Yes,” he said. “But who knows if secrets from their college days mean anything. We all did stupid stuff when we were younger. That’s partially what youth is about.”

Olivia considered the series of meaningless affairs she’d had with rich playboy types in her twenties and nodded. She’d traveled around the world attending gallery openings and movie premieres and had been hounded by the media everywhere she went. She’d been a beautiful, reckless heiress then, but those days were well behind her. Smiling at
Rawlings, she said, “It took me a long time, but I figured out what matters in life.”

Rawlings brushed the back of her hand with his fingers. “Better late than never.”

Their appetizers were nearly gone by the time Harris, Millay, and Laurel returned to the table.

“I’ve been talking with Vernon Sherrill. The cops have no idea who broke into the museum,” Laurel said. “They dusted for prints and only those belonging to museum employees turned up. Both Vernon and Rosemary spent hours going through their inventory. The dress was the only thing taken.”

“There’s no evidence that Emmett gained access to the museum, so why isn’t Peterson looking for other suspects?” Millay stabbed a shrimp with her fork. “Amy and Silas provided each other with an alibi, but that’s hardly proof of their innocence. Here’s what I think happened. Amy got the dress and gave it to Silas. He convinced Leigh to put it on, go to his beach house, and wait there until she heard the bell. He then lured her out with the bell, killed her, arranged her body, and got into bed with Amy. I have no idea why he did it, or why she listened to him, but I have to start somewhere.”

Harris, who’d already gobbled up his appetizer, frowned. “Why didn’t the professor hear the bell?”

It was a good question, and no one had a ready answer.

“What I don’t like about this scenario is how easily Mr. Black convinced Officer Peterson to back off.” Rawlings fell silent while a waiter cleared their plates and then continued, “Peterson is either starstruck or corrupt.”

“Corrupt,” Laurel repeated and then cried, “The land deal! Peterson might be in on the land deal!”

Olivia inhaled sharply. “Of course. There’s a fortune to be made for anyone getting in on the ground floor. Judging from the price of weekly rentals, the housing demand far
outweighs the supply, and if Silas’s development includes amenities, the owners can charge exorbitant weekly rates.”

“It’s doubtful that Officer Peterson could come up with enough cash to invest in a project of this level,” Rawlings argued.

“Maybe he didn’t have to spend a cent,” Harris said. “Maybe his
cooperation
was his payment.”

The rest of the Bayside Book Writers considered Harris’s words in silence. The waitstaff appeared with their entrées—cracked pepper prime rib or pan-seared chicken with a garlic and sherry sauce—refilled water glasses, and then left again.

Olivia had just cut into her chicken when Charles returned.

“The steak is here,” he said happily. “Sorry to have left you for so long, but I wanted to be sure Silas was holding up okay.” He turned to Harris. “I saw you talking with Amy earlier. How’s she doing?”

Harris kept his eyes on his food. “She seemed scared. Unsure of what the future holds for her.” He shrugged. “I can’t help feeling a little sorry for her.”

This clearly surprised Charles. “Why? She’s part of a hit television series, she makes great money, and Silas treats her like a queen. For a small-town girl with a history degree, she’s done quite well for herself.”

Millay glared at Charles. “Harris probably feels sorry for Amy because the media is going to tear her apart. Silas’s alibi for the night of Leigh’s murder is that he left your place to seek solace in Amy’s bed. That makes Amy
the other woman
. No is one ever kind to the other woman.”

“Not only that, but many people will doubt her story about Silas’s being with her when Leigh was killed,” Laurel added. “She’s about to be put under a very large microscope, and I think she’s just beginning to get an idea of what’s in store for her.”

“
I
don’t believe her story,” Olivia said, looking directly
at Charles. “I think she’s lying. For the record, I think Silas is lying too.”

If she expected her comment to elicit a reaction from Charles, she was to be disappointed. He swallowed a mouthful of roasted vegetables and signaled for the waiter. After ordering a bottle of costly merlot, he leaned back in his chair and returned Olivia’s stare. “Why would Silas commit murder? He had no motive. Leigh could be a thorn in his side, but he didn’t care enough about her to kill her. He’d gain nothing from such an act, and Silas is all about gain. He’d never risk the success of his show by doing something so stupid.”

Olivia wanted to argue the point, but the waitstaff began to remove their plates. Charles waved off their offer of coffee and gestured at the wine bottle. “I’m having grape juice for dessert.” He glanced around the table. “Anyone care to join me?”

