“Good haul?” Olivia asked the older man she assumed to be the captain.
“Can’t complain,” he answered gruffly.
Having spent the first ten years of her life with her fisherman father, Olivia knew the man’s response indicated a full hold. “I’m Olivia Limoges. I own The Boot Top and I’m in desperate need of fine, fresh shrimp.”
“Aye. I know who you are.” The man paused in his preparations to unload and stared at her, his deep-set eyes softening as he did so. “You favor your mama. She was a real looker.”
For the moment, Olivia forgot her purpose in coming to the docks. “Did you know her well?”
“Nah. The missus and me would cross paths with her and your daddy from time to time. She always had a kind word for us. Was a real lady, she was.”
“Thank you,” Olivia spoke after a long pause. “I don’t remember much about her, so whenever I come across someone who does, those memories are a gift to me.” Embarrassed by her own candor, she looked away toward the blue blur where the sky met the ocean.
“The waters we fished today were the same color as your eyes, miss. We caught some mighty fine shrimp there.” The captain offered her a tentative smile. “How can I help you?”
Olivia explained how much shrimp she required and that she needed it loaded into her cooler immediately. She and the captain quickly agreed on terms.
“And I have a bonus here to show my gratitude.” Olivia handed the money to one of the mates. The man removed the bills and began to count them.
The captain’s eyes slid over to the money and then returned to Olivia’s face. “You’ve got class, miss, just like your mama did.”
A warm feeling flooded Olivia’s heart. She handed the captain a business card. “I’d like you to be our primary shrimp supplier.” She focused her attention on the captain. “If you contact my chef, Michel, he’ll see to the arrangements.”
The captain and his two mates expressed no obvious satisfaction over her offer, but the slight straightening of their shoulders and the flicker of light in their eyes told Olivia they were pleased. Times were never easy for a fisherman, and a steady buyer created both an element of pride and provided a small measure of relief from constant monetary worries as well.
Back at The Boot Top, the kitchen was a cyclone of activity. Pots bubbled and knives flashed as two sous chefs chopped cloves of garlic, mushrooms, and scallions. Michel flew around the room, barking sharp commands, tasting sauces, and consulting his food-stained recipe notebook. Her employees were pink-cheeked and frenzied. Olivia smiled. All was as it should be in the kitchen of a five-star restaurant.
“Don’t look so smug,” Michel cautioned, reading her expression. “We need stellar reviews if we want to remain the best restaurant on the coast. Those shrimp had better be perfection.”
“You won’t be displeased,” Olivia promised. She and Haviland headed for her office. After replying to several emails, she was just about to review the week’s menus when one of her waitresses tapped on her door.
“Ms. Limoges? There’s a man asking for you. I think he’s the chief of police, but I’m not sure.”
“Thank you, Lisa.” Olivia checked her watch. “How did it get to be five o’clock? You can stay here, Captain. I’m sure Michel will give you a few nibbles of shrimp after he’s had a smoke break.”
Haviland looked hopeful. The poodle was very fond of fresh shrimp but was treated to them very rarely. Even then, he was only allowed a few, as Olivia didn’t consider shrimp good for his diet.
In The Boot Top’s luxuriant ladies’ room, Olivia hastily changed into her spare outfit, ran a brush through her white blond hair, and put on mascara and lipstick. Briefly wondering if she smelled of shrimp, she rubbed on a dab of scented hand lotion kept on the counter for patrons’ use.
Satisfied with her appearance, Olivia slung the bag containing her other clothes onto the chair in her office and marched out to the dining room to meet her guest. Chief Rawlings stood at the bar, a martini glass in his hand. He and Gabe were engaged in a casual conversation and Olivia reflected that most people seemed completely at ease in the lawman’s presence.
It must make him good at his job, she thought. To get to the bottom of a crime, he needs to listen to people’s stories. The more open they are, the more details he’s given to sift through.
Upon seeing Olivia, Rawlings immediately put down his drink and took her hand in his. He studied her and seemed to like what he saw. For a moment, Olivia was afraid he’d kiss the back of her palm, but he merely squeezed her hand and then gently let go.
“Gabe makes an excellent vodka gimlet. I believe it’s the best I’ve ever had.” He smiled at the bartender. “And I’ve had quite a few.”
Olivia glanced at the chief’s inexpensive but meticulously pressed suit. She wondered if he had dressed up on her behalf and wasn’t quite certain how she felt about the possibility. Gabe handed her a tumbler of Chivas Regal and she led the lawman to a small bar table flanked by leather club chairs.
“I’m glad you came early, Chief. I’m having dinner with Cosmo and I doubt you’ll want to be here when he arrives. He’s sure to want an update on Camden’s case.”
Rawlings traced his finger down the bowl of his chilled glass. “Please call me Sawyer. I’m off duty tonight.”
Olivia’s brows rose over the rim of her tumbler. She took a sip, wondering if Rawlings was hinting that he didn’t plan on discussing the investigation with her. She decided to feel him out. “Is Jethro Bragg a suspect in Camden’s murder?”
“Life in a small town. I’ve got more leaks in my department than an inflatable raft stuck on a coral reef.” He sighed in resignation. “Yes, Jethro is a suspect.”
“He’s familiar with haiku?” Olivia asked incredulously.
Rawlings’ shoulders moved in a slight shrug. “That’s unclear. We searched his houseboat and he’s got books on a variety of subjects, including poetry. He’s had a library copy of The Norton Anthology of World Literature checked out for a year.”
“Imagine the late fees,” Olivia quipped. “There must be more substantial evidence against Jethro than the volumes on his bookshelf.”
A flash of annoyance crossed Rawlings’ features. “He followed Mr. Ford into the alley. Mr. Bragg is overtly anti-gay. He warned Mr. Ford to leave his town or face the consequences. He made several incriminating remarks.”
Olivia watched several emotions flicker over the chief’s face. She leaned closer to him. “You don’t think Jethro’s the killer, do you? You believe he’s capable of killing and has probably taken lives while serving in the army, but you don’t truly think this crime fits him.” She didn’t wait for his reply. “But having him in custody makes people feel better. The mayor. Camden’s partner. The local press. It gives you some breathing room.”
“That’s a long list of assumptions, Ms. Limoges.” Rawlings smiled thinly. “Mr. Bragg is being detained because he became violent during questioning. He has no alibi for the night of Mr. Ford’s murder and spoke with a great deal of hostility against the victim.”
“So no one saw Jethro go inside Fish Nets? He was just nearby, in the alley?”
The chief shook his head. “He never went in. When I asked him to recall his movements for the entire evening, he refused to cooperate. When pressed, he became violent.” He stared at her curiously. “Any breakthroughs on your end?”
“No,” Olivia reluctantly confessed. “We have no idea what the haiku means other than the killer needed to silence Camden.”
Rawlings made a noncommittal grunt.