Writing All Wrongs (11 page)

Rosemary let loose a whimper, and Haviland searched her face and then shifted uneasily on his feet. He’d sensed the sudden agitation in the air, and it had put him on the alert. He always stayed close to Olivia, but now he pressed his body against her leg, and she stroked his back, trying to convey that she was not in any danger.

“Mr. Sherrill,” Olivia began.

The curator interrupted by saying, “Call me Vernon.”

After introducing herself and Laurel, Olivia asked her
question. “Can you think of any connection between that dress and Leigh Whitlow?”

The curator ran his hands through his thinning hair. He was clearly on edge. “I don’t understand any of this. As of now, I don’t know what else was stolen, but the dress isn’t as valuable as some of our other artifacts. Why would someone take it, give it to Black’s lady friend, and then kill her in it?” His eyes locked on Olivia’s. “You said you found her body on the beach. How did she die?”

“It looks like she was held under the water until she drowned,” Laurel said and then quickly added, “Though the cause of death hasn’t been confirmed. The medical examiner may come up with a completely different ruling.”

Vernon glanced at Rosemary. “Most historians agree that Theodosia drowned. A few radicals believe that she survived and lived with the buccaneers who scuttled her ship, but that’s very unlikely. I don’t know when the legend of Theodosia’s ghost began, but there are documents referring to a woman walking the South Beach in either a pale green or white dress. A woman who leaves no footprints in the sand. A woman who vanishes before sunrise.”

“Leigh had long dark hair like Theodosia,” Rosemary said, her eyes glimmering. The docent had obviously recovered from the initial shock. In fact, she leaned forward on the balls of her feet, eager to hear every lurid detail. Olivia guessed that Rosemary would spread the story of Leigh’s murder like an August brush fire the second she had the chance.

“What about a bell?” Olivia looked at Rosemary. “Is that tied to the legend?”

Rosemary nodded. “People who have seen Theodosia’s ghost also claim to have heard the ship’s bell from
Patriot
, the schooner Theodosia was on when she disappeared, ringing out a death knell for its passengers and crew.”

Laurel shuddered. “That’s so eerie.” She turned to Olivia. “And you heard that bell, didn’t you?”

“I did,” Olivia said.

Rosemary covered her mouth with her hand and stared at Vernon.

The curator wore a deep frown. “This makes no sense. Why re-create the ghost of Theodosia Burr Alston?”

“Who has access to your storage room, Mr. Sherrill?” Laurel asked.

“Rosemary, myself, and Larry, our other staff member. And as I told that bumbling officer, Larry took a leave of absence to care for his mother. She’s having a hip replacement in Mississippi. Larry called yesterday to tell me he’d be back on Wednesday. My office phone has Caller ID and Larry phoned from his mother’s house, so I know Larry didn’t steal the dress.” He sighed in exasperation. “And Rosemary was home with her family. I was also at home. We both live in Riverport.”

Olivia hadn’t suspected either of them for a moment, but Peterson would undoubtedly run down their alibis all the same.

Suddenly, Rosemary gasped. “The white deer! That’s a North Carolina legend too!”

“Yes. And the burning boat in the harbor could represent the tale of the Burning Boat of Ocracoke,” the curator said.

Olivia could see that while the museum workers were drawing the same conclusions as the Bayside Book Writers, they didn’t seem to have any new information to add.

She studied Vernon. “You wrote a book on the island’s history, right? Can you shed any light on these events?”

He shook his head in bewilderment. “My book is about facts, Ms. Limoges. It’s about the men and women who shaped this island. To me, theirs is the story of most interest.” He shrugged. “I can’t imagine why anyone would bring the region’s ghost stories to life. They’re just legends, after all. To think that a young woman lost her life because of the tales we all grew up hearing is sickening. The person committing these acts is seriously disturbed.”

Seeing that there was nothing else to be learned, Olivia asked Rosemary if she could purchase a copy of Vernon’s book, and then she, Laurel, and Haviland left.

“That wasn’t much help,” Laurel mumbled unhappily.

“Other than it gives credit to the theory that Leigh was meant to remind people of Theodosia Burr. Can you text Harris and ask him to research both women? Maybe there’s more to connect them other than a physical resemblance.”

Laurel pointed at Olivia’s golf cart. “I’ll text, you drive.”

“Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll be back in a sec,” Olivia said and strode into the Marina Market. She reemerged a few minutes later with a bag containing two pints of clam chowder and a pair of freshly baked rolls.