Laurel accepted and Olivia guessed that her friend had done so in order to encourage Charles to continue drinking.

A waitress informed them that dessert was a choice between pumpkin pavé or pirate rubies.

“What’s a pirate ruby?” Harris asked.

“Strawberries dipped in chocolate,” she said. “The chef named it that in honor of Mr. Black. Everyone on staff is a
No Quarter
fan.”

“I’ll have both,” Harris said, smiling at the waitress. “Mine and my neighbor’s.” He jerked a thumb at Charles.

While the diners enjoyed coffee and dessert, Marjorie Tucker took the podium.

“I’d like to offer a heartfelt thanks to all the authors and experts without whom this festival could not have taken place. I’d also like to express my deepest sympathy to Silas Black. May you find comfort and peace on Palmetto Island as you begin filming your show.” She paused. “And I hope everyone will return to our paradise next summer. If you
do, please stop by the library and say hello. Thank you again, and feel free to linger over your dessert. The bar will remain open until eleven.”

The attendees applauded loudly before focusing on their food and conversation once more. There was such a sense of closure to the evening that no one noticed Jan Powell until she was behind the podium, the mic in her hands. She wore black pants and a black sweater and looked more like a cat burglar than the head of the conservancy.

“Before you go, I want you all to know that the island won’t look like it does now if we don’t join together to stop that man’s development.” Jan pointed at Silas. Her voice was calm, but her eyes blazed. “Our delicate ecosystem will crumble. There will be erosion and the loss of vegetation and animal species. Put your hands up if you’ve been enchanted by its wild beauty. If you’ve taken a nature walk or been amazed by our sea turtle program.”

Throughout the room, hands rose in the air. Marjorie jumped to her feet and signaled for the young policeman to leave his post by the door and come to her aid.

“People come to our island for its beautiful beaches and incredible views, but they return again and again because it has so much
more
to offer,” Jan continued hurriedly. “The natural areas are what make Palmetto Island unique and unforgettable. Don’t allow it to become another Myrtle Beach. Another Panama City Beach. This place,
as it is now
, is the real jewel in North Carolina’s crown. This northernmost tropical island. A habitat to rare and beautiful plants and animals.
Please.
Call your congressman. Donate to the conservancy. I won’t stop fighting, even if it means standing in front of a bulldozer. If a single sight on this island has moved you, then join me in saving it! It’s not too late!”

By now, Marjorie and the cop had reached the podium.

“That’s enough, Jan.” Marjorie’s voice could be heard through the microphone.

“I won’t stop fighting you!” Jan shouted at Silas as the cop grabbed her arm. “You haven’t won! Not you nor your sneaky silent partners!” She used her free hand to point an accusatory finger at Olivia’s table.

Olivia and her friends exchanged befuddled glances.

“
Help me
! Help me save the island!” Jan cried before she was hauled away from the podium.

Marjorie apologized for the disruption and then added, “American poet James Whitcomb Riley once said, ‘Never allow your energy or enthusiasm to be dampened by the discouragement that must inevitably come.’ As you can see, Ms. Powell’s energy and enthusiasm are unflagging. May we all apply such devotion to our work and the causes near and dear to our hearts.”

“Nice recovery,” Charles said, nodding in approval.

Olivia was still processing what Jan said and how she’d pointed at their table. “You didn’t come here merely to hang out with your college buddy,” she said to Charles, her voice tight with anger. “I can’t believe it didn’t occur to me before. You’ve made a fortune thanks to your ability to recognize profitable ventures. You knew all about Silas’s development because you’re a silent partner. How many times have you been to the island prior to this festival?”

“Just once. Silas asked me to take a look at the property and I did,” Charles replied casually. “It’s not a crime to make money, Olivia. How many properties do you own?”

“I acquired them mainly to preserve the structures and to create jobs,” Olivia snapped. “But we’re not talking about my business dealings. Why didn’t you tell me from the first that you were involved with the development? And what other relevant details about your relationship with Silas have you opted not to share?”

Charles put his napkin on the table. “I’m sorry that your friend was arrested for murder. I can see that you’re upset. However, Silas had nothing to do with the crime. He’s my
oldest friend and I know the man. He didn’t do it.” Charles got to his feet and smoothed his tie. “I’m leaving in the morning. There’s a great deal to see to before Saturday’s grand reopening. Maybe you can’t help your professor, but you can still support another friend as she celebrates the release of her first book.” He gestured at Millay. “Maybe it’s time to look ahead and leave what happened on this island behind.”

