Flipping a dish towel over his shoulder, Michel blew air noisily through pursed lips. “You wouldn’t dare. The first sign of a rolling cart with fixings for Belgian waffles and I’ll walk right out the door.”

  “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of insulting the staff in such a way. Food preparation belongs in the kitchen. Still, the restaurant does seem rather full. Perhaps I should raise the brunch prices? I don’t want to take any business away from Grumpy’s.”

  Michel left Olivia to her musings. As soon as she was alone, she logged on to her computer and typed the first line of the haiku written over Camden’s body into Google’s search box.

  “ ‘His words are silenced,’ ” she mumbled to herself as an assortment of results appeared on the screen. “No matches. How about the second line? ‘An orchard in winter.’ ”

  She studied the links to photographs of orchards in winter and selected a page of color shots showing an apple orchard covered in snow. One of the images, called “First Frost,” depicted the trees’ barren branches encased in a layer of ice. The snow around the trunks was at least a foot deep and was unmarred by a single blemish. No footprints, animal tracks, or shovel cuts spoiled the pristine, blinding white surface. Olivia enlarged the picture and sat staring at it for several moments. The absolute silence of the scene was almost palpable. She could feel herself there—in the cold, beneath the gray sky. The more her eyes fixed on the image, the more clearly she could sense the stark loneliness of being the only human being around for miles.

  Someone dropped a metal bowl in the kitchen and the clanging brought Olivia out of her reverie. She rubbed her arms, wondering if the air-conditioning was set too low or if the pictures of snow and ice had made her feel cold.

  “ ‘Apple seeds slumber,’” she whispered and clicked on the next image, which captured the twisted, sharp branches of a single tree. In fact, the limbs looked as though they’d been whipped so harshly by a persistent wind that they’d bent back upon themselves. The photo created feelings of anxiety, as though the tree was in agony. Olivia had never realized that an apple tree could appear frightening, almost violent, but this one did. She exited the website and returned to the original search results.

  Her quest for apple seed references led her to pages of recipe listings and advertisements for preschools, eateries, and gardening supply companies. At the bottom of the third page, there was a link to an article on the hazardous nature of cyanide. Olivia read, fascinated, about the dangers of ingesting the poison. When Haviland entered the room, licking his chops with the utmost satisfaction, she pointed at the screen.

  “Listen to this, Captain. Cyanide works by preventing the blood from carrying oxygen, so a person dies quickly from asphyxiation. And even though mystery writers often describe it as having an almondlike scent, cyanide can also be completely colorless and odorless.” She sighed. “It also requires a huge amount of pulverized seeds to poison someone, so I don’t see any connection between cyanide and Camden’s death. The apple seeds must mean something else.”

  Olivia absently stroked her canine companion. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking? That the haiku wasn’t just about Camden? Perhaps it was a warning to others.

  Camden’s ‘words were silenced.’ He was killed and therefore silenced. Because of death, he was also totally still, like an ‘orchard in winter,’ but that last line … it’s almost as though the apple seeds were waiting. Do you think there will be another victim? That someone will be poisoned?”

  Haviland rested his snout on her leg. Olivia stroked his head and cooed, “Don’t worry, Captain. I’m just thinking aloud.”

  Olivia was aware that she was trying to reassure herself as much as her poodle.

  After two more hours of futile research, Olivia had no clearer idea of the haiku’s meaning. She’d refreshed her memory of high school English literature classes, in which she’d once known that haiku were poems made up of three lines containing five syllables in the first and last lines, and seven syllables in the second line. She was also reminded that one of the four seasons was usually referenced in the poem and that haiku were written using simple language so that a large audience could understand the imagery, yet still be awakened to a unique perspective of a familiar object, setting, or emotion.

  What seemed like new information was the requirement of something called a cut. Appearing in the first or second line, cutting was meant to divide the short poem into two sections. Each section could have a different meaning, but the overall poem would remain cohesive. The line containing the cut would end with distinct punctuation such as a colon or a dash.

  “Camden’s killer is no fisherman—or a very well read one,” Olivia remarked to Haviland as she drove west toward Raleigh. “He placed a cut in the first line and used proper punctuation according to the rules of haiku. His syllable count was also exact. I must find out more useful information about Blake Talbot. I wasted a good hour sifting through fan pages and Hollywood claptrap. The only interesting tidbit I came across was that his rock band is named Blackwater.”

