A Deadly Cliche (A Books by the Bay Mystery)

booth want a refill.”
    “Blackmailing me with java.” Olivia scowled in disapproval. “That is low, even for you.”
    Dixie dumped the coffeepot on the counter and tugged at a pair of Hello Kitty arm warmers. “Is that a height joke?”
    “Of course not.” Olivia wiggled her index finger so that Dixie would skate closer. “You have to swear on all twelve of your children not to breathe a word of this until it’s become a matter of public record.”
    Dixie smirked. “My kids ain’t eggs. I don’t have a dozen. Last count it was five. Six at the most.” She poured the coffee. “But you have my word.”
    “I found a body on the beach this morning. About a mile and a half north of the lighthouse keeper’s cottage,” Olivia whispered. She watched Dixie absorb the startling information.
    Oddly, Dixie’s expression was not of curiosity, but of concern. “Are you okay?”
    “I am, thank you. I didn’t know the man, but I pity him. His death was no accident.” Olivia clammed up. “Have you heard of any locals that have gone missing? A wife complaining about a wayward husband for example?”
    Ignoring the waving hands coming from the Evita booth, Dixie thought about the question. “I haven’t, but I’ll keep my ears open and my mouth shut. Can I at least tell Grumpy? I’ll explode like an overstuffed turkey if I can’t share this with somebody!”
    Olivia nodded. She knew Grumpy was no gossip. “Ask him the same question. He might hear talk among his friends about someone not turning up at home or at work. Maybe we can help the police identify the dead man.”
    “We aren’t gonna be able to help unless he’s in the damned restaurant business.” Dixie plastered on her best waitress smile and signaled to the man holding his coffee cup in the air. “ Most folks have three whole days off,’Livia. The dead guy probably didn’t have to be anywhere’til Tuesday, the lucky bastard.”
    Recalling the grotesque visage and foul odor of the corpse, Olivia frowned. “Trust me, he was not lucky.” She reached into her purse for the chapter she needed to critique by that evening. “And if ever he was, then every ounce of that ran out.” She uncapped her pen to signal that the subject was now closed.
    While Dixie skated from the kitchen to tables with platters of three-egg omelets, cinnamon French toast, or double bacon cheeseburgers for those ordering an early lunch, the hum of conversation brought Olivia a sense of calm. She didn’t come to Grumpy’s for the atmosphere, nor did she share Dixie’s deep admiration for Andrew Lloyd Webber. Every booth paid homage to one of his musicals, and though Olivia was amused by the displays showcasing Starlight Express , Cats , or Phantom of the Opera , she preferred to sit at the sole window booth and work on her writing projects.
    Olivia ate at the diner at least once a week. Upon returning to Oyster Bay, Dixie had become her first true friend. Olivia was fond of the smaller woman’s feisty personality and sharp wit. Dixie also adored Haviland and had Grumpy prepare special meals for the coddled poodle while requesting items not found on the regular menu for Olivia. This morning, she skated to the counter with a frittata made of fresh spinach and shredded provolone and a bowl of honeydew melon squares.
    “Those folks at the Jesus Christ Superstar table are drivin’ me hog wild!” Dixie said through gritted teeth. “They wanna know if our bacon is local. Shoot, I told them we’ve got more pig farms in this state than gas stations.” She whipped a compact from her apron pocket and applied a fresh coat of pink frosted lip gloss. “Don’t think they cared for that answer, but I reckon they’re lousy tippers anyhow. All those yoga-twistin’, garbage-recyclin’ tree huggers are tightwads.”
    “It’s the booth decor, Dixie,” Olivia said after swallowing a bite of frittata. “It makes some people uncomfortable. Maybe you should replace Jesus with a poster of Glenn Close from Sunset Boulevard. ”
    “That right there is blasphemy!” Dixie presented Haviland with a plate of gently cooked ground beef mixed with rice and greens. He gave her his most sincere canine smile and then turned his attention to his second meal of the morning. “Maybe Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat would make people more at ease. I’ll have a look-see on eBay tonight.”
    Using the green pen Harris had given to his fellow writers, Olivia circled a typo in the first