“Something smells good,” Laurel said. “Are we having a midafternoon snack?”

“I bought apples for us, but the soup is for the Allens. While you text the chief and tell him about the robbery, I’ll see if George Allen has anything to say about what’s happened.” Olivia started the golf cart and headed to the Allens’ cottage.

She pulled to a stop and glanced over at Laurel. “You and Haviland had better wait here.”

“That’s fine. It gives me the chance to finish sending messages to the rest of the Bayside Book Writers. I just wish one of them would write back.” She stared at her phone screen as though willing a message to come through. “I hope they’re having better luck than we did.”

“Me too.” Olivia told Haviland to stay and picked up the bag containing the soup and rolls. Cradling it in her left arm, she used her right hand to gently knock on the Allens’ door.

She waited, but no sounds came from within the small house. She knocked again, a little louder this time, and someone, probably Boyd, pulled back the living room curtain. Olivia saw a flash of a pale face and a dark eye before the curtain was replaced. A moment later, Boyd cracked the
door. He stood in the opening, blocking Olivia’s view of the interior.

“I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said, taking in Boyd’s haggard appearance. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “I brought some soup for your father. I thought he might be tired after last night. There’s plenty for you as well.”

Boyd managed a wan smile. “That’s mighty kind of you. Pop isn’t feeling well today, but I’ll be sure to let him know that you—”

“Tell her!” George called from somewhere inside the house. “Tell her how the island will punish those who try to change her!”

Olivia felt her pulse quicken. Did George know about Leigh’s death? Had he seen or heard something? The only person who was overtly trying to change Palmetto Island was Silas Black. “Should I come inside so he doesn’t have to shout?”

Looking a little shamefaced, Boyd shook his head. “You’d better not. He’ll get even more wound up. He really needs to sleep. It’s kind of you to think of us. It’s been—”

“Tell her to mind the warnings!” George shouted hoarsely. “To not get mixed up with those other outsiders!”

Boyd reached for the bag containing the hot soup, and Olivia reluctantly gave it to him. “Are you feeling all right, Mr. Allen?”

“I’m fine!” Boyd snapped and then held up his hand in an apologetic gesture. “I get headaches sometimes, but not today. Thanks again.” And with that, he shut the door in Olivia’s face.

“That didn’t look too hospitable from where I’m sitting,” Laurel said when Olivia got back in the golf cart.

Olivia glanced at the cottage. Unlike the other houses on the island, it bore no name plaque. It was a real home inhabited by the island’s oldest resident. It wasn’t a rental house that saw a steady stream of strangers during the high season
and then stood empty for the winter. Like the Allens, the nameless cottage had borne witness to many changes. “Boyd said that his father isn’t well. George was shouting from inside the house. Something about how the island will punish people who try to change her.”

“It sounds like he knows something!” Laurel cried, causing Haviland to stand up and bark.

Olivia rubbed her poodle behind the ears. “Either that, or he’s a very old man who’s not himself due to sleep deprivation.”

Laurel blew out a puff of air. “After I gave birth to the twins, I experienced that phenomenon myself. You truly feel like you’re losing your mind. I was so messed up from consistent lack of sleep that I put a dirty diaper in the produce drawer of our fridge. I noticed it two days later when I opened the drawer to get a head of lettuce. Needless to say, we didn’t have salad for dinner that night.”

Olivia laughed and drove away.

“It’s funny now, but I really didn’t feel like myself,” Laurel went on in a far more solemn tone. “Many parents who’ve accidentally injured or killed their infants were suffering from serious sleep deprivation. It turns you into someone else. Someone with fog in the brain. Someone who’s slightly insane.”

“Are you saying that George Allen is crazy?”

Laurel shrugged. “I don’t know what I’m saying, but what if last night wasn’t his first night without rest? What if he’s been sleep-deprived for a long time and acted on his belief that the person trying to change the island deserves punishment?”

“He’s in his nineties,” Olivia said, feeling instantly defensive of George Allen. “Can you picture him holding Leigh’s head under and then dragging her up the beach?”

“No, but Boyd could have helped.”

“That means Boyd also shot the deer, burned the boat,
and flashed the light to misdirect the archaeologist,” Olivia said dubiously. “It also means that he broke into the museum, stole the dress, and somehow convinced Leigh to put it on and follow the sound of the ship’s bell.”