He wished the rest of the Bayside Book Writers a pleasant evening and walked over to Silas’s table. The two men shook hands and exchanged affectionate smiles, and then Charles left the dining room.

“Now we know what Charles stood to lose if Silas went down for Leigh’s murder,” Olivia told her friends. “A great deal of money. I firmly believe that Charles is hiding something. And not just out of loyalty for his buddy. He’s protecting his investment too.”

“But what can we do at this juncture?” Laurel asked. “Everyone’s leaving tomorrow. We have to be out of our rental houses by noon.”

Everyone looked to Rawlings for an answer. “I’ll call Peterson as soon as we get back to Lifesaver. It’s my duty to confront him about Mr. Black’s weak alibi.”

“Not only that, but did Peterson bother to ask where Jan Powell was last night? Or has he figured out how the professor managed to get inside the museum without any sign of forced entry?” Millay’s frustration was palpable.

Harris nodded in agreement. “Yeah. Those are really good points.” He pushed his plate away and watched as the people at the next table stood up to go. “Looks like we’ve come to the end of a very unusual festival.” His eyes met Olivia’s. “What are you going to do tomorrow?”

Olivia balled up her napkin and squeezed it between her hands. “After I pack, I’m going to pick up Emmett’s dogs. I don’t trust Charles anymore. I almost did, but he blew it.
When we get back to Oyster Bay, I intend to spend lots of time at Through the Wardrobe. If Charles knows anything that can exonerate Emmett, I’m going to find out what it is.”

Releasing a heavy sigh, Millay waved her arm around the room. “You know what really sucks about all this drama? It’s going to follow us. It’s going to follow us all the way home.”

The river widens to a pathless sea

Beneath the rain and mist and sullen skies.

Look out the window; ’t is a gray emprise,

This piloting of massed humanity

On such a day, from shore to busy shore,

And breed the thought that beauty is no more.

—R
ICHARD
F
RANCIS
B
URTON

T
he next morning, Olivia woke to the sound of rain striking the roof. Neither Rawlings nor Haviland stirred when she got out of bed, pulled on a robe, and crossed the room to the window. She looked out on a world that was entirely gray. A thick fog blanketed the entire beach, and Olivia couldn’t tell where the land ended and the ocean began. The visibility was so poor that there was no demarcation between sky and sea. Everything was a blur, as though an artist had run a finger through smoke-colored paint, smudging the entire scene.

Olivia wondered how sailors had ever navigated the shoals in such conditions. She tried to imagine how the island must have appeared from their vantage point on deck or high up in a crow’s nest. How the sound of a bell ringing in such absolute silence must have created a haunted echo. Did the island send an answering reply, or did it remain quiet, veiled in mystery?

Olivia remembered Leigh walking on the beach, her nightgown glowing like a moon. It was hard to believe that Leigh was now dead. And despite the fact that a woman had been murdered, Olivia was leaving—all of the Bayside Book Writers were leaving—without knowing why someone had brought old ghost stories to life.

Even Rawlings, who’d bluntly expressed his opinion to Peterson over the phone last night, couldn’t alter the present circumstances. Peterson claimed that he’d spoken with Jan Powell and that he had no cause to view her as a suspect. And when Rawlings broached the subject of Silas’s and Amy’s weak alibis, Peterson became angry and ended the call.

Tiptoeing downstairs, Olivia went into the living room and picked up the book of ghost stories. She flipped through the pages, hoping against hope that a clue would jump out at her. When she reached the tale of Theodosia Burr, she stared at the black-and-white drawing of a young woman walking on the beach, her bare feet leaving depressions in the damp sand as her dark hair trailed out behind her. Olivia could almost imagine the wind rippling the woman’s dress and whipping her hair around her face. She thought of what Millay had said the night before, about the drama following them back to Oyster Bay.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Olivia murmured and snapped the book shut. Though she dressed quickly and quietly, Haviland woke and followed her down to the kitchen.

Olivia fed him breakfast and set the coffeepot to brew. While she waited for the coffee, she wrote a note to Rawlings and finished packing the few belongings they’d used in the kitchen. Next, she filled a takeout cup with coffee and left the house with Haviland in tow.

The morning was preternaturally still, as though the fog
had muted all the island’s creatures. There was no wind rustling in the undergrowth, and the trees were dark, crooked blurs that only gained definition when Olivia was almost close enough to touch them.

When she pulled into the parking nook of Charles’s cottage, Olivia saw light coming from the kitchen window and heard the sound of dogs whining from inside the house. Haviland’s ears shot up, but Olivia shushed him before he had the chance to bark.

