The Last Word (2 page)

Harris smiled, his cheeks dimpling with pleasure. “And you’ll help me find the right guys to do the jobs I can’t figure out how to do?”

After a solemn nod, Clyde jerked his thumb at Olivia. “I’d get in here with my own toolbox if my taskmaster would let up on me for just a day or two, but she’s hell-bent on opening her Bayside Crab House by Memorial Day weekend.”

“So
that’s
why you’ve been so interested in real estate lately,” Harris said. “You must be scoping out houses for your brother and his family.”

“
Half
brother,” Olivia corrected tersely. “And it’s not for me to decide where they’re going to live. I just thought I’d rule out the duds to save time. I need Hudson to review the final kitchen layout for the restaurant, and if he’s running all over Oyster Bay comparing three-bedroom properties, we’re sure to fall behind deadline.”

Clyde gave Harris a meaningful look. “See what I mean? We should send her to Washington. She’d have the deficit licked and both our jobs and our soldiers back from overseas before the lawmakers knew what hit ’em.”

Olivia grimaced. “I have no interest in politics. Let’s go, gentlemen. I believe Harris has an offer to submit before this day is done.”

 

 

Olivia shot a glance at Millicent Banks, Harris’s real estate agent, who was parked alongside the curb in front of the picturesque bungalow. She’d been chatting on her cell phone since they’d arrived, and Olivia had hoped the conversation would be a long one. In fact, she had been pleased to have been left alone with Harris and Clyde. Millicent was a shrewd saleswoman, and Olivia hadn’t wanted the Realtor to talk their ears off the whole time. One could glean the true sense of a house only in absolute silence. It was a feeling really. A hunch.

Having stood side by side with Harris inside the sturdy bungalow, Olivia saw no reason to dissuade her friend from submitting a bid, and as the amicable young software designer waved good-bye to Clyde and approached Millicent’s Caddy, the look on his face made it clear that he was smitten with the house.

Olivia smiled as Millicent hastily completed her phone call and sat back against the supple leather of her seat with a nearly imperceptible smirk of satisfaction. Millicent was also the listing agent on this house and stood to make a tidy commission on the property, and while Olivia admired the older woman’s drive, she didn’t want her friend to pay a single cent over what she deemed to be a fair price for the house.

“Can we go back to your office and draw up the papers?” Harris asked as he jumped in the car.

Millicent was about to answer when Olivia leaned against the open passenger door. She gestured for Harris to come close and then whispered a figure into his ear.

“In this market, that’s a solid offer,” she said firmly and then acknowledged Millicent’s presence with a polite nod. “Fixing this place up will put a strain on his savings account as it is.” She fixed her sea blue gaze on Millicent. “The Bayside Book Writers need him to have enough money left over to buy coffee and printer paper, so I’ve given him my recommendation on what I consider to be a fair price. I’m sure there’s wiggle room to be had, seeing as you represent the sellers as well. Am I right?”

“Of course!” Millicent readily agreed and plastered on her best saleswoman grin. “Any friend of yours is a friend of mine.”

“That’s good to know.” Olivia tapped on the Caddy’s hood as though giving Millicent permission to drive away. She then whistled for her poodle and strode to her Range Rover, casting one last glance at the house Harris longed to call his own.

Inside her SUV, she noted the time on the dashboard clock and cursed. She was supposed to meet April Howard for a business lunch at Grumpy’s Diner to go over paint and carpet colors for The Bayside Crab House and was now sure to be late. Olivia hated tardiness. She preferred to arrive for any prearranged meeting at least ten minutes ahead of schedule. Now, she’d have to rush downtown, search for a parking spot along Main Street, and hope that April had secured Olivia’s favorite window booth before anyone else could.

With the onset of spring, tourists had begun streaming back to Oyster Bay. The coastal North Carolina town was already thirty degrees warmer than many northern locales, and the pale-faced, sun-starved vacationers had been counting down the days until their children’s schools let out for spring break. Bypassing long flights to Cancun, Caribbean cruises, and the chaos of Dis-neyworld, the residents of a dozen snow-covered states opted for the quiet beauty of Oyster Bay instead.

