“I prefer to speak to people in person,” Olivia replied. She glanced outside. “Are you almost finished?”
Flynn hesitated and then nodded. “I’ve done enough work for today. Have you had dinner yet?”
“Actually, that’s why I’m here,” she said. “Do you have plans for tonight?”
“Only to fire up the grill so that I can prove to my neighbors that I’m a real man even though I don’t own a pickup or a chain saw.” He gave her a pleading look. “Having a beautiful woman on my patio won’t hurt either, so if you like Italian sausages, corn on the cob, and watermelon, I’ve got enough for two.”
“Well, if your cooking abilities are anything like your decorating tastes ...” Olivia trailed off, recalling the interior of Flynn’s house.
Flynn’s laugh bounced off the cement walls “Let me just lock up back here and tell Jenna she can scoot. Did you get a chance to meet her on the way in?”
Olivia nodded. “Yes, she’s lovely. However, she might be too nice to kick out your last customer. He looks like he’d like to spend the night here.”
“The teenager reading graphic novels?” Flynn asked. “That’s Alan.” He flicked a life-sized cardboard cutout of Dan Brown on the nose. “Alan will leave when I start turning the lights off. Meet you out front.”
Olivia browsed the poetry section while Flynn finished with his closing tasks. Once she’d returned to the Rover and began following Flynn to his home, Haviland whined in protest.
“This is a fact-finding mission,” Olivia explained to the unhappy poodle. “And there will be sausages for dinner.”
As though he understood the word sausage, Haviland bounded out of the car and across Flynn’s lawn in a blur of black fur. He eagerly sniffed at all the shrubbery surrounding the front porch and then sat on his haunches on the welcome mat as though he couldn’t imagine what was taking the humans so long to open the door and begin the food preparations.
“Good evening, Haviland.” Flynn nodded at the poodle.
Olivia watched closely as her dog sniffed Flynn’s hand and then turned away, disinterested. Apparently, Haviland’s feelings hadn’t changed. The poodle still didn’t appear the slightest bit threatened by the man.
Relieved, Olivia walked into the living room and then laughed when the poodle began to bark at the three-dimensional tropical fish swimming across the kelly green wall. “Captain, it isn’t polite to criticize another’s person’s taste in, ah, artwork.”
Flynn looked appalled. “Hey, now! This isn’t my taste. Those heinous fish came with the house, along with the atrocious paint colors. Come on, do you think I’d have a silver and purple bathroom?” He put his hand over his heart and groaned as though he’d been wounded. “My goal was to get the store straight before turning my attention to this place. Believe me, if those Little Nemos weren’t fastened on there with industrial strength wall anchors, they’d have been at the curb from day one.”
He walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. “I’ve got soda, beer, tap water, or milk that’s probably well on its way to becoming sour cream.”
“A beer’s fine for me,” Olivia answered, thinking wistfully of the unopened bottle of Chivas Regal she had at home. “And a bowl of water for Haviland, please.”
“Bowls are in the cabinet to the right of the sink.” Flynn placed the beer on the counter and removed a package wrapped in brown butcher paper from the meat drawer. He loaded two ears of corn, unhusked, and several types of sausages onto a platter. As he walked through the living room, he suddenly stopped.
“I can’t believe you thought I deliberately hung those fish. What else do you think I’m capable of, I wonder?”
There was a hint of displeasure in Flynn’s voice. Olivia tried to lighten the mood by saying, “I’m hoping you’ll enlighten me during our meal. Last time I was here, you told me about working for a pharmaceutical company in Research Triangle Park. Now tell me how you became a runner. My friend Laurel sees you pounding the pavement on a regular basis.”
Out on the flagstone patio, Flynn lit the grill and a pair of tiki torches mounted to the backs of lawn chairs. “I know Laurel. She’s the one with the cute twins.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how women run with those monster strollers. I can barely propel my own body forward.” He put the sausages on the grill. “Truthfully, I love running. Not to be faster or stronger or for any of those health reasons. I just like to lose myself for an hour or so.”
“I understand that feeling. Haviland and I do that every morning on our walks on the beach. But after you run, do you get to relax in the pages of one of your thousands of books?” Olivia inquired.
Flynn moved the food around with a pair of tongs. “I don’t get much read at the store. We have a steady stream of customers most days and believe it or not, I do have to restock and ring people up and—”
“Brew that odious coffee,” Olivia teased. “Laurel said she notices the same people exercising in the downtown area. Apparently, there’s an entire group of running addicts. Have you noticed that too?”
“Sure. People like schedules. Runners in particular. Me? I’m a morning runner. Can’t do it at night and I’d melt if I went out midday.” He shrugged. “I guess we’re a particular lot, kind of like the folks who love my odious coffee.” He swatted the air near her leg with the hot tongs.
“Did you happen to notice a guy posting a piece of bright red paper on the bulletin board outside the town hall this weekend?” She watched Flynn carefully for a reaction. There was none.
“Nope.” He shook his head. “But I can be pretty clueless about things when I’m in the zone and I’ve got my music turned up loud. Is he important? This guy?”
“I’d just like to know the guy’s name, that’s all,” Olivia answered cryptically and changed the subject.
As Flynn had no patio furniture other than flimsy lawn chairs, they ate on a blanket on the grass. Without the presence of an ocean breeze, the air felt especially cloying. It stuck to Olivia’s arms and neck, inviting a host of bugs to circulate around her head as they searched out the source of her jasmine and gardenia perfume. Haviland didn’t seem to notice the pests as he wolfed down a bratwurst and then gave Flynn his most poignantly imploring look.
“Forget it, Haviland. You’re having vegetables when we get home,” Olivia scolded.
“You can’t stay?” Flynn asked casually, his eyes betraying his desire.
Though part of her wanted to linger, Olivia was too unsettled by the discovery of the haiku and the realization that Camden’s killer had an agenda that possibly included more murders. On another night, she might have wanted comfort, to lose herself with Flynn, but tonight she wanted to go home. It was her goal to make a list of all of the facts and theories she’d accumulated about the murders and try to discern what the killer was after.
She wanted to think and after that, she wanted to sleep, wake up early, and think some more.
“I’m sorry, but with all these reporters in town, we’re swamped at The Boot Top. I need to be up early tomorrow to lend a hand,” she explained softy, doing her best to sound disappointed.
Together, she and Flynn carried their plates to his kitchen. Olivia rinsed while Flynn loaded the dishwasher. When he excused himself to use the bathroom before walking her to the car, Olivia meandered back into the living room. She noticed a white hardback with a pear on the cover sitting on a side table. Curious, she bent down and glanced at the title.
“Haiku Mind: 108 Poems to Cultivate Awareness and Open Your Heart by Patricia Donegan,” Olivia read. She took a closer look at the page Flynn had marked with a Post-it note. It was a chapter beginning with what the author referred to as Allen Ginsberg’s death poem.