She knocked on the door and was met by Charles and both of the greyhounds. Olivia took one look at their mournful dark eyes and had to bite back a cry.

“I thought you might show up this morning.” Charles moved aside so Haviland could shoot into the house.

Haviland and the greyhounds sniffed and grunted, clearly overjoyed to be in one another’s company again.

“I’m going to take them home with me,” Olivia said, pointing at the dogs. “It’s what Emmett would want.”

“All right.” Charles headed for the kitchen. “I just made some eggs. I’m not much of a cook, but I scramble a mean egg. Have you had breakfast yet?”

Olivia was about to decline his offer when her stomach rumbled. She decided to sit with Charles and give him one more opportunity to come clean.

“I added a bit of shredded cheddar. Like bacon, cheese makes everything taste better.” Charles spooned eggs onto a plate and set it in front of Olivia. “Tabasco?”

“No, thank you.” Olivia watched Charles sprinkle hot sauce, salt, and pepper over his own serving of eggs. “I’d like to talk about the grand reopening.”

Charles spread a napkin on his lap. “Let me guess. You don’t want Silas to come.”

Olivia paused midchew, surprised by Charles’s acuity. When her mouth was empty, she said, “In my mind, he’s a
murder suspect. That’s not the type of celebrity I want at Through the Wardrobe.”

“It’s too late to cancel. The press has already been notified. Leigh’s death was tragic, but Silas Black is all anyone can talk about. Like him or hate him. Suspect him or not. The line to get into our bookstore will wrap around the block. Thousands of people will hear about Millay’s debut novel because of Silas. We’re giving her the kind of exposure most people would kill for.” Charles immediately held up his hand. “Forgive me, that remark was in poor taste. Despite my
faux pas
, you must concede my point.”

It galled Olivia to admit it, but Charles was right. If they refused to host Silas, Millay’s sales could suffer.

“Fine,” she said tersely. “I can see that nothing will come between you and your bottom line. That’s what drives you, isn’t it? Monetary gain. Building a relationship with me is secondary. If that were your main priority, you would have told me you were Silas’s silent partner.”

Charles looked genuinely confused. “Why? I invest in all sorts of projects with a variety of people. I realize that this development will proceed under considerable protest from the wildlife organization, but I’m not ashamed to be involved.” He took a sip of orange juice. “I’ve seen the plans, Olivia. The project manager will develop the land with a mind toward conservation. There will be plenty of green space, and each plot will be allowed only the bare minimum when it comes to tree removal. Silas wants to preserve as much of the natural landscape as possible. He loves this place, Olivia. Why do you think he bought a house here? It’s what I keep trying to convey to you. He
loves
the coast. Every town. Every grain of sand. He isn’t the bad guy in this scenario.”

Olivia lapsed into silence. She was angry with Charles, but she couldn’t help but respond to his calm tone and rational replies. “I want to believe you, but I can’t. To tell you
the truth, your blind loyalty where Silas is concerned has jeopardized the progress you and I were making. You’re intelligent. And shrewd. You can’t buy his alibi. No one with half a brain could.”

Charles released a heavy sigh. “He gave me his word, Olivia. I know that doesn’t mean much these days, but Silas and I have been friends for a very long time. No matter how ludicrous his alibi sounds, no matter how damning the rumors against him, I will take him at his word. Wouldn’t you do the same if it came to one of your friends?”

Olivia picked up her coffee cup and whispered, “Yes. I’d go to the grave believing what they told me.”

“There you have it. We’re not that different after all,” Charles said and smiled at Olivia. “So can we call a truce?”

Now it was Olivia’s turn to sigh. “What about Amy? Could she be responsible? Could Silas be covering for her?” When Charles didn’t respond, Olivia grabbed his hand. “Don’t you see? I’m leaving Emmett in a jail cell. He might be granted bail, but then again, he might not. This investigation is a media sensation, and those vultures will crucify him before he ever gets the chance to plead his case. I have to find the real killer.”

“I understand, and I admire your grit,” Charles said. “I honestly can’t vouch for Amy. I don’t know her from Eve. However, she goes where Silas goes, so if you and the chief want to question her, she’ll be in Oyster Bay in a few days.”

Olivia stood up and carried her plate to the sink. She washed it and then reached for the frying pan.

“You don’t have to do that,” Charles protested.

“The cook doesn’t clean the dishes,” Olivia said, returning to the table to collect his plate. “That’s how it works in my house.”