Ditching heavy parkas in favor of T-shirts and sunglasses the moment they arrived, the vacationers hopped aboard rental bicycles and pedaled merrily through town, passing yards filled with blooming dogwood trees, pink and purple azalea bushes, and oceans of daffodils. The lawns were Ireland green, and the buzzing of industrious bees and hummingbirds blended with the tourists’ contented sighs.

The locals were equally relieved to see the last of what had been a particularly long and damp winter. Oyster Bay’s economy depended heavily on tourism, and a dry and sunny spring meant the replenishment of the town’s depleted coffers.

Olivia Limoges was landlady to many downtown merchants, but she spent most of her time overseeing the management of her five-star restaurant, The Boot Top Bistro. Today, she drove right by the entrance, searching for a parking spot closer to Grumpy’s Diner, but decided on a space in a loading zone.

A middle-aged dwarf wearing roller skates and pigtail braids met her at the diner’s door. “As I live and breathe!” Dixie Weaver declared, waving at her flushed face with her order pad. “Miss Punctuality is
late
!”

Frowning at her child-sized friend, Olivia stepped aside as Haviland entered the diner. He placed his black nose under Dixie’s palm and gazed up at her in adoration.

“You sure know how to turn on the charm, Captain.” Dixie ruffled the poodle’s ears and then accepted one of his gentlemanly kisses on the back of her hand. “I know you’re just anglin’ for a juicy steak or some turkey bacon, but I’m the closest thing you’ve got to a godmother, so I might as well spoil you silly!”

It was unlikely that Haviland had heard anything beyond the word “bacon,” as he’d turned tail and made for Olivia’s customary window booth before Dixie could finish speaking, but the diner proprietor gave him an indulgent smile nonetheless.

“You’re certainly in a good mood,” Olivia said, still holding the door. An elderly couple shuffled in and headed for the
Evita
booth.

Dixie had a strange fascination with Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musicals. As a result, she’d plastered Broadway paraphernalia on every inch of available wall space. Each booth had its own unique theme, and while most patrons found the décor charming, Olivia did not share in her friend’s Webber worship.

Her eyes gleaming with excitement, Dixie looked over her shoulder and then whispered, “You too would be as happy as a cat in a tuna factory if you knew whose lovely, rich buns were planted on the leather in the
Starlight Express
booth.”

Olivia stole a glance at the middle-aged man dining on a chicken salad sandwich and a mountain of fries. He looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place him. “He’s handsome in a bookish sort of way. An older version of Brad Pitt in spectacles. I suppose he’s a celebrity, since you’re this flustered. Let me guess. He played the lead in
Jesus Christ Superstar
?”

Placing a hand over her heart, Dixie released a dramatic sigh. “You’ve got the wrong field, but he does work in the arts. Keep guessin’. He’s good-lookin’, smart, is in great shape for a man in his fifties, has the Midas touch. And I just read in
People
that he sold the film rights to his famous novel for a figure with lots and lots of zeros.”

Now Olivia knew the identity of the diner. “Ah, it’s Nick Plumley, Booker Prize–winning author of the international bestseller
The Barbed Wire Flower
. I wonder if he’s here conducting research. The Internet’s been rife with rumors regarding a sequel, and his groundbreaking novel was set down the road in New Bern.”

“You’ll have plenty of chances to ask him,” Dixie replied enigmatically. When Olivia didn’t rise to the bait by asking her how, the diner proprietor gave an irritated tug to her sequin-covered lavender top. “You’re about as fun as a preacher at a strip joint, but I’ll tell you anyhow. Mr. Plumley’s rented a house down the beach from your place. You two can bump into one another on a lonely stretch of sand.” Her eyes were shining with mischief. “There’ll be an instant spark between you. Passion will ignite! You’ll tear off your clothes and have wild, steamy—”

“Dixie! You’d better go. The lady in the
Evita
booth is waving her menu at you. I promise to ogle Mr. Plumley during my meeting with April, but we both have far too much work to do for me to stand here staring at him any longer.” Olivia turned away.

“First you dump Oyster Bay’s most eligible bachelor, and now you don’t give a fig that a gorgeous, unattached, and gifted
writer
is sittin’ ten feet away, ripe and ready for the pluckin’,” Dixie muttered loudly enough for Olivia to hear. “Maybe what folks say is true: You
do
have ice runnin’ through your veins.”

