It was now impossible to hear what anyone in the bar area was saying, and Olivia was reduced to casting covert glances at the Vickers as they devoured their appetizer and started in on their third round of drinks. However, it was plain to see that Millay was winning their trust. Judging by the way she leaned over to listen to what they were saying, Olivia assumed they were complaining about their afternoon.
Then Millay’s eyes opened wide in shock and she pointed at Harris. He blinked in confusion and stared stupidly from his copy of The Barbed Wire Flower to the Vickers and back to the book again. Soon, all four of them were huddled together, trying to converse over the din.
On the sly, Millay poured the newlyweds another round. Olivia noticed that Boyd was given another boilermaker, but Cora had been served a Blue Orange Martini.
“Vodka, blue Curacao, and Cointreau. Nicely done, Millay,” Olivia mused aloud. “You must have had that ready to go in an extra shaker.” Signaling for a waitress, she placed an order for scallops with mushrooms in a white wine sauce and asked for a glass of Dr. Loosen Riesling.
Ten minutes later, with the quartet at the bar still oblivious to the rest of the world, Olivia took her wine and went into the office to check on Haviland. He’d been fed a meal by one of the sous-chefs and was now taking an after-dinner nap on the carpet. A note on the desk read:
Ms. Limoges, Michel gave me a few recipes for your dog and told me to take good care of him. Tonight Haviland had prime beef mixed with peas, carrots, and rice. He seemed to like it. Thanks, Danny.
Olivia smiled. “Ah, Michel. I miss you. As soon as Kim can take over here, I’ll be back in my little office at The Boot Top where I belong.”
Haviland had been dreaming, his paws flexing and shivering in his sleep, but at the sound of Olivia’s voice, he opened his eyes and raised his head an inch off the floor. She bent down and kissed his black nose. “Go back to sleep, Captain,” she whispered and returned to her table.
The waitress arrived with her meal and fresh glass of Riesling. While Olivia savored the flavorful entrée, Cora and Boyd pushed their empty dinner plates aside and began to indulge in yet another round of drinks.
“I’m going to have to put them up at a hotel,” Olivia murmured to herself. “They can’t drive back to Emerald Isle. They’ll be wrapped around a telephone pole trying to get out of the parking lot.”
Suddenly, Millay made a comment and then gave a flippant shrug of her shoulders. Whatever she said had no effect on Boyd or Harris, but Cora’s reaction was dramatic. Olivia saw the new bride’s stricken face in the mirror and watched as she jumped down from the barstool and lurched through the doors leading outside, Boyd staring after her, his mouth ajar in astonishment. After a pause, he took off in pursuit of his wife.
Olivia waved Harris over. “What happened?”
“Millay made some glib remark about them not having a kid at home to worry about, what with the day they’ve had. Cora’s eyes filled with tears and she tore out of here.”
Perplexed, Olivia pressed a wad of bills in Harris’s hand. “Drive them to a hotel, would you? They’re both blind drunk and I’m responsible for their state of inebriation. Tell them you picked up their dinner tab too. Let them think you’re some rich dot-com guy.”
With a nod to Olivia and a salute for Millay, Harris dashed outside.
Millay cleared the Vickers’ plates and glasses and then sank down in the chair opposite Olivia. “I didn’t touch a nerve until I mentioned kids. We talked about the cops, Nick, money, divorce, sex, and God knows what else and didn’t get so much as a facial tic. Drop the word ‘kid’ and Cora looks like she’s been kicked in the gut.”
“Well played,” Olivia told the bartender. “So Cora has something to hide and it has to do with a child.” She took a final sip of her wine and stood up, lost in thought. “The question is, what about a child? Did she want a baby? Did she lose a baby? Or did something tragic happen to her child? And if she had one, who’s the father?”
Millay fell into step with her as Olivia walked to the office to wake Haviland. “Not Boyd. He doesn’t know a damn thing about it.”
Olivia paused, an image of Laurel hesitating before entering her own house appearing in her mind’s eye. “Married people have secrets too. If Boyd wasn’t aware of that before, he is now. Poor fool.”
Chapter 10
I have lived long enough. My way of life is fall’n into the sere, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends I must not look to have.
—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Chief Rawlings showed up at Bagels ’n’ Beans wearing a particularly unattractive Hawaiian shirt. Olivia took one look at the yellow and green pineapple print and grimaced. “I take it you’re off duty?”
He placed a basket containing a toasted asiago bagel smeared with a generous layer of cream cheese on the table and sank into his chair with a sigh. “For the moment. I’m never really off the clock during an investigation as serious as this. I expect the media to descend on Oyster Bay today.” He glanced around the café, quickly assessing whether potential gossipmon-gers were close enough to overhear their conversation, but most of the eatery’s patrons were tourists. His hazel eyes softening, he focused his gaze on Olivia’s face. “How’d it go last night?”
Olivia proudly recapped Millay’s brilliant performance. “The lovebirds are going to have a hell of a hangover this morning,” she declared at the end of her narrative.
Rawlings rubbed his chin, lost in thought. “Cora only cracked when Millay brought up the subject of children. I wonder why.”
“I have a theory,” Olivia said. “If Cora and Nick had a child, then that kid would surely be entitled to a share in his estate.”
The chief took a bite of his bagel and chewed heartily. Then he shrugged. “In that case, why didn’t Mr. Plumley name his dependent as a beneficiary on his life insurance policy?” He scribbled a notation in his pocket notepad. “This will have to wait until tomorrow. I’ll need to get ahold of Cora’s medical records, and without her being an official suspect, that won’t be easy.”
Taking a sip of coffee, Rawlings pointed at the framed photographs hanging from the brick wall above their table. “What do you think of these?”
Olivia had kept her eyes averted from the images since she’d sat down. The smiling infant faces served as a pointed reminder that she hadn’t called Kim to see how Anders was doing. “Wheeler usually displays such tasteful art,” she said. “Yours, for example.”
“These are more certainly commercial than Wheeler’s usual selections, but the photographer isn’t without skill.” Rawlings grinned. “Still, I’d never have pegged Wheeler as a fan of kittens, puppies, or babies.”
Olivia glanced at the photograph hanging above her right shoulder. It showed a toddler with gossamer blond hair being used as a climbing post by a pair of kittens. “All this picture needs is a balloon and a rainbow.”
Rawlings laughed. “I bet Laurel would think it’s cute.”
Briefly, Olivia wondered whether her friend had had any success communicating her feelings to Steve last night. Certain phrases surfaced in her mind, and Olivia realized that the time Laurel’s husband spent at the office coupled with his hypercriticism of his wife might have an obvious and unpleasant explanation. “Speaking of Laurel,” she paused, wondering how to broach the delicate subject to Rawlings. “Do you remember when you had to question Steve when you were working on the Cliché Killers case?”