“Are we borin’ you?” Dixie asked, indicating the half-empty diner with her hand. “See Mr. Jeffries? The cute little man at the Evita booth? He’s been lookin’ for an excuse to sing ‘Mr. Mistoffelees’ ever since I can remember. Should I tell him you’d like nothin’ better than to hear your favorite song from Cats?”
“Not if you value your life,” Olivia threatened and then sighed. “And I’m not bored, just impatient.” She tapped on her cell phone, which sat on the center of the table alongside her coffee cup. “I’m waiting for two calls. One from Greenville and the other from Chapel Hill. I was hoping to have been on the road by now, but my damned phone refuses to ring.”
Dixie climbed into the booth opposite Olivia and stretched out her short legs on the surface of the red vinyl cushion. “Oh, that feels good. I’ve been skatin’ my ass off since five thirty.” She glanced at her purple Swatch. “This is late for you to be eatin’ breakfast. And no laptop? What’s goin’ on with my favorite Egyptian strumpet?”
“Not a thing since she managed to seduce Ramses. I can’t concentrate on Kamila. Nick Plumley’s murder has taken over my thoughts. That and an incident that occurred at The Boot Top last night, but I absolutely cannot tell you about that, so don’t even ask.”
Dixie opened her mouth to speak when Olivia’s phone vibrated, causing it to skid sideways. Olivia swept it up and examined the screen. “It’s a text message with an attachment. I have no idea how to open this. I’m not thirteen, for crying out loud.”
“Don’t be such an old fart,” Dixie chided and reached for the phone. “Come on, you know my arms are too stubby to grab that far, so give it here.”
Olivia obeyed, and Dixie punched a few buttons and then read the message aloud. “ ‘Anders is doin’ fine. Caitlyn and I spend most of the day at the hospital and I’ve been able to hold my boy and even give him his first bath. Nurse Love is visitin’ us today. She is an angel! Here’s a pic of another angel. This is Anders sendin’ love to his Aunt Olivia. oxox Kim.’ ” Dixie fluttered her fingertips over the phone and then her face broke into a bright smile. “Lord have mercy! If this isn’t the most precious child I have ever seen!”
She placed the phone flat on the table and pushed it toward Olivia. A cherubic face rested in the middle of the screen, and Olivia pulled the Anders image closer. “He’s filled out,” she remarked proudly. “Look at those dimples. And his eyes . . . they’re not dark like Hudson’s. They’re gray. Almost pewter. Beautiful.” She felt a warmth spread through her chest, rushing up her neck to her cheeks. It was an odd feeling, this delight over receiving a photo of her half brother’s child, but delight is what it was, pure and simple. In a small way, this child belonged to her. They were tied to each other by the bonds of blood and the finer, less tangible thread of experience. Olivia had been on the other side of the wall while the doctors had repaired Anders’ heart, she had stood over his incubator when the surgery was over, and she had touched his tiny hand. With that touch, she had instantly committed herself to him.
“Look at you, ’Livia!” Dixie teased. “That boy’s got you wrapped around his itty-bitty finger. I’m surprised you haven’t hired a helicopter to fly him home to Oyster Bay.”
Olivia pretended to mull over the idea. “Too noisy,” she replied. “But there is the nursery to consider. I don’t know if Hudson got the crib ready or has a supply of diapers and all the millions of gadgets one seems to need to raise a child these days. I should stop by the house and find out.”
“Bring Laurel along,” Dixie suggested. “She’ll point out what’s missin’, and you two can do some damage with your Visa card. Shoot, I might move into Anders’ room, especially if Grumpy won’t stop wakin’ me up at two in the morning . . .” She trailed off. “Hey, why’d a black cloud form over your head when I mentioned Laurel? Does she have somethin’ to do with what happened last night at The Boot Top?”
Haviland got up from his seat on the floor, stretched, and stuck his nose between Dixie’s skates. He sniffed the wheels with great interest and then sat on his haunches, looking expectantly from one woman to the other.
“See? Even Captain wants you to spill.” Dixie lowered her voice. “Fifty bucks says she’s got the hots for Michel.”
Olivia, who had just poured a small whirlpool of cream into her coffee, held her teaspoon in the air. “How did you know that?”
Dixie lifted her chin and looked smug. “Honey, I’ve got two good eyes in my head. Every time I run into that man at the docks or the grocery store or even at the farm stand south of town, he acts like he’s lost in a dream. A man doesn’t walk around wearin’ a secret little smile on his face unless there’s a woman involved.” She shook her head. “I just never thought it would be Laurel. I know your French-fried chef has a thing for married women, but Laurel? She’s a girl scout!”
“I don’t think they’re having an affair, so don’t go spreading this around like a cold. Last night, I walked in on Michel comforting Laurel, and they looked, well . . .”
Dixie studied her friend. “Like they fit in each other’s arms?”
Olivia nodded.
“And what about Mr. Pearly Whites? Do you think he knows his wife has her eye on another man?”
Even though the cream had already dissipated into the coffee, Olivia stirred the spoon around and around, staring into the light brown brew as though it held an answer. She raised the spoon, cutting through a swath of steam, and then placed it absently on a napkin. “Laurel believes that Steve has been cheating on her for months, maybe longer. The whole thing’s a mess.”
“What are you going to do?” Dixie asked with concern.
“Not a damn thing,” Olivia answered in surprise. “I make it a point not to get involved in domestic squabbles.”
Dixie undoubtedly had much to say on the subject but was forced to call an end to her impromptu break when Grumpy stuck his head out of the kitchen and bellowed, “Order up!”
Haviland took this as a sign that he should accompany the dwarf as she zipped off to the pickup window. Seeing as he was encouraged by Dixie’s whispered promises of a plate of crunchy turkey bacon, Olivia let the poodle wander away.
Thankfully, her phone vibrated again, and this time, Olivia recognized the name and greeted the caller with uncharacteristic affability.
Professor Emmett Billinger was exuberant. “I phoned the second I finished listening to your voice mail this morning. I’d be glad to exchange information and to show you these extraordinary photographs. And you’re willing to drive here? And to bring the painting?”
Olivia assured him that she was more than happy to spend a few hours in the car if it meant discovering a clue to Nick Plumley’s murder. Harris’s Heinrich Kamler watercolor had been safely stored in the vault of the Coastal Carolina Bank, and Olivia told the professor that she’d pick up the painting and be at his office by lunchtime.
“Splendid! I’ll have sandwiches ready so we don’t have to interrupt our time together searching for food.”
Sensing that she was going to get along with this efficient academic, Olivia asked whether he had any objection to Haviland’s presence.
“Not at all. I’m owned by a pair of rescued greyhounds,” he replied cheerfully. “They go to daycare when I’m at work, but I’ll have a suitable meal on hand for your companion.”
Olivia left money on the table and peered into the kitchen while Dixie was busy delivering platters of Belgian waffles. On the other side of the swinging door, Olivia caught Grumpy tossing a piece of meat into the air directly above Haviland’s quivering snout. With a flash of teeth and a lightning-quick snap of the jaw, the meat disappeared into the poodle’s mouth.