“I don’t think our souvenir shop keeps those in stock.” Olivia took a sip of coffee. “Truly excellent brew, Annie.” The innkeeper flushed. “Can you tell us anything else?
What was Camden’s mood when he came home to change for the evening? And what time was that?”
Annie looked out the window. “Let’s see. I was in the kitchen making scones to put in the freezer. I had to stop to register the Parker couple and ring Roy to carry their luggage upstairs. That must have been around six because the scones were already in the oven when I saw Mr. Ford.” She tapped her watch. “Must have been a bit after seven when he came down from his room. He’d been in jeans and a cotton shirt that afternoon, but he was fresh as a spring day in white pants and a pink shirt. He smiled and gave me a friendly wave but didn’t stop for a chat like he usually did. Still, his eyes were twinkling, like a kid on Christmas Eve. He was real worked up, like he couldn’t wait to get where he was going.”
Cosmo sighed. “So he wasn’t scared when he left. Cam wanted to see this person. But he didn’t meet a person. He met a monster!” His voice cracked and his eyes filled with tears.
Pushing her chair away from the table, Annie got up and put an arm around Cosmo and squeezed. The young man leaned back into her pillowy chest. Olivia also rose. She and Annie exchanged a look. They both knew Cosmo needed to be taken under someone’s protective wing and Olivia hoped her face portrayed her relief over sharing the responsibility with such a capable woman.
“I think you should stay at The Yellow Lady,” Olivia whispered gently to Cosmo. “You’re perfectly safe here and Annie and Roy can care for you better than I ever could. If you stayed in the cottage, you’d have to cook your own meals, make your own bed, and you’d be all alone. Besides, I don’t even own an iron.”
Cosmo waved his hands in front of his face and blinked away a fresh round of tears. “I have got to get a grip!” He sniffed several times. “Okay. Since you two insist, I’ll stay here and be spoiled, but don’t you try to disappear on me, Olivia Limoges!”
“The thought never crossed my mind. I’m only a phone call away and in this town, it’ll never take me more than fifteen minutes to get to you,” Olivia assured him. “Now, can we peek in Camden’s room?”
Annie shook her head. “The chief gave me strict instructions to leave it be. Cosmo already asked me to look inside for Mr. Ford’s computer, but it’s gone. He always left it square on the writing desk, with his phone and a notepad lined up right beside it. Neat as a pin, that one was.”
“There are no printouts of his manuscript either,” Cosmo said dejectedly. “Annie was nice enough to check. I just couldn’t go in. The cops must have it all.”
Olivia fell silent. Not only did she need to acquire a copy of Camden’s work in progress, but she now wanted to know the identity of the caller feeding Camden information regarding the town park. At the moment, she couldn’t think of a single connection between the Talbot family and a seldom-frequented community park. Luckily, there were several locals who might be able to enlighten her.
Cosmo took hold of Olivia’s hand. “You go on ahead with CSI Oyster Bay. I’ve got to make ... arrangements. I can’t stand the thought of my darling Cam spending another day lying on some cold piece of metal.” His eyes filled with tears again. “The least I can do is buy him the most decadent, velvet-lined coffin ever made and cover him with heaps and heaps of flowers.”
“I could drive you over to Woody’s Funeral Home,” Annie offered kindly. “You shouldn’t have to do that task on your own.”
“Oh, you’re a treasure!” Cosmo exclaimed with relief. “It’s going to be a very small affair. After all, Cam’s family cut him out of their lives the day he came out. That was almost twenty years ago. Can you imagine? They don’t even realize what a wonderful person they’ve missed knowing—I got the best of him.”
He hid his face in the napkin for a long moment. “Enough!” He resurfaced and sniffed. “I have to face Oyster Bay’s men in blue at one o’clock sharp.” Cosmo’s gaze returned to Olivia. “I must be assertive with these people if I want to find out if they have any idea who did this. I simply cannot go through another day imagining that sick bastard walking around out there. Do they still use the electric chair in this state?”
“Do your best to speak directly to Chief Rawlings,” Olivia counseled. “And might I suggest you change your shirt into something a little less—”
“Gay?” Cosmo guessed wryly.
“I was going to say ‘pink.’ ” She grinned and pulled out another business card from her purse. She’d written both her mobile and home numbers on the back. “Call me if you need a ride to the station. I’ve got a decent measure of influence in this town and I’ll make certain you’re treated with the consideration and respect you deserve.”
Annie began placing dirty dishes on a lacquered tray. “You’ll do well with Ms. Olivia watching your back, young man. But it’s my job to see that you’re up to all this, which you won’t be if you don’t finish your breakfast. At least eat some strawberries and polish off the bacon.”
Cosmo saluted. “Eat protein. Change shirt. Stop blubbering. Yes, yes, mommy dearests. Whatever you say.”
Olivia left the inn and drove straight to Bagels ‘n’ Beans. She ordered Wheeler’s home-brewed orange iced tea and then asked him if he had a minute to spare for a chat. She selected the table closest to the back door where she was least likely to be overheard. Her seating choice also allowed her to view Chief Rawlings’ newest paintings. Haviland, clearly sensing there were no treats to be had in a room smelling, to a dog at least, of burned cocoa beans and rubbery dough, went to sleep.
Wheeler finished making soy lattes with no foam for a pair of tourists, gave them a gummy smile when they stuffed a few bills into the tip jar, and then shuffled over to Olivia’s table. He pointed at the paintings. “You gonna snap these up too?”
Though the nearest painting was of a subject Olivia would not choose to display, she had to admit it was charming. It depicted a little boy in overalls standing alongside an ice cream truck. The whole truck wasn’t in view—only one of the wheels and the colorful menu board. The boy, who was barefoot and generously freckled, gripped a dollar bill in one hand and had the other shoved deep into the pocket of his denim overalls. His eyes gleamed as he gazed longingly at the tempting images of orange creamsicles, Astro Pops, ice cream sandwiches, king cones, strawberry shortcake bars, and chocolate éclair bars.
“It’s well executed,” Olivia told Wheeler. “But I like this other one better. Do you know the woman?”
“Aye. Sawyer’s wife, Helen, that is. Died a few years back. Caught the cancer.”
Olivia had never heard the disease described as catch-able before, but Wheeler had spent the better part of his life trolling for tuna across the Atlantic, and like many of Oyster Bay’s older fishermen, had developed a unique dialect of blended accents and phrases.
“I don’t recall hearing Chief Rawlings’ first name before,” Olivia answered as she studied the painting. It was a simple scene showing a woman reading. She was reclined in an Adirondack chair with a hardcover propped open on her knees. Her intelligent eyes were opened wide, her expression one of guilty pleasure. The nail of her index finger was held captive between her upper and lower teeth and her lips curved in a slight, secretive smile. The woman was not beautiful, but it was difficult to turn away from her animated face. Olivia immediately liked how the picture championed the notion that time spent reading was a treasure to be cherished.