“A large cup of your excellent coffee should clear that ailment right up. You can decide what I want for lunch too. You always seem to know what’s best,” Olivia said over her shoulder and then greeted April Howard, the woman in charge of interior design for The Bayside Crab House.

Olivia and April spread swatches of fabric, paint palettes, and carpet samples across the booth, barely leaving room for their lunch plates. April had chosen Grumpy’s famous country fried steak, and Olivia was envious of the lightly battered meat smothered in gravy until Dixie appeared with her lunch—a generous wedge of cheese, shrimp, and mushroom quiche. Olivia had to taste only one bite of the golden crust to know that she’d been given the superior dish.

After serving the two women, Dixie lingered at their booth. She gave Haviland a platter of ground sirloin mixed with rice and vegetables and then asked after April’s kids. She voiced her opinion on the array of fabric samples, picking the gaudiest one of the lot and chiding Olivia for being too conservative.

“This place should be lively! Red, white, and blue, with a few disco balls here and there!” Dixie exclaimed. “Where’s your sense of adventure? Folks are gonna be crackin’ crab claws with little mallets and tearin’ at the meat with their front teeth. This isn’t fine dinin’, you know.”

“We’ll have checkered tablecloths,” April said with a conciliatory smile. “But we need to keep the wall color relatively neutral because we plan to hang dozens of nautical flags in place of framed photographs or posters. Trust me, it’ll be bright and busy.”

“Bright and busy, huh? Just how I like my men,” Dixie joked and skated away to clear dishes from the countertop.

Olivia concluded her business with April, insisted on paying for lunch, and then remained behind while her employee left to make phone calls to suppliers before meeting her kids’ school bus.

Watching April jog across the street, Olivia recalled how she’d first met the talented designer. Last September, April’s husband had been murdered and Olivia had been involved in the investigation. She’d appeared at the Howard’s home in search of a clue and had found one that helped break the case wide open.

Slowly, April was healing from the devastating loss. She often called in sick, and on those days, Olivia guessed the mother of three had been assaulted by a wave of grief too potent to overcome. Olivia knew plenty about the grieving process and was fully aware that time wasn’t the consummate healer people claimed it to be. There were stretches of time in which the pain surfaced with such a raw and unexpected power that it crippled the grief-stricken until it required an immense feat of strength just to get out of bed.

“You did a good thing, takin’ her on.” Dixie had appeared bearing a fresh carafe of coffee.

Olivia waved off the suggestion. “I needed an interior designer and she needed a job. Nothing more to it than that.”

Dixie snorted. “You’re as transparent as a ghost,’Livia. I know you’re payin’ for her kids to be on that special soccer team. Fixed it up to look like some kind of sports scholarship, but you can’t fool
this
dwarf.”

Olivia put her fingers to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone about that. April isn’t looking for handouts.”

The bells above the diner door tinkled and a man wearing a pale blue blazer strolled in. Both women recognized the logo on the nametag pinned to his lapel. Engraved with a beach house, a lone wave, and the words “Bayside Realty,” the tag indicated that Randall McGraw had come to Grumpy’s to meet with a prospective client. He headed straight for Nick Plumley’s booth and, after shaking the author’s hand, pulled a sheet of paper from a yellow folder bearing the realty’s name and placed it reverently on the table.

Dixie and Olivia exchanged curious glances.

“What are you waiting for?” Olivia hissed. “Get those wheels spinning! I’m dying to know which property he’s looking at.”

With a toss of her bleach blond pigtail braids, Dixie zipped over to Nick’s table, held out the order pad she only pretended to use, as she’d never forgotten an order in her life, and beamed at the real estate agent. She then took her time clearing Nick’s plate and finally skated into the kitchen.

Before Dixie had the chance to report back to Olivia, Nick was pulling bills from his wallet. He collected the sheaf of paper from the Realtor, folded it in half, and left the booth. Instead of exiting the diner, however, he walked right up to Haviland and stopped.

“Your companion is beautiful. Male or female?” he asked Olivia, his eyes on the poodle.

“His name is Captain Haviland,” Olivia answered. “No need to be shy. He’s extremely friendly.”

The author extended his hand, palm up, and Haviland immediately offered him his right paw in return.