Laurel threw out her hands. “Okay, so it’s really unlikely. I’m considering every possibility.”

Olivia nodded. “I do think the Allens know something. Boyd was acting very cagey, and George warned me not to get mixed up with the rest of the outsiders, which was strange, seeing as I’m an outsider too.”

“Maybe not to him. You showed up at his house the other day bearing food. You listened to his stories and treated him with respect,” Laurel said. “He might view you as an ally. As someone who understands what matters to him.”

Olivia recalled telling George about the lighthouse keeper she’d known as a girl and how pleased George had been to hear her speak of her hometown and its people. “Perhaps.” She gestured at Laurel’s phone. “Have you heard from the others yet?”

“Harris was having coffee with Amy at Land End Lodge and only had time to send a quick text saying that they were still talking. I haven’t heard a peep from the chief or Millay.”

“I guess I’ll drop you at your golf cart,” Olivia said. “From there, we can head back to Lifesaver and wait for the others.”

“Hold on.” Laurel raised a finger. “I’m getting a text from Millay. She writes that—oh no!” She clamped her mouth shut and shook her head from side to side.

Olivia hit the brakes and instinctively pressed her hand against Haviland’s side. “What is it?”

“Peterson’s made an arrest,” Laurel said, her eyes filled with sadness. “It’s the professor, Olivia. The police have taken Emmett Billinger into custody.”

All writing problems are psychological problems.

—E
RICA
J
ONG

O
livia gestured for the phone. “Let me see that.”

She read Millay’s text and then called her. When Millay answered, Olivia’s mouth was so dry that it took her a moment to speak.

“Tell me everything,” Olivia demanded without preamble.

“The chief just heard a few minutes ago, but the cops took the professor across the river just after the golf cart parade started. Apparently, Peterson learned something during his interview with Silas that made him believe the professor was his man.”

It can’t be true
, Olivia thought. To Millay, she said, “Did you speak with Charles?”

“Yeah. He’s been trying to track down Silas all afternoon to find out what he told Peterson, but Silas isn’t returning his calls.” Millay paused. “I’m sorry to give you such crap news. Do you want to talk to the chief?”

“Yes,” Olivia said, wishing she were with Rawlings right now.

There was a rustle as Millay passed the phone to the chief. “Olivia.” His voice was tender. A breath of comfort. “Just because Professor Billinger has been arrested doesn’t mean that he’s guilty.”

“Why would Emmett murder Leigh?” Olivia yelled. She wanted to lash out at someone. Anyone. “He doesn’t even know her!”

“That may be irrelevant,” Rawlings said quietly. “The fact that she resembled Theodosia Burr might have been all that mattered. When I spoke with one of Peterson’s officers, I was told that the professor had wet, sand-covered clothes at the bottom of his washing machine. There was a book about Theodosia Burr on his nightstand. He was out last night for more than two hours. He knows all the ghost stories the crimes have been based on. It doesn’t look good, Olivia.”

Abruptly ending the call, Olivia got out of the golf cart and began to pace around the grass. She wanted to kick something but had to settle for grabbing a small stick and tossing it as far as she could into the underbrush.

With a yip of delight, Haviland chased after it. Olivia hurled the stick three times in a row, feeling Laurel’s eyes on her back the whole time.

Finally, Olivia turned to face her friend. “I have to see Emmett. Would you take Haviland to Rawlings? I’m going to catch the next ferry.”

Laurel frowned. “You don’t think he’s guilty, do you?”

“I don’t
want
him to be guilty,” Olivia said. “But if it’s true, then I need him to explain this madness to me.” She glanced at the ground where Haviland had dropped the stick. “I need to know why he did these things.”

“And if he convinces you that he’s innocent? What will you do next?”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help him. He’s my friend, Laurel. Unless he proves to be unworthy of my loyalty, he has it.” She squatted, pressing her face against Haviland’s
shoulder. After murmuring softly to him, she told him to jump into Laurel’s golf cart. Laurel had just put the key in the ignition when the ferry whistle blew.

Without another word, Olivia raced toward the docks.

*   *   *

Olivia was known by most of the Oyster Bay police force and had always been treated with courtesy and respect whenever she appeared at the station. Here, at the Riverport Police Department, she was a stranger. She couldn’t call in favors or make special requests. She was a civilian and an out-of-towner to boot.

