A Killer Plot Read Free Page A

with a dismissive wave of her fork.
    “No, indeed,” the man agreed with a laugh. “I must confess that I’m quite good at my craft. However, I’m spending the summer in Oyster Bay in order to work on a top secret story. You see, it’s my intention to create a fictionalized biography of sorts. Names and dates changed—that sort of thing.” He lowered his voice. “Everyone would know who I was writing about, but I can’t get sued this way, you see?” He cleared his throat and puffed his chest out. “There are just piles of money waiting to be made on my idea.”
    Olivia found herself warming toward the man. Firstly, Haviland seemed comfortable in his presence, and Olivia found him refreshingly candid. Most importantly, he was well mannered and clearly intelligent. “I have a banquet room in my restaurant, but it would be rather costly. How often do you meet Mr.... ?”
    “Camden Ford, at your service.” He bowed his head in exaggerated gallantry. “We’ve only had two meetings, but we’d like to gather once a week. And costly isn’t really the adjective to which I was aspiring.”
    “What about the library?”
    “Those spectacled harpies won’t let us partake of any alcohol.” He smirked. “How can we be proper writers without booze? Coffee and eggs are not acceptable substitutes for old scotch or a fine cabernet. Also, two of my fellow writers have scheduling conflicts with morning meetings. One has to care for a pair of imps in diapers while the other sleeps until noon so she can work the night away sliding beer bottles across a dirty, sweating bar to equally dirty, sweaty mean.”
    A laugh escaped Olivia’s throat. She felt inclined to introduce herself and Haviland to the entertaining newcomer.
    “Limoges?” he asked in interest. “As in the fine porcelain?”
    Pleased, Olivia nodded. “My family name comes from the French city where the porcelain was produced.”
    “’Tis also the birthplace of my favorite comic hero, Astérix, mais non?” Camden stirred sugar into his coffee. “So are you a fabulously wealthy porcelain heiress?”
    “Oak barrel heiress, actually.” Olivia passed him the cream. “The kind specially produced for storing fine cognac.”
    Camden looked dutifully impressed. He then made a sweeping gesture with his arms. “Oyster Bay’s not the type of town where I’d expect to meet someone like you. Unless you’re hiding from a sordid past? An abusive lover? The IRS... ?”
    Olivia disregarded his speculations. “We’re hardly Beverly Hills gossip material either. There’s neither a renowned plastic surgery center here nor an exclusive detox facility, so whose trail are you following?”
    After taking a dainty sip of coffee, Camden winked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
    Indeed she would. Olivia liked to be informed about the goings-on in her town, no matter how insignificant. “Do tell.” She came close to pleading and then decided to come off as unconvinced. “There can hardly be any celebrity news to be gleaned in Oyster Bay.”
    “That is where you’re mistaken, dear lady.” He rose. “Come, let’s move to a booth where I can gaze into your Adriatic blue eyes.”
    Olivia took her coffee and laptop and relocated to the vacated window booth. As soon as they were settled, Haviland ducked under the table, stretched out his front legs, and put his head on Camden’s shoe. Olivia was surprised. It normally took the poodle quite a while before he felt comfortable with a stranger. The gossip writer seemed content to provide a pillow for the groggy canine. “Do you know the Talbot family?” he asked.
    “Certainly. The Talbots are real estate developers.”
    “Not developers. Tycoons. Think big. As in Donald Trump big.” Camden lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s just the parents. There are three kiddies too. The daughter designs haute couture and sleeps with NFL quarterbacks. The older son likes snorting coke and fondling beautiful