He was her friend. He was worthy of forgiveness.
To show Wheeler that nothing would stop her from caring about him, she took the painting. “Thank you.”
Car doors slammed at the top of the driveway.
Olivia’s heart beat faster at the sound. “Even though I’d be honored to take them all, I’m happy to have just one. There is someone else you might want to give the rest of these to, someone you’ve never met.”
Wheeler wasn’t listening. He’d raised his head at the sounds coming from outside and squared his shoulders. Without looking at Olivia, he headed into the kitchen, where he stood in front of the window and peered out toward the driveway.
“That’s a good fellow, our chief, and a fine artist to boot. You could do worse, girlie.”
Rawlings had parked at the top of the long drive and was now making his way with slow deliberation down the unpaved road, a giant of a man by his side.
“Who’s the big guy?” Wheeler asked.
Exhaling, Olivia put her arm around the old man’s back. “His name is Raymond Hatcher. He was raised by Agnes Hatcher, James’s widow, but I believe he’s your son. Yours and Evelyn’s.”
Wheeler’s eyes fixed on Raymond, his face filling with wonder. Olivia could see it spread over his features, glowing like a full moon over the ocean. His mouth worked, but no sound came out. There was nothing but the radiance of this new discovery. It flowed out of his eyes, smoothing his wrinkles until he seemed young again. A young soldier. A young lover.
“We did have the one night together, but I never thought . . .” Wheeler whispered in awe. He refused to blink, drinking in every inch of the approaching figure. A smile began to form on his lips, and the closer Raymond drew, the bigger the smile became. “I’ll be damned! Look at that boy. Evie, he’s such a fine, strappin’ man.”
Olivia cast him a sidelong glance. Was he confusing her with his lost love, or was he speaking to Evelyn’s ghost?
She moved away from him, opening the door and wordlessly inviting Rawlings inside.
Raymond waited on the stoop while the chief explained the charges and read the Miranda. His tone was soft and calm and held no judgment. Not for the first time, Olivia was grateful for his professional poise, his kind heart.
Wheeler ignored him completely. He didn’t acknowledge his presence at all. He passed him by, his eyes locked on Raymond’s. They were shining with joy. It was what every child hopes to see on their parent’s face, and despite Raymond Hatcher’s sixty-odd years, he reacted as any little boy would. He opened his huge arms and enfolded his father into them, holding him tenderly and murmuring his happiness through muffled sobs.
Rawlings and Olivia retreated deeper into the kitchen to give the men some privacy. They sat at the table and waited.
“Does Ray know?” she whispered.
“He knows everything about Heinrich Kamler. That he didn’t kill James Hatcher and that he’s his father. I showed him the records. I also told him about Wheeler Ames. And that while he was innocent of one murder, he was guilty of another.”
Having seen the embrace between father and son, Olivia could tell that Ray Hatcher was prepared to accept these truths, if only to have a few minutes with a man he’d longed to meet all of his life.
Olivia reached under the polished laminate and searched for Rawlings’ hand. He clutched hers in return, and they sat in silence, seeing the echoes of the last weeks’ anguish and worry and wonder reflected in each other’s eyes.
Listening to the soft murmurs being exchanged between Ray and Wheeler, Olivia wanted nothing more than to put her head on the chief’s solid shoulder. She wanted to tell him that she was in love with him, but this was not their moment. Their time would come.
Easing her hand free, she placed her Heinrich Kamler watercolor on the table and smiled at the chief. Rawlings stared at the couple on the beach for a full minute and then brushed her cheek with his fingertips. He understood what she was silently conveying. The kiss of his fingers on her flesh was a clear message of “I’m in love with you too.”
Several evenings later, Olivia and Haviland pulled in front of the Salters’ house. A blue “Welcome Baby” balloon bounced from the mailbox, and Caitlyn was on the front lawn creating enormous, magical-looking bubbles by running across the grass with a hoop filled with a film of soapy water.
As Olivia watched, enthralled, a Chinese dragon of a bubble rippled from Caitlyn’s hoop, wriggling and glistening with oil-slick rainbows in the fading light until it popped to the sound of the little girl’s laughter.
This was why Olivia had come. She needed to be with this family, her family, to see them revolving around one another like a group of planets in orbit. She needed the noise and the joking and the certainty that Anders was truly okay.
Kim squealed upon seeing her, gushing thanks over the nursery and hugging her repeatedly. Olivia left Haviland outside to snap at bubbles and tiptoed down the hall after Kim.
“He’s asleep, but I want you to see how happy he is in the room his auntie made for him.”
Olivia waited as Kim eased the door open and then stepped back. “Take your time. I love to watch him sleep. It makes me feel like all is right with the world.”
Anders was on his back. The curtains were closed but the lamp was lit and the scattering of stars on his ceiling bathed his face with an angelic glow. He had filled out since Olivia had last seen him, and she marveled at his plump cheeks and chubby wrists, delighting in the rise and fall of his sturdy chest and the strands of silky hair covering his head.
He sighed and then smiled in his sleep. This was followed by a nearly inaudible coo. Olivia’s breath caught.
As she stood wondering what Anders dreamed of, she felt someone coming into the room. Caitlyn crossed the carpet to Olivia’s side without a sound and took her hand. Gazing up at her with compassion, she whispered, “They fixed his heart, Aunt Olivia. He’s all better now. Everything’s gonna be okay.”
Olivia couldn’t believe that such a young child had seen that she was in need of comfort. She knelt down and tucked a strand of loose hair behind Caitlyn’s ear, her heart overflowing. “Thank you, honey. I really wanted someone to say those exact words to me.”
And then Olivia held her niece close, trying her hardest to believe the little girl’s promise.
Chapter 18
Love is the flower of life, and blossoms unexpectedly and without law, and must be plucked where it is found.
—D.H. LAWRENCE
It would take Oyster Bay a long time to recover from the shock.
From the outside, everything looked the same. The shops and beaches were filled with tanned tourists, and the rental homes and hotels were booked right through the first weekend of September. The locals smiled and appeared to be as merry and carefree as always, preserving the utopian image of their seaside town.
But in the privacy of bars like Fish Nets, the less glamorous hair salons, and on the fishing boats, people whispered about what had happened. They talked and wondered and argued over Wheeler’s crime and then tied on their aprons or rolled up their sleeves and got back to work.
The Bayside Book Writers took a hiatus. Only Laurel was able to put pen to paper following Wheeler’s arrest. Reluctantly, she wrote the article unveiling the identity of Nick Plumley’s killer. It was her finest piece to date. The front page spread was read by wide-eyed townsfolk and fascinated tourists, the latter flocking to Bagels ’n’ Beans so they could later brag to neighbors and coworkers that they’d bought a bagel or a cappuccino from the killer’s café.