The front desk clerk was clearly on edge. A middle-aged woman with glasses and brown hair styled into a severe bob, she juggled phone calls on multiple lines. She briefly spoke to each caller before moving on to the next. Olivia guessed that most of the calls were from members of the press. She knew that the media had gotten wind of the murder because she’d seen half a dozen reporters and cameramen on the ferry landing.

“I’d like to speak with Emmett Billinger,” Olivia said.

“Are you his attorney?” the desk clerk asked, giving Olivia the once-over.

Olivia considered lying, but decided against it. “No, but I can contact an attorney on his behalf if he hasn’t done so already. I’d just like five minutes with him.”

The clerk shook her head. “Sorry, but that’s not going to happen.”

Olivia put a business card on the desk. “If Professor Billinger has yet to make his one phone call, could you please give this to him? He has two dogs, and with his being in custody, there’s no one to take care of them. They’re back at his house on Palmetto Island.”

The clerk didn’t seem interested in Emmett’s dogs. “Animal Control will get them. As for this?” She tapped Olivia’s card,
and then she gestured at the plastic chairs lining the wall. “You can wait if you want, but I’m not making any promises.”

Thwarted, Olivia left the station and walked to the coffee shop she and Rawlings had passed on their way to the ferry docks. There were only two customers inside River Brew, and the bored baristas were more than happy to take Olivia’s order.

“And you’ll deliver those to the police station?” she asked while handing the cashier her credit card. “Along with a selection of sandwiches and pastries?”

“Give us fifteen minutes and we’ll get it done,” the cashier assured her.

Olivia returned to the police station and took a seat in a plastic chair. The desk clerk had the phone pressed to her ear and her gaze fixed on her message pad. She didn’t glance up until two servers from River Brew placed three trays of coffee on the counter.

Putting her hand over the phone’s mouthpiece, the desk clerk pointed at the coffee. “What’s this?”

“A cure for the midafternoon blues,” said one of the servers. “We have food too. Where do you want it? There’s enough for the whole station.”

The clerk reached for a coffee cup and then hesitated. “Who ordered this?”

The server waved at Olivia. “The lady did. She said you guys were probably in for a long day. Maybe a long night too. We’ve got coffee, scones, cinnamon rolls, and a bunch of sandwiches. She pretty much cleaned us out. Enjoy!”

The servers thanked Olivia for adding such a generous tip to her credit card receipt and left.

Olivia stared at the opposite wall as though riveted by the public safety announcements. She didn’t want to look at the desk clerk for fear that her attempt to get on the woman’s good side had completely backfired.

She sat for several minutes, listening to the clerk answer
a dozen phone calls, until a stout, gray-haired police officer entered the lobby from a hallway to Olivia’s right.

“You asked to see Mr. Billinger?” he asked brusquely.

Olivia stood up. “Yes. I’m a friend of the professor’s.”

“And I understand that you’re responsible for our River Brew delivery?”

Olivia nodded.

“Ed Fields.” The officer held out his hand. “I got a call about you. Officer Peterson told me that Chief Rawlings of the Oyster Bay PD helped out with our investigation. I’ve met the chief before. Conferences, mostly. He’s a good egg. It’s because of him, not the coffee, that I’ll let you have five minutes with our suspect.” He indicated the hallway. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you back.”

Olivia indicated the coffee cup Fields was holding. “May I give the professor something to drink?”

Fields paused. “We offered him soda, coffee, and water. He won’t take anything.”

“He’s probably in shock,” Olivia said. “He might not want it, but he needs it.”

“Be my guest,” Fields said and led her into a small kitchen, where five men in uniform were loading paper plates with food.

Afterward, Olivia carried coffee and a ham and cheese sandwich into an interview room and then waited for Emmett to be brought in.

He entered, rumpled and glassy-eyed. He didn’t speak. He merely dropped into the chair across the table from Olivia and stared at his cuffed wrists. His shoulders were slumped and he looked utterly defeated.

“Emmett, we don’t have much time,” Olivia said softly. She slid the coffee cup in front of him and then shot Fields a look of silent appeal. With a grunt, the policeman unlocked the cuffs and hung them from his utility belt.

“Drink this,” Olivia gently ordered. When Emmett made
no move to comply, Olivia said, “Drink this, or I’ll walk out of here right now.”

Emmett blinked and picked up the coffee cup. He took several sips and then cradled the cup in his hands.