  Haviland turned his head and stretched his neck as far over the center console as he could, avidly sniffing the air.

  “You’re being impolite, Captain. It is not time to eat. Is this how you’re going to behave when Mr. Volakis is in the car?”

  The poodle gave an apologetic bark and resumed his seat.

  “According to Wikipedia, Blackwater is a military company based right here in the beautiful state of North Carolina.” Olivia resumed her lecture. “How do you think the employees of this private security corporation feel about five spoiled twenty-two-year-olds screaming in microphones while garbed in designer fatigues and diamond-studded dog tags?”

  Haviland made a rumbling noise in his throat.

  Olivia laughed. “Oh, so you did hear the title track I played from their latest CD. I was hoping you’d be under Michel’s butcher block by then, the sounds of Blackwater happily obscured as your favorite chef hacked merrily away at hapless carrots and cucumbers.

  “Don’t worry,” she assured the poodle. “I’m not going to play a single note from ‘Wreckage’ ever again. Let’s listen to the rest of our Ancient Evenings audiobook. It’ll help refresh the Egyptian setting for Kamila’s chapter involving …” She trailed off, her hand frozen on the volume knob. “I hadn’t thought about my writing future, Captain. I wonder if the Bayside Book Writers will continue without Camden?”

  Haviland cocked his head, giving his mistress a version of the canine shrug.

  Feeling gloomy, Olivia drove the rest of the way in silence, surrendering herself to the melodious voice of the narrator as he led his listeners through the climax of Norman Mailer’s tale of reincarnation set in 1100 B.C.

  Upon arriving at the airport, Olivia parked in the short-term lot and informed Haviland that he’d need to wait in the car. Haviland frowned and turned his face away when Olivia reached out to pet him.

  “There are limits to where you can go, Captain. I might get away with trotting you around Oyster Bay, but we’d get in trouble if we went strolling into the terminal like we owned the place.”

  Giving his mistress a cold, hard stare, Haviland settled down on the seat and closed his eyes.

  Inside the air-conditioned terminal, Olivia joined a cluster of limo drivers waiting on one side of security. Withdrawing her own sign from her purse, Olivia stood stiffly upright next to a driver dressed in an inexpensive black suit, white shirt, and midnight blue tie.

  “Excuse me.” Olivia smiled at the man. “Could you tell me whether the US Air flight from Los Angeles has arrived yet?”

  The driver’s southern upbringing dictated he come to the aid of a woman in need. “Let me run over and check the board, ma‘am. Be back in two shakes. You just wait right there.” Returning quickly to his spot, he said, “The flight’s landed. Probably take ten minutes for the passengers to deplane and for them to walk to this area.” He noticed her sign. “You expectin’ family?”

  “No. I’ve never seen this man in my life,” Olivia answered. “He’s coming to attend a funeral, I’m afraid. He isn’t expecting to be picked up and I’m worried he’ll rush right by me.”

  Bowing slightly, the driver said, “Ah, I doubt anyone would miss you, ma’am, but I could hold up the sign for you if you’d like. I know you’re tall for a lady and all, but I’ve got that chauffeur look about me. Wouldn’t want this fellow to pass you by.”

  Olivia handed him the sheet of cardstock with gratitude.

  She wanted to be able to take brief measure of Camden’s lover before he became aware that he wasn’t actually being picked up by a member of the Oyster Bay Police Department. Fortunately, Mr. Cosmo Volakis was easy to identify. The moment he exited the corridor adjacent to the security check, Olivia knew she was looking at Camden’s significant other.

  Of average height and build, Cosmo had a thatch of glossy black hair, an unlined, olive-skinned face, long, feathery eyelashes framing chestnut brown eyes, and a firm, masculine jaw. His lips were as plump as a supermodel’s pout, his chin was dimpled, and his nose, though slightly hooked at the tip, gave him an air of distinction. He wore a cobalt dress shirt, a checked blazer, tailored jeans, and Italian calfskin loafers. A Louis Vuitton garment bag was slung over one shoulder and a pair of sunglasses peeked out of his breast pocket. Every woman within range glanced at Cosmo with appreciation. Several cast him openly flirtatious smiles, but he was too focused on locating his method of transportation to pay his admirers any heed.

