Olivia craned forward. The image provided a close-up of the profile of an ashen-faced young man wearing mirrored sunglasses and a black baseball hat.
“I read the whole article,” Laurel gushed excitedly. “No official comment from the Talbot camp, but Mrs. Talbot came to visit Julian soon after he was admitted. According to this writer, the two have grown close over the last few years.”
“I can’t believe she’s still married to that cheating scumbag, Dean. I would have hooked his favorite appendage up to a pair of jumper cables by now,” Millay growled. “Must be no prenup.”
Harris picked up the magazine and flipped through the pages until he found the short article proclaiming Julian Talbot’s humiliation. “He tried to follow in his father’s footsteps, but it looks like he couldn’t handle the pressures of Wall Street. Cocaine addiction, outrageous debt, a few DUIs—this guy’s in trouble.”
Olivia sighed and Haviland raised his head from where he’d been happily napping behind a blue beanbag. “Millay, did you learn anything significant at work last night?”
Millay began picking at her cuticles. “Fish Nets was buzzing, that’s for sure. I heard some of the narrow-minded crap I expected. Six or seven of our hillbilly homophobes were saying, ‘Now there’s one less fag in the world,’ but most of the people were rattled.” She kept her eyes fixed on her hands. “It takes a lot to shake these guys. They’ve all stared death in the eye out on the ocean, but this is a death they don’t recognize. This had nothing to do with storms or waves, but a straightedge and a poem. They don’t get it and neither do I!”
She glanced up at the kites as though wishing she could climb aboard one and float away, her eyes glistening.
“One of your patrons saw Camden, didn’t they?” Olivia asked softly. Millay’s shoulders stiffened. Olivia leaned forward and hardened her voice. “With whom, Millay?”
“Look, it might just have been the booze talking,” Millay spoke after a lengthy pause. Seeing that she was backed into a corner, she sighed and went on. “Davie Malone thought he saw Jethro Bragg talking to Camden outside the bar.”
Laurel squeaked. “Outside? As in ... in the alley?”
Millay nodded her head miserably. “Yeah. Camden never stepped foot inside Fish Nets. Davie saw Camden and him at the mouth of the alleyway. No one saw Camden after that. But Jethro’s not the killer. Trust me. He’s not the type to take a man down in an alley, let alone spray paint an obscure type of poetry on the wall.”
“I appreciate your loyalty to your, ah, clients, but Chief Rawlings will need to know this,” Olivia said, holding Millay’s gaze. Why does Jethro Bragg’s name sound familiar? she wondered. She was pretty sure she didn’t know the man. Millay met Olivia’s dark blue stare and shrugged. “I’ll tell the chief, but he won’t be able to do anything about it. Jethro goes away for days at a time to work over the clam beds, and his boat’s gone. His motor boat, that is. He lives on a houseboat—it’s docked right at the marina. I walked to the slip this morning to ask him if he’d spoken to Camden. Jethro’s not there.”
“How do you know he didn’t just zip out for a spell?” Laurel inquired innocently. “Steve takes out our whaler whenever he wants to blow off steam.”
Millay didn’t have a chance to respond because the puppet theater suddenly tumbled backward and two boys began to scream as though they’d fallen into a wasp nest.
Olivia expected Laurel to fly to their rescue in a fit of hysterics, but she calmly righted the wooden structure and dug the twins out from under a pile of endangered animal puppets. Gently laying several spider monkey puppets aside, Laurel pulled Dermot free from the plush mound and, after giving him a quick kiss, told him to sit on the yellow beanbag. Once Dallas had been extricated, hugged, and sent to the green beanbag, a peaceful silence descended upon the space.
“Nicely done, Mom,” Millay said with a grin and then became serious again. “And to answer your question, I know Jethro’s clamming because he always flies a flag from his houseboat when he’s away. It’s how he tells people he’s not home.”
“Flag?” Dallas piped up from his cushioned seat. He sounded as though he was speaking from the bottom of a sinkhole.
Millay walked over to the little boy’s side and squatted down beside him. Closing one eye tightly, she screwed up her mouth and growled, “Aye, matey. A pirate flag!”
The child’s eyes grew round with wonder. “I like pirates! They have booty!” he cried and everyone laughed.
Not a bad declaration, Olivia thought, smiling. For a troll.
“Sorry, but I’ve got to get the twins home for lunch,” Laurel said and began to cram cups, empty baggies, and a package of wipes into her diaper bag. She shouldered the bag and gave Olivia a questioning look. “What do we do now?”
“We continue with our writing, for starters,” Olivia answered with conviction. “Camden would have wanted that. Who’s next in line to be critiqued?”
Millay raised her hand and saluted. “Me.”
“It’ll be nice to read your work after what’s happened. We could all use a little fantasy right about now,” Harris said, and once again, Olivia was impressed by the young man’s kindness.
Scowling, Millay replied, “This is dark fantasy, my friend. Just because I’m writing about mythical creatures doesn’t mean my chapter will be full of sunshine and giggles.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” Laurel shot back. “My life is so overloaded with sunshine and giggles.” Her boys began to laugh at the silly face their mother was making and the writers couldn’t help but join in.
Olivia could see the twins were getting restless. “So, we’ll comment on Millay’s chapter and we’ll keep our eyes and ears open. Talk to people. Keep thinking about that damned haiku. If anything comes up or one of us happens to track down Jethro Bragg before we meet on Saturday, let’s get in touch with one another.” Olivia rose and Haviland immediately jumped to his feet. The twins, who hadn’t noticed his presence before, became instantly curious. Approaching the poodle without the slightest indication of caution, they reached out their plump hands and roughly grabbed Haviland’s curly fur.
“Doggie!” one of them shouted.
Before Olivia could decide exactly how to detach the human barnacles from her friend, Laurel took a plastic purple squirt gun out of her bag and aimed it at her sons.
“Let go of the nice doggie right now or I’ll spray you! Remember, if the magic water hits you, you won’t be allowed to go to McDonald’s ever again!”
The twins obeyed instantaneously.
“Perhaps you should write a parenting book,” Olivia told Laurel on her way out. Laurel smiled sheepishly, suddenly looking like a young girl herself.
“I know threats aren’t the best parenting method, but sometimes you just do what you can.”
“I wasn’t being sarcastic,” Olivia assured her friend. “I’m impressed with your calm and effective techniques. There are worse things than bribing kids with Happy Meals once in a while.”
Flynn was placing bookmarks in a spinner rack when the writers appeared in the front of the store. Olivia waited for her friends to leave before speaking to him. “I’d like to get Laurel’s boys a few books about pirates. Are there any available for their age level?”
Tossing the bookmarks aside, Flynn gestured for Olivia to follow him back to the children’s section. “Are you their fairy godmother?” he teased.
“Certainly not,” Olivia replied. “I’m merely an adult who realizes that the only chance they have of growing into decent human beings is by becoming enamored of books. Laurel can’t afford new ones, but I can. It’s as simple as that.”