“Eat a few bites of this sandwich too.” Olivia pushed the plate toward him and waited for him to reach for the sandwich. “Have you called a lawyer yet?”

Chewing mechanically, Emmett shook his head.

“Do you want me to call one for you?”

When Emmett didn’t answer, Olivia sighed in frustration. The seconds were ticking by, and she was getting nowhere. “Tell me what to do about Caesar and Calpurnia,” she said.

This finally elicited a reaction from Emmett. “They’ll need to be walked soon. And fed their dinner. What will happen to them if . . .” He swallowed hard. “Will you take care of them, Olivia?”

Olivia didn’t want to mention Animal Control. “Does Peterson have the keys to your house?”

“Yes, but I keep a spare in the duck decoy by the back door for emergencies too.” Emmett quickly explained where he kept the greyhounds’ food, toys, and treats. “They don’t like to be left alone for long. When I’m teaching, a dog walker visits them twice a day. But I’m always there at night. I even let them sleep in my bed. What will happen—”

“I’ll see to them,” Olivia interrupted. “But you have to do something for me.”

Emmett nodded fervently.

“I need to know, Emmett. Did you do these things? Did you shoot that deer? Burn the dinghy?” Her eyes bored into Emmett’s. “Did you drown Leigh Whitlow?”

Emmett was shaking his head before Olivia could even finish. “No,” he whispered forcefully. “God, no! None of it—it wasn’t me!”

“What were you doing on the beach last night?”

“Just looking for inspiration.” Emmett spread his hands.
“You’ll understand this better than any of
them
.” He jerked his head toward Fields. “I’ve had a major case of writer’s block, and I wanted to walk when no one else was around so I could imagine what it was like to live in a different time.” He picked up a piece of crust and rubbed it between his fingers. “I’m writing about a period in history that predates the discovery of electricity. The world was much darker then. One might see an occasional flickering candle through a window, but for the most part, the nights were black and silent.”

Olivia made a hurry-up gesture. “Go on.”

“So I put a bottle of wine, a notebook, and a blanket in my backpack and headed out. I’m often awake late at night. I do some of my best thinking then.”

“What are you writing?”

Emmett hesitated before answering. “Historical fiction. A novel about a wealthy North Carolinian merchant. A man with a complex moral code. Devoted family man. Slave owner. A character that readers will both love and hate. I’ve been working on this thing for two years. It’s a far cry from my academic material, and it’s hard as hell to write.”

“If everything you just told me is true, then why were you arrested?”

There was a shift in the air, and the light that had appeared in Emmett’s eyes when he’d spoken of his book dimmed. “They found something of mine near the crime scene, though I have no idea how it got there. I also had a book about Theodosia Burr on my nightstand.” He spoke more and more rapidly, desperate to explain himself. “Not only does she fit the time period of my novel, but ever since I was asked to do the talk on haunted landmarks, I’ve been wanting to read up on her. I thought this was a good time to do it.”

Emmett’s version of events was so far-fetched that Olivia wasn’t surprised that Peterson had brought him in.

“What was found near the crime scene?”

“A bottle opener with an embossed greyhound on the
handle. I have a bunch of them because my aunt gives me one every Christmas.” He tossed the crust back on the plate. “I don’t remember dropping it. I don’t even remember putting it in my backpack. The bottle I had with me was already open. I was planning to finish it off.”

Olivia wondered what kind of evidence she could possibly find to corroborate Emmett’s story. “Did you write anything in your notebook to prove that you’d been working on ideas for your novel in the middle of the night?”

A small groan escaped from between Emmett’s lips. “It’ll only damn me more. The man I’m basing my book on was real. His daughter was found drowned in the Cape Fear River, which ran behind their plantation house. Years after her death, the servants claimed to see the young woman’s ghost. I was thinking of adding her death, in the form of a murder, to my next chapter. That’s what my notes are about.”

No one will believe this
, Olivia thought miserably. And yet she did.

“You have one more minute,” Fields said from where he stood near the door.

Olivia felt panic well up inside her. “Did you know Leigh Whitlow personally?”

“I had never laid eyes on her before this weekend,” Emmett said. His voice quavered with desperation. “I swear it.”

“You were on South Beach during the time period she was killed. You were drinking. You’d taken notes about a woman’s death by drowning. You were reading about Theodosia Burr. And you didn’t bring your dogs.” This was the detail Olivia had the hardest time accepting. “Why didn’t you bring the dogs?”