  Olivia noticed that despite the tumult of emotions he must be experiencing, Cosmo seemed outwardly calm. Still, he approached the driver beside her with hurried strides and introduced himself in a pleasant, musical voice. Olivia detected more than a trace of anxiety as he confirmed his identity.

  “Are you bringing me to Oyster Bay?” he asked, perplexed. Obviously he’d been expecting to see a policeman’s uniform.

  “Welcome to North Carolina, sir!” the driver told Cosmo. “I’m actually just helping this lovely lady here.” He pivoted toward Olivia. “Ma’am, here’s your weary traveler.”

  Cosmo blinked in surprise and Olivia promptly inquired, “Do you have any luggage?”

  “Just what I’m carrying.” He stared at Olivia in frank confusion. “And you are … ?” Apprehension spread from his voice to his eyes.

  Gesturing for him to follow her, Olivia murmured, “I’m a friend. Now, let’s get outside in a hurry. I don’t like having to leave my dog in the hot car.”

  Cosmo’s expression of initial astonishment slowly dissipated as he moved to keep pace with Olivia. He switched his thick garment bag to the other shoulder so that it wouldn’t be a barrier between them and studied her as they walked. “Are you with the Oyster Bay Police?”

  “No. I assumed the chief and his officers had more pressing matters to take care of, so I volunteered to collect you. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Once outside, she held out her hand to Cosmo. “I’m Olivia Limoges. Camden and I had just formed the beginnings of what I believed would have become a long and fulfilling friendship when his life was stolen away.” She held out her arm, indicating they should cross the street while there was a lull in traffic. “Coming here to meet you was the only useful thing I could think to do in his memory. Besides, I thought it might be easier for you to talk to me during the two-hour ride since I actually cared for Camden, in lieu of some blase young policeman who didn’t know him from Adam.”

  “That would have made things even worse,” Cosmo readily confessed. “If things can get any worse.” He paused and glanced up at the sky. “I was also dreading the idea of riding with a policeman just taking care of official business. He probably would have insisted on small talk to fill up the silence and would have refused to tell me anything about Camden’s …” He trailed off, his expression pure misery.

  Olivia opened the back door of the Range Rover. “About his case?” she finished for him. “I’ll tell you all I know, which isn’t much, I fear. Haviland? You cannot sit in the front seat. Haviland? Up!” When the poodle didn’t move, Olivia scowled. “Just this once, Captain. You’ll get a reward from the picnic basket, I promise.”

  Haviland’s ears perked at the word “basket” and he launched himself into the backseat. Olivia removed the seat protector from the passenger seat, transferred it to the trunk and tried to relieve Cosmo of his garment bag. “Please. Allow me,” he insisted.

  Consenting, Olivia removed the take-out containers Michel had packed, noting with a grin that Haviland’s was labeled in Michel’s neat script. She placed the poodle’s meal on a napkin on the backseat within reach of Haviland’s quivering nose and then handed a meal to Cosmo.

  “I own a restaurant in Oyster Bay and my chef has prepared these treats for our ride home. I haven’t traveled recently, but from what I remember, the airlines have replaced any semblance of an in-flight meal with a sprinkling of peanuts or a package of six tiny pretzels.”

  Cosmo nodded but made no move to open the parcel. “Thank you, but I haven’t eaten all day. I don’t know if I can swallow anything.”

  Olivia started the engine and maneuvered the Range Rover out of the parking area. “Try a few, small bites. Not to sound like a cliché, but you’ll need to keep up your strength. You can’t help Camden if you fall to pieces.” She opened a napkin with a flourish and let it fall gently on Cosmo’s lap. “There you are.”

  Both human and canine passengers ate in silence as Olivia exited the airport and began heading east toward the ocean. She crunched on her portion of herb crostini with goat cheese, but her inability to offer comforting words or maternal assurances to the young man beside her eventually put her off her food. As Cosmo focused on the passing scenes out the window, his beautiful profile was a portrait in anguish. The sky was morphing from its summer day yellow blue haze to a reluctant charcoal.

