“The point I’m trying to make is that I noticed the pride my mother took in her work. She loved her job. It was important to her. It helped to define her. As her daughter, I took note of how she felt, and I wanted to grow up to be just like her—a working woman.” Olivia glanced back at Laurel. “I was proud of my mother, and your boys will be proud of you. If you slink off to the paper with the weight of the world on your shoulders, you’re teaching them that work is misery. Yet I’ve seen the glimmer in your eyes when you’re running down an exciting story, and the twins will see it too, if you’d only show it to them.” She turned down Laurel’s street. “You can be an inspiration to your children, Laurel. Frankly, I can’t imagine a better gift.”
Olivia pulled in front of Laurel’s charming Cape Cod–style home and put the Range Rover in park. She kept the engine running.
Laurel looked at the illuminated windows, which bathed the lawn and flagstone path with a soft white light, and put her hand on the door handle. She did not get out of the car. “Everything I love is in that house, so why don’t I want to go in?”
Pivoting in her seat, Olivia asked, “Because you feel that your love is not equally returned?”
Swallowing hard, Laurel nodded.
“Then tell that to the person who needs to hear it,” Olivia ordered. “No fairy godmother is going to swoop down and make your problems disappear. Get in there and go to work. You love your job? Fight for it. You love your husband? Fight for him. You want your family to be united? Unite it!”
Laurel opened the door. “Okay, okay, I will. But first, I’m going to have another glass of wine.”
And with that, she tripped up the walk and disappeared inside.
At The Bayside Crab House, it was clear that Millay and Julesy were hitting it off, despite their markedly different appearances. Julesy was tall and tan and towered above the petite Millay. Millay’s black hair was streaked with scarlet and her dark eyes were accentuated with a plum-colored shadow. Julesy was pretty and outgoing, like a daisy growing in a sun garden, while Millay was more of a rare orchid, blooming only at night beneath a swath of pallid moonlight.
The hostess had been instructed to obstruct the two stools at the end of the bar using stacks of plastic booster seats. When Cora and Boyd arrived, the items would be whisked away and the couple would be led straight to the bar, where Millay would immediately serve them a round of drinks. Harris would already be established on a stool to the right, reading away while nursing a beer and picking at a basket of fried calamari. Olivia had staked out a small table behind the newlywed’s assigned seats. She’d spread out a fan of paperwork and opened her laptop, but instead of focusing on the screen, she’d be watching the Vickers’ facial expressions and body language in the bar’s horizontal mirror.
Fortunately, the restaurant was packed by the time the couple arrived, looking haggard and cross from an afternoon spent in separate interviews with various members of the Oyster Bay Police Department.
Carrying out Olivia’s instructions flawlessly, the hostess added the newlyweds to the wait list and then made a big show of clearing off the pair of unoccupied barstools and introducing them to Millay.
“If your name isn’t called in the next thirty minutes, we’d be delighted to offer you a free appetizer platter. Many of our customers just end up eating dinner at the bar. If you choose to stay, Millay will provide you with place settings and excellent service.” The young woman issued her broadest smile, her face dimpling prettily. “Enjoy our selection of microbrews on tap, our signature cocktails, or pick from our extensive wine list.”
As soon as they sat down, Cora and Boyd showed subtle signs of relaxation. Millay set coasters in front of them and pointed out various drinks on the menu, and Olivia could see Boyd’s tense shoulders loosen a bit. Cora asked Millay if she’d recommend the Lemon Drop Martini and was given an answer that obviously pleased her.
“The Lemon Drop is totally delicious,” Millay said. “But my favorite is the Melontini because it’s so incredibly refreshing. If you’re on vacation, you should have both. And if you’re not, then you deserve both even more. And we’ve got a two-for-one bar special going on.”
This earned Millay a small smile from Cora, who ordered a pair of cocktails and then looked at Boyd expectantly.
“I don’t suppose a boilermaker would be included in the special,” he grumbled.
Millay shrugged. “I don’t see why not. We’re a new business, so it’s our job to impress first-time customers.” She winked at Boyd. “Which beer would you prefer?”
Boyd made his choice and Millay poured the golden liquid from the tap into a pub glass, allowing a perfect crown of foam to form on the top. She set the glass in front of Boyd and then, instead of serving him a shot glass filled with whiskey, poured two fingers’ worth of Johnnie Walker into a tumbler. Her generosity clearly impressed the couple, and they exchanged looks of pleasant surprise while Millay’s back was turned. Within the next minute, she presented Cora with two martinis. The first glowed like liquid sunshine and was garnished with a sugar rim and a curl of lemon peel. The second, and the one Cora instantly reached for, was the soft pink of a watermelon. A pair of translucent kiwi slices balanced on the rim.
Cora popped a kiwi into her mouth and then took a dainty sip of the Melontini. She took a longer, greedier sip and then sighed. Olivia couldn’t hear the sigh, but she saw Cora’s body deflate as the air was pushed from the woman’s lungs.
The couple, having angled their bodies in order to face each other, was unlikely to notice Harris or the book he’d laid on the bar by his right elbow. Olivia wasn’t worried. If the Vickers stayed at the bar for the length of their meal, they’d eventually shift positions and hopefully fall into conversation with their neighbor. For his part, Harris was wisely drawing no attention to himself. He’d let Millay exert her charms and get enough alcohol into the couple’s systems before she eventually included him in the conversation.
The newlyweds, now significantly more relaxed than they’d been upon their arrival, smiled at each other, chatted with Millay, and worked on their drinks. The moment Boyd’s whiskey glass was empty, their attentive bartender appeared like a bottle-welding jinn to refill it.
“This is your free one,” Millay announced with a friendly dip of her chin and poured two more shot glasses worth of whiskey into Boyd’s tumbler. She then placed a brand-new beer alongside his pub glass, correctly assuming that the presence of the fresh pour would encourage him to drink down the rest of the first beer in a few gulps.
By this time, Cora had finished her first martini and was studying the menu. When her second martini was half done, Millay told the Vickers that the wait list was moving along at a snail’s pace and that she’d be bringing them a complimentary appetizer platter within a few minutes.
“Do you want to dine here or would you prefer to continue waiting for a table? I’d like you to stay, of course. I prefer a polite couple like you two to a bunch of horny golfers on a weekend trip away from their wives. I had to deal with enough of that sort last night.” She smiled, her beautiful face captivating the tipsy couple.
Cora laughed. “Don’t worry, we’ll eat here. It looks like the band is back from their break. We’ve got great seats for listening to the music and won’t have to wait around for a waitress to bring us drinks.”
“That is a plus,” Millay agreed and disappeared into the kitchen to fetch their appetizer.
Olivia started in her seat when the band, a group of good-looking high school boys led by front man Cody Rigod, Chief Rawlings’ nephew, began the second half of their set with a rowdy rendition of “Get Off of My Cloud” by The Rolling Stones.