“How did you find out how Roy was going to vote so quickly?” she asked Dixie, hoping to expunge the image of the decimated burial site from her mind.
The customers in the Cats booth were signaling Dixie for their check. She smiled and nodded at them but didn’t move. Turning back to Olivia as though she had all the time in the world, she leisurely continued their conversation. “Annie and Roy and that brother of his were parked right next to us last night. We couldn’t help but trade thoughts on the proposal.”
“I met Atlas Kraus after the meeting as well. He seemed ... odd.” Olivia was fishing, hoping Dixie would reveal her take on the stranger. Olivia trusted her friend’s ability to read people.
“Not odd. I can warm up to odd. I’m odd. You havin’ a dog for a best friend is odd. No offense, love.” She blew a kiss at Haviland. “Annie told me that her brother-in-law used to have a family of his own in Idaho or Iowa. Wife left him and took their kid to another state. Told him not to call or visit. Ever. Can you imagine? Anyhow, word is he hasn’t been the same since.” Dixie pulled a sympathetic face and began to skate away. Looking over her shoulder, she paused. “He’s got a damaged look to him, but maybe this town can heal him like it’s been healin’ you.”
With Dixie’s words echoing in her head, Olivia left Grumpy’s and drove straight to The Yellow Lady. Cosmo waved to her from the front porch, looking refreshed and comfortable. He was seated in one of the cushioned wicker chairs and had his feet propped on a pillowed ottoman. He cradled a mug of coffee in both hands and a selection of newspapers sat on an end table nearby. A stack of eight-by-eleven typed papers rested on his lap.
“Good morning, Goddess of the Carolina Coast.” Cosmo set down his coffee, clasped the papers against his chest, and jumped up in order to kiss Olivia on both cheeks. He then performed a sweeping bow in Haviland’s honor, but the poodle was more interested in finding a shady spot to rest than in flattery. His belly stuffed, he waddled over to one of the mammoth potted ferns, stretched out beneath its emerald fronds, and closed his eyes.
“Excuse Haviland’s rudeness. He overindulged this morning. But you’re looking well,” Olivia informed Cosmo pleasantly as she took the seat on the other side of the end table. The wicker creaked and crackled as she settled into the chair. She placed her forearms on the armrests, frowning. She didn’t like furniture that protested over having to bear the weight of a human body.
Cosmo waved off her compliment. “If I let Annie feed me one more comfort meal you’re going to have to transport me in a pickup truck bed. Go right ahead and line it with hay. Then a nice, talking spider can write words in her web to spare my being turned into Greek sausage links!”
Olivia laughed.
The two of them fell silent for a moment, listening to the buzzing of insects and the sound of a lawn mower rumbling in a neighboring yard.
“I hear they’re questioning a suspect down at the police station,” Cosmo said softly and caressed Camden’s pages. “Some man named Jethro. Do you know him?”
“I didn’t know he’d been taken into custody, though I was aware that the chief had questions for him,” Olivia answered after a moment. “Jethro’s an army vet. He makes his living selling clams and oysters. Resides on a houseboat and generally keeps to himself.”
Cosmo’s lovely eyes turned dark. He suddenly squeezed them shut in pain. “Why would he hurt Cam?”
Olivia’s gaze traveled beyond the porch to a bed of calla lilies and lantana. “Honestly, I can’t see why he would, but I don’t know him personally, Cosmo. I do have a hard time believing he reads or writes poetry, but the chief must have his reasons for considering him a suspect”
“There must be thousands of those little poems out in the world, Olivia.” Cosmo gestured at the packet in his lap. “There’s all kinds of creative writing for the taking on the Web. Maybe the poem wasn’t an original. Maybe this Jethro is some kind of plagiarizing psychopath.”
Choosing her words carefully, Olivia said, “You raise a valid point about the poem. I shouldn’t have assumed it was original just because I couldn’t find it on the Internet. You may also be on target regarding Jethro.” She paused, considering. “He may be unstable. He may even suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder. Still, I can’t help but wonder why he’d randomly attack Camden. There’s no connecting factor between the two mean.” Olivia thought of Millay’s strong conviction that Jethro wasn’t involved in the murder. She had to talk to her soon and find out once and for all why the young bartender had such unshakable faith in Jethro’s innocence.
Cosmo raised both hands into the air. “Do you think only LA has crazies? There are broken people everywhere! In every apartment complex, every mansion, and every house—even the floating kind.” He sank back into his seat and took a deep breath. “Anyway, this is all trickle-down gossip delivered by the friendly, neighborhood mail lady. I want to go down to Chief Rawlings’ office this minute and find out if he’s beaten a confession out of this . . . person.”
At first, Olivia thought Cosmo might be joking, but one look at his face confirmed that he was completely serious. She reached over, ignoring the complaining wicker, and grabbed his hand. “The chief may still be interrogating Jethro or searching his boat. He isn’t going to provide you with specifics. It’s more likely Rawlings will politely send you on your way and you’ll be more stirred up than before.” She squeezed his hand. “Come to The Boot Top for dinner tonight. I’m having drinks with Rawlings beforehand. Any information I can wheedle out of him during the cocktail hour will be yours for the hearing over a bottle of my finest wine.”
Sighing theatrically, Cosmo relented. “Fine. I have work to do anyway. When I checked my voicemail yesterday, I had a message from the agent to that American Idol star. I can’t remember his name at the moment. I don’t watch those silly reality shows. I prefer fantasy.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Well, this rich, handsome singer wants his Malibu beach house to remind him of a southern beach, so I’m going to spend the morning collecting seashells and taking a billion photographs.”
“You should visit the town’s new bookstore as well,” Olivia suggested. “The owner’s name is Flynn McNulty and he has some gorgeous coffee table books on Coastal Carolina with one-of-a-kind color plates.” She rose and snapped her fingers lightly. Haviland got to his feet, blinking sleepily, and leaned his head against her leg. Her hand automatically reached down and stroked the soft fur of his ear. “I’ll send one of my employees to pick you up at eight. Good luck with your research and if you do visit the bookstore, Through the Wardrobe, do not drink Mr. McNulty’s coffee.”
Cosmo, who had stopped in the act of raising his coffee cup to his lips, paused. “Is there such a thing as bad coffee? If I can drink Starburnt I can drink anything.”
“If you say so, but I felt it was my civic duty to warn you. See you tonight.” Olivia smiled and walked away.
Olivia returned home to work on her latest chapter and to check on the soaking coin. She let Haviland loose in the yard and removed the penny from its vinegar-based solution. Scrubbing the remaining debris from the surface, she rinsed it off beneath a gentle flow of warm tap water. The penny felt slightly thicker between her fingers than a modern penny.
Excited, Olivia grabbed a jeweler’s loupe from her desk drawer and moved to the window. Holding the coin beneath the magnifying tool, she could see the distinct profile of an Indian Head penny. Though the edges of the coin were well worn, the raised silhouette was in good shape. The native’s mouth hung open as though he was in a state of shock and his eye sockets seemed dark and haunted. Olivia traced the feathers of his headdress with her fingertip.