Charles joined her at the sink. He smiled at her and said, “I’ll dry. We work better as a team.”

*   *   *

An hour later, the Bayside Book Writers stood on the ferry dock. Rawlings held the end of Haviland’s leash while Olivia gripped Caesar’s and Calpurnia’s. The greyhounds were highly agitated and only calmed down when Haviland made physical contact, which he did often. It was as if he knew they needed comfort and reassurance.

Olivia turned away from the approaching ferry and glanced back at the old lighthouse. The fog had lifted, but filmy clouds still obscured parts of the island.

“You hold your secrets close,” Olivia whispered. As her eyes drifted to the marina store, she saw two familiar figures walk inside.

“Harris, would you take Caesar and Calpurnia for a minute?” she asked. “I just spotted some people I’d like to speak with before we go.”

Harris nodded. “Just don’t miss the boat. I wouldn’t want anyone left behind on a day like this. It’s a setting right out of a ghost story.”

“I’ve had my fill of ghost stories,” Millay grumbled. “I’m ready to leave them here, where they belong.”

Millay’s words followed Olivia up the dock and to the store, where she found George and Boyd Allen examining a row of canned soups.

“Hello,” Olivia said, feeling strangely awkward and shy around the two men.

Boyd took two cans of potato-and-bacon soup off the shelf. “You’re on your way home, then?”

Olivia nodded. “The highlight of my visit was meeting you both. I want to thank you again for sharing your stories. I just wish someone hadn’t used those old tales as an inspiration for wickedness.”

George’s eyes took on a veiled, dream-like expression.
“The island always gets what she wants. We’re all just visitors here.”

“What does she want?” Olivia whispered eagerly. Was George about to give her the answers she so desperately needed?

“To be left alone,” George said, his gaze coming into focus again. “For folks to come, stay for a spell, and then go. Like the signs say, people should leave only footprints. The water can wash those away.”

Olivia held her exasperation in check. “But a
person
killed that deer. A
person
set fire to that dinghy. A
person
murdered Leigh Winslow. The island had help. Do you know who helped her?” She put a hand on George’s arm. “I know you want to protect this place. It’s your home. But my friend has been accused of these crimes, and he’s innocent.”

“We know, and we were sorry to hear it,” Boyd said in a soft, sympathetic voice. “Emmett loves the island too.”

“So you haven’t seen or heard anything that might exonerate him? Please,” Olivia added plaintively. “This is my last chance to help him.”

As though on cue, the ferry whistle blew.

“She’s pulling up to the dock,” Boyd said.

George took Olivia’s hand and gave it a gentle pat. “You have a safe journey, Miss. Maybe we’ll see you again. Though at my age, a man can never be sure.”

Olivia wanted to beg the Allens to talk to her, but they were already headed for the checkout counter. Olivia followed them with her eyes. The store manager, who stood behind the cash register, appeared to be in a deep conversation with Vernon Sherrill. Olivia wondered if she had time to wait for them to finish talking. She wanted to ask Vernon if he agreed with Officer Peterson’s assessment that Amy wasn’t involved in the museum robbery, but before she could take a step, Silas and Amy entered the store. Silas immediately noticed Olivia and made a beeline for her.

“Your ride’s here.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of the dock and smiled his trademark smile.

Amy didn’t even glance at Olivia. She walked directly to the refrigerator case and began to fill a basket with bottled water and soda.

Olivia stared at Silas, searching his face for a sign that he was hiding something, but his smile stayed in place.

“I’m really looking forward to visiting Oyster Bay,” Silas said congenially. “Charles promised—” He faltered as Jan Powell stepped into the store. “Not that shrew again! Excuse me, but I think I’ll wait outside. It’s too early in the day for a verbal altercation.”

Because Jan stopped to say hello to Vernon and the Allens, she failed to notice Silas ducking out the back door.

The ferry whistle blew again, and Olivia knew that her chance to discover any new information was gone.

She hurried to the end of the dock, where Rawlings and Haviland were waiting. Despite the dampness in the air, Olivia and her friends chose to stand near the ferry’s stern. They watched the island slowly recede into the distance, and it wasn’t long before its coastline disappeared into the mist. Eventually, all they could see was the top of the lighthouse. Its beacon was unlit, and in Olivia’s mind, the lack of light was symbolic. To her, the nonfunctioning lighthouse represented a place that offered no safe haven, no shelter from the storm. It was a place that embraced the dark night. The deadly shoals and shipwrecks.