  Nearly an hour into the ride, Cosmo ran his hands through his wavy locks and sighed deeply. “I’m ready to hear the horrible details now. Can you tell me what happened to my Cam?”

  Olivia did. Succinctly and as painlessly as possible. However, there was no way to soften the specifics regarding the cause of death and when Cosmo’s eyes grew moist, his agony evident as he heard how his lover had been killed, Olivia’s own eyes filled with tears. Swallowing hard, she immediately tried to distract him by reciting the mysterious haiku.

  “Does anything about that poem seem familiar?” she asked him gently.

  Cosmo pressed a handkerchief to his eyes. “No! No!” He sobbed into the fabric. “None of this makes sense!” His shoulders shook and he turned away from her again.

  He grew calm quickly. “Forgive me, dear lady. When the police chief called me, this seemed like some mixed-up nightmare. Part of me thought I’d fly here and find out they’d made a huge mistake. It would be some other beautiful gay man who got killed, not my Camden. But hearing it from you … now I know he’s really gone. There’s … God, I feel like there’s a hole in the middle of my chest. Like I’ve died too.”

  Wordlessly, Olivia removed her right hand from the steering wheel and found Cosmo’s. She squeezed his soft flesh and he grabbed her hand in both of his and clutched it against his chest, just above his heart. “Tell me! What monster could have done this to him?”

  Olivia shook her head. “I don’t know. Camden didn’t mention making any enemies in Oyster Bay? Conflicts?”

  “No!” Cosmo was crushed to have no helpful information to share. “He was digging up dirt on the Talbots, but he was happy doing the research. Last time we talked, he was full of ideas for this book of his. Said his publicist already had a publishing house drooling for the thing. Did you know about the novel?”

  “Yes. I’ve read one of the chapters. Camden was a gifted writer.” She carefully reclaimed her hand. “Did you read the Milano Cruise stories before they were published?”

  After a pause, Camden’s lover grinned. “Only the seriously juicy ones. I’m no good at writing, but sometimes I could get Milano a story or two. I’m an interior designer to the stars, so Camden was always careful to make sure none of the scandalous tidbits could get traced back to me.” He gestured toward the trunk, his youthful face infused with pride. “That garment bag? A castoff of Sharon Stone’s.”

  Olivia wasn’t one to swoon at the mention of a celebrity’s name, but Cosmo looked so forlorn and eager for praise that she did her best to appear impressed. “You must be very talented.”

  “Oh, I am.” Cosmo’s smile grew. “Cam and I—our stars were on the rise.” He touched Olivia on the elbow so that she’d meet his eyes. “I’m not going back to LA without answers. My future was with Camden and now that’s gone. Just like that!” He snapped his fingers. “I can’t even think about living through another day until the evil creature who stole my best friend away is caught!” He put his head in his hands and sighed. “Could you help me find a decent place to stay? I don’t have anywhere to go.”

  “There’s really only one decent option in town. That is, if you want to avoid the tourists and their boisterous children. I’ll get you a room at a bed-and-breakfast called The Yellow Lady.”

  Cosmo leaned heavily against the headrest. “Ugh! Creaky floors and saggy mattresses covered by old quilts. Nosy innkeepers and housemaids going through my pockets? There’s nothing more modern?”

  “Oyster Bay is a town in transition, I’m afraid.” Olivia was struck by an inspiration. “I have a cottage on my property. It’s small, but it has a kitchen and a living room and overlooks the ocean. Do you think you’d be more comfortable there?”

  “Do I? Oh, I’d so rather be away from prying eyes and close to you. I’ve never needed a friend as much as I do now!” Cosmo gushed sincerely.

  Simultaneously flustered and pleased by his boyish need, Olivia began to give commands to the phone installed in her car’s dashboard. “Call The Yellow Lady,” Olivia ordered. As the computer complied, Olivia told Cosmo, “You’ll have to stay there tonight. The cottage isn’t set up for guests and I’ll need to buy a bed first thing tomorrow. I’d also like to be there when you go into Camden’s room. My friends and I, the ones from Camden’s writing group, believe there could be a clue within the pages of his manuscript.”

 

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