“You’re on the chopping block next week,” Millay informed Olivia after examining her day planner. “It’ll be nice to be back in the lighthouse keeper’s cottage. I like your choice of booze better.”
Olivia gestured at the pair of empty bottles at Millay’s feet. “You didn’t seem to suffer. Besides, you’ve never been much of a wine drinker.”
“And what about you, Chief?” Millay’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “You going to wash down that Coors with a chocolate milk chaser?”
Rawlings, who was known to have a penchant for chocolate milk, gave Millay a wink. “You should get in at least three servings of dairy per day. It’s never too late to protect yourself against bone loss.”
Millay threw one of the sofa cushions at him.
Harris rose, banged his pen on the neck of his beer bottle, and cleared his throat. “I have a strange and wonderful announcement.”
“Estelle is knocked up and you’re eloping to Vegas?” Millay interrupted. Rawlings returned fire with the pillow and gestured for Harris to continue.
“Thanks, Sawyer.” Even after months of having the chief as a critique partner, Harris always looked pleased to be able to address the policeman by his first name. “You’ll never believe it, but I met Nick Plumley yesterday. The Nick Plumley. Right in front of my house.” He beamed. “Man, that feels so good to say. My house.”
Olivia frowned. The bestselling author had failed to buy the bungalow, but he was clearly still interested in it. “What was he doing here?”
“Said he’d been doing research for the sequel to The Barbed Wire Flower and came across a newspaper article describing how all the houses on Oleander Drive had been relocated. I told you guys about that earlier, but what I didn’t know was that one of the trucks broke down in the middle of Main Street on a Sunday. A local minister with initiative blessed the house and held an impromptu service inside.” Harris smiled. “It wasn’t my house though. Plumley came inside and looked around but said the floor plan didn’t match the description in the newspaper. He’s lucky he caught me. I was only here because I’d come over to meet the cable guys.”
Nick Plumley’s motive to see the inside of Harris’s house sounded plausible, but something in Olivia’s gut told her that there was more to it than research. For some reason she could not fathom, the writer had a connection to this house. It was important to him. Because it could enable him to pen another excellent novel? Perhaps. But would he decide to purchase the property just to be able to study the interior? Olivia didn’t think so. Nick might be wealthy, but he didn’t seem like a compulsive spender. When she’d met him at the diner, he’d been dressed in khaki trousers and a white button-down. His shoes and watch were of good quality, but neither was especially costly.
Even his soft briefcase was modest and similar to the one Rawlings carried. It had the worn suppleness of those toted around by professors, not millionaires. Yet Nick had wanted to buy this house instead of continuing the lease on the spectacular beachfront property near Olivia’s place. She wondered if he was still a mile down the road or if he’d bought another home. Dixie hadn’t seen him at the diner for the last two weeks, and Olivia’s feisty friend had pretended to be extremely offended that Oyster Bay’s newest celebrity had eschewed Grumpy’s in favor of other eateries.
“Are you certain he’s defected?” Olivia had asked, amused.
Dixie didn’t even crack a smile. “He’s been at Bagels’n’ Beans every single day. Even if he doesn’t like eggs or pancakes, there’s still Grumpy’s lunch menu! I can’t stand the thought that he didn’t like our club sandwich. Who makes a better one, I’d like to know!”
Olivia had tried to assure her flustered friend that there wasn’t a restaurant within two hundred miles that could top Grumpy’s “mile-high club sandwich,” but Dixie was not to be consoled.
Except for the fact that Flynn McNulty had created an entire window display at Through the Wardrobe featuring signed copies of Nick’s book, no one in Oyster Bay had called attention to the writer’s presence. This in itself was an oddity. Normally, a rich, handsome, and unattached celebrity would have had the gossip chain on red alert, but even though he’d been in town for several weeks already, Nick had kept such a low profile that Olivia had nearly forgotten about him.
After all, she was a busy woman. Between preparing for the grand opening of The Bayside Crab House, outlining the next chapter in her novel, and adjusting to the existence of her new family, Olivia hadn’t had time to dwell on Nick Plumley.
“Wait, there’s more to this story!” Harris declared exuberantly. “When Plumley heard I was an aspiring writer, he actually offered to read my work in progress. He said that he loves science fiction and has always admired authors of the genre. He’s going to swing by on Tuesday to pick up my manuscript.” Glancing around at the scores of unpacked boxes, Harris’s eyes took on a frantic look. “I totally have to get my computer and printer hooked up.”
Laurel’s mouth had formed a perfect O of surprise. “Harris, this is wonderful! I’d heard that Mr. Plumley was in town, but I still haven’t laid eyes on him. Do you think he’ll give you feedback?”
Harris tried to look modest. “Yeah, I do. In fact, he said he’d love to attend one of our meetings if we were willing to have him.”
“Seriously?” Millay asked. “Why would he want to do that? He’s already made it.”
“Maybe he wants to share his knowledge of the publishing process with us,” Laurel suggested. “Maybe he wants to pay it forward.”
Rawlings crossed his arms over his chest, as though pondering what it would be like to receive constructive criticism from the famous author. “I wouldn’t say no to an offer of assistance from Mr. Plumley. I truly admire his work and would enjoy hearing the story of his success.”
“That’s three votes for him,” Harris stated, raising the fingers of his right hand in front of Millay’s face. “Your book is closest to being ready for publication. I bet Plumley could tell you a thing or two about finding a literary agent.”
Millay gazed dreamily at her writing journal. “I do have a ton of questions about the querying process, so it’s fine with me if Oyster Bay’s own Dan Brown wants to hang out. Let’s see what he can do for us.” She turned to Olivia. “Does this mean you’ll be breaking out caviar and the top-shelf liquor?”
Olivia wasn’t pleased. “We’re not changing a thing for Nick Plumley’s visit. Personally, I don’t care for the idea of him being there for the critique of my chapter, but I guess I’ll deal with it, as everyone else wants to extend him an invitation.”
Having come to a decision, the group broke up. Millay left for her shift at Fish Nets, Rawlings needed to swing by the station to sign paperwork, and Laurel had to be home in time to bathe the twins and put them to bed.
Even after taking Haviland outside for a brisk walk down Oleander Drive, Olivia felt restless. She could go home, change clothes, and get to The Boot Top in time for the evening rush, but she was reluctant to leave Harris’s house. She wanted to know why Nick Plumley found the modest bungalow so intriguing.
“I need to do a little snooping,” she told Haviland. “You’ll have to wait another hour for dinner. I’m going to offer to help Harris unpack some boxes and see if the house wants to whisper a clue in my ear.”
Harris was delighted to accept her offer. “Could you set up the kitchen? Not to sound old-fashioned, but women have a better sense of where stuff should go in that room.”