Olivia felt relieved they weren’t to be entirely excluded from the investigation. “Yes. I’ll be at The Boot Top from four o’clock on.” A movement near the door caught her eye.
It was Harris. The young man exchanged polite greetings with the chief and then looked at Olivia expectantly.
“Is anyone else here?” he asked.
The chief answered. “If one of your writers is the mother of twin toddlers, then she’s here.” He smiled and opened the door. “If you all can work around those two, you’ve got more discipline than a platoon of marines.”
Harris stared after the departing policeman. “Does he have any leads?”
Olivia shook her head with regret and she and Harris walked to the back of the store. Upon entering the rainbow-hued children’s area, their ears were accosted by dual howls emanating from behind the wooden puppet theater.
“Give Mommy the sippie cup. Give it to Mommy, please,” Laurel cooed, her face hidden between the red curtains. “Dermot, do not hit your brother with the owl puppet. Dallas ! Stop that this minute! Be my good baby boys? Please?” Laurel sounded close to tears. “Do you want Cheerios? If you want Cheerios you need to give Mommy the sippie cup.”
“What’s with the freaking noise?” Millay croaked from behind Olivia and Harris. Dressed in a gauzy, mango-colored sundress, her streaked hair hidden beneath an orange bandana, Millay looked more exotic and lovely than ever.
It’s as if she just stepped from a Gauguin canvas, Olivia thought as Millay moved behind the puppet theater with swift grace.
“Listen, you two,” she whispered urgently. “The grown-ups need to have a secret meeting. There are monsters coming and we need to stop them! If you want us to beat the monsters, then be very quiet.” She reached out to a rather stunned Laurel, gesturing at the diaper bag. Laurel handed her two baggies filled with oat cereal and raisins. “This is magic food. If you hide back here and eat super quietly, then you’ll turn invisible and the monsters won’t be able to see you.”
“Monsters are not real,” Laurel rapidly assured her children, who remained secreted behind the theater. “Ms. Millay’s just playing a game with you.”
Two pairs of wide eyes peered through the curtains as Millay took a seat on one of the miniature ladder-back chairs. Olivia rewarded her young friend with a full thermos of coffee. Harris folded up his long legs and settled onto the floor. Olivia pulled the only adult-sized chair against the dress-up chest. She opened the manila folder containing the incomplete manuscript and cleared her throat. “I have a feeling our time is limited, so let’s get started. Did anyone find a clue after reading Camden’s book?”
Harris removed a stack of paper from his own folder. “There wasn’t enough info on Blake Talbot in that single chapter Camden wrote about the now-famous rocker, so I did some digging on the computer.” He passed out copies of the printouts. “All three Talbot kids attended The Hotchkiss School in Connecticut. It’s one of the top prep schools in the country, and even when the Talbots went there, it cost close to thirty grand per kid.”
“Damn!” Millay exclaimed. “I wonder if they’d like to adopt a nice half-Asian girl. I could use thirty Gs. Do you know what kind of sweet ride I could buy with that much cash?”
Laurel put her fingers to her lips. “Language please.”
Harris stopped staring at Millay and continued. “Here’s why I’m telling you about the school. Both Blake and his sister Diana were really into creative writing. Blake wrote songs for his dorm band the whole time he was at Hotchkiss. Some of his lyrics were published in the school’s literary magazine. Diana was the editor of the mag. For two years. She wrote short stories and poetry.” He put the notebook on his lap. “I called the English department and pretended to be a prospective parent. They definitely teach haiku and there’s no doubt that at one point, all three Talbot kids were familiar with haiku and could write that kind of poem.”
Millay reached over and chucked Harris in the arm. “You called the school? Way to go, man! You’ve got a bigger pair than I thought!”
Harris’s cheeks blazed crimson.
After quickly checking to see that the noises coming from behind the puppet theater were giggles and not the spasms of a child choking on raisins, Laurel pulled a mangled mass of paper from her diaper bag. As she flipped through the sheaves, Olivia was impressed to see that Laurel had not only highlighted passages, but had also written small, neat notes in the margin of every page.
“I thought it was sad how each one of the Talbot kids tried to make their daddy proud.” She turned to a particular passage and smoothed down a wrinkled corner. “But it seems like only money could impress him. Listen to this section in Diane aka Deirdre’s chapter: ‘Her sweet sixteen party was the talk of Long Island’s nouveau riche. Her guests received Tiffany jewelry party favors, her dress was designed by Vera Wang, and her chocolate truffle cake shaped like a Louis Vuitton purse was made by the executive pastry chef of Tavern on the Green.
‘The compliments flowed like the champagne, with Don’s sycophants tripping over themselves to pay tribute to his only daughter. The pudgy-fingered and corpulent businessmen proclaimed the girl regal as a princess, graceful as a prima donna ballerina, and as fine-boned as a French supermodel. And while Don accepted the praise with a nod here and a forced smile there, Deirdre grew more and more enraged.’ ”
Laurel pointed at the page. “She yells at the guests, saying that she wants to be known for her brains and talent—that it won’t be her brothers who’ll continue the Talcott business legacy, but her.”
“I remember that scene,” Olivia said quietly. “Her father mocks her in front of everyone and tells her he’d never let a woman run the show. In fact, he didn’t consider any of his children capable of taking over the family business.”
“They’re quite the Shakespearean family,” Millay added. “Rich, beautiful, and power-hungry. Mix in a heavy dose of hatred, resentment, and jealousy, and you’ve got a tragedy in the making. The dad rules them like an American King Lear, knowing no one will dare stand up to him for fear of losing their allowance.”
Harris stared at her. “How do you know so much about Shakespeare?”
“I went to one of those fancy, fascist boarding schools too,” she answered cryptically and then hurried on. “In Camden’s last chapter he described how Blake’s character wanted to be in control of his own future. Remember how angry he was? At the end of the scene, he stared at the broken glass like he was planning to do something violent.”
Laurel nodded. “That’s true! He also said, ‘Time to take control.’ ”
“The line implies Blake is ready to get out from under his father’s thumb,” Olivia pointed out. “Perhaps he wants to break away from both parents, as it seems his mother was incapable of providing much in the way of parenting. He may be just as bitter at her for being negligent. And you’re right, Millay. If we can believe Camden’s interpretation, these children are all very angry.”
“So how would murdering a gossip writer grant them revenge against a controlling father and a neglectful mom?” Harris wondered aloud. “Could they even have known Camden was working on this book?”
Setting a copy of US magazine on top of the dress-up chest, Laurel pointed at a photograph on the bottom left of the cover. “I don’t know about the rest of the Talbots, but the oldest son, Julian, isn’t a threat to anybody but himself. Here he is being escorted into a drug-treatment center by his ... entourage.” She seemed